***If you or anyone you know has had to suffer a miscarriage, I
pray my feeble experience will somehow encourage you and strengthen you through
your loss. I’m so sorry for what you are
experiencing.***
A story of His Glory!
MY story!
Many of you know that there are a few absolutes of mine that
are inescapable. Honesty. Too many details. And circular conversation. I am giving you a fair warning that as you
read this; I don’t claim to be a novelist. Also, I write just like I talk…quite
scattered, eerily honest, with a tad of drama.
Jason will read this later and be aghast at my lack of proper grammar
and editing skills, but alas I must post.
So thank you, dear reader, for enduring this novella. Grab a cup of coffee. You’ll need it.
Last October we received the surprise of our lives! We found out we were PREGNANT! We were shocked to say the least. Many emotions came rolling in…shock, elation,
JOY, fear all rolled into one response.
At the time Haven was only five months old and it all seemed a bit
sudden. All those fears were fleeting
lasting a mere 20 seconds until ELATION filled our hearts and our home. We told friends, family and our sweet
children. Everyone rejoiced with
us! In the middle of telling one of my
best friends I remember having this fleeting thought, “This will not end as I
hope.” I immediately rebuked the
thought, declared a 1000 promises and went on my merry way. Not very long after similar thoughts began to
creep in, thoughts that I assumed were cheap shots from the enemy trying to
steal my joy.
It was such a fun season.
I was pregnant with a couple of my sweet friends, which is always so fun
to share the highs and lows of pregnancy with.
I couldn’t believe we were going to have FOUR children. I had always wanted four by the time I was
30. I have NO idea why…just did. The holidays were beginning to creep up on us
as were Jason’s next to last law school finals.
Law school finals have proven to be the BANE OF MY EXISTENCE the past
three years. Although Jason always does
exceedingly well in his classes it takes quite the toll on the household. It was a stressful time but we were doing our
best to choose JOY in this circumstance.
I was nauseated, bone-tired and couldn’t quite shake the aching feeling
that something was very wrong. I had
thus far been blessed with sickness-free pregnancies. Not even a moment of nausea. I didn’t understand “morning sickness”…and I
definitely didn’t understand nausea….until that fateful day that getting out of
bed felt like I was standing firmly in a canoe in 30 foot swells. I mean WHOA!
If this is what morning sickness or nausea feel like I PASS, thank
you!!! But oh, it continued. We had our first appointment. One I was certain I was 10 weeks at; however
the midwife measured just 6.5 weeks. She
didn’t seem concerned with my estimate being so off because she assumed I was
just mistaken. Thanksgiving came and
went and we enjoyed some down time with family.
We survived finals. How? No one knows.
And then Christmas came.
If you know me at all I am like a kid in a candy store at
Christmas time. It is by far my favorite
time of the year. I love everything
about it. I love the decorations,
wrapping presents, getting that perfect gift for a friend that will make them
feel so KNOWN, attempting baking (always a feeble attempt I might add!),
celebrating our Savior, adding new traditions for the kids to experience year
by year, the way the mall changes scents seemingly overnight, the warm fuzzies,
the glad tidings, the sweaters and boots that come along with cold weather, the
snowpocalypses of Oklahoma winters, I just LOVE IT ALL! This Christmas was going to be an extra
special treat. We were going to get to
see BOTH families at Christmas. We were
stopping through Texas to visit BOTH sets of grandparents before heading on our
way to Albuquerque to visit Jason’s brother where despite recent family changes
everyone was going to be gathered together!
TOGETHERNESS, another thing I love about Christmas. But before we went we celebrated Christmas
morning at our home. The kids were
perfection. Squealing with delight at
every little thing. Acting as though
they’d never had orange cinnamon rolls ever before in their lives (a family
Christmas morning favorite!) We opened
presents and joyfully thrashed the house with wrapping paper and new toys and
delight! Since we were going to be on
the road for about 10 days I had started the mountain of laundry just prior to
Christmas. There were clothes strewn out
every which way. I recall thinking how
utterly embarrassing the condition of my home was for such a sweet celebration
but Jason assured me they would never remember that part and we could have the
house spotless for next year. After
enjoying our bounty a few hours longer, we headed down the road. Our first stop
was staying the night at my dad’s parent’s house. We’d rise early the next morning and head to
my mom’s parents house. I was especially
eager for this visit as I was unsure how much precious time we had remaining
with one of the kindest men I knew, my sweet Pepa. He had been diagnosed with cancer and the
treatments were taking their toll. He,
however, is the toughest cookie one could ever come across. A telephone man for 20 plus years, a family
man who never missed a sporting event of any of his three children, and a
grandfather that enjoyed allowing me to be his immediate shadow all my
childhood days. So this was sure to be a
memorable time together.
The Kennedy kids are the most excellent travelers I’ve ever
known. We don’t know how this happened
upon us but we are thrilled. The typical
six hour trek to Tahoka, TX turned into about 9 hours with icy road conditions
and many, MANY bathroom breaks. With
three children under five and a prego wife bathrooms on Christmas day were
startling difficult to come by, but we managed.
When we finally made it we were elated!
There is nothing quite like my Nana & Grandad’s house. There is so much love, peace & joy in
this home. Upon entering you feel as
though you are the most important person in the world. We embraced, we laughed, we told stories and
something extra special that night came up in discussion. We talked about angels and their presence and
if we believe they exist. It was a
wonderful conversation and I commented to Jason how amazing it feels to be
surrounded by the ones that love you the most and talking about a supernatural
and NEAR God with them. I was on cloud
900. I excused myself for a moment as I
was beginning to decline rapidly. I
thought I was just extra tired from the drive.
(FAIR WARNING: TMI is
following. You can easily stop reading
here and skip to the next paragraph!) I
went to the bedroom to begin getting ready for the night. I asked Jason to follow me, as I was quite
uncertain as to why I was suddenly feeling so ill. I went to the restroom and a feeling overcame
me that I will NEVER forget. Sheer
doom. As I was casually telling him I
needed rest I noticed…blood. A lot of
it. Even as I write this tears stream
down my face for the woman in her precious grandma’s bathroom experiencing the
nauseating, daunting, unyielding pain that would ensue. I screamed.
A blood-curdling scream. Jason
came running and I explained through shouts and tears what was going on. At this point I was in the fetal position
screaming “You will LIVE and NOT DIE!
You will LIVE and NOT DIE! You
were made for the land of the living.
You were made to transform nations with your love for Jesus.” And then this startling phrase came out of my
mouth, “No matter what happens I won’t blame you God. I won’t blame you or myself. I won’t give in to self-pity; I won’t waiver
on who you are, on your kindness towards me, on your unwavering goodness. I won’t!
I won’t!” Then I just
wailed. Jason held me and I wept. In my spirit I knew what was happening. I called my parents who were still a couple
hours out from my grandparents. They
calmed me; assured me everything was fine and prayed with me. It calmed me down momentarily but I just had
this feeling in my gut that in fact, no, everything was not fine. In everyone’s sweet attempts to comfort me
they assured me I was probably tired, that actually very normal and healthy
pregnancies can have signs of spotting and that I just needed to rest. Rest I COULD NOT! Once my parents arrived my dad could see my
angst. He drove Jason and I to the local
Tahoka hospital. Hospital is an
overstatement. I felt horrible for
waking doctors in this tiny town on peaceful Christmas night. Nurses greeted me with happy smiles. They all assured me things like this could
happen in normal pregnancies. At that
point I was supposed to be 15 weeks along (on the doctor’s timeline) so they
attempted to hear the fetal heartbeat with the Doppler. Since I had heard the heartbeat before I knew
I was far enough along to pick it up.
Jason paced the room. I stared at
the water stained ceiling. I knew all
we’d hear was radio static. The sound of
static is deafening in a moment like that.
The nurse tried and tried while hot tears streamed down the sides of my
face. The hospital’s ultrasound tech was
on family vacation until the following week so there was no hope of receiving
an ultrasound. Instead, they followed up
the silence with a blood test. We waited
and waited and waited until they came back with enthusiasm that I simply had a
kidney infection. We were immediately
relieved. They couldn’t explain why we
didn’t hear the heartbeat on the Doppler except that “maybe I wasn’t far enough
along yet.” According to the doctor if I
took this antibiotic the spotting would clear up in the next few days. We went home slightly lighter afoot yet I
couldn’t conjure up the assuredness that everyone else seemed to possess. I just knew.
I went home and wrestled with God.
I wasn’t angry. I was just
irrevocably sad. Sadness that came in
crushing waves. Going to bed was a
daunting task. How was I to calm
down? How was I just supposed to fall
asleep after that? But more importantly
I didn’t WANT to go to sleep. You see, I
am a dreamer. I dream all of the time. I dream of Jesus. I dream of heaven. I have the craziest nightmares as well. I have a love/hate relationship with my dream
life. So much of who God is to me has
been revealed to me through some incredible encounters I’ve had with Him
through dreams. This, I know, sounds
crazy. But this night, this one night I
did NOT want to dream for I was certain I would dream of my sweet baby. Sobbing ensues as I write these words. Dreams are a precious gift from God. The good ones at least. Yet, in that moment I felt so vulnerable and
raw and weak that I knew I couldn’t withstand what a dream might mean. But alas, I fell asleep after going through
every promise and prayer of faith I could possibly muster. And the inevitable happened…I had a dream. (Por
su freaking puesto!)
In my dream I found myself walking on a sidewalk that
glittered with the brightest colors.
Specks of the deepest and brightest colors sprinkled the sidewalk. Somehow I entered a room. A room so extravagant it went beyond any home
decorating magazine’s best creation. It
was a white room. There was the most
comfortable-looking furniture and it was all crisp white. There were luxurious and soft blankets on
every piece of furniture and it smelled…it smelled better than ten Anthropologies
combined. There was a calming sound of a
nearby creek or rushing water of some sort.
I couldn’t see it but I could hear it.
As I examined the room I noticed a rocker in the corner of a room and to
my surprise I saw my Granny! [My Granny
passed away when I was six years old.
However I have the most distinct memories of her playing on the floor
with me even though getting around for her was no easy task! She would set up these little green men and
farm animals and allow my imagination to run wild. In her home, you felt tended to, cared for,
believed in and deeply loved. She would
cook all day, serve her family til she was tired to the bone, and she never
ever missed serving her church. The perfect word for her in my recollection of
her was faithfulness. She was tender and
strong. A force to be reckoned with in
the Spirit. She prayed like no
other. And her prayers…they were both
powerful and effective.] So there I
am. In this room I don’t recognize but
feel utterly calm in and I see my Granny with a grin on her face. I know it’s her without a doubt yet she’s
young. Her hair is flowing, her hair is
darker and bright and she looks strong. Her
eyes are closed as though she is taking in this wild moment for all that it’s
worth. She never looks at me just says,
“Shhhhh, it’s okay sweetheart!” I look
the length of her body and with her toe she is gently rocking a cradle. I can only see through the side of the
cradle. There’s a baby inside with the
darkest, shiniest head of curls swaddled in the most luxurious blanket I’d ever
seen. The baby was sleeping. Being rocked ever so gently back and forth by
my sweet Granny. As I lunged forward to
figure out what was going on with this baby a hand touched my shoulder and kept
me from moving. This voice was
indescribable. I know I had heard it
before. Many times thinking I was an
absolute kook for believing I hear voices.
However in this voice there is a peace that’s beyond words, a security
that brings wholeness and a rest and calm that brings absolute truth to the
circumstance. This voice, happy yet not
obnoxious, assured but not pious…it said, “She’s resting in perfect
Peace.” So I stood and watched
and…smiled. My Granny!! Watching over my BABY!!!! Is this the kindest thing I’ve ever known??
I awoke. Jason was
sleeping calmly next to me but not for long as wails from deep, unknown, never
before tapped into cavernous depths of my soul came bubbling out. I wailed and I truly mourned. I heaved.
I couldn’t breathe. I choked. I was heart-broken beyond compare. You see, I understand that dream is
kind. I understand it could’ve just been
a silly dream. I understand when I describe
it, I easily sound like I need medical attention. But to me, in that moment and now as I retell
it, the dream is more real that the sensation of my fingertips on the
keyboard. I didn’t WANT that dream. I didn’t want to know my baby was in
heaven. I wanted her INSIDE OF
ME!!! I wanted to reject the notion that
heaven had something better to offer than what I could offer my sweet
baby. I just wanted her back. I prayed like crazy for the baby within me to
be resurrected. We prayed until we could
pray no more. Hours later when everyone
arose we discussed going to a nearby “big city” to get an ultrasound, just to
get a definitive and clear answer as to what was going on. We were supposed to spend the morning with my
other grandparents and get some quality time with my Pepa and I didn’t want to
miss that for anything. We were going to
leave from there and head for Albuquerque to spend Kennedy Christmas together,
celebrate birthdays, go on a hot air balloon ride, and go skiing etc…there was
so much in store for us. I remember
doing my very best to put aside the grief (that I wasn’t even sure I was
supposed to be feeling! After all, it
was just a “kidney infection”) and tricked myself into thinking everything was
okay and soak in the moments with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and
cousins. We hadn’t all been together in
many years so it was a special time. I tried
my best to conjure up my happy face as I was truly delighted to be there. It was so fulfilling to be with family. However, I would get teary and I recall
someone saying, “Just pray for Ashley, she’s trying to miscarry.” I know exactly what that person meant was
that my body was losing a baby but in the heat of grief normal things people
say just DO NOT RESONATE well. I raged
internally, “I’m not TRYING to miscarry.
I’m not TRYING to have death inside of me. I’m not TRYING to not have a child. I would give my life for my unborn
baby.” It was then I realized that in
pain our sensitivity levels are off the charts, that no words can sustain us,
that no relationship can pull us through…it HAS TO BE God and Him alone. As I sat at my grandmother’s table it was as
though time stood still. Hundreds of
phrases that had come out of MY OWN MOUTH to my suffering and hurting friends
came screaming back at me. They were all
said with the best intentions. And yet,
they were all said with zero understanding.
I expressed empathy for pain but little acknowledgement of true
mourning. Until now I had never known
loss like this. Yes, my great
grandmother passed away when I was six years old but that’s the closest I had
come to death and I was in my 29th year. After lunch my sweet Dad decided to calm my
fears by taking me to the emergency room in Lubbock. We went to mother/baby where they made me pee
in a cup, drew my blood, did the Doppler reading with even more deafening
silence and then transferred me in an ambulance (for insurance reasons) to the
emergency room. All the while tears
streaming down my face for this experience.
Adding insult to injury the rigmarole was just too much to handle. There we received an ultrasound. I have had enough of these to know when it’s
good news and when it’s bad. I did my
best to talk about light-hearted things with my ultrasound tech as I know it
must be so difficult to first see the very thing an expectant mother fears the
most. She gave them the whole medical
jargon about how she wasn’t allowed to tell me either way and how we would have
to wait for the doctor for the results.
My aunt showed up. I wish
everyone could know her. She is the
caretaker of all caretakers. She loves
people right where they’re at…in their highs and in their lows. She sat next to me, my dad held my hand,
Jason held the other while we waited, and waited, and waited. About two hours later our Syrian doctor came
in with a harsh accent. As soon as he
pulled the curtain closed all my fears became a reality. I cried hot tears as I heard him say these
devastating words, “This pregnancy is no good!”
It resounded in my ears with a piercing ring. He explained my options and my dad thanked
him for his time. Jason had tears
streaming down his face as he attempted to hold it together. My dad prayed and my aunt got me some
Valium. Praise God for her,
right!?!? We left that day and I had
never felt so empty. EXCEPT. EXCEPT I had seen this scenario in other
friends lives and I had SEEN GOD do a mighty miracle, even through my very own
prayers. We decided to spend the night
at my grandparents again and leave early the next morning to head back
home. We contacted Jason’s family who
was beyond gracious and understanding.
We were so sad to miss out on Kennedy Christmas. Our kids were devastated to not be with their
cousins. Although I had teared up and
cried around the kids several times I hadn’t fully explained the situation to
them. However, I entered the house and
True ran up to me and said, “The baby is safe now mommy! God said you don’t have to be afraid!” Although a shocking statement coming from my
little boy I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was true despite how I
felt. What a discerning and tender boy
he is. About 30 minutes after that he
came up and pressed his soft cheek against mine and wiped every tear that fell
from my eyes. He said with each tear,
“God is with us. He loves us so much.” Who knew I’d need the counsel of my five year
old in my greatest pain. We spent the day
praying, slept, and left early the next morning. I still wasn’t feeling any cramping or any
pain so it just seemed like another day.
Being the internal processor that I am the drive was very quiet. Jason was so patient. So very, very kind. He prayed, he drove, he prayed more, we
worshipped, we sang silly songs with the kids and we just sat in silence as the
miles went by. I began receiving texts
from my friends that I had asked to begin praying. The floodgates of well-wishes and empathy
were overwhelming. I felt deeply loved
by God for surrounding us with people that love us so deeply no matter what we
have to offer in return. One of my
closest friends texted that she was going to bring dinner over. I broke the silence of the car begging Jason to
call her and not let her come over, as our house was the worst kind of
disaster. As I described before it
looked like tornadic activity had hit ONLY the INSIDE of my home and flung
socks far and wide. I had never left my
house in such a condition and I didn’t want ANYONE else to have to endure
it. I just told Jason to please get her
to not bring dinner over. We could pick
up food on our way into town and once the house got clean we could have friends
over. I kept saying how I just really
wanted the house clean so I could be calm.
(Can I get an amen!? I can’t be
the only woman who feels this way!)
Jason assured me he would take care of it and we rode on in more
silence. Peaceful silence as the Holy
Spirit just comforted us. When we pulled
up to our house I noticed a light on in Haven’s room that I swore I wouldn’t
have left on. As we entered I was
apologizing for the electric bill, haha!
As I walked through the door from the garage, I noticed that the pile of
laundry I had left RIGHT by the garage door was gone and you didn’t have to
hurdle piles of clothes simply to enter.
A few steps more and I noticed that my kitchen was GLEAMING with
cleanliness. A step more and I noticed a
BOUNTY of groceries on my kitchen island and a prepared meal awaiting me from
my friends. Cards full of encouragement
and sympathy were awaiting me from my precious friends. Flowers, my favorite ones in fact, covered my
table. I only got about 10 steps in and
again I was wailing. Not from loss this
time but from overwhelming love. I
didn’t want to unsettle the kids any more than I already had so I moved to my
room where it was also immaculate. One
of my favorite things in my life is a clean bedroom. It’s like next to godliness to me, except
that I rarely have the time and energy to keep it in the shape I so
desire. However, this time, it was
spotless. Every tiny sock, every article
of clothing, every little detail had been tended to, put away perfectly. And then I noticed something different on my
bed. Oh, it was one of those notebook
like pillows I’m obsessed with but could never afford! I had to get close to read it, as my eyes
were so full of tears. It read, “Sweet Baby, Angels are watching over you. Their wings wrap gently around you whispering
you are loved and blessed.” As I read
the words on the pillow I fell to my knees heaving the loudest sobs yet. About ten minutes in I felt a tiny hand upon
my back. Sometime during that, my sweet
daughter Selah had curled up in the fetal position next to me and put her hand
on my back. I could hear her talking but
couldn’t make out what she was saying above my sobs. I quieted myself enough to hear her. She put her hand on the small of my back and
said, “Jesus, please comfort mommy right now.
She needs to know that you’re right here with us. Thank you Jesus that
you are washing us in your love like a warm shower.” Okay.
Stop here for just a second. My
daughter is FOUR. She’s not a
world-renown prophetess, she’s not a pastor of multitudes, but in that moment
she pastored me so incredibly well. Her
sincere, simple prayer of hope and faith lifted me up out of the pit just for
that moment and let me experience the perfect Peace that had been described in
my dream two nights before. What a
profound moment. We went to sleep that
night in awe of the kindness of God, in awe of His goodness for surrounding us
with such amazing comrades, for letting me experience my greatest moment of
pain surrounded by those that love me the most.
We went to bed so incredibly sad yet our hearts weren’t empty, just
indescribably heavy. Another day went by
and I relaxed and laid around. I was
still bleeding and we decided to take it as easy as possible. Friends stopped by to bring us amazing meals,
love on us, and just make themselves available for us. People took our kids out for play dates and
cared for them while we were slightly out of commission. My parents were driving back through on their
way home and they were going to stay the night with us. To say I was relieved to see them again was
an understatement. No one on this earth
can take care of me like my mom can. I
needed her and she was there. About 30
minutes after arriving I was laying on the couch while my brother was sitting
in the chair. (THIS IS ABOUT TO GET GRAPHIC, move along if you don’t want to
read!) I felt a familiar feeling and sat
up and sharply stated to my brother that my water had just broken! He looked at me like a deer in headlights and
said he’d get mom. I giggle now thinking
about what must have been going through his mind. Sorry, Brooks! I wobbled to the bathroom. My bathroom is large but the toilet room is
quite tiny, room for one of course and the walls felt like they were caving in
on me. I had NO IDEA WHAT I WAS ABOUT TO
EXPERIENCE. Again, as I type, I
sob. Why isn’t this topic talked about
more often? Why is this such a hush-hush
topic? Women are dying internally
carrying this experience alone. As I sat
on the toilet my water broke fully and I went into labor. Real.
Labor. With real contractions. No they weren’t delivery room contractions
but they were really close. I kept
telling Jason, “I’m having contractions.
What is going ON!?” My mom came
to the rescue, as Jason CANNOT handle the sight of blood. In both of my deliveries prior I have lost so
much blood that I have required a transfusion for the first and carefully
monitored for the second, so the thought of bleeding in my bathroom was
daunting. There was blood everywhere. I was passing clots. I could tell I was about to pass the
baby. I was weeping knowing …this is so
hard for me to say and describe and I know that for many, it is way too much
information, but I have to say it…I knew I would pass my baby in my
toilet. That was never meant to be. People aren’t supposed to endure things like
this. My mom kept saying, “Don’t look
Ashley! Look away!” But I couldn’t. I needed to see her. I needed to see the life that God put within
me momentarily. I needed to see
her. I needed to. I had to.
There she was. In the midst of
the pain and the blood loss it was only a second, but the most devastating
second of all. I don’t recall flushing
the toilet but I all I can remember is thinking she was gone and that was not
the way it was intended. I continued in
labor or passing the placenta for about another hour more. It was painful. It was incredibly messy. And yet, it was as though all I could think
of was how NICE God is to have my mom there.
Every moment I’d needed her there she was. Jason was tending to my every need. Somehow I knew this experience would bring us
closer than we’d ever been before. I
knew he would grieve. And I knew he
would take the greatest care of me physically and emotionally. What a sweet gift from God in the midst of
such great loss. I love my husband. He is a great man, an incredible spouse, an
attentive listener, a creative genius, a tender servant and an absolutely
fabulous father. We wept for our loss. We grieved our baby no longer being with
us.
That night we felt prompted by the Holy Spirit to name our
child. Our sweet baby girl who now was
resting in the Perfect Peace of heaven.
In perfection. In bliss. Without want, need, lacking nothing. There she is now…in absolute joy and rest. At giddy play without a care, so in love with
her Maker. How could she not be? For he
has knit her together perfectly. We
prayed and cried…oh, how exhausted I was from all the tears! We named our sweet baby Willow. What a beautiful name. I love it so much. I’m so happy she has it.
We took it easy for the next few weeks while friends fed us,
hung out with us and just overall walked with us through our pain. I recall thinking I really needed to
experience the pain not just push it aside as I knew I was so accustomed to
doing. I need to face it head-on and let
God heal my heart step by step. Many
people who have endured similar situations have seemingly marched on like
champs. I know they were grieving but it
didn’t show. I am not one to
compartmentalize. Waves of grief would
come over me over the next weeks and months.
Often times the grief felt like an ocean and I was lost at sea in a vast
expanse of despair. My emotions and
responses were like the wildest of roller coasters. Pregnant friends would complain (quite
innocently I might add!) about their weight or their cravings. This would remind me of my lack once again
and I’d feel swallowed by sadness anew again.
I never understood the sensitivity of miscarriage until I was hearing it
from the other side. But you know what
irked me the most!? Really, really,
REALLY crummy spiritual views that just aren’t true. I understood my friends’ very victory made my
pain and loss feel fresh and brand-new, but that was nothing in comparison to
people skewing the character of God.
Many people would pray things like God willed this to happen in order
for his purposes to come to pass.
Nothing at all about those comments felt remotely calming in my
Spirit. Three years before I had walked
through about a 15-month depression. I
had come out the other side a transformed person with a transformed mind. God is the giver of LIFE! He didn’t kill my baby. After these trials it is impossible for me to
settle for a God any less than GOOD. I
like where I land. God IS the giver of
life and yes, He works ALL THINGS TOGETHER FOR MY GOOD! I can’t bear talking about my kind, doting
and yes, ALMIGHTY, Father like that.
Weeks went by, I’d cry at the littlest things. Someone would say peace and I’d cry. The phrase “She’s wrapped in Perfect Peace”
was like a resounding gong in my head hundreds of times a day. More dreams came. That curly dark hair would dance around with
angels. When I’d begin to feel sorry for
myself for what we were enduring God would remind me that in THIS moment (snap
your finger!) our baby was experiencing more peace, more joy, more love, more
laughter, more security, more hope than she could have in a lifetime with me on
the earth. One day I began processing
the phrase, the Perfect Peace of God. I
asked many questions. Perfect Peace is
only found in his Presence. The Presence
of God is a gift to us through his Holy Spirit.
So I decided for ALL MY DAYS I would remind myself that I am wrapped in
the Perfect Peace of God with the tattoo of a petite bow on my wrist. His Peace, His Presence…it’s a gift…always
available, never lacking anything. These
little steps may seem silly, but for me, they’ve all been a part of my healing
process. I knew I’d land on the kindness
of God because it’s been unmistakable in my lifetime. It’s undeniable in my story. Every single step of the way God’s hand of
kindness has marked my path. My journey
is seared with His Goodness. In loss, he
grieves with me. At my lowest, He’s with
me. He is my closest friend, my most
intimate companion. He is simply not to
blame. He began speaking to me about
restoration shortly after losing Willow.
The thought of ever even TRYING to get pregnant again would send me into
a dizzying tailspin of fear that I have trouble describing. How could I ever, EVER endure something like
this again? Why not adopt? I love adoption! Seriously.
And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that God was asking me to risk
again. Risk loss. Because even if I lost again, He’d be right
there. He’d restore me once again. He’d be with me in the journey. I ignored that prompting for months of course
and went through a season of intensely battling fear. I traveled to Waco to receive some counseling
from dear friends who have been through far worse than I can even blink an eye
at. Their stories of faith, hope,
restoration and eyes set fully on HEAVEN repaired broken places within me. These women are my heroes. What they’ve endured I can’t even
comprehend. And yet, they are so in love
with Jesus it’s kinda intoxicating to be around them. It’s contagious and it’s so insanely
refreshing.
Days turned into weeks turned into months. My time with Jesus was spent mostly in
silence, on my face, waiting for some semblance of comfort and
understanding. Most days I would read
scores of Scriptures on the goodness of God, on the promises of God, on His
nature, His ways. The Bible is so
crazy. Soooooo good it’s crazy. I’m not sure how I’d make it without the word
of God to get me through the roughest of days.
Weeks spent in my pajamas were laced with the same worship songs on
repeat. My poor children were beginning
to BEG for different music. I’m not
being trite or overly churchy in saying this, but worship and the Word truly
helped me overcome. Meeting with Jesus
is the most important piece of advice I have for someone enduring loss. There is no comfort like His, no tenderness
apart from Him. Where else do we take
disappointment other than the Cross?
It’s far too heavy to carry. To
bitter a taste to keep around. And yet,
God’s always willing to take our load and exchange it for extravagance. Man!
I’m enamored with HIM! I wish you
could know Him like this today!
There are so many steps to healing and restoration. Isn’t it in our nature to simply short-circuit
the process? To end the pain? To end the slow scourge of our souls and
satisfy it with something else fleeting?
It’s simply our way. Stop the
bleeding! But instead, in the journey,
if we will choose to stand in the midst of the storm instead of fleeing the
pain we will in fact find that NO amount of sorrow, NO height, NO depth can
remove us from the hot pursuit of a loving Father. He’s relentlessly kind. He’s overwhelmingly patient. And He will restore our souls.
Update: Today, I
should’ve had a baby. I should’ve gone
to the hospital this very day. Kicked my
midwife in the face (a funny story from Haven’s delivery) and pushed out a
beautiful baby girl. Instead, when I
worshiped through tears at church this morning I thanked Jesus for the journey
and I thanked God for being so tender with me and I rejoiced that my baby girl,
sweet Willow, danced in Heaven with the angels lacking absolutely nothing and
knowing only complete and total JOY!
I know many of you reading this have endured far, far more
than what I have recorded here in my trial.
Thank you for going before me with such strength. I couldn’t have made it through my journey without
seeing you focused on the perfect Providence of God. Thank you.
Thank you also for taking the time to read. I would love to answer any questions that
anyone may have regarding loss or grief, although I warn you, I know very
little. Thank you to all my family and
friends for keeping me in your prayers through these last six months. I am absolutely thrilled for the adventure in
store for our family. Thankful beyond
thankfulness for the absolute restoration that continues to be revealed to me.
