Holding Her Tightly and Loosely

Messy ponytail...glasses slipping down her nose...giggling smile on her face...my heart skips a beat at the sight of this girl child...

I read an article today about a woman who was a 'weekend mom', whose ex-husband had custody of their daughter.  The woman wrote about how this was the best decision for her daughter and then began to list all the ways it was better for her own life.  It was phrased very eloquently, but what it essentially boiled down to was this:  there was no "inconvenience" keeping her from going out drinking all hours of the night, traveling wherever she wants, and staying up late talking with various friends.  I found it sad that the life of her daughter was boiled down to an inconvenience.  And I thought that perhaps her daughter's life is better, despite this woman's primary concern being only herself.  I also wondered if this little girl would feel the suffering effects of a mother who wants only the fun parts of motherhood and is unwilling to suffer through the hard.

She snuggles up against me, emotions spent after having an argument with the cat.  She's just returned from ten minutes pouting in her room and I hold her close, feeling my precious firstborn still yearning for the comfort of her mother's arms.  This girl and I, we've been through the good:  birthday parties, Christmas, trips to the beach, reading the Ramona books together as we laugh over her escapades.  This girl and I have been through the hard stuff, too, stuff I can't shield her from.

My firstborn girl child, oldest of four, still living as an only child after seven and a half years.  She'll be almost eight before my fourth child makes an appearance in this world.  Two babies lost, not just to me or my husband.  Two babies lost to the little girl who has been excited about having a sibling since she was three and her little friend Sophie was getting a baby.  

This eldest daughter of mine has seen three siblings on the ultrasound screen.  Her sister Faith did flips and waved at her twelve weeks into pregnancy.  Five weeks later, the older sister holds her baby sister's lifeless body in her arms.  It is Christmas Eve.  Three months later, on her seventh birthday, she will see the body of her second sibling on the ultrasound screen, lifeless once again.

This child rapidly growing up too quickly for me clings to me as I comfort her.  Despite the traumas she's experienced, she finds herself hopeful for this new baby.  She clings to her faith in God, childlike and leaps and bounds ahead of my own faith simultaneously.  I hold her tight in the arms she knows to be a safe place.  I hold her tightly against the struggles of this life, even something as simple as an argument with a cat over a box.

At the same time as I hold her tightly, I must also hold her loosely.  She is not really mine.  She is a gift, loaned to me for a time.  If there's anything I've learned from losing two of her siblings, it's that my children are not always going to be with me.  Whether she moves away for college, gets married, moves off to a foreign country to minister to the world, or when that time comes that one of us goes to Heaven while the other is left to wait here on earth...there will be separation.  Because she's not mine.  She's His.  

She belongs to the Lord she gave her heart to almost exactly two years ago.  She belongs to the Lord she gave testimony to as she stepped into the baptismal waters, dying to sin and rising up to new life.  She belongs to the Lord she knows so much about...much more than me when we have theological discussions.  She belongs to the Lord whom she accepts with the most childlike innocence, despite the trauma life has brought.

She's not an inconvenience.  She's a complex, beautiful, intelligent child and as I type this I watch her head poking out of the box of a microwave we bought two months ago.  I can't help but pray the years don't pass too quickly.  But I know better.  The first seven and a half have already gone too quickly.  So I hold her tightly when she's snuggled up in my arms.  But I have to hold her loosely, too.  Because she's not mine.

She is the adopted princess of the King.

My Thoughts on Pregnancy After Miscarriage

Well, it happened.  We got two pink lines!  At the beginning of March, we are expecting a beautiful miracle to come screaming into this world!  It has been almost four years since we began trying to conceive a sibling for our daughter.  In that four year period, we have conceived.  Three times, actually.  The first two never lived outside the womb.  The third is currently growing beneath my heart.

Beneath my heart, I've nestled four children.  One of them keeps me busy all day.  I was blessed to be able to hold my second child, Faith, after delivery although she had not survived.  I did not even know about my third child, Reese, until I was miscarrying.  Then there's this fourth little bean growing steadily along after two ultrasounds.

I'm thrilled.  I have dreamed about this child in it's infancy twice already.  I've also spent some time feeling terrified.  It's much more of an emotional struggle to be pregnant after losing a baby.  I had a hard time believing it was real until we went to our first appointment.  I was 6 weeks, 1 day along and I woke up early to spend some time with God before I went to the doctor.  I needed to find some peace.  The following verse struck me as important that morning:

Brothers and sisters, as an example of patience in the face of suffering, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.  As you know, we count as blessed those who have persevered.  You have heard of Job's perseverance and have seen what the Lord finally brought about.  The Lord is full of compassion and mercy.

                                                                             -James 5:10-11-

I felt strangely comforted.  I didn't feel like God was telling me this child would live or die.  But instead what I felt was peace.  God's peace had permeated my heart and I knew that no matter what I would be able to persevere.  I also knew that no matter what, the Lord is full of compassion and mercy.

My perseverance may come from nine months of waiting on a child, counting the milestones...8 weeks...10 weeks...end of the first trimester...past the 16 week mark when Faith died...when the baby would be viable outside the womb...third trimester...counting down all those days, feeling more encouraged after passing each one.

Or my perseverance may come from another loss.  I know that.  I pray regularly for this baby to be safe.  I also know my risk factors (obesity, previous losses) give me just a slightly higher chance of loss again.  At this point it's a less than 5% chance.  But it's there.

I'm walking through my days, rejoicing in the life that grows inside me and dreaming of what life will be like with this child.  I'm pinning baby things, I'm sharing with family and friends, I'm on the pregnancy app on my phone.  I've bought bigger bras to accommodate growth, I've quit running* on the advice of my OBGYN.  I've already found my playpen/bassinet/babyseat three in one.  I enjoy browsing the Target baby section and have thought about my gender reveal party.

I also check my underwear each time I sit on the toilet.  I check the toilet paper for evidence of blood.  I pray when I feel a cramp in my lower abdomen that it is gas and not the beginning of a miscarriage (man, it is HARD to tell the difference sometimes!).  At our second ultrasound, I held my breath as I waited for that little bean to show up and flicker.  I teared up with joy when it finally did.

As I walk through both the joy and the struggle of a mother experiencing pregnancy after loss, I know the Lord is full of compassion and mercy.  I can feel it pouring out on me daily in the form of prayers from those close to me.  I can feel it pouring out on me in the people who rejoiced with me when I shared the news.  I can feel it pouring out on me in the compassion and mercy I've been given every day since my water broke in December.

My babies may have died.  There is no guarantee this baby will live.  The next nine months (well, seven now!) will not be easy.  But He has not forsaken me for a single second.  He is full of compassion and mercy.  That is how I will persevere through my pregnancy after miscarriage.

*I understand that not all women need to quit running after becoming pregnant.  Some women have been running for months or years.  I had run twice before becoming pregnant.  While my doctor was fine with me continuing to walk, as I'd established the habit over the course of six months and it is a low impact exercise, for me and my situation running is not recommended at this time.  Please consult your own doctor about running, while pregnant or otherwise.

What Jesus and my Uncle Mike Taught Me

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this:  Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.  Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you.
                                                                               -James 1:19-21-

I recently attended a memorial service for my great-uncle Mike.  There was a time for people to share their memories of him and I noticed a theme.  What people remembered most about him were
1. His brilliance...he had more knowledge in his head than almost anyone I've ever met.
2. His amazing ability to listen to others.  Even as a child, I knew he was listening to what I had to say and that he actually cared about what I was saying.

While people were amazed by the brilliance, it was his innate ability to listen that really touched people.  He listened, truly listened, and got to know the heart of the person he was talking to. 

More often than not, we find huge chasms created by people of all beliefs and political associations.  The focus is on shouting angrily without hearing the person we're shouting at or even really knowing the heart beating inside that person.

If we as a society would listen twice as much as we speak, truly listen for what the heart of the other person is saying and waste less time on our anger, we may not agree with what the other person's opinion is.  But perhaps we'd find some compassion for the person speaking to us.  

In turn, our ability to listen to the other person may foster respect in them toward us and bridges would be build between those with opposing viewpoints.  If that were to be accomplished in our current society, imagine the ability we could have to solve the struggles we face!