I've been on a real cleaning and organizing kick lately. I kind of neglected a lot of housework over the last month or so since I was dealing with the miscarriage, so I've been playing catch-up. It's a lot of work, but the sights of freshly vacuumed carpet, an organized closet, and a squeaky clean bathtub have reinforced me enough to keep going.
But I've neglected the most important "house" for a long time. For the last six months or more, I've prayed for others, spent long hours listening to worship and having conversations with God, and have begun teaching my young son how to praise God and talk to him as well. But I've avoided the really deep stuff. I'm ashamed to say I've barely cracked my Bible open for all that time, except at church or at a group setting where we're studying and discussing Scriptures. I'm relieved to see that God has still used me during this time to bless others; I've helped counsel others and have laid hands on friends to pray for healing, but I never really did try to build myself up.
I'll be even more honest and say that my depression is back. I've struggled with it on and off for several years, and as expected I still feel sadness about this last miscarriage to the point where I hate leaving the house and have reverted back to wearing sweat pants all day, something I swore I would never do again! My husband saw how sad I was today and asked me to do him a favor. He asked me to read my Bible and remember who God is.
I complied even though the request scared me a little. In a way I was afraid of opening the floodgates of emotion even further, and maybe I would never stop crying. And worse, I had the fleeting (and ultimately ridiculous) thought that maybe God wouldn't take me back. I could almost hear Him say, "I showed up for our time together every day, where were you??" Despite my nervousness I retrieved my Bible and journal and without much forethought turned to Psalm 86. And decided that no matter what, I would "clean house" within my own spirit this time.
I read the entire Psalm, but decided to focus on one verse a day until I had dissected all 17 verses. The first part of the psalm is more centered on the situation rather than the character of God, and really, isn't that how a lot of our own prayers start? We recount every detail about why we're hurting or scared, ask God what we should do or how He's going to help us, and THEN maybe we get around to recalling His loving and perfect attributes and what He's done for us already. At least, that's always been MY problem!
Despite this, I still learned a lot just from the first verse, which reads, "Incline Your ear, O Lord, and answer me; for I am afflicted and needy." Yep, that about sums up my daily prayers right now. What hit me was the very first word, "Incline." We normally use that as an adjective, like when we say someone is "inclined" to do something. I only really see it used as a verb once in awhile, and usually in the Bible. Using it as a verb is wonderful in this case though. Here, the psalmist (David) was asking God not only to turn His ear toward him, but to make it a tendency, a habit, something common and pertaining to His nature. And that's what God does! You know how a lot of times we ask God to do something that we already know He does because it's part of His nature (like love us, minister to us, heal us, etc.), but doing so just strengthens our own faith and praises Him for being the way He is? I think that's what David was doing here. Almost as if he sent up this prayer if only to remind himself that God's ear was already inclined toward him, and had been the whole time. Thank You, Lord!
Next, the word "afflicted" hit me. I think when the word "affliction" is used it should mean an actual disease or some other condition we can't help having, can't control, and can't heal on our own. Not just a sin we struggle with, but an actual circumstance that has really thrown us and there's no way we can get through it without His intervening. Yep, that's where I am now. I have (at times) a very intense sadness about what I've lost, as well as a fear that something is wrong with my body and that's why I've had multiple miscarriages. I feel afflicted, and honestly can't see a way out of this that doesn't involve leaning on God and depending on Him for His help.
Which leads me to the word "needy." Kind of goes hand-in-hand with "afflicted." When we're afflicted, we realize our ultimate need for God. We can't cure this affliction alone, and sometimes even other humans can't help. Now, God can use my doctor to figure out if there's anything wrong with me physically, and he might even be able to find a way to help me so we can have a healthy pregnancy next time, and that would be amazing. But if I don't recognize that only God can fill that need inside of me, I really think the depression and fear would remain. Let's face it, even when times are great, we can still think of what could go wrong and keep ourselves from fully enjoying our lives. And if my worst fear is realized, and we can't have any more children, God is the only One who can truly comfort me and tell me He still has good plans ahead for me.
And that's basically what He told me today when I repeated the prayer in verse 1 and asked Him to answer me. Part of me wanted Him to take my sadness and fear away instantaneously, and to also give me a guarantee that all other attempts at having children in the future would go off without a hitch. But He reminded me that He doesn't always answer that way. Today He told me He hurts right along with me. He doesn't want me to be sad, but He also gently reminded me that I can use the sadness and fear to draw closer to Him and dwell in His presence. Because if I'm truly dwelling in His presence, there's no room for fear anymore. I want to get to that place where even when everything is uncertain (or worse, going horribly), I can still have peace and joy in Him. And I think that's what "cleaning house" is all about. Time to clear out the clutter and fix up a wonderful place for God and me to dwell together. And, verse by verse, I hope that Psalm 86 (along with the rest of His Word) will teach me how to do that.
May 17, 2012
April 23, 2012
Your ways are still higher than mine.
Thursday, April 12 ~
It feels odd writing about what's been happening over the last few weeks, only because as I type out this opening sentence, I still don't know how it's all going to end. But I feel an urging within me to begin this story anyway, and I trust that God will give me the words to finish it once He reveals the ending to me.
Toward the end of March, I began experiencing symptoms that just screamed "you're pregnant!" I was tired, more tired than I remembered being with any previous pregnancy, and just a bit nauseous in the mornings. I had no energy and started crying at commercials on TV. So I took a pregnancy test on March 19, and it was negative. I was disappointed but knew that this situation was all in God's hands. That was a Monday. By Friday I felt the same, if not worse, and by then my monthly visitor was more than just fashionably late. So as soon as Caleb woke up from his nap, I gave him a snack and we ran out for another pregnancy test (and yeah, we got milk and bananas too. I'm not a complete psychopath!). I waited until Caleb went to bed to take it, and it came out positive. I actually yelled out "I KNEW it!!!" and sent a picture of the test to Randall, who was at the house of prayer that night and wouldn't be home till late. We were both excited, but undeniably nervous since the pain of our last miscarriage was still very fresh.
I finally got the nerve to call the doctor's office the following Monday afternoon. I considered holding off for a week or so, just to postpone the inevitable string of blood tests and the nerve-wracking waiting by the phone. But I decided to trust God and start the whole process then, just in case. I was glad I did; my progesterone was low just like it had been with Caleb. A quick (although expensive) trip to the pharmacy remedied that, but I ended up bursting into tears on the way home. I was just so scared that this pregnancy wouldn't stick. It was encouraging that my levels of HcG were right where they needed to be, and doubled steadily over the next couple of weeks.
Finally my doctor said the "U" word. Ultrasound. Let me just say that I have more bad memories attached to ultrasounds than good ones. I have two wonderful ultrasound memories from my pregnancy with Caleb; the one we had at 8 weeks when we finally saw his tiny little form and I could breathe again, and the really exciting one later on where we found out his gender and I realized that he was not only healthy, but was actually going to be OURS when he was born. However, for the most part, even just being around the ultrasound equipment makes me nervous. Just makes me remember all the times I've had ultrasounds and they haven't gone so well. I had reminded the nurse this time around that with previous pregnancies, we never saw anything at 6 weeks, and that it would be better to wait until 8 weeks. She must have taken me seriously because we scheduled the ultrasound when I was technically 7 weeks and 5 days. Surely we'd see something by then.
I was a wreck that Tuesday morning. It was April 10 and a beautiful sunny day. I had barely slept the night before and all that anxiety wasn't helping the nausea that was already there. Caleb and I met Randall at the doctor's office and we all sat in the waiting room. All the while, I prayed for certainty. Of course, I pleaded with God to let my baby be okay, but I also wanted to know for sure either way. No what-if's or maybe's. Finally my name was called and we went on back.
They do the ultrasounds in the same wing as diagnostics, and Caleb ran right to one of the rooms where they had done all my blood tests; the path involved a few twists and turns, but he remembered where everything was. I remember that it both amused and saddened me that my two-year-old knew his way around back there. Between this pregnancy and the baby we lost last fall, Caleb had tagged along with me on most of my appointments. He seemed excited that today we were going to the fun dark room with the TV screen instead of the boring one where he has to sit still while my arm gets poked with a needle!
Once I was ready for the ultrasound, the tech glanced at my records and sympathetically commented, "I guess this is a pretty nerve-wracking appointment for you." I admitted that it was, and she said "Well, I won't keep you waiting, let's get to it!" I was so thankful that she was so no-nonsense yet caring at the same time. I stared at the screen and strained my eyes for any evidence of a baby.
All I saw was the sac, filled with black. Just like before. I kept quiet, though, hoping maybe I was missing something. After all, I'm not the professional here. And in the back of my mind, something else looked strange up there on the screen, but I was so focused on looking for signs of life I didn't immediately realize what was so different about this ultrasound. It was only when the tech asked if we had done in-vitro fertilization when I realized what was different.
There were three separate sacs.
And no, I told her, we hadn't had any in-vitro done. I was tempted to add, my problem isn't getting pregnant, it's staying pregnant.
I felt like two different realities were hitting me at once. One, this pregnancy didn't look promising, and two, it was possible that I had just lost triplets. I started crying and the tech took pity on me. She told me there was no way of knowing if three separate embryos were really in there. But something in me snapped when I saw those three sacs. I started to think in terms of "babies" and not just "baby." To me, each sac was an opportunity for life, and based on that ultrasound, none of the three had worked out. The picture of it still haunts me a little.
She finished the exam and told me I could get dressed again. Once I was done she informed me that my doctor was on call at the hospital that morning, but I could either see someone else, or else just wait for him to call me later. We opted for the phone call; I felt that my doctor knew more about my history, plus I just wanted to get out of there.
I drove home in a blur. Randall stopped by the office to let his boss know what was going on, and to take some work home with him. He stayed at home with us for the rest of the day. I felt numb and didn't really cry again. Part of me was making peace with the fact that I had possibly three more children in Heaven (and I was praying all the while that if I was mistaken with the number, that God would reveal to me how many there had been).
My doctor called me late that afternoon. I was all prepared to ask him if I could get some tests done since this was my third miscarriage and I wanted to know if we could prevent any more from happening. Plus I was more than curious about why (and HOW) my body had managed to release three eggs at once; the tech had said that the sacs were so well-formed they looked as though they each came from a separate egg, and multiples like that are pretty much unheard of in my family. But the doctor caught me off guard before I could ask him anything. He told me, yes, my ultrasound looked troubling, but just in case we were off on the dates, he wanted me to stay on the progesterone and get another ultrasound the following week. I was almost angry at first; why was he making me drag this out? I told him that I was under the impression that the pregnancy had failed based on the ultrasound and what the tech had said. He said he wasn't totally encouraged by the ultrasound either, but my HcG levels were high, where they needed to be, and the sacs looked well-formed. And, after all, based on the timings of my other pregnancies, I tend to ovulate later than what is average, so maybe I wasn't as far along as we thought. He admitted most doctors would probably just pull the plug now, but it was just his personality to rule everything out to make sure. I relaxed and said okay.
I told Randall, and he appeared to be as annoyed as I was. Maybe "annoyed" isn't a good word, but I think he could tell that I had already been trying to move on and he didn't like that the doctor was asking me to hold off on that. I asked Randall what he thought of all this, and he said he felt that the ultrasound looked correct, but if he was wrong and there was still life inside of me, he of course would be ecstatic.
So this is where I am. I am still four days away from my next scheduled ultrasound. Teetering between a seemingly-unreal fantasy world where God intervenes and I am a mother of triplets, and an admittedly more realistic vision of mourning another loss. Should I believe that God released three eggs to ensure that at least one baby would survive, or should I believe that He's allowing me to experience my biggest loss yet in order to teach me something? Do I pray for a miracle, or do I pray for the strength to endure yet another miscarriage? Should I see this delay as simply a time for prayer and reflection to better prepare myself for the bad news to come, or do I dare hope that God allowed the delay in order to give the babies more time to grow and become visible on the ultrasound?
I have no idea.
All I know is I'm praying for ALL OF IT. I believe in miracles (and have seen some take place firsthand), but first and foremost I believe in God. I believe He knows what's best for me and even if I may never understand it, I will trust Him and in His love. I believe He will intervene in a way that is best for me and our little family, and that this divine intervention may not result in a full-term pregnancy this time.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've had the words "CHOOSE PEACE" written on my bathroom mirror in dry erase marker. And they're still up there. Choosing peace is something I've had to do more of lately, sometimes on a minute-by-minute basis. And however this all turns out, I pray that I will still choose peace.
April 18, 2012 ~
It's almost 1 a.m. and I just can't sleep. Our second (and final) ultrasound was almost two days ago and my mind refuses to shut down. I prayed for a miracle up until the very last second, but God had other plans. What we saw on the screen was very much like what we had seen the week before; three empty, though slightly larger, sacs. I barely cried this time. My most immediate reaction was anger, but that passed relatively quickly. The ultrasound tech said my doctor was on call again, but wanted to see me that afternoon. I didn't relish the thought of coming back when all I wanted to do was go home and lay down for the rest of the day, but I figured I'd just get it over with.
Since my appointment was during Caleb's naptime, my in-laws offered to stay at the house with him. Randall picked me up and we went together. Fortunately there were no pregnant ladies in the waiting room, but I couldn't help but be annoyed that when the nurse called me back, she seemed to be in the dark about my situation. She knew my pregnancy was ending, but still weighed me, took my blood pressure and temperature, made me pee in a cup....I wanted to say "Seriously??" I know she was doing all that just in case my doctor thought it was necessary, but I found the whole thing was stupid. It did help that she was very sympathetic about the whole thing. Then a different nurse called us back to an exam room, and instructed me to prepare for an actual exam "just in case" the doctor needed to look me over (ladies, you know what this entails). I think this time I actually said "Really?" out loud because I seriously doubted my doctor wanted to do an exam. Last time all he wanted to do was talk with me. But I complied.
Turns out I was right. My doctor came in and all he wanted to do was talk it out. He told me he was sorry. He also said he saw no reason why we couldn't let nature take its course, since the largest sac was no larger than a thumbnail. I was thankful for that; while it's a painful experience, I would rather miscarry at home than get a D and C. He also tried to comfort me by saying there was no way of knowing if this pregnancy would have resulted in triplets. And I know he's right, but I did say it FELT like I had lost triplets. I think in a way he understood. We agreed that I would call him in a couple of weeks to update him on my situation. I was glad I didn't have to schedule a follow-up appointment right then; it seemed pointless to come back until I had actually gone through the miscarriage process.
So here I am. I feel like I'm handling this miscarriage a little better emotionally, but it still sucks. And I'm wondering if the extra sacs I'm carrying have anything to do with the increased amount of nausea and fatigue I've been battling in the last week. I never remember feeling this bad with my other pregnancies. And now I'm playing the all-too-familiar waiting game while my body figures out what to do and I can move on a little more. But I'm trying SO hard to be thankful anyway.
It's crossed my mind more than once since that ultrasound that I didn't get the miracle I prayed for. But then I look at my beautiful two-year-old son and realize how much of a miracle he really is. We conceived him a month after our first miscarriage; he wasn't planned and the beginning of my pregnancy with him was very hard for me. The first ultrasound I had with him was very much like the early ultrasounds of my other pregnancies (very unclear and scary), so really things could have gone the same way. But I know God wanted him to be born. Caleb is a walking testimony of how faithful God really is. And I know there are other testimonies of this faithfulness in Heaven with Him now; they're my babies whom I've carried but never held. I won't ever fully understand why they weren't destined for life here on earth with me, but I'll rest in knowing that we'll be together again one day.
It feels odd writing about what's been happening over the last few weeks, only because as I type out this opening sentence, I still don't know how it's all going to end. But I feel an urging within me to begin this story anyway, and I trust that God will give me the words to finish it once He reveals the ending to me.
Toward the end of March, I began experiencing symptoms that just screamed "you're pregnant!" I was tired, more tired than I remembered being with any previous pregnancy, and just a bit nauseous in the mornings. I had no energy and started crying at commercials on TV. So I took a pregnancy test on March 19, and it was negative. I was disappointed but knew that this situation was all in God's hands. That was a Monday. By Friday I felt the same, if not worse, and by then my monthly visitor was more than just fashionably late. So as soon as Caleb woke up from his nap, I gave him a snack and we ran out for another pregnancy test (and yeah, we got milk and bananas too. I'm not a complete psychopath!). I waited until Caleb went to bed to take it, and it came out positive. I actually yelled out "I KNEW it!!!" and sent a picture of the test to Randall, who was at the house of prayer that night and wouldn't be home till late. We were both excited, but undeniably nervous since the pain of our last miscarriage was still very fresh.
I finally got the nerve to call the doctor's office the following Monday afternoon. I considered holding off for a week or so, just to postpone the inevitable string of blood tests and the nerve-wracking waiting by the phone. But I decided to trust God and start the whole process then, just in case. I was glad I did; my progesterone was low just like it had been with Caleb. A quick (although expensive) trip to the pharmacy remedied that, but I ended up bursting into tears on the way home. I was just so scared that this pregnancy wouldn't stick. It was encouraging that my levels of HcG were right where they needed to be, and doubled steadily over the next couple of weeks.
Finally my doctor said the "U" word. Ultrasound. Let me just say that I have more bad memories attached to ultrasounds than good ones. I have two wonderful ultrasound memories from my pregnancy with Caleb; the one we had at 8 weeks when we finally saw his tiny little form and I could breathe again, and the really exciting one later on where we found out his gender and I realized that he was not only healthy, but was actually going to be OURS when he was born. However, for the most part, even just being around the ultrasound equipment makes me nervous. Just makes me remember all the times I've had ultrasounds and they haven't gone so well. I had reminded the nurse this time around that with previous pregnancies, we never saw anything at 6 weeks, and that it would be better to wait until 8 weeks. She must have taken me seriously because we scheduled the ultrasound when I was technically 7 weeks and 5 days. Surely we'd see something by then.
I was a wreck that Tuesday morning. It was April 10 and a beautiful sunny day. I had barely slept the night before and all that anxiety wasn't helping the nausea that was already there. Caleb and I met Randall at the doctor's office and we all sat in the waiting room. All the while, I prayed for certainty. Of course, I pleaded with God to let my baby be okay, but I also wanted to know for sure either way. No what-if's or maybe's. Finally my name was called and we went on back.
They do the ultrasounds in the same wing as diagnostics, and Caleb ran right to one of the rooms where they had done all my blood tests; the path involved a few twists and turns, but he remembered where everything was. I remember that it both amused and saddened me that my two-year-old knew his way around back there. Between this pregnancy and the baby we lost last fall, Caleb had tagged along with me on most of my appointments. He seemed excited that today we were going to the fun dark room with the TV screen instead of the boring one where he has to sit still while my arm gets poked with a needle!
Once I was ready for the ultrasound, the tech glanced at my records and sympathetically commented, "I guess this is a pretty nerve-wracking appointment for you." I admitted that it was, and she said "Well, I won't keep you waiting, let's get to it!" I was so thankful that she was so no-nonsense yet caring at the same time. I stared at the screen and strained my eyes for any evidence of a baby.
All I saw was the sac, filled with black. Just like before. I kept quiet, though, hoping maybe I was missing something. After all, I'm not the professional here. And in the back of my mind, something else looked strange up there on the screen, but I was so focused on looking for signs of life I didn't immediately realize what was so different about this ultrasound. It was only when the tech asked if we had done in-vitro fertilization when I realized what was different.
There were three separate sacs.
And no, I told her, we hadn't had any in-vitro done. I was tempted to add, my problem isn't getting pregnant, it's staying pregnant.
I felt like two different realities were hitting me at once. One, this pregnancy didn't look promising, and two, it was possible that I had just lost triplets. I started crying and the tech took pity on me. She told me there was no way of knowing if three separate embryos were really in there. But something in me snapped when I saw those three sacs. I started to think in terms of "babies" and not just "baby." To me, each sac was an opportunity for life, and based on that ultrasound, none of the three had worked out. The picture of it still haunts me a little.
She finished the exam and told me I could get dressed again. Once I was done she informed me that my doctor was on call at the hospital that morning, but I could either see someone else, or else just wait for him to call me later. We opted for the phone call; I felt that my doctor knew more about my history, plus I just wanted to get out of there.
I drove home in a blur. Randall stopped by the office to let his boss know what was going on, and to take some work home with him. He stayed at home with us for the rest of the day. I felt numb and didn't really cry again. Part of me was making peace with the fact that I had possibly three more children in Heaven (and I was praying all the while that if I was mistaken with the number, that God would reveal to me how many there had been).
My doctor called me late that afternoon. I was all prepared to ask him if I could get some tests done since this was my third miscarriage and I wanted to know if we could prevent any more from happening. Plus I was more than curious about why (and HOW) my body had managed to release three eggs at once; the tech had said that the sacs were so well-formed they looked as though they each came from a separate egg, and multiples like that are pretty much unheard of in my family. But the doctor caught me off guard before I could ask him anything. He told me, yes, my ultrasound looked troubling, but just in case we were off on the dates, he wanted me to stay on the progesterone and get another ultrasound the following week. I was almost angry at first; why was he making me drag this out? I told him that I was under the impression that the pregnancy had failed based on the ultrasound and what the tech had said. He said he wasn't totally encouraged by the ultrasound either, but my HcG levels were high, where they needed to be, and the sacs looked well-formed. And, after all, based on the timings of my other pregnancies, I tend to ovulate later than what is average, so maybe I wasn't as far along as we thought. He admitted most doctors would probably just pull the plug now, but it was just his personality to rule everything out to make sure. I relaxed and said okay.
I told Randall, and he appeared to be as annoyed as I was. Maybe "annoyed" isn't a good word, but I think he could tell that I had already been trying to move on and he didn't like that the doctor was asking me to hold off on that. I asked Randall what he thought of all this, and he said he felt that the ultrasound looked correct, but if he was wrong and there was still life inside of me, he of course would be ecstatic.
So this is where I am. I am still four days away from my next scheduled ultrasound. Teetering between a seemingly-unreal fantasy world where God intervenes and I am a mother of triplets, and an admittedly more realistic vision of mourning another loss. Should I believe that God released three eggs to ensure that at least one baby would survive, or should I believe that He's allowing me to experience my biggest loss yet in order to teach me something? Do I pray for a miracle, or do I pray for the strength to endure yet another miscarriage? Should I see this delay as simply a time for prayer and reflection to better prepare myself for the bad news to come, or do I dare hope that God allowed the delay in order to give the babies more time to grow and become visible on the ultrasound?
I have no idea.
All I know is I'm praying for ALL OF IT. I believe in miracles (and have seen some take place firsthand), but first and foremost I believe in God. I believe He knows what's best for me and even if I may never understand it, I will trust Him and in His love. I believe He will intervene in a way that is best for me and our little family, and that this divine intervention may not result in a full-term pregnancy this time.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've had the words "CHOOSE PEACE" written on my bathroom mirror in dry erase marker. And they're still up there. Choosing peace is something I've had to do more of lately, sometimes on a minute-by-minute basis. And however this all turns out, I pray that I will still choose peace.
April 18, 2012 ~
It's almost 1 a.m. and I just can't sleep. Our second (and final) ultrasound was almost two days ago and my mind refuses to shut down. I prayed for a miracle up until the very last second, but God had other plans. What we saw on the screen was very much like what we had seen the week before; three empty, though slightly larger, sacs. I barely cried this time. My most immediate reaction was anger, but that passed relatively quickly. The ultrasound tech said my doctor was on call again, but wanted to see me that afternoon. I didn't relish the thought of coming back when all I wanted to do was go home and lay down for the rest of the day, but I figured I'd just get it over with.
Since my appointment was during Caleb's naptime, my in-laws offered to stay at the house with him. Randall picked me up and we went together. Fortunately there were no pregnant ladies in the waiting room, but I couldn't help but be annoyed that when the nurse called me back, she seemed to be in the dark about my situation. She knew my pregnancy was ending, but still weighed me, took my blood pressure and temperature, made me pee in a cup....I wanted to say "Seriously??" I know she was doing all that just in case my doctor thought it was necessary, but I found the whole thing was stupid. It did help that she was very sympathetic about the whole thing. Then a different nurse called us back to an exam room, and instructed me to prepare for an actual exam "just in case" the doctor needed to look me over (ladies, you know what this entails). I think this time I actually said "Really?" out loud because I seriously doubted my doctor wanted to do an exam. Last time all he wanted to do was talk with me. But I complied.
Turns out I was right. My doctor came in and all he wanted to do was talk it out. He told me he was sorry. He also said he saw no reason why we couldn't let nature take its course, since the largest sac was no larger than a thumbnail. I was thankful for that; while it's a painful experience, I would rather miscarry at home than get a D and C. He also tried to comfort me by saying there was no way of knowing if this pregnancy would have resulted in triplets. And I know he's right, but I did say it FELT like I had lost triplets. I think in a way he understood. We agreed that I would call him in a couple of weeks to update him on my situation. I was glad I didn't have to schedule a follow-up appointment right then; it seemed pointless to come back until I had actually gone through the miscarriage process.
So here I am. I feel like I'm handling this miscarriage a little better emotionally, but it still sucks. And I'm wondering if the extra sacs I'm carrying have anything to do with the increased amount of nausea and fatigue I've been battling in the last week. I never remember feeling this bad with my other pregnancies. And now I'm playing the all-too-familiar waiting game while my body figures out what to do and I can move on a little more. But I'm trying SO hard to be thankful anyway.
It's crossed my mind more than once since that ultrasound that I didn't get the miracle I prayed for. But then I look at my beautiful two-year-old son and realize how much of a miracle he really is. We conceived him a month after our first miscarriage; he wasn't planned and the beginning of my pregnancy with him was very hard for me. The first ultrasound I had with him was very much like the early ultrasounds of my other pregnancies (very unclear and scary), so really things could have gone the same way. But I know God wanted him to be born. Caleb is a walking testimony of how faithful God really is. And I know there are other testimonies of this faithfulness in Heaven with Him now; they're my babies whom I've carried but never held. I won't ever fully understand why they weren't destined for life here on earth with me, but I'll rest in knowing that we'll be together again one day.
March 1, 2012
a lonely ray of hope
Lately the lyric "A lonely ray of hope is all that you need to see a beautiful history" has been running through my mind almost constantly. It's from the song "Beautiful History" by Plumb, and it always encourages me. Today I was reading over a couple chapters of Song of Solomon, mostly because I haven't read my Bible in awhile and I just needed some reminding of how much God loves and pursues me. I found myself reading only the Bridegroom's words, and somehow they combined with that song lyric to create this:
The black and red swirly "mess" represents all the junk trying to take over my life. The worldly trials and temptations, as well as painful emotions that overwhelm me at times. Really just anything and everything that tries to prevent me from remembering my true identity in Christ.
The multicolored light in the upper-right corner is that "lonely ray of hope," the illumination provided by the Holy Spirit to shed light on my "beautiful history." Like anyone's history, mine is complex and full of different words and pictures. Today, however, all I saw with this illumination were these words from Song of Solomon that God speaks over me constantly (and that I often let myself forget in the midst of all the black, swirly junk).
It was so hard for me to transfer this image from my mind to my journal with colored pencils and ink. I hope God allows it to bless you as it has blessed me. :o)
The black and red swirly "mess" represents all the junk trying to take over my life. The worldly trials and temptations, as well as painful emotions that overwhelm me at times. Really just anything and everything that tries to prevent me from remembering my true identity in Christ.
The multicolored light in the upper-right corner is that "lonely ray of hope," the illumination provided by the Holy Spirit to shed light on my "beautiful history." Like anyone's history, mine is complex and full of different words and pictures. Today, however, all I saw with this illumination were these words from Song of Solomon that God speaks over me constantly (and that I often let myself forget in the midst of all the black, swirly junk).
It was so hard for me to transfer this image from my mind to my journal with colored pencils and ink. I hope God allows it to bless you as it has blessed me. :o)
February 6, 2012
guest post
Today I'm guest posting over at Hidden Treasures on the subject of miscarriage. The blog's author, Angela, felt led to do a series on this painful yet faith-strengthening experience, and in turn I felt led to share my story. Even if you haven't been through a miscarriage, this series would be a helpful read if only to better understand how to help those who have. Either way you may want to keep the Kleenex handy. God Bless! :o)
January 18, 2012
growing through pain
I felt led to share one of my first attempts at prophetic art, although it's extremely out of my comfort zone to do so. This painting represents the pain and depression I went through after I experienced my second miscarriage a few months ago. The pain I felt was not only physical, but emotional too, and in many way it was much more intense than my first miscarriage back in 2009.
The Lord brought me healing as I painted, showing me that although I'm planted on fertile soil, sometimes He allows pain and disappointment to come into my life in order to draw me closer to Him (and for other reasons He hasn't revealed to me yet, and perhaps never will in this life). And the end result is something stronger, more beautiful, and more radiant than ever before.
The thing is, I don't see myself this way. But He does. And He sees all of His children this way, no matter what horrible experiences we've been through. I feel like He wants me to share it since everyone can relate to having painful experiences they can't explain. It IS possible to grow through pain.
December 9, 2011
never lose the wonder.
I confess, I've been neglecting this blog. Really, I've been neglecting my time with Him. It seems so much easier to go about my day and keep myself busy with projects rather than turn to the only One who can offer healing. With each day, He offers me new mercies anyway, and reveals Himself in ways I never expect. I feel so unworthy, but He sees me as gold.
Let me share something with you that He has taught me this week. My almost two-year-old son recently learned the word "Almighty" from listening to a Third Day worship song. My husband and I were impressed, and immediately encouraged him to also say "Jesus." Let me tell you, whenever my son says the name of Jesus, his face lights up. His countenance changes and it's like he KNOWS he's talking about Someone who's just wonderful. Even though he's young and still doesn't have all of the knowledge yet, I really think God has already placed the wonder of all that He is in my toddler's heart.
It reminds me of that scene in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe when the Pevensie children have all entered Narnia and are sitting down with the Beavers. Mr. Beaver tells them that Aslan is on the move, and immediately the atmosphere in the room seems to change.
"And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. Perhaps it has sometimes happened to you in a dream that someone says something which you don't understand but in the dream it feels as if it had some enormous meaning -- either a terrifying one which turns the whole dream into a nightmare or else a lovely meaning too lovely to put into words, which makes the dream so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in its inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer."
I have to confess, this is one of my favorite passages in the whole Narnia series. And the movie adaptation does a great job at conveying what C.S. Lewis was describing here. At the name of Aslan, you see the expressions of the children's faces drastically change, as if they had just heard something very profound and life-changing, and each of them conveying it in a different way.
It might be a stretch, but when I see my young son's face light up when he speaks the name of Jesus, I like to think that perhaps he is also feeling as if a delightful strain of music is floating by. Or maybe he's feeling more brave and adventurous. Or maybe he's feeling something totally unique that he couldn't describe even if he had the ability to tell me. I'm just excited that he's already open to the wonder of all that Jesus is. And when he's old enough to learn about how Jesus walked the earth and died for our sins so that he could have a relationship with Him for all eternity, I'm hoping it'll just be more pieces to the puzzle snapping into place. How amazing that will be.
I hate to admit it, but it turns out you can learn something from your kid. Am I allowing the wonder of Jesus into my life? I want to get to the point where even the mention of his name changes my face as well as the atmosphere in the room. Thank You Lord for teaching me and loving me even when I don't find the time to crack open my Bible. Show me more of Your wonder.
Let me share something with you that He has taught me this week. My almost two-year-old son recently learned the word "Almighty" from listening to a Third Day worship song. My husband and I were impressed, and immediately encouraged him to also say "Jesus." Let me tell you, whenever my son says the name of Jesus, his face lights up. His countenance changes and it's like he KNOWS he's talking about Someone who's just wonderful. Even though he's young and still doesn't have all of the knowledge yet, I really think God has already placed the wonder of all that He is in my toddler's heart.
It reminds me of that scene in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe when the Pevensie children have all entered Narnia and are sitting down with the Beavers. Mr. Beaver tells them that Aslan is on the move, and immediately the atmosphere in the room seems to change.
"And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. Perhaps it has sometimes happened to you in a dream that someone says something which you don't understand but in the dream it feels as if it had some enormous meaning -- either a terrifying one which turns the whole dream into a nightmare or else a lovely meaning too lovely to put into words, which makes the dream so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in its inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer."
I have to confess, this is one of my favorite passages in the whole Narnia series. And the movie adaptation does a great job at conveying what C.S. Lewis was describing here. At the name of Aslan, you see the expressions of the children's faces drastically change, as if they had just heard something very profound and life-changing, and each of them conveying it in a different way.
It might be a stretch, but when I see my young son's face light up when he speaks the name of Jesus, I like to think that perhaps he is also feeling as if a delightful strain of music is floating by. Or maybe he's feeling more brave and adventurous. Or maybe he's feeling something totally unique that he couldn't describe even if he had the ability to tell me. I'm just excited that he's already open to the wonder of all that Jesus is. And when he's old enough to learn about how Jesus walked the earth and died for our sins so that he could have a relationship with Him for all eternity, I'm hoping it'll just be more pieces to the puzzle snapping into place. How amazing that will be.
I hate to admit it, but it turns out you can learn something from your kid. Am I allowing the wonder of Jesus into my life? I want to get to the point where even the mention of his name changes my face as well as the atmosphere in the room. Thank You Lord for teaching me and loving me even when I don't find the time to crack open my Bible. Show me more of Your wonder.
November 13, 2011
Your ways are higher than mine.
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Isaiah 55:8-9
I haven't even attempted to write a blog post in at least a month; the events during that time have been difficult, but it's time I started sharing what the Lord has revealed to me.
On September 24 of this year, I found out I was pregnant. I found out very early, and only took a pregnancy test because I felt an urging to do so. What followed were four blood tests and a confusing ultrasound. My levels were where they needed to be, and I knew without a doubt I was six weeks along at this first ultrasound, but we didn't see anything but a black hole. I was worried, but my husband gently reminded me that this is what happened with our son. And while it was troubling and disappointing not being able to see our baby on the screen, I held on to that memory and believed in my heart that if we gave it another couple of weeks, everything would turn out as it had before; we would see our baby and its fluttering heartbeat, and know that God had truly blessed us with a miracle once again.
The date of my second ultrasound was October 20. It was a crisp, cloudless morning, and my husband and I were planning on going out of town for a much-needed vacation that weekend, so I was excited yet nervous as I buckled our son into his carseat and started toward the doctor's office to meet Randall. About a minute into the trip, a familiar song came on the radio. You may remember from a past post that this song brought me great comfort during the two weeks of uncertainty of my pregnancy with our son. It speaks about being carried by God and placing our hope in Him even in the midst of a storm. The song is a few years old, and I don't hear it on the radio all that often anymore. I couldn't help but think that God Himself played this song for me, knowing I would be in the car and headed to the ultrasound at that moment. I praised Him for His thankfulness and believed that this song was a sign that everything would be all right, just as it had two and a half years earlier.
About an hour later, my husband and I stared at the screen in the ultrasound room with heavy hearts. Try as she might, the ultrasound tech couldn't find any evidence that a baby was in there. When we should have been able to see the small form of our developing child, all we saw were bits of matter scattered here and there in a sickening, disorganized array. It became clear that we would have to say good-bye to another one of our children, and I remember saying to Randall once we were alone in the room, "I don't think I can go through this again." He answered back, "Yes, you can," and immediately after those words I heard God speak into my soul, "I'm with you."
It would be several hours later, when my husband and I had dropped off our son with his grandparents and were headed to Tennessee to take our trip as planned, when I would think of that song again and wonder why it had played on the radio that morning. Why would God do that to me? I thought back on the lyrics of the song, and realized that it still brought me comfort even in this situation. It, like most of the songs that revolve around God and His goodness, spoke the truth. And His truth is steadfast in any circumstance, even in this one that still doesn't make sense to me almost a month later. I don't know why He allowed me to get pregnant again, I don't know why He told me to take the pregnancy test so early since knowing early ended up not saving the child's life, and I don't know why this child was destined only for Heaven and not for earth here with me first. I just know that His ways are higher than mine. It hurts, and I suspect it will hurt for awhile. Like with the first child we lost, there will come a day when I don't think of what I've lost every minute, but I know little pangs of hurt and disappointment will come and go for the rest of my life. Maybe He does this so I won't ever stop longing for my true home, and so I won't ever forget that there is a higher purpose for all of us.
Even though this second miscarriage has been a lot more painful and difficult than the first (both emotionally and physically), I am still thankful for His faithfulness. I never doubted His love and sovereignty for a moment. He knows I'm hurting and cries along with me. I'm thankful for His hand, even though I'm not always sure about what He's doing. And I'm thankful that His ways are higher than mine. He may be a mystery at times, but He's the only One I trust. His words, even when sung as song lyrics, are true and can speak to my heart no matter how a situation turns out. And I'm grateful for that one constant that I can count on when nothing else in life seems sure. He IS my constant!
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