So this past weekend I took a little time for myself to read an actual BOOK. And it didn't feature a singing cucumber or a little red caboose. It was glorious. I really need to make a point to read more. Anyway, the book was The Homeschool Experiment, a novel my sister loaned me. Even though it's fictional, it has a Christ-centered focus and a lot of great resources.
The book is told through the point of view of Julianne, a stay-at-home mom who has been called to homeschool. Throughout the book, Julianne struggles with self-doubt, as well as veiled (and not so veiled) criticisms from some family members about her ability to teach her children. But in the end she learns that she only needs to please God, not others. One verse that is repeated a lot in the book is Galatians 1:10: "For am I now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ."
I read this verse again today, and it really struck me. As moms, we really try to do it ALL. Face it, we invented the WORD "multi-task." We need a clean, sparkling house adorned with DIY projects from Pinterest. Our children must be well-behaved and brilliant at all times. And some of you moms have to do all this while also holding down a job outside the home. We fear there's a stigma involved if we don't try to be SuperMom. And this attitude simply isn't from God.
Check out the last part of that verse: "If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ." I looked up the word "bondservant" in the concordance of my Bible to see what exactly is involved with being a bondservant of Christ (Paul called himself one, so I'm thinking it's a good thing to be). :o)
"The Lord's bondservant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all, able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God might grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will." 2 Timothy 2:24-26
Those are all really good qualities. Especially for moms. Being kind, patient, and "able to teach" are all qualities of the mom I want to be. But I can't be those things, and everything else involved with being a bondservant of Christ, if I'm doing what I'm doing for the wrong reasons. Even if I'm kind while disciplining my son, if I'm doing it to please those watching me then I'm not a bondservant of Christ. I'm a slave to their expectations instead of to Him and His will.
God has also showed me that being a bondservant of Christ is a powerful thing; not just for me, but for my son as well. Caleb loves church, worship music, and praying cute toddler prayers that consist of "Thank You Jesus, Amen!" But I long for the day he accepts this Jesus he keeps hearing about into his heart and truly lives for him. According to 2 Timothy, being a bondservant for Christ can help others "come to their senses" (verse 26). My son is still young, not quite three years old. But when I gently correct him when he misbehaves, I may very well be helping him come to his senses. I want to be an example of that "knowledge of the truth," and help lead him to repentance so he may also become a bondservant of Christ. And this cannot happen if my focus is pleasing men (or other moms) instead of God.
I want to be able to look
back and know that I did all I could to please the Lord, and in turn
helped lead my son to Him. Because when I'm not acting like a
bondservant of Christ, I really do end up being quarrelsome, unkind,
impatient, and not so gentle. If I hand over each day to God, He can
give me the strength and mercy to be all those things that Paul
describes, even when I encounter food spills, temper
tantrums, and burnt dinners.
So I need to learn to wait on the dirty dishes and read with my son instead. To hold off on mopping the floor so we can go exploring outside. To get off Facebook and let him sit in my lap, because all too soon he'll be too old for cuddling. To trade off what I think (and what I THINK others think) should be done for what God calls me to do.
And thinking about all this is actually freeing. I feel liberated from the unrealistic expectations I put on myself all the time. Instead of thinking "I have so much to do today," or "What would so-and-so say if they saw this mess?!" I really should be asking "Lord, what can I do to please You today?" On days when I actually do the latter, I find that all that other "stuff" still gets done, or else it just doesn't seem all that important anymore.
So I'm letting go of the whole SuperMom mentality. I'd rather be a lowly bondservant of Christ instead. :o)
September 17, 2012
September 13, 2012
lessons from the transfiguration
I recently re-read Luke's account of the Transfiguration of Jesus (9:28-45). Here are some things I learned that had not jumped out at me previously:
- Jesus' appearance changed while He was praying (verse 29, italics added for emphasis). He had taken Peter, John, and James up to the mountain to pray, and God's glory fell on Him once he started praying. The same verse says Jesus' clothing became "white" and "gleaming." My Bible says that the word "gleaming" here literally means "flashing like lightning." So pretty much VERY glorious. :o) The take-home lesson I got here? Miraculous things happen when we pray. The very atmosphere can shift, as well as ourselves. But we can't expect God to move if we're not praying for Him to do so.
- Peter and the other two disciples had fallen asleep while Jesus was praying (is it just me or do they seem to do that a lot in the Gospels?). It wasn't until they were fully awake that they saw God's glory manifested in Jesus' appearance as well as in Moses and Elijah who had appeared and were talking with Him (verses 30-32). So we can't be spiritually "out of it" if we want to see God's glory. There's no way around it...you have to be fully awake to see.
- "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three tabernacles..." (Peter, verse 33). It had to have been indescribably amazing and wonderful to be on that mountain during the Transfiguration. Why else would Peter want to stay there permanently? Getting even a taste of God's glory always leaves us wanting more.
- In verse 37, they "came down from the mountain." In the verses following, Jesus heals the demon-possessed boy when the disciples were unable to do it. In verse 38, the boy is described as the only child. In that culture and time, having boys was important and preferred; I bet having just one boy made for one very over-protective parent! My translation says another word for "only" in this case is "begotten." Which of course made me think of John 3:16; Jesus was, and is, also the "only begotten son." Perhaps that's why the demon held on to the boy so tightly.
- When Jesus rebuked the demon and healed the boy, the people watching were "all amazed by the greatness of God" (verse 42). God shows His glory everywhere, not just on the mountaintop. Even in the worst of circumstances, His majesty is there. Prayer can change the appearance of the situation so that His glory can be found in the difficult and the ugly.
August 28, 2012
raising the dead
"Lord, I thank You that You have heard Me." ~ Jesus (John 11:41)
Right now I'm rereading Ann Voskamp's book A Thousand Gifts. With the events of the past year, a lot of her insights, and even Scripture itself, have taken on more significant meaning this second time around.
Take the resurrection of Lazarus (John 11). One of the main points Voskamp makes in her book is that every miracle Jesus performed was preceded by giving thanks. Raising Lazarus from the dead was no exception. Lazarus' death seemed unfair to his sisters; Mary herself had anointed Jesus in a previous chapter, and Martha served Him with her whole heart. This fact reminds me that even when we sacrifice and follow God's will, calamity can still occur.
Jesus also told the sisters that God would be glorified through Lazarus' illness and death and that others would believe in Him because of it (see verses 4 and 14-15). Shouldn't this be the purpose of all troubles that come our way? To glorify the One who holds us during the storm? I've learned that it's okay to grieve when things don't go as planned; even Jesus wept for his friend Lazarus despite knowing that He could and WOULD raise him from the dead (verse 36). What really matters is our trust in Him, not whether we understand why disaster strikes.
Finally, Jesus gave thanks to God before calling Lazarus to come forth (verse 41). I find it interesting that He waited to raise Lazarus up until after others removed the stone from the tomb. Even when every obstacle is removed from our path to finding Him, we still need to give thanks in order to see a miracle.
Here's what I take home from all this....thanksgiving can raise the dead. Not just the physically dead (because I do believe God still performs these miracles even today), but the spiritually dead and the emotionally dead. I felt more than a little shell-shocked after my miscarriages this past year; I literally felt like part me died along with the children I lost. But I found when I forced myself to find something to give thanks for, I felt a little more alive each time. And soon the thanksgiving didn't feel quite as forced, but more like a natural response to His goodness that I found everywhere once I started looking for it. I starting making lists just like Voskamp does in her book:
1) cloudy afternoons under a blanket
2) Caleb laughing
3) getting goosebumps during worship
4) waking up next to Randall
5) Caleb's face when he discovers a new book
I'm nowhere near a thousand yet, but giving thanks even in the seemingly mundane has helped me tremendously. I can still grieve what I've lost just as Jesus the God-Man did. But I can also help raise what remains by giving thanks for it all.
Right now I'm rereading Ann Voskamp's book A Thousand Gifts. With the events of the past year, a lot of her insights, and even Scripture itself, have taken on more significant meaning this second time around.
Take the resurrection of Lazarus (John 11). One of the main points Voskamp makes in her book is that every miracle Jesus performed was preceded by giving thanks. Raising Lazarus from the dead was no exception. Lazarus' death seemed unfair to his sisters; Mary herself had anointed Jesus in a previous chapter, and Martha served Him with her whole heart. This fact reminds me that even when we sacrifice and follow God's will, calamity can still occur.
Jesus also told the sisters that God would be glorified through Lazarus' illness and death and that others would believe in Him because of it (see verses 4 and 14-15). Shouldn't this be the purpose of all troubles that come our way? To glorify the One who holds us during the storm? I've learned that it's okay to grieve when things don't go as planned; even Jesus wept for his friend Lazarus despite knowing that He could and WOULD raise him from the dead (verse 36). What really matters is our trust in Him, not whether we understand why disaster strikes.
Finally, Jesus gave thanks to God before calling Lazarus to come forth (verse 41). I find it interesting that He waited to raise Lazarus up until after others removed the stone from the tomb. Even when every obstacle is removed from our path to finding Him, we still need to give thanks in order to see a miracle.
Here's what I take home from all this....thanksgiving can raise the dead. Not just the physically dead (because I do believe God still performs these miracles even today), but the spiritually dead and the emotionally dead. I felt more than a little shell-shocked after my miscarriages this past year; I literally felt like part me died along with the children I lost. But I found when I forced myself to find something to give thanks for, I felt a little more alive each time. And soon the thanksgiving didn't feel quite as forced, but more like a natural response to His goodness that I found everywhere once I started looking for it. I starting making lists just like Voskamp does in her book:
1) cloudy afternoons under a blanket
2) Caleb laughing
3) getting goosebumps during worship
4) waking up next to Randall
5) Caleb's face when he discovers a new book
I'm nowhere near a thousand yet, but giving thanks even in the seemingly mundane has helped me tremendously. I can still grieve what I've lost just as Jesus the God-Man did. But I can also help raise what remains by giving thanks for it all.
May 17, 2012
cleaning house
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.
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.
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)
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