I apologize that it has been so long since my last post. I have wanted to reduce my thoughts to writing on numerous occasions, but every time I sit down to write, I freeze up. No words come to mind. No feelings rise up within me. I just sit and stare at the computer screen, numb and frozen.
For the past three months of my life, I have felt like a guest on God's show, Candid Camera. I keep waiting for one of the cast members to come out from behind the hidden camera and say, "You're on candid camera," but no one ever comes.
Someone shows up on my doorstep in crisis. Another person walks into my office in crisis. My phone rings and someone else is in crisis ... and on and on it goes. Sometimes it all feels like a cruel joke that I do not find the least bit humorous. Other times, I find myself laughing at the most inappropriate things. I am not sure if it is the joy of the Lord or because I am certifiably insane, but either way, I guess that laughter is good medicine.
I barely feel like I got through the first day of suffering bootcamp before God drafted me to the front lines to fight the battle with fellow sufferers. He didn't ask me if I was ready to go. I just woke up one night at midnight and found myself in the middle of a bloody battle. And three months later, I am still in the heat of battle, feeling completely exhausted and ill-equipped.
I have wondered many times if this is what the rest of my life will look like, fighting one battle after another, dealing with constant pain and loss. I find myself in a foreign land filled with landmines and surprise attacks. This land is not safe, and I don't know how to get back home.
But maybe the point is that I never really was at home. I was always an alien living in a foreign land. I just couldn't really see it before, and now it is my daily reality. God has once again brought me to a place where I must make a choice – surrender to Him and fight the battle, or fight His plan. Although the choice seems obvious, it is not easy.
My surrender to Christ means that He calls all of the shots, and I obey. He gives the marching orders, and I say, "I am the Lord's servant. Be it done to me according to your word" (Luke 1:38). This is a scary proposition when dealing with the King of Kings.
Surrender calls for an acceptance that “he will complete what he appoints for me, and many such things are on his mind” (Job 23:14). It is the “many such things” that terrify me as I have not been given any say about what comes my way. But, then again, this is the very definition of surrender – to give up rights to myself and to yield to the power and plan of Christ.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Year Ago Today
A year ago today ...
I walked into the doctor's office for my 20-week ultrasound to find out if we were having a boy or a girl, and several hours later I walked out in a daze. What should have been a 30-minute ultrasound turned into a three-hour ordeal, so Tom left with the boys to get some lunch. When the radiologist finally came into the room, I knew that something was terribly wrong. He murmured something about short limbs and a small ribcage, and my head began to spin.
I walked to the car and told Tom that something was wrong. We were in shock. The radiologist had told me that he just needed to check on some things, but I knew better. I came home and did exactly what I was not supposed to do. I googled the only things that I knew, which included short limbs and a small ribcage, and one small word turned my world upside down: FATAL.
I sat in front of my computer and cried. I could not believe what I was reading. It felt like a dream, no a nightmare. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe he was healthy. Maybe I would wake up tomorrow and everything would be fine. Or maybe not.
Maybe God was up to something. Maybe He was setting us up for a miracle. I remember a friend of mine telling me that she was praying Isaiah 53:5 for our entire family, "But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed." This struck me as odd. I understood why she would pray for David's healing, but why would she feel led to ask God to heal the rest of us? We were fine. Or maybe not.
About a month ago, the Holy Spirit of God reminded me of my friend and her prayer from Isaiah. It happened as I was telling a very wise woman about my painful journey with David. I sat there with tears streaming down my face, and I told her of my heartache and confusion about how God had called me out of my comfort zone to ask Him for a miracle, only to answer my prayers with a resounding, "no."
I will never forget when she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Rachael, what God is doing in your life is a miracle, if I have ever seen one. You asked Him for a miracle, and you got one. It is not the answer for which you were hoping, but it is a miracle indeed."
People have said similar things to me in the past like, "The miracle is that David is healed in heaven," and "the miracle is that you got to spend seven hours with David." These types of responses always stirred up anger in my heart as I thought to myself, "You are just making lame excuses for God. He does not need you to defend His inaction. He could have healed David, and the fact is that He chose not to do it."
But this time it was different. At that very moment, the Holy Spirit of God spoke to my heart, and I knew that what she was saying was true. Part of God's plan for my losing David was my healing, for "He has torn [me], but He will heal [me]; He has wounded [me], but He will bandage [me]" (Hosea 6:1). In that moment, I began to see that God had broken me to pieces so that He could bring me healing.
And His healing continues to unfold in my life. He is delivering me from my preconceived notions of who He is. He is delivering me from my prior definition of an abundant life. He is delivering me from my fear in order that I might live in true freedom.
And so here I am today, exactly one year later, and although this is not at all where I hoped that I would be, I know that it is exactly where God wants me to be. His plans for healing are immeasurably more than I could ever ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within me (Ephesians 3:20).
I walked into the doctor's office for my 20-week ultrasound to find out if we were having a boy or a girl, and several hours later I walked out in a daze. What should have been a 30-minute ultrasound turned into a three-hour ordeal, so Tom left with the boys to get some lunch. When the radiologist finally came into the room, I knew that something was terribly wrong. He murmured something about short limbs and a small ribcage, and my head began to spin.
I walked to the car and told Tom that something was wrong. We were in shock. The radiologist had told me that he just needed to check on some things, but I knew better. I came home and did exactly what I was not supposed to do. I googled the only things that I knew, which included short limbs and a small ribcage, and one small word turned my world upside down: FATAL.
I sat in front of my computer and cried. I could not believe what I was reading. It felt like a dream, no a nightmare. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe he was healthy. Maybe I would wake up tomorrow and everything would be fine. Or maybe not.
Maybe God was up to something. Maybe He was setting us up for a miracle. I remember a friend of mine telling me that she was praying Isaiah 53:5 for our entire family, "But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed." This struck me as odd. I understood why she would pray for David's healing, but why would she feel led to ask God to heal the rest of us? We were fine. Or maybe not.
About a month ago, the Holy Spirit of God reminded me of my friend and her prayer from Isaiah. It happened as I was telling a very wise woman about my painful journey with David. I sat there with tears streaming down my face, and I told her of my heartache and confusion about how God had called me out of my comfort zone to ask Him for a miracle, only to answer my prayers with a resounding, "no."
I will never forget when she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Rachael, what God is doing in your life is a miracle, if I have ever seen one. You asked Him for a miracle, and you got one. It is not the answer for which you were hoping, but it is a miracle indeed."
People have said similar things to me in the past like, "The miracle is that David is healed in heaven," and "the miracle is that you got to spend seven hours with David." These types of responses always stirred up anger in my heart as I thought to myself, "You are just making lame excuses for God. He does not need you to defend His inaction. He could have healed David, and the fact is that He chose not to do it."
But this time it was different. At that very moment, the Holy Spirit of God spoke to my heart, and I knew that what she was saying was true. Part of God's plan for my losing David was my healing, for "He has torn [me], but He will heal [me]; He has wounded [me], but He will bandage [me]" (Hosea 6:1). In that moment, I began to see that God had broken me to pieces so that He could bring me healing.
And His healing continues to unfold in my life. He is delivering me from my preconceived notions of who He is. He is delivering me from my prior definition of an abundant life. He is delivering me from my fear in order that I might live in true freedom.
And so here I am today, exactly one year later, and although this is not at all where I hoped that I would be, I know that it is exactly where God wants me to be. His plans for healing are immeasurably more than I could ever ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within me (Ephesians 3:20).
Friday, September 24, 2010
A Home for Baby
As I was turning to leave, his teacher stopped me and said that she wanted to show me something. Yesterday, she had asked the children to use their imaginations to draw a picture of something that served as a home for something else. She encouraged them to be creative (i.e. a pantry is a house for food; a cow is a house for milk).
When she showed me Benjamin's picture, my eyes filled with tears. His picture was titled, "A mommy is a house for a baby." He had drawn a picture of a pregnant mommy. She was standing beneath a dark-blue sky filled with clouds. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, but there was a single beam of light piercing through the clouds, shining down on the mommy.
It was the most beautiful drawing that I have ever seen. I was simply amazed, not because of his artistic talent, but because of his incredible insight. It reminded me of a story that a friend told me a few days ago.
She told me how she felt led to drive to the top of a mountain early one morning when she was wrestling with God, but she couldn't understand why because the air was thick with fog. As she was driving up the mountain, she asked, "Why God? Why would you have me drive all this way when I can't see a thing?" When she got to the top, she got out of her car, sat down, and said, "Ok, I'm here. Now what?"
At that very moment, the sky opened, and she saw the sun shining through the clouds. And she knew - God was there. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the sun disappeared behind the clouds again. But as she looked up into the sky, she knew that the sun was still there, even though she couldn't see it.
In that moment, it was as if God said, "I am still here. You just can't see me."
And so many times, this is how the story goes. In my darkest moments, it sometimes feels as if God has disappeared altogether because I cannot see Him, and I most certainly cannot understand His plan. But truly, my God has not left me. I may not be able to see Him, but I am confident that He is still here, and His plan is still on course.
And some days, like today, I get to see a ray of light shining down upon me, and I am reminded that He has not forgotten me. My body was David's home for nine short months, but now heaven is his home, and one day we will be home together.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Trusting Today
Eight months ago, God called me to have faith to believe that nothing is impossible with Him.
And I believed.
Seven months ago, God called me to put my faith into action by going before the elders of our church to pray for David’s healing in accordance with James 5.
And I went.
Six months ago, my precious David was born into this world to live for seven sweet hours after which God took him from my arms.
And I questioned.
Why did God call me to believe Him and ask Him for the impossible when He already knew that the answer to my prayers would be “no”? How can I ever really trust Him again?
I am still questioning.
This morning, the 6-month anniversary of my sweet David’s birth, I crawled out of bed to begin another day … without David. I began praying one of the only prayers that I know how to pray these days, which is The Lord’s Prayer. I figured that it must be a good one since Jesus is the author.
When I got to the part of the prayer that says, “Give us this day our daily bread,” I started to make a mental checklist of all of the things that I thought I needed to get through the day. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks – trust was on the list.
Trusting in God is part of my daily bread.
I may not be able to say that I trust God with the rest of my life right now because I have no idea what He has in store, and I'm not sure if I'm going to like it. But, I think that I can trust Him just for today.
And maybe my trust in Him today is all that He requires.
And I believed.
Seven months ago, God called me to put my faith into action by going before the elders of our church to pray for David’s healing in accordance with James 5.
And I went.
Six months ago, my precious David was born into this world to live for seven sweet hours after which God took him from my arms.
And I questioned.
Why did God call me to believe Him and ask Him for the impossible when He already knew that the answer to my prayers would be “no”? How can I ever really trust Him again?
I am still questioning.
This morning, the 6-month anniversary of my sweet David’s birth, I crawled out of bed to begin another day … without David. I began praying one of the only prayers that I know how to pray these days, which is The Lord’s Prayer. I figured that it must be a good one since Jesus is the author.
When I got to the part of the prayer that says, “Give us this day our daily bread,” I started to make a mental checklist of all of the things that I thought I needed to get through the day. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks – trust was on the list.
Trusting in God is part of my daily bread.
I may not be able to say that I trust God with the rest of my life right now because I have no idea what He has in store, and I'm not sure if I'm going to like it. But, I think that I can trust Him just for today.
And maybe my trust in Him today is all that He requires.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Sustaining Grace
If you ever feel like you can't catch a break, or even catch your breath, you are not alone.
If you are constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop because you feel like it usually does, you are not alone.
If you feel an unexplainable sense of peace and hope in the midst of your fear and doubt, you are not alone.
Life is not easy. Losing David rocked my world. His loss made life's blessings sweeter than ever before, but it also made me keenly aware of my fear of losing those blessings. I guess that I used to think that God would never let that happen to me because I was His child. When this false idea of security was abruptly ripped away, I found myself living in a new reality, and sometimes it is really hard.
One day during a session with with my grief counselor, I was telling her about my fear that God might take Tom, Benjamin or Caleb. She looked at me and said, "Rachael, just because God took David doesn't mean that He will take Tom, Benjamin or Caleb." "You are right," I replied, "but it also doesn't mean that He won't."
And therein lies my daily dilemma of trusting in the goodness of God and enjoying the fullness of His blessings, all the while knowing that the only thing that my Jesus has guaranteed me is that He will never forsake me.
Thankfully, God has demonstrated His love for me in many tangible ways along this journey, and one of those ways has been through family and friends who have come alongside me to love and encourage me.
One of those dear friends is Tonya. Tonya and I met through Dr. Joe nine months ago. Dr. Joe knew that I needed a friend. I had had all I could take of physicians, geneticists, statistics and worst case scenarios. I was fed up with people referring to my David as a fetus. I was a mommy who was losing my baby, and I needed someone to care.
In came Tonya. She lost her baby boy Grady in November 2008. She knew what it was like to walk through this nightmare, and she cared. She cried with me. She said, "I know." She made me feel a little bit less alone.
At the beginning of the year, Tonya found out that she was expecting another baby, due the first of September. However, her little one was recently born seven weeks early. He has done extremely well despite his early birth, but it hasn't been smooth sailing. Against the odds, Tonya and her husband were told that baby Matthew has a brain bleed.
I confess that upon hearing this news, I was angry - angry with God. Who else could I be angry with? I did not understand why Tonya could not catch a break just this once. Of all people, I thought she deserved a break.
Well, the truth is that she did get break. She got a huge blessing in the form of a beautiful, alive baby boy. All things considered, Matthew is doing very well, and the doctors do not seem to be too concerned about the bleed. I think that Matthew even came home from the hospital on Friday. God is good.
Sometimes, I just wonder why it seems like some people get to coast through life while others go from one trial to the next. Why does it feel like there always has to be something that is hanging over our heads - some ticking time bomb that we are on edge about, waiting to see if it will detonate or diffuse?
I do believe, against my stubborn will sometimes, that this is an act of God's mercy and grace. If I am allowed the opportunity to coast, then believe you me, I will take every advantage of it. I like to be independent and self-sufficient. But God knows that my independence is actually rebellion, and as a gracious and loving Father, I do not believe that He will allow me to get by with it for long.
I am thankful for courageous friends like Tonya who continue to hope and trust in God in the midst of fear and doubt, and I am thankful for the hope and peace that He grants me in the midst of my angst. It is truly his sustaining grace.
If you are constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop because you feel like it usually does, you are not alone.
If you feel an unexplainable sense of peace and hope in the midst of your fear and doubt, you are not alone.
Life is not easy. Losing David rocked my world. His loss made life's blessings sweeter than ever before, but it also made me keenly aware of my fear of losing those blessings. I guess that I used to think that God would never let that happen to me because I was His child. When this false idea of security was abruptly ripped away, I found myself living in a new reality, and sometimes it is really hard.
One day during a session with with my grief counselor, I was telling her about my fear that God might take Tom, Benjamin or Caleb. She looked at me and said, "Rachael, just because God took David doesn't mean that He will take Tom, Benjamin or Caleb." "You are right," I replied, "but it also doesn't mean that He won't."
And therein lies my daily dilemma of trusting in the goodness of God and enjoying the fullness of His blessings, all the while knowing that the only thing that my Jesus has guaranteed me is that He will never forsake me.
Thankfully, God has demonstrated His love for me in many tangible ways along this journey, and one of those ways has been through family and friends who have come alongside me to love and encourage me.
One of those dear friends is Tonya. Tonya and I met through Dr. Joe nine months ago. Dr. Joe knew that I needed a friend. I had had all I could take of physicians, geneticists, statistics and worst case scenarios. I was fed up with people referring to my David as a fetus. I was a mommy who was losing my baby, and I needed someone to care.
In came Tonya. She lost her baby boy Grady in November 2008. She knew what it was like to walk through this nightmare, and she cared. She cried with me. She said, "I know." She made me feel a little bit less alone.
At the beginning of the year, Tonya found out that she was expecting another baby, due the first of September. However, her little one was recently born seven weeks early. He has done extremely well despite his early birth, but it hasn't been smooth sailing. Against the odds, Tonya and her husband were told that baby Matthew has a brain bleed.
I confess that upon hearing this news, I was angry - angry with God. Who else could I be angry with? I did not understand why Tonya could not catch a break just this once. Of all people, I thought she deserved a break.
Well, the truth is that she did get break. She got a huge blessing in the form of a beautiful, alive baby boy. All things considered, Matthew is doing very well, and the doctors do not seem to be too concerned about the bleed. I think that Matthew even came home from the hospital on Friday. God is good.
Sometimes, I just wonder why it seems like some people get to coast through life while others go from one trial to the next. Why does it feel like there always has to be something that is hanging over our heads - some ticking time bomb that we are on edge about, waiting to see if it will detonate or diffuse?
I do believe, against my stubborn will sometimes, that this is an act of God's mercy and grace. If I am allowed the opportunity to coast, then believe you me, I will take every advantage of it. I like to be independent and self-sufficient. But God knows that my independence is actually rebellion, and as a gracious and loving Father, I do not believe that He will allow me to get by with it for long.
I am thankful for courageous friends like Tonya who continue to hope and trust in God in the midst of fear and doubt, and I am thankful for the hope and peace that He grants me in the midst of my angst. It is truly his sustaining grace.
What is sustaining grace?
Not grace to bar what is not bliss,
Nor flight from all distress, but this:
The grace that orders our trouble and pain,
The grace that orders our trouble and pain,
And then, in the darkness, is there to sustain.
~John Piper
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The One
A couple of weeks ago, Benjamin had an end-of-the-season baseball party. As a final hurrah, the coach took the team outside to play some baseball. Our little Caleb was not far behind. He is usually two steps behind Benjamin wherever he goes. He wants to be just like his big brother.
Somewhere along the way, Caleb grabbed hold of a batting helmet. I don't know where he found it or why he decided to put it on, but I will always thank God for it. It may well have been the helmet that saved his life.
A few minutes into the game, Caleb (again, two steps behind Benjamin) was hit in the head with a baseball bat by his beloved big brother. It was an accident, but the motive or lack thereof did not decrease the severity of the hit. The blow was so hard that it caused the helmet to bruise the left side of Caleb's forehead just in front of his temple.
Caleb is a pretty tough cookie, but he cried long and hard. Knowing that head injuries are not to be trifled with, I immediately called the pediatrician to see if I should take him to the hospital. After asking me twenty minutes worth of questions, the nurse told me to keep a close eye on him. Believe me, I did.
I am no longer under the illusion that my life or the lives of my loved ones are invincible. To the contrary, I am well aware that life is incredibly fragile and that the thread between life and death can easily be cut in a moment's time. I try to embrace the gift of each day, each hour, each moment with those I love, knowing that tomorrow is no guarantee.
Caleb's head has healed, and he is fine. No permanent damage was done. But I refuse to walk away without pausing to say, "Thank you, God! Thank you for sparing my son's life. Thank you for giving him a helmet to protect his head." I do not take for granted this gift from God. I do not take for granted the blessing of a stubborn toddler who insisted on wearing a helmet for reasons that I will never know.
It is human nature to point the finger at God when things fall apart but to fail to thank Him when things go well. So many times, I am guilty of this mentality. "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" (Job 2:10). Why is it that when a single plane crashes, people ask, "Where was God?" But when thousands upon thousands of planes fly the airways safely each day, hardly anyone says, "Thank you God!"?
I am reminded of the time when Jesus healed ten lepers, and only one came back to thank him. Then Jesus answered,"Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God?" (Luke 17).
Today, I want to be the one.
Somewhere along the way, Caleb grabbed hold of a batting helmet. I don't know where he found it or why he decided to put it on, but I will always thank God for it. It may well have been the helmet that saved his life.
A few minutes into the game, Caleb (again, two steps behind Benjamin) was hit in the head with a baseball bat by his beloved big brother. It was an accident, but the motive or lack thereof did not decrease the severity of the hit. The blow was so hard that it caused the helmet to bruise the left side of Caleb's forehead just in front of his temple.
Caleb is a pretty tough cookie, but he cried long and hard. Knowing that head injuries are not to be trifled with, I immediately called the pediatrician to see if I should take him to the hospital. After asking me twenty minutes worth of questions, the nurse told me to keep a close eye on him. Believe me, I did.
I am no longer under the illusion that my life or the lives of my loved ones are invincible. To the contrary, I am well aware that life is incredibly fragile and that the thread between life and death can easily be cut in a moment's time. I try to embrace the gift of each day, each hour, each moment with those I love, knowing that tomorrow is no guarantee.
Caleb's head has healed, and he is fine. No permanent damage was done. But I refuse to walk away without pausing to say, "Thank you, God! Thank you for sparing my son's life. Thank you for giving him a helmet to protect his head." I do not take for granted this gift from God. I do not take for granted the blessing of a stubborn toddler who insisted on wearing a helmet for reasons that I will never know.
It is human nature to point the finger at God when things fall apart but to fail to thank Him when things go well. So many times, I am guilty of this mentality. "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" (Job 2:10). Why is it that when a single plane crashes, people ask, "Where was God?" But when thousands upon thousands of planes fly the airways safely each day, hardly anyone says, "Thank you God!"?
I am reminded of the time when Jesus healed ten lepers, and only one came back to thank him. Then Jesus answered,"Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God?" (Luke 17).
Today, I want to be the one.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
My Pride & Joy
When I lost my grandparents, I mourned the loss of the many memories that we shared together, but in losing my David, I am mourning the loss of the many memories that we will never share. I know that everyone can relate to loss, but I also know that it is hard for some to relate to the loss of a baby. From an outside perspective, I guess that it may seem "easier" since we did not have time to become too "attached."
Well, I can only speak from my own experience, but I can tell you that losing my David has not been easy. It has been lonely and difficult. I cannot even stand to be within earshot of a crying baby without getting sick to my stomach. The reality of his loss is nauseating to me. No one knew him like I knew him. No one but me spent every waking and sleeping moment with him for nine months. No one else had the privilege to feel his every movement - no one but me.
I am sorry that I did not get the chance to introduce him to you. Like any new baby, he was my pride and joy. When Benjamin and Caleb were born, my greatest joy in life was to show them off to everyone who would give me the time of day. Well, I never got the chance to "show off" my David. So, this post is dedicated to doing just that.
I realize that it is a poor substitute to carrying around my beautiful baby boy with soft black curls and introducing him to every person that I meet, but this is all that I have. So, here goes my meager attempt to "show off" my precious son, David Nathaniel.
Special thanks to Oana Hogrefe Photography for capturing these priceless moments for our family. You captured every detail and every emotion with such elegance and authenticity. We are eternally grateful for you.
Well, I can only speak from my own experience, but I can tell you that losing my David has not been easy. It has been lonely and difficult. I cannot even stand to be within earshot of a crying baby without getting sick to my stomach. The reality of his loss is nauseating to me. No one knew him like I knew him. No one but me spent every waking and sleeping moment with him for nine months. No one else had the privilege to feel his every movement - no one but me.
I am sorry that I did not get the chance to introduce him to you. Like any new baby, he was my pride and joy. When Benjamin and Caleb were born, my greatest joy in life was to show them off to everyone who would give me the time of day. Well, I never got the chance to "show off" my David. So, this post is dedicated to doing just that.
I realize that it is a poor substitute to carrying around my beautiful baby boy with soft black curls and introducing him to every person that I meet, but this is all that I have. So, here goes my meager attempt to "show off" my precious son, David Nathaniel.
Special thanks to Oana Hogrefe Photography for capturing these priceless moments for our family. You captured every detail and every emotion with such elegance and authenticity. We are eternally grateful for you.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Divine Despair
I don't know about you, but I love music. It touches my soul in a way that nothing else can. Two of my all-time favorite songs are Magnificent Obsession and One Pure and Holy Passion. Though I have sung these songs hundreds of times over the years, they never get old. I think that the reason that these songs mean so much to me is because I feel that they reflect the cry of my heart.
Now, I have a new favorite song. I Asked the Lord by John Newton:
I have kicked and screamed all throughout this process and probably will continue to do so. Oh, how painful it has been and continues to be! Though I suspect that my tantrums probably appear to God as the fits of a toddler to his parent when things don't go his way, I do not doubt my Father's love for me. In the same way that I smile and shake my head when my Caleb throws a temper tantrum, I know that my Father is smiling upon me with His all-sufficient, all-knowing love. You see, I love my child too much to let him get his way when I know that it will only harm him. How much greater is the perfect love of my Heavenly Father towards me.
Now, I have a new favorite song. I Asked the Lord by John Newton:
I asked the Lord that I might grow,
In faith and love and every grace,
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek more earnestly His face.
Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He I trust has answered prayer.
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.
I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He'd answer my request.
And by His love's constraining power,
Subdue my sins and give me rest.
Instead of this, He made me feel,
The hidden evils of my heart.
And let the angry powers of hell,
Assault my soul in every part.
Yeah, more with His own hand, He seemed,
Intent to aggravate my woe.
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Cast out my feelings, laid me low.
"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried.
Wilt Thou pursue Thy worm to death?"
"Tis in this way" the Lord replied,
"I answer prayer for grace and faith."
"These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou mayest seek thy all in Me."
—John Newton
I have kicked and screamed all throughout this process and probably will continue to do so. Oh, how painful it has been and continues to be! Though I suspect that my tantrums probably appear to God as the fits of a toddler to his parent when things don't go his way, I do not doubt my Father's love for me. In the same way that I smile and shake my head when my Caleb throws a temper tantrum, I know that my Father is smiling upon me with His all-sufficient, all-knowing love. You see, I love my child too much to let him get his way when I know that it will only harm him. How much greater is the perfect love of my Heavenly Father towards me.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Song of Sorrow
The past two weeks have been terribly difficult for me. The first and second day of May marked the 2-month anniversary of David's birth and death. As each new month begins, my soul is assaulted with the reminder of my precious David's painfully short life. Sometimes, I feel like it has been an incredibly long journey, and other times I feel like we just lost him yesterday. But mostly I just feel sorrow.
I feel like such a different person than I did a few months ago, and frankly, I am not too fond of the new me. Recently, I had an emotional breakdown when a close friend of mine told me that she is pregnant. Why? I wish that I knew. I am not really sure. For some reason, I just completely fell apart. It was as if a boil had been festering in the pit of my soul, and it suddenly burst open.
I used to be this really stable person who just let things "roll" off my back. I liked to think of myself as a shelter that others could depend on when the storms of life were closing in. Well, sorry friends, not anymore. Not me. Not now.
I feel a little bit like Emma Thompson's character in "Sense and Sensibility" (Elinor Dashwood). Throughout the movie, she is incredibly strong, though she is quietly bearing the heavy burden of a broken heart. However, at the end of the movie, she bursts into tears, crying uncontrollably. Her emotions finally get the best of her. This is how I feel, except that Emma Thompson's emotional outburst is endearing; mine is not.
People keep telling me that this struggle will change me for the better. I hope that they are right because I have yet to see the "better." Right now, I am just trying to figure out who this strange person is that has moved into my body because I do not feel like I know her very well. I recognize her voice, but she is singing a song that I do not know - the song of sorrow.
I am told that this song will begin to fade as time passes, but it will never stop playing in the background. As I stop and look at the world around me, I wonder how many others are singing this same song. I wonder why it is that this song is so unrecognizable. I remember hearing a line or two when my grandparents passed away and a few notes on occasion when listening to a tragic story. But now, I hear the entire song playing over and over again, and the tune is very different than I had imagined it to be.
I hope that as time goes by, the notes will slowly begin to sound sweeter. Yet, I know that the song will continue to be out-of-tune until the day that I see my Savior face-to-face. The wisest man that ever lived once said, "It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart" (Ecclesiastes 7:2-3).
My sorrow feels dreadfully painful, and I admit that I do not understand how all of this pain could be good for my heart. But the other day my sweet husband reminded me that my Heavenly Father has "kept count of my tossings" and "put my tears in [His] bottle" (Psalm 56:8). What sweet relief to know that not one of my tears has been wasted. My Father has stored every one of my tears in His bottle, and He will use these very tears of sorrow to water my dry and weary soul.
I feel like such a different person than I did a few months ago, and frankly, I am not too fond of the new me. Recently, I had an emotional breakdown when a close friend of mine told me that she is pregnant. Why? I wish that I knew. I am not really sure. For some reason, I just completely fell apart. It was as if a boil had been festering in the pit of my soul, and it suddenly burst open.
I used to be this really stable person who just let things "roll" off my back. I liked to think of myself as a shelter that others could depend on when the storms of life were closing in. Well, sorry friends, not anymore. Not me. Not now.
I feel a little bit like Emma Thompson's character in "Sense and Sensibility" (Elinor Dashwood). Throughout the movie, she is incredibly strong, though she is quietly bearing the heavy burden of a broken heart. However, at the end of the movie, she bursts into tears, crying uncontrollably. Her emotions finally get the best of her. This is how I feel, except that Emma Thompson's emotional outburst is endearing; mine is not.
People keep telling me that this struggle will change me for the better. I hope that they are right because I have yet to see the "better." Right now, I am just trying to figure out who this strange person is that has moved into my body because I do not feel like I know her very well. I recognize her voice, but she is singing a song that I do not know - the song of sorrow.
I am told that this song will begin to fade as time passes, but it will never stop playing in the background. As I stop and look at the world around me, I wonder how many others are singing this same song. I wonder why it is that this song is so unrecognizable. I remember hearing a line or two when my grandparents passed away and a few notes on occasion when listening to a tragic story. But now, I hear the entire song playing over and over again, and the tune is very different than I had imagined it to be.
I hope that as time goes by, the notes will slowly begin to sound sweeter. Yet, I know that the song will continue to be out-of-tune until the day that I see my Savior face-to-face. The wisest man that ever lived once said, "It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart" (Ecclesiastes 7:2-3).
My sorrow feels dreadfully painful, and I admit that I do not understand how all of this pain could be good for my heart. But the other day my sweet husband reminded me that my Heavenly Father has "kept count of my tossings" and "put my tears in [His] bottle" (Psalm 56:8). What sweet relief to know that not one of my tears has been wasted. My Father has stored every one of my tears in His bottle, and He will use these very tears of sorrow to water my dry and weary soul.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Words of Life
In March 2007, I attended a women's retreat lead by Judy Reamer. Judy is a Messianic Jew with an amazing testimony about how Christ drew her to Himself. She spent most of the weekend talking about the importance of reading and knowing God's Word. I was ripe and ready for the hearing. I had just finished three grueling years of law school during which time reading the Bible had taken a backseat in my life.
I walked away from Judy's message inspired and determined to know God's Word. I read through the entire Bible three times that year. Looking back, I can see that God was using this time to prepare me for combat. In His infinite wisdom, only God knew the monumental battles that lurked around the corner of my life.
In September 2007, Tom enrolled in seminary and left his full-time job. The two years that followed this transition were marked with turmoil, and there were moments when we were unsure whether or not our marriage could survive such tremendous stress. We were "struck down, but not destroyed ... constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus could be manifested in our mortal flesh" (II Corinthians 4:9-11).
During this season, I began to learn what it meant to crucify my flesh with its passions and desires (Galatians 5:24), and allow me to let you in on a little secret - it was ugly. I had no clue that so much disgusting sediment was lying in the dark recesses of my heart. Learning to die to myself has been an agonizing process.
Last autumn, we began to see light at the end of the tunnel as Tom was finishing seminary. But before our battle wounds had opportunity to heal, we were struck down with the devastating news that our baby boy had a fatal condition that would not allow him to survive outside of my womb. God had promised that He would not give us more than we could handle, but there were moments when I was not sure that I believed this promise to be true.
I can relate with Jesus' disciples in asking, "Lord, this is a hard teaching. [How can I] accept it?" The enemy has tempted me to give up, telling me lies that God is not really good. Through my darkest moments, the Word of God has answered my many questions with the most important question of all, "Lord, to whom shall I go? You have the words of eternal life. I believe and know that you are the Holy One of God" (John 6:60-69).
I have spent many moments questioning God and His goodness to me, and I know that if there are ever to be any answers to my questions, God Himself is the only one who can supply them. I will probably never fully understand why God has orchestrated this turmoil in my life, but He has given me brief glimpses into the goodness of His sovereign plan.
In the darkest valley of my life, I am learning that only the Word of God can provide hope and healing to my broken heart. Through the reading of His Word, God is making me "like a tree firmly planted by streams of water," rather than "like chaff, which the wind drives away" (Psalm 1). Therefore, I must continue to "hold fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain" (Philippians 2:16).
I walked away from Judy's message inspired and determined to know God's Word. I read through the entire Bible three times that year. Looking back, I can see that God was using this time to prepare me for combat. In His infinite wisdom, only God knew the monumental battles that lurked around the corner of my life.
In September 2007, Tom enrolled in seminary and left his full-time job. The two years that followed this transition were marked with turmoil, and there were moments when we were unsure whether or not our marriage could survive such tremendous stress. We were "struck down, but not destroyed ... constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus could be manifested in our mortal flesh" (II Corinthians 4:9-11).
During this season, I began to learn what it meant to crucify my flesh with its passions and desires (Galatians 5:24), and allow me to let you in on a little secret - it was ugly. I had no clue that so much disgusting sediment was lying in the dark recesses of my heart. Learning to die to myself has been an agonizing process.
Last autumn, we began to see light at the end of the tunnel as Tom was finishing seminary. But before our battle wounds had opportunity to heal, we were struck down with the devastating news that our baby boy had a fatal condition that would not allow him to survive outside of my womb. God had promised that He would not give us more than we could handle, but there were moments when I was not sure that I believed this promise to be true.
I can relate with Jesus' disciples in asking, "Lord, this is a hard teaching. [How can I] accept it?" The enemy has tempted me to give up, telling me lies that God is not really good. Through my darkest moments, the Word of God has answered my many questions with the most important question of all, "Lord, to whom shall I go? You have the words of eternal life. I believe and know that you are the Holy One of God" (John 6:60-69).
I have spent many moments questioning God and His goodness to me, and I know that if there are ever to be any answers to my questions, God Himself is the only one who can supply them. I will probably never fully understand why God has orchestrated this turmoil in my life, but He has given me brief glimpses into the goodness of His sovereign plan.
In the darkest valley of my life, I am learning that only the Word of God can provide hope and healing to my broken heart. Through the reading of His Word, God is making me "like a tree firmly planted by streams of water," rather than "like chaff, which the wind drives away" (Psalm 1). Therefore, I must continue to "hold fast to the word of life, so that in the day of Christ I may be proud that I did not run in vain or labor in vain" (Philippians 2:16).
Sunday, April 11, 2010
True Prosperity
A couple of years ago, I watched a YouTube video of John Piper adamantly opposing the prosperity gospel. If you are not familiar with the prosperity gospel, it is a term used to describe a false gospel that teaches that if you believe in Jesus you will have health, wealth, and prosperity. In other words, if you want to live a life of ease and comfort, then play your cards right with God, and you will be blessed.
I strongly agreed with Piper's opposition to this false doctrine and was indignant that people portrayed Jesus as some sort of cosmic vending machine. My new favorite Bible verse became Psalm 73:25-26, "Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Piper said that Jesus alone was all satisfying, and I wholeheartedly agreed ... or so I thought.
Apparently, my conviction that Jesus is all-satisfying was not as rock-solid as I believed it to be. You see, I was living life "at ease, and he broke me apart; he seized me by the neck and dashed me to pieces" (Job 16:12). I am learning that it is one thing to say that Jesus is enough, but it is quite another thing to live it when God shakes you to the very core of your being.
In his song Questions, Steven Curtis Chapman asks, "Who are you God? For You are turning out to be so much different than I imagined. And where are you God? Because I am finding life to be so much harder than I had planned. And where were you God? I know you had to be right there. I know you never turn your head." These are my questions too.
Since learning of David's diagnosis six months ago, I have been wrestling with God. There are no easy answers and no platitudes to make me feel better. I either believe in the God of the Bible, or I don't. I either take Him at His word, or I don't take Him at all. I cannot make God into my own image. I cannot take the parts that I like about Him and leave the parts that make me uncomfortable. It is all or nothing.
When I left my 20-week ultrasound appointment, God had not changed. The same God who walked with me into the hospital with David alive in my womb was the same God who walked with me out of the hospital with David's lifeless body cradled in my arms. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). God has not changed; I have changed. My faith has been put to the test. Thank God that He is able to keep me from stumbling, and to make me stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy (Jude 1:24).
Hebrews 11, the great faith hall of fame, says that some "through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received back their dead by resurrection ... Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated ... And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect."
Destitute ... afflicted ... mistreated? This is certainly not what I had in mind for my life. I like health, wealth, and prosperity. I like being comfortable, and I want God to bless me. God has blessed me tremendously, and I do not want to discount His provision, but I am learning that my ease and comfort are not God's primary objectives in my life. He is pruning me so that I may bear fruit, and it is a painful process. God is the great surgeon who is using His scalpel to perform open heart surgery on me.
And, when all is said and done, I believe that I will have true prosperity - abundant life in Jesus that allows me to face whatever he brings my way with the confidence that "my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth" (Job 19:25).
I strongly agreed with Piper's opposition to this false doctrine and was indignant that people portrayed Jesus as some sort of cosmic vending machine. My new favorite Bible verse became Psalm 73:25-26, "Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." Piper said that Jesus alone was all satisfying, and I wholeheartedly agreed ... or so I thought.
Apparently, my conviction that Jesus is all-satisfying was not as rock-solid as I believed it to be. You see, I was living life "at ease, and he broke me apart; he seized me by the neck and dashed me to pieces" (Job 16:12). I am learning that it is one thing to say that Jesus is enough, but it is quite another thing to live it when God shakes you to the very core of your being.
In his song Questions, Steven Curtis Chapman asks, "Who are you God? For You are turning out to be so much different than I imagined. And where are you God? Because I am finding life to be so much harder than I had planned. And where were you God? I know you had to be right there. I know you never turn your head." These are my questions too.
Since learning of David's diagnosis six months ago, I have been wrestling with God. There are no easy answers and no platitudes to make me feel better. I either believe in the God of the Bible, or I don't. I either take Him at His word, or I don't take Him at all. I cannot make God into my own image. I cannot take the parts that I like about Him and leave the parts that make me uncomfortable. It is all or nothing.
When I left my 20-week ultrasound appointment, God had not changed. The same God who walked with me into the hospital with David alive in my womb was the same God who walked with me out of the hospital with David's lifeless body cradled in my arms. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). God has not changed; I have changed. My faith has been put to the test. Thank God that He is able to keep me from stumbling, and to make me stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy (Jude 1:24).
Hebrews 11, the great faith hall of fame, says that some "through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received back their dead by resurrection ... Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated ... And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect."
Destitute ... afflicted ... mistreated? This is certainly not what I had in mind for my life. I like health, wealth, and prosperity. I like being comfortable, and I want God to bless me. God has blessed me tremendously, and I do not want to discount His provision, but I am learning that my ease and comfort are not God's primary objectives in my life. He is pruning me so that I may bear fruit, and it is a painful process. God is the great surgeon who is using His scalpel to perform open heart surgery on me.
And, when all is said and done, I believe that I will have true prosperity - abundant life in Jesus that allows me to face whatever he brings my way with the confidence that "my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth" (Job 19:25).
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Raw Truth
I am sorrowful.
Grief is my constant, unrelenting companion. Everything around me reminds me of David. When I see a picture that was taken before David, I think to myself, "I had no idea when I took that picture that I was going to have a baby boy that would die." When I walk by the baby section in Target, I get choked up thinking about the fact that I should be shopping there. When I hear a baby's cry, I wish that it were my baby.
Every day when I wake up, I am confronted with the harsh reality that my baby boy is not going to cry for me today or any day. In going through my daily routine, I am constantly thinking of all the things that I should be doing with my newborn son, and I am flooded with feelings of loss and emptiness.
I am afraid.
I am scared to "move on" because I feel like moving on means forgetting David, and I do not want to forget him or move on with my life without him. I feel as if I am in a time warp while all of the world is moving on without me. It is as if I have boarded a ship that is sailing farther away from David with each day that passes on the calendar.
I know that I will never "get over" David, and I will most certainly never forget him. David changed my life forever, and somehow I have to learn to adjust to the new "me." This new me is less controlled, more emotional, and much more uncertain than ever before.
I am angry.
I asked God to do something miraculous. In fact, God put it in my heart to ask for David’s healing, and then He said, “no.” His answer to my prayer was a no, without any explanations. Well-meaning people try to find a miracle in the situation by saying that that the fact that David was born alive was a miracle. I do not deny that the seven hours that we got to spend with David alive outside of my womb were truly a gift from God, but this was NOT the miracle that I asked God to do.
In God’s sovereign control over the work of His hands, He knit David together with bones that were not strong or big enough to sustain his life. I do not need to make excuses for God about why David was not healed. The truth is that I know that God was able to heal him. It would not have been difficult for the Creator of the Universe to heal my baby boy. But He chose not to do it, and this makes me mad. I do not understand. "O Sovereign Lord, you alone know." (Ezekiel 37:3)
I have hope.
If only for this life do I have hope in Christ, then I am to be pitied more than all men (I Corinthians 15:19). But thanks be to God. "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Corinthians 15:55-57).
Therefore, I will stand firm and let nothing move me because I know that my labor in the Lord is not in vain.
Grief is my constant, unrelenting companion. Everything around me reminds me of David. When I see a picture that was taken before David, I think to myself, "I had no idea when I took that picture that I was going to have a baby boy that would die." When I walk by the baby section in Target, I get choked up thinking about the fact that I should be shopping there. When I hear a baby's cry, I wish that it were my baby.
Every day when I wake up, I am confronted with the harsh reality that my baby boy is not going to cry for me today or any day. In going through my daily routine, I am constantly thinking of all the things that I should be doing with my newborn son, and I am flooded with feelings of loss and emptiness.
I am afraid.
I am scared to "move on" because I feel like moving on means forgetting David, and I do not want to forget him or move on with my life without him. I feel as if I am in a time warp while all of the world is moving on without me. It is as if I have boarded a ship that is sailing farther away from David with each day that passes on the calendar.
I know that I will never "get over" David, and I will most certainly never forget him. David changed my life forever, and somehow I have to learn to adjust to the new "me." This new me is less controlled, more emotional, and much more uncertain than ever before.
I am angry.
I asked God to do something miraculous. In fact, God put it in my heart to ask for David’s healing, and then He said, “no.” His answer to my prayer was a no, without any explanations. Well-meaning people try to find a miracle in the situation by saying that that the fact that David was born alive was a miracle. I do not deny that the seven hours that we got to spend with David alive outside of my womb were truly a gift from God, but this was NOT the miracle that I asked God to do.
In God’s sovereign control over the work of His hands, He knit David together with bones that were not strong or big enough to sustain his life. I do not need to make excuses for God about why David was not healed. The truth is that I know that God was able to heal him. It would not have been difficult for the Creator of the Universe to heal my baby boy. But He chose not to do it, and this makes me mad. I do not understand. "O Sovereign Lord, you alone know." (Ezekiel 37:3)
I have hope.
If only for this life do I have hope in Christ, then I am to be pitied more than all men (I Corinthians 15:19). But thanks be to God. "Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Corinthians 15:55-57).
Therefore, I will stand firm and let nothing move me because I know that my labor in the Lord is not in vain.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
A Letter to David
My Sweet Baby David,
There are so many things that I want to say to you. First and foremost, I love you and miss you so much. It is hard not to have you here with me. My arms ache to hold you close. I want to run my hands through your soft, black curls and touch your beautiful, little face. How I wish that I could hold you once again.
Our time together was too short, but I would not take back one moment of it. I did not want for you to be born one day early because I wanted to spend every possible moment with you. I am thankful that our Heavenly Father allowed my body to go into labor on its own - that way I will never have to wonder how many hours that I missed out on spending with you in my womb.
Carrying you in my womb was sometimes difficult, but if I could have kept you there for the rest of my life, I would have done it. As each day drew us closer to your "due" date, I wondered how I was going to get through your birth. I did not know if I had the strength to make it through, and the truth is that I did not have the strength, but our Heavenly Father carried me through. It was painfully beautiful, bittersweet, excruciating and wonderful ... all at the same time.
I was worried about how "being born" would affect you. I did not want for you to suffer. I knew that you were fragile, and I prayed so many times that God would place a hedge of protection around you. He did. My labor was very quick. We arrived at the hospital sometime after 8:00 p.m., and you were born at 11:01 p.m. When Dr. Joe came to "deliver" you, your bag of water was still fully intact like a beautiful pool of water protecting your precious little bones. Amazing grace!
You cried when you were born. I had prayed that you would cry. I knew that healthy babies always cry when they are born. I prayed that your cry would be the sweetest sound that I had ever heard, and it was. It was not a strong cry, but it forced oxygen into your little lungs. That cry kept you alive and allowed you to spend sweet time with us. David, those seven hours with you will forever be etched in our memories.
I wanted for you to weigh five pounds because I had made up my mind that the five-pound marker was a milestone, and it marked the sign of a thriving baby. The scale told us that you weighed 4lbs. 14.5oz., but your Aunt Jenny told me that you were at least 5 lbs. when you were born because you peed several times before we weighed you. I think that she was right. You were five pounds when you were born, even though the doctors all said that you would not be an ounce over 4lbs. 8oz. You showed them!
Before you were born, part of me was afraid to see you because I did not know what you would look like. I am sorry for being afraid, sweet baby boy. I tried to be strong for you, but sometimes I was scared. When I saw your beautiful face and your head full of soft, black curls, I immediately fell in love. You were absolutely gorgeous! You looked just like a little porcelain doll. I had always wanted a baby with lots of hair, and God gave me this gift in you, David. What a gift you were to us.
You cried for over four hours after you were born. I wanted so badly to comfort you and make things better for you. I felt so helpless because I did not know how to help you feel better. Your daddy was the one who was finally able to calm you down around 3:30 in the morning. You laid on his chest and slept peacefully. This time was such a precious time for you and daddy. I had been blessed to take care of you for nine months, and it was daddy's turn to take care of you for a little while. What a gift to you and daddy.
Even though you were sleeping peacefully, I could not rest my eyes. As you and daddy slept, I stared intently at you, watching every breath. I was afraid that if I took my eyes off of you for even a second, you might stop breathing. Around 4:00 a.m., the nurse came in to check your vitals. Your heart was still beating strongly, and you were still breathing, though your breaths were labored. I asked daddy if I could take a turn holding you for a while. He gladly handed you to me.
After I laid you on my chest, I was finally able to close my eyes to rest. We fell asleep together in the stillness of the night. It was so peaceful. I woke up about 6:00a.m. and looked down at you. I questioned whether or not you were still breathing, but I was not sure that I wanted to know the answer, so I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to go back to sleep. I did not want for our time together to end. It was like waking up from a good dream and trying desperately to fall back asleep ... I did not want it to be over.
I woke up your daddy a few minutes later, and he could not find your breath. I started to cry. We called the nurse into the room, and she could not find your heartbeat. Our hearts broke as your daddy and I wept together in those early morning hours. We did not want to let you go.
As the sun rose, the snow fell peacefully to the ground the morning of your passage from earth to heavenly paradise. We had given your life over to God, but it was so hard to cut the strings of release. It is still so hard, David. I suspect that those strings will have to be re-cut many times in the coming days, weeks, and years. Letting go of you while holding fast to the memories is a seemingly endless cycle of love and pain.
We spent the day in the hospital with you, holding you close. We did not want to put you down for even one minute. Every second of time with you counted as a week, a month, or a year that we would never be able to spend together. I stared intently at your precious face, trying to etch every little feature of yours into my memory. I did not want to forget anything about you ... your long fingers and toes, your sweet smell, your soft skin, your tiny nose, your adorable lips, and that head full of curly, black hair - your crown of glory! You were so beautiful.
We had many precious moments with you that day as the snow fell steadily outside of our hospital window. We laughed, we cried, we hugged, and we LOVED you, David. I could not give you enough kisses to last a lifetime, but I gave you as many as I could that day. I knew that we could not stay there forever, but I did not want our time together to end. I did not want to leave that hospital without you. How could I bear to go home without my precious baby boy in my arms?
Dr. Joe and the hospital staff graciously arranged for us to leave that evening when the funeral director came to take you. I held you close as the nurse wheeled us out of the hospital. I could not look up. I wept as we moved down the halls and out the door. The time had come. The funeral director was waiting in his white van to take you away.
I hugged and kissed you and handed your small, fragile body over to him. You were wrapped tightly in your soft, white blanket. Oh David, that was the hardest thing that I have ever done. The memory of that moment is still almost too difficult to bear. As we walked to our car and the white van disappeared into the distance, it took every bit of strength that I could muster to hold myself back from chasing after you. I knew that I could not keep you, but the pain of letting you go felt unbearable.
We met with the funeral director the next morning to finalize the arrangements for your service. I sat at the table and cried as we discussed the details. Once again, I had to tie myself to the chair because every part of me wanted so badly to come find you. My arms ached to hold you.
Somehow, by God's grace, we made it through the next couple of days. On Friday, your Mimi took me to buy a new outfit. I wanted to look nice for your service. I wanted to honor your life. When we walked into the store and started pulling clothes off the racks, the lady at the store asked me, "What's the occasion?" I could not tell her. I just wanted to buy something and get out of that store as quickly as possible. I looked at her and replied, "Trust me, you do not want to know." She was very sweet and gracious to us.
On Saturday, we woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. It felt like spring outside. The irony of it all was strange ... a snowfall on the day of your death ... spring on the day of your funeral. We forced ourselves to go through the motions of getting dressed and ready to go. I felt like I was watching a movie of someone else's life. As we arrived at the funeral home, I kept thinking, "What are we doing? Why I am here?"
It was good to see your sweet face once again. In my heart, I knew that you were not really in that tiny, white casket. I knew that you were alive and well with your Heavenly Father. Your daddy had often prayed and reminded me that you would be given a new body one day - a frame with strong, healthy bones. I can picture you in my mind's eye running and playing with your brothers in the heavenlies one day ... no more broken bones, no more pain, no more tears.
God was glorified by your life and in your death. Your life served a great, big purpose, David. You touched so many hearts. You were and will continue to be an indescribable gift to us. It has been such a privilege to be your mommy. I am forever changed.
Always loving and missing you,
Mommy
There are so many things that I want to say to you. First and foremost, I love you and miss you so much. It is hard not to have you here with me. My arms ache to hold you close. I want to run my hands through your soft, black curls and touch your beautiful, little face. How I wish that I could hold you once again.
Our time together was too short, but I would not take back one moment of it. I did not want for you to be born one day early because I wanted to spend every possible moment with you. I am thankful that our Heavenly Father allowed my body to go into labor on its own - that way I will never have to wonder how many hours that I missed out on spending with you in my womb.
Carrying you in my womb was sometimes difficult, but if I could have kept you there for the rest of my life, I would have done it. As each day drew us closer to your "due" date, I wondered how I was going to get through your birth. I did not know if I had the strength to make it through, and the truth is that I did not have the strength, but our Heavenly Father carried me through. It was painfully beautiful, bittersweet, excruciating and wonderful ... all at the same time.
I was worried about how "being born" would affect you. I did not want for you to suffer. I knew that you were fragile, and I prayed so many times that God would place a hedge of protection around you. He did. My labor was very quick. We arrived at the hospital sometime after 8:00 p.m., and you were born at 11:01 p.m. When Dr. Joe came to "deliver" you, your bag of water was still fully intact like a beautiful pool of water protecting your precious little bones. Amazing grace!
You cried when you were born. I had prayed that you would cry. I knew that healthy babies always cry when they are born. I prayed that your cry would be the sweetest sound that I had ever heard, and it was. It was not a strong cry, but it forced oxygen into your little lungs. That cry kept you alive and allowed you to spend sweet time with us. David, those seven hours with you will forever be etched in our memories.
I wanted for you to weigh five pounds because I had made up my mind that the five-pound marker was a milestone, and it marked the sign of a thriving baby. The scale told us that you weighed 4lbs. 14.5oz., but your Aunt Jenny told me that you were at least 5 lbs. when you were born because you peed several times before we weighed you. I think that she was right. You were five pounds when you were born, even though the doctors all said that you would not be an ounce over 4lbs. 8oz. You showed them!
Before you were born, part of me was afraid to see you because I did not know what you would look like. I am sorry for being afraid, sweet baby boy. I tried to be strong for you, but sometimes I was scared. When I saw your beautiful face and your head full of soft, black curls, I immediately fell in love. You were absolutely gorgeous! You looked just like a little porcelain doll. I had always wanted a baby with lots of hair, and God gave me this gift in you, David. What a gift you were to us.
You cried for over four hours after you were born. I wanted so badly to comfort you and make things better for you. I felt so helpless because I did not know how to help you feel better. Your daddy was the one who was finally able to calm you down around 3:30 in the morning. You laid on his chest and slept peacefully. This time was such a precious time for you and daddy. I had been blessed to take care of you for nine months, and it was daddy's turn to take care of you for a little while. What a gift to you and daddy.
Even though you were sleeping peacefully, I could not rest my eyes. As you and daddy slept, I stared intently at you, watching every breath. I was afraid that if I took my eyes off of you for even a second, you might stop breathing. Around 4:00 a.m., the nurse came in to check your vitals. Your heart was still beating strongly, and you were still breathing, though your breaths were labored. I asked daddy if I could take a turn holding you for a while. He gladly handed you to me.
After I laid you on my chest, I was finally able to close my eyes to rest. We fell asleep together in the stillness of the night. It was so peaceful. I woke up about 6:00a.m. and looked down at you. I questioned whether or not you were still breathing, but I was not sure that I wanted to know the answer, so I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to go back to sleep. I did not want for our time together to end. It was like waking up from a good dream and trying desperately to fall back asleep ... I did not want it to be over.
I woke up your daddy a few minutes later, and he could not find your breath. I started to cry. We called the nurse into the room, and she could not find your heartbeat. Our hearts broke as your daddy and I wept together in those early morning hours. We did not want to let you go.
As the sun rose, the snow fell peacefully to the ground the morning of your passage from earth to heavenly paradise. We had given your life over to God, but it was so hard to cut the strings of release. It is still so hard, David. I suspect that those strings will have to be re-cut many times in the coming days, weeks, and years. Letting go of you while holding fast to the memories is a seemingly endless cycle of love and pain.
We spent the day in the hospital with you, holding you close. We did not want to put you down for even one minute. Every second of time with you counted as a week, a month, or a year that we would never be able to spend together. I stared intently at your precious face, trying to etch every little feature of yours into my memory. I did not want to forget anything about you ... your long fingers and toes, your sweet smell, your soft skin, your tiny nose, your adorable lips, and that head full of curly, black hair - your crown of glory! You were so beautiful.
We had many precious moments with you that day as the snow fell steadily outside of our hospital window. We laughed, we cried, we hugged, and we LOVED you, David. I could not give you enough kisses to last a lifetime, but I gave you as many as I could that day. I knew that we could not stay there forever, but I did not want our time together to end. I did not want to leave that hospital without you. How could I bear to go home without my precious baby boy in my arms?
Dr. Joe and the hospital staff graciously arranged for us to leave that evening when the funeral director came to take you. I held you close as the nurse wheeled us out of the hospital. I could not look up. I wept as we moved down the halls and out the door. The time had come. The funeral director was waiting in his white van to take you away.
I hugged and kissed you and handed your small, fragile body over to him. You were wrapped tightly in your soft, white blanket. Oh David, that was the hardest thing that I have ever done. The memory of that moment is still almost too difficult to bear. As we walked to our car and the white van disappeared into the distance, it took every bit of strength that I could muster to hold myself back from chasing after you. I knew that I could not keep you, but the pain of letting you go felt unbearable.
We met with the funeral director the next morning to finalize the arrangements for your service. I sat at the table and cried as we discussed the details. Once again, I had to tie myself to the chair because every part of me wanted so badly to come find you. My arms ached to hold you.
Somehow, by God's grace, we made it through the next couple of days. On Friday, your Mimi took me to buy a new outfit. I wanted to look nice for your service. I wanted to honor your life. When we walked into the store and started pulling clothes off the racks, the lady at the store asked me, "What's the occasion?" I could not tell her. I just wanted to buy something and get out of that store as quickly as possible. I looked at her and replied, "Trust me, you do not want to know." She was very sweet and gracious to us.
On Saturday, we woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. It felt like spring outside. The irony of it all was strange ... a snowfall on the day of your death ... spring on the day of your funeral. We forced ourselves to go through the motions of getting dressed and ready to go. I felt like I was watching a movie of someone else's life. As we arrived at the funeral home, I kept thinking, "What are we doing? Why I am here?"
It was good to see your sweet face once again. In my heart, I knew that you were not really in that tiny, white casket. I knew that you were alive and well with your Heavenly Father. Your daddy had often prayed and reminded me that you would be given a new body one day - a frame with strong, healthy bones. I can picture you in my mind's eye running and playing with your brothers in the heavenlies one day ... no more broken bones, no more pain, no more tears.
God was glorified by your life and in your death. Your life served a great, big purpose, David. You touched so many hearts. You were and will continue to be an indescribable gift to us. It has been such a privilege to be your mommy. I am forever changed.
Always loving and missing you,
Mommy
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
David's Celebration Service
A memorial service to celebrate the life of David Nathaniel Watson will be held at 2 p.m. on Saturday, March 6, 2010, in the Chapel at Crowell Brothers Funeral Home, 5051 Peachtree Industrial Blvd., Norcross, Georgia. Our family will receive visitors on Saturday from 1-2 p.m. at the funeral home.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the National Christian Foundation, 11625 Rainwater Dr., Suite 500, Alpharetta, GA 30009, for The David Nathaniel Giving Fund - fund #759371. This fund was established to continue the legacy of David's small but powerful life. All contributions will be used to support the ministries that have loved and encouraged us through this journey.
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the National Christian Foundation, 11625 Rainwater Dr., Suite 500, Alpharetta, GA 30009, for The David Nathaniel Giving Fund - fund #759371. This fund was established to continue the legacy of David's small but powerful life. All contributions will be used to support the ministries that have loved and encouraged us through this journey.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
David Nathaniel is Born
Our beloved gift from God, David Nathaniel Watson, was born on March 1, 2010, at 11:01 p.m. He weighed in at 4 lbs. 14 oz. We enjoyed precious time with our beautiful baby boy. David went to be with his Creator on March 2, 2010, around 6:00 a.m.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
More than Enough
It is difficult to believe that my due date is only a few days away. In a very short time, David will be born, and a new journey will begin. It is hard for me to imagine what this new journey will look like. I guess that part of me is grateful that God does not allow me to know His plans for tomorrow because I am not sure that I want to know. I rest solely on the promise that His plans for me are good (Jeremiah 29:11; Romans 8:28).
I do not feel ready to “let go and let God”, but I realize that the time has come for me to lay my Isaac (literally my David) on the altar. No one can do this for me – I must do it myself. Just as Abraham told Isaac on their journey to the altar, so I must remember, “The Lord will provide” (Genesis 22:8). I do not know what His provision will look like or how it will come. I only know that His promises are true, so I embrace them by faith. Tommy and I have not lacked God’s provision in any way along this journey, and we will not lack His provision when David is born. We have learned in very tangible ways over the past few months that "God's work done in God's way will never lack God's supplies." ~ Hudson Taylor
When we needed good medical insurance to cover the cost of visits to specialists, ultrasounds and genetic testing, God provided. When Tommy finished his seminary classes and needed a full-time job, God provided. When we deeply needed our brothers and sisters in Christ to cover us in prayer and to love us in word and deed, God provided. He has provided for us in so many ways, and His provision has consistently been more than enough.
During communion at church this past Sunday, I was reminded that Jesus not only provides our daily bread, He is our daily bread. He is not just a means to an end – He is the end. He is the bread of life and the living water. When He fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fish, the disciples filled twelve baskets with the pieces left over by those who had eaten – one basket for each disciple – a symbolic reminder to each one of them that Jesus provides and that His provision is more than enough (John 6:13).
As I come to lay my Isaac at the altar, I choose to embrace the truth that having Jesus by my side is enough – period. I realize now that the point of this journey has not been that Jesus will provide me with what I think will satisfy my thirst. The point is that Jesus Himself satisfies my thirst, and the water that He supplies in Himself is a spring of water welling up to eternal life (John 4:14). “And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3).
I know that Jesus is intimately concerned with meeting my temporal physical and emotional needs. He has proven this to be true. How much more, then, is He concerned about meeting my eternal needs? He is using this light momentary affliction to prepare for me “an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” So, I fix my eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. “For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal”(II Corinthians 4:17-18).
I do not feel ready to “let go and let God”, but I realize that the time has come for me to lay my Isaac (literally my David) on the altar. No one can do this for me – I must do it myself. Just as Abraham told Isaac on their journey to the altar, so I must remember, “The Lord will provide” (Genesis 22:8). I do not know what His provision will look like or how it will come. I only know that His promises are true, so I embrace them by faith. Tommy and I have not lacked God’s provision in any way along this journey, and we will not lack His provision when David is born. We have learned in very tangible ways over the past few months that "God's work done in God's way will never lack God's supplies." ~ Hudson Taylor
When we needed good medical insurance to cover the cost of visits to specialists, ultrasounds and genetic testing, God provided. When Tommy finished his seminary classes and needed a full-time job, God provided. When we deeply needed our brothers and sisters in Christ to cover us in prayer and to love us in word and deed, God provided. He has provided for us in so many ways, and His provision has consistently been more than enough.
During communion at church this past Sunday, I was reminded that Jesus not only provides our daily bread, He is our daily bread. He is not just a means to an end – He is the end. He is the bread of life and the living water. When He fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fish, the disciples filled twelve baskets with the pieces left over by those who had eaten – one basket for each disciple – a symbolic reminder to each one of them that Jesus provides and that His provision is more than enough (John 6:13).
As I come to lay my Isaac at the altar, I choose to embrace the truth that having Jesus by my side is enough – period. I realize now that the point of this journey has not been that Jesus will provide me with what I think will satisfy my thirst. The point is that Jesus Himself satisfies my thirst, and the water that He supplies in Himself is a spring of water welling up to eternal life (John 4:14). “And this is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3).
I know that Jesus is intimately concerned with meeting my temporal physical and emotional needs. He has proven this to be true. How much more, then, is He concerned about meeting my eternal needs? He is using this light momentary affliction to prepare for me “an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” So, I fix my eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. “For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal”(II Corinthians 4:17-18).
Monday, February 15, 2010
To My Valentine
I’ve hijacked my valentine’s blog to honor her with a letter of encouragement, respect, and love.
Reference:
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. Proverbs 31:25
Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also... Proverbs 31:28
Rachael,
I’ve thought about what I should say to you this Valentine’s Day and Proverbs 31:25 seemed to me an appropriate verse for this year. Your body has changed over the last 8 months and the new clothes you’ve had to wear seem to all be made with the same interwoven fabrics: strength and dignity. The weight of circumstances you have faced in the last few months would make grown men crumble to their knees, but you, my dear, are strong. The aura of dignity that goes before you has strengthened my faith and the faith of so many others. As we portray a certain image by the clothes we wear I have to say that your fashion is heavenly.
The future is something mysterious because we have no control over it and we do not know if tomorrow will bring joy or sorrow. The next few weeks will bring some of the most difficult circumstances of our lives but whether they are filled with joy or sorrow I see a smile on your face. This isn’t a shallow or pretend smile that just thinks everything is going to be alright. This isn’t a smile that is detached from the reality of suffering. Your smile is different. You smile at the uncertainty of the future that would press upon you fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. You smile at this because you are grounded in the steadfast love of our God.
Your strength, dignity, and hope in the steadfast love of God causes your family to rise up and call you blessed.
Love- Tommy, Benjamin, Caleb, and David
Reference:
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. Proverbs 31:25
Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also... Proverbs 31:28
Rachael,
I’ve thought about what I should say to you this Valentine’s Day and Proverbs 31:25 seemed to me an appropriate verse for this year. Your body has changed over the last 8 months and the new clothes you’ve had to wear seem to all be made with the same interwoven fabrics: strength and dignity. The weight of circumstances you have faced in the last few months would make grown men crumble to their knees, but you, my dear, are strong. The aura of dignity that goes before you has strengthened my faith and the faith of so many others. As we portray a certain image by the clothes we wear I have to say that your fashion is heavenly.
The future is something mysterious because we have no control over it and we do not know if tomorrow will bring joy or sorrow. The next few weeks will bring some of the most difficult circumstances of our lives but whether they are filled with joy or sorrow I see a smile on your face. This isn’t a shallow or pretend smile that just thinks everything is going to be alright. This isn’t a smile that is detached from the reality of suffering. Your smile is different. You smile at the uncertainty of the future that would press upon you fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. You smile at this because you are grounded in the steadfast love of our God.
Your strength, dignity, and hope in the steadfast love of God causes your family to rise up and call you blessed.
Love- Tommy, Benjamin, Caleb, and David
Monday, February 8, 2010
Instrument of Glory
On Friday we received the long-awaited results of my amniocentesis. The testing process took weeks to complete. Only two labs in the entire country have the capability of testing cells for the rare condition for which David was diagnosed. The results indicated that David has osteogenesis imperfecta, which is characterized by a mutation in collagen – a building block of bones. There at least 8 known types of OI, and apparently, David’s particular mutation is one-of-a kind. The laboratory said that they had never seen it before.
As I lay in bed Friday night, I began to reminisce about the journey through which God has brought us. It all started one fateful Saturday in June while Tommy was in Kenya. That morning I walked in and out of three drug stores before I got up the nerve to buy a pregnancy test. With the test in hand, I drove the kids to McDonald’s where I went to the bathroom and discovered the news that we were expecting our third baby. As Benjamin and Caleb blissfully played on the playground, I sat and stared at the wall in total shock.
Since Tommy was in a remote part of a third-world country, I had no way of reaching him other than by email. Admittedly, I was not initially happy about the unexpected news, so I decided to inform him by sending him a one-word email, “Congratulations.” It was three days before he got the message to which he replied, “Congratulations for what?” “Your new baby,” was my only response. Again, it was several days before I heard back from him. We were thousands of miles apart, unable to have a meaningful conversation about the information that would change our lives forever.
The rest of the story is history. When we went in for our routine, 20-week ultrasound in early October to find out if we were having a boy or a girl, we discovered that something was terribly wrong. Our baby boy had a lethal bone disease, and there was nothing that could be done about it. This discovery sent us into a whirlwind of emotion and confusion.
The further along that we get on this journey, the less sense it seems to make. What is God doing? It defies all human rationale. Why would God cause an unexpected pregnancy in order to create a baby with a rare genetic mutation – indeed so rare that it is is unique only to him? I know that we are all one-of-a-kind, but this is taking it to a whole new level. In the midst of all of my questions, I am left with only one clear answer: David was uniquely created by God to be an instrument for His glory.
When Tommy and I went before the elders of our church early Sunday morning for prayer in accordance with James chapter 5, we were reminded of how Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were instruments for God’s glory. When they refused to worship King Nebuchadnezzar’s gods, they were threatened with death by burning. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up." Daniel 3:16-18.
The three men were bound and thrown into the fiery furnace, but the fire did not have any power over their bodies. The hair of their heads was not singed, their cloaks were not harmed, and no smell of fire came upon them. Nebuchadnezzar answered and said, "Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants, who trusted in him, and set aside the king’s command, and yielded up their bodies rather than serve and worship any god except their own God.” Daniel 3:28. Hearing this story again reminded me of a childhood song entitled “God is Able.”
Therefore, Tommy and I come boldly before the throne of grace and proclaim with confidence, “The God whom we serve is able!” We stand resolutely on God’s Word during this time, for all of our hope is in Christ alone. The God who created all things can deliver David from the hand of death, so we stand firm, believing in faith, for all things are possible to him who believes. But, even if God chooses not to deliver David, we stand firm in the promise that He will fill our hearts with all joy and peace as we trust in Him, so that we may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13.
Whether through our suffering or through his healing, David Nathaniel is an instrument for God’s glory.
As I lay in bed Friday night, I began to reminisce about the journey through which God has brought us. It all started one fateful Saturday in June while Tommy was in Kenya. That morning I walked in and out of three drug stores before I got up the nerve to buy a pregnancy test. With the test in hand, I drove the kids to McDonald’s where I went to the bathroom and discovered the news that we were expecting our third baby. As Benjamin and Caleb blissfully played on the playground, I sat and stared at the wall in total shock.
Since Tommy was in a remote part of a third-world country, I had no way of reaching him other than by email. Admittedly, I was not initially happy about the unexpected news, so I decided to inform him by sending him a one-word email, “Congratulations.” It was three days before he got the message to which he replied, “Congratulations for what?” “Your new baby,” was my only response. Again, it was several days before I heard back from him. We were thousands of miles apart, unable to have a meaningful conversation about the information that would change our lives forever.
The rest of the story is history. When we went in for our routine, 20-week ultrasound in early October to find out if we were having a boy or a girl, we discovered that something was terribly wrong. Our baby boy had a lethal bone disease, and there was nothing that could be done about it. This discovery sent us into a whirlwind of emotion and confusion.
The further along that we get on this journey, the less sense it seems to make. What is God doing? It defies all human rationale. Why would God cause an unexpected pregnancy in order to create a baby with a rare genetic mutation – indeed so rare that it is is unique only to him? I know that we are all one-of-a-kind, but this is taking it to a whole new level. In the midst of all of my questions, I am left with only one clear answer: David was uniquely created by God to be an instrument for His glory.
When Tommy and I went before the elders of our church early Sunday morning for prayer in accordance with James chapter 5, we were reminded of how Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were instruments for God’s glory. When they refused to worship King Nebuchadnezzar’s gods, they were threatened with death by burning. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up." Daniel 3:16-18.
The three men were bound and thrown into the fiery furnace, but the fire did not have any power over their bodies. The hair of their heads was not singed, their cloaks were not harmed, and no smell of fire came upon them. Nebuchadnezzar answered and said, "Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants, who trusted in him, and set aside the king’s command, and yielded up their bodies rather than serve and worship any god except their own God.” Daniel 3:28. Hearing this story again reminded me of a childhood song entitled “God is Able.”
Therefore, Tommy and I come boldly before the throne of grace and proclaim with confidence, “The God whom we serve is able!” We stand resolutely on God’s Word during this time, for all of our hope is in Christ alone. The God who created all things can deliver David from the hand of death, so we stand firm, believing in faith, for all things are possible to him who believes. But, even if God chooses not to deliver David, we stand firm in the promise that He will fill our hearts with all joy and peace as we trust in Him, so that we may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13.
Whether through our suffering or through his healing, David Nathaniel is an instrument for God’s glory.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Child of Mine
This past week has been rough. I had two doctors’ appointments, and the primary focus of both appointments was to discuss the birth plan for baby David. I can hardly believe that my due date is less than 5 weeks away. When I think about what I was doing 5 weeks ago, it seems almost like yesterday. Time is so fleeting.The birth process can be stressful for any baby, but I am told that it will be especially traumatic for little David, due to the fragility of his bones. I know that he must come out, sooner or later, but the thought of putting him through this painful process is difficult for me to bear, not to mention the fact that he will be forced to try to breathe on his own as soon as he is born. All that I can do is pray each and every day that God will put a hedge of protection around him and shield him from pain and suffering.
During my visit to the specialist, I had yet another ultrasound. I have had so many ultrasounds now that I have lost count. It is always good to see David again, but it is painful too, as each time I am callously reminded that the size of his ribcage is “well within the lethal range.” No matter how many times I hear this report, it never gets any easier. It is always a knife through my heart.
This time, the ultrasound technician was my angel. She spent the majority of the time taking 4-d pictures of David before doing the routine, rote measurements of his growth. He was sleeping peacefully during most of the process, with his chin resting sweetly on his little arms. He is a beautiful baby. I cannot tell you what a joy it was for me to see his precious face for the very first time. I will never forget that moment.
He has a little bit of hair, though not much yet. He probably will be mostly bald, just like his big brothers were when they were born. The picture was so detailed that I could even see his long eyelashes – amazing! At that moment, he was so real to me, and he looked so perfect. All that I could think was, “I just want to keep him. Oh please, Lord, let me keep him.” And in the midst of my pain and pleading, the Holy Spirit of God gently whispered to me, “My child, he is not yours to keep.”
In my head, I know that this is true. I knew it five years ago when Tom and I dedicated Benjamin to God, and I was reminded again three years later when we dedicated Caleb, but I must say that knowing this in my head is very different than understanding it in my heart. A couple of months back, a close friend asked me what was at stake in my decision to “put myself out there” instead of going into my shell of self-pity, which is my natural tendency. I did not have to think long about my answer. By far, the hardest part of this journey has been to release my children to God.
I have realized, now more than ever before, that I do not control the wellbeing of my children, as much as I would like to think that I do. I can try to protect them from physical harm, keep them away from dangerous people, take care of their health, etc., but ultimately their wellbeing is out of my hands. As I first processed the news of David’s condition 15 weeks ago, I was filled with fear at the thought that if God would choose to take David, then what would stop Him from taking Benjamin or Caleb?
What about Job? Job was blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil, and God took all of his children. Why should I be any different? I know that most of these thoughts were fear-based, driven by an attack from the enemy, yet I still had to grapple with the truth that my children belonged to God, not to me, and as such, they were in His hands. So, I was faced with two primary questions. Can God be trusted, and will He be good to me and Tom and to our children? The answer to both questions, of course, is yes, but once again, knowing something in my head is quite different than understanding and believing it in my heart.
In His great grace and patience, I believe that God has grown me in this process, though I am far from perfect in my understanding and application of His control over my life and His goodness in it. It is a daily battle of my independence vs. God’s sovereignty and goodness. I pray that He will help me to trust Him more, as I continue to plead with Him each and every day for David’s healing.
It is so difficult for me to live in total dependence upon God. In fact, apart from his mercy and grace, it is impossible. I want to figure out His plan and then rely on my own strength to walk through it. I want to know what He is doing. If He is going to choose to heal David, then I can breathe a huge sigh of relief and thank Him for his miraculous intervention. If not, then I can start to “cope” with the reality that I must let David go and somehow learn to trust in God's goodness in the midst of my suffering. But being in limbo and living in the unknown is so hard.
I must continually “renew my mind.” I must be present today and not try to live out tomorrow. I cannot muster up the strength to cope with tomorrow’s problems today because I am only promised the grace that I need to make it through today. In a letter written by Corrie Ten Boom, she recalls the following story from her childhood:
When I was a little girl…, I went to my father and said, “Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ.” “Tell me,” said Father, “When you take a train trip to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?” “No, Daddy, you give me the money for the ticket just before we get on the train.” “That is right,” my father said, “and so it is with God’s strength. Our Father in Heaven knows when you will need the strength to be a martyr for Jesus Christ. He will supply all you need – just in time. “
And so I am relying on my Heavenly Father to give me my train ticket each day. I do not know which train I am scheduled to board, but I know that He will give me the ticket to ride it – just in time.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Miracle of Faith
Recently, God has been teaching me about faith. Specifically, God has been speaking to my heart about the faith of Abraham. I have always believed that God is able to do exceedingly, abundantly above all that we could ask or imagine, and deep in my heart, I hoped that He would do just that. I secretly hoped that God would "surprise" me by healing David, but I was not about to ask Him to do it. Simply believing that God was able seemed to be enough.
Over the past couple of weeks, the Spirit of God has gently shown me that my believing that He is able and my hoping that He might surprise me by doing something miraculous is not enough. For some reason, God is calling me and Tom to ask Him to miraculously heal David. It may sound silly, but for me, this is a huge step of faith. Why must I ask Him? Isn't God able to do whatever He pleases? What difference does it make if I ask?
I think that part of my unwillingness to ask God for a miracle was due to my unwillingness to be disappointed in God. If I put myself out there and ask for the impossible, what happens if God says no? I can believe in God’s goodness and accept the prospect that He may ordain our son’s life to be too short without understanding why, but I think that asking God for the impossible may stretch my ability to believe in God's goodness further than it ever has ever been stretched before.
I do not pretend to understand all that God is doing, but I know that I must obey. When God promised Abraham that he would become the father of many nations, Abraham believed and obeyed what God told him to do. God said, "Your descendants will be as numerous as the stars," even though such a promise seemed impossible! And Abraham's faith did not weaken even though he knew that he was too old to be a father and that Sarah, his wife, had never been able to bear children. Romans 4:18-19.
Abraham was absolutely convinced that God was able to do anything He promised. It was by faith that Abraham offered Isaac as a sacrifice when God was testing him. Abraham was ready to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, though God had promised him, "Isaac is the son through whom your descendants will be counted." Genesis 21:12. Abraham believed God who brings the dead back to life and who brings into existence what didn't exist before. Romans 4:17.
So, by faith, Tom and I are asking God to heal David "for nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37. I must be honest - this is very difficult for me. I want to understand it, to rationalize it and to somehow explain it to myself and others. I do not usually ask for things unless I am relatively certain that I will get them. I do not consider myself to be a miracle-prayer. Right or wrong, this is a big stretch for me.
But amidst all of my questions, I am certain of one thing: my failure to ask God for David's healing would be disobedience. While I do not understand why, I know without a doubt that He is telling me to ask. So, Tom and I are asking God to do something miraculous. We are asking our great God to bring healing to David's bones, to cause his bones to grow and to develop his lungs so that he is able to breathe on his own. We are asking God for the "impossible."
We are not asking because we are certain of the answer. We are asking because we trust our Father who is telling us to ask. We are asking for the miracle of faith.
Over the past couple of weeks, the Spirit of God has gently shown me that my believing that He is able and my hoping that He might surprise me by doing something miraculous is not enough. For some reason, God is calling me and Tom to ask Him to miraculously heal David. It may sound silly, but for me, this is a huge step of faith. Why must I ask Him? Isn't God able to do whatever He pleases? What difference does it make if I ask?
I think that part of my unwillingness to ask God for a miracle was due to my unwillingness to be disappointed in God. If I put myself out there and ask for the impossible, what happens if God says no? I can believe in God’s goodness and accept the prospect that He may ordain our son’s life to be too short without understanding why, but I think that asking God for the impossible may stretch my ability to believe in God's goodness further than it ever has ever been stretched before.
I do not pretend to understand all that God is doing, but I know that I must obey. When God promised Abraham that he would become the father of many nations, Abraham believed and obeyed what God told him to do. God said, "Your descendants will be as numerous as the stars," even though such a promise seemed impossible! And Abraham's faith did not weaken even though he knew that he was too old to be a father and that Sarah, his wife, had never been able to bear children. Romans 4:18-19.
Abraham was absolutely convinced that God was able to do anything He promised. It was by faith that Abraham offered Isaac as a sacrifice when God was testing him. Abraham was ready to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, though God had promised him, "Isaac is the son through whom your descendants will be counted." Genesis 21:12. Abraham believed God who brings the dead back to life and who brings into existence what didn't exist before. Romans 4:17.
So, by faith, Tom and I are asking God to heal David "for nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37. I must be honest - this is very difficult for me. I want to understand it, to rationalize it and to somehow explain it to myself and others. I do not usually ask for things unless I am relatively certain that I will get them. I do not consider myself to be a miracle-prayer. Right or wrong, this is a big stretch for me.
But amidst all of my questions, I am certain of one thing: my failure to ask God for David's healing would be disobedience. While I do not understand why, I know without a doubt that He is telling me to ask. So, Tom and I are asking God to do something miraculous. We are asking our great God to bring healing to David's bones, to cause his bones to grow and to develop his lungs so that he is able to breathe on his own. We are asking God for the "impossible."
We are not asking because we are certain of the answer. We are asking because we trust our Father who is telling us to ask. We are asking for the miracle of faith.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
The Gift of Hope
Most people think of hiccups as an annoyance. To me, hiccups are a sign of life and hope.
Babies in utero breathe and swallow amniotic fluid. This is part of normal development. For weeks, the doctors have told me that David could stop swallowing fluid at any time because his small chest may restrict him from doing so. If he stops swallowing fluid, then excess fluid will build up, which will likely result in his early birth.
When David hiccups, I am reassured that he is still swallowing fluid. The longer that he continues to swallow fluid, the longer that I can carry him! Sometimes, several days go by without my noticing any hiccups, and I start to worry that he may no longer be swallowing. Then, out of the blue, he starts hiccuping again, and I thank God that He has given us more time together.
Every time that I see another ultrasound, I am reminded again that David’s chest is extremely small, restricting the development of his lungs. The irony of it all is that he is completely viable in my womb because I am able to supply him with all of the oxygen that he needs. Theoretically, he could live inside of me indefinitely, and I sometimes wish that this were possible.
My emotions have ranged greatly during the past 12 weeks. At the beginning, I wanted all of this to end as quickly as possible. Then, as time passed, I slowly began to appreciate the time that God has given me to carry David, though it may be short. Many well-meaning people have told me that they are “praying for a miracle,” and I usually respond that the “miracle” may not be physical healing. So far, I have not seen any evidence of physical healing.
It may sound strange, but for a while I was not even open to the possibility of David’s physical healing. The thought of his death was painfully difficult to bear, but somehow accepting this reality was more bearable than hoping for a physical miracle. I guess that I was afraid of disappointment. However, I am reminded that “hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.” Romans 5:5.
I can now say that the Holy Spirit of God has granted me the ability to hope, not necessarily in a miraculous healing for David, but the ability to open my heart to whatever God wants to do in this situation. Certainly, He is able to miraculously heal David, and I should not dismiss this possibility in order to protect myself from disappointment. You see, my Father has shown me that I can trust Him with my heart because He will not disappoint.
My Father knows how fragile my heart is, so I do not have to be afraid of trusting Him with it. I can hope for miracles, knowing that My God is able. He is able to change David’s prognosis by simply speaking the word. Just as He spoke all of creation into being, He can speak life into this precious child.
This is not a “name it and claim it” theology whereby one can attain miracles by having “enough” faith. I believe that true faith is quite opposite to a “name it and claim it” theology. True faith is to believe in God’s goodness, His plan and His provision no matter how dim the outlook may seem. True faith is to walk by faith and not by sight. True faith believes in God’s ability to redeem any situation, for “without faith it is impossible to please Him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who seek Him.” Hebrews 11:6.
So, by the grace of God, I will continue to hope in Him each day, and I will cherish every hiccup knowing that it is a gift from God.
Babies in utero breathe and swallow amniotic fluid. This is part of normal development. For weeks, the doctors have told me that David could stop swallowing fluid at any time because his small chest may restrict him from doing so. If he stops swallowing fluid, then excess fluid will build up, which will likely result in his early birth.
When David hiccups, I am reassured that he is still swallowing fluid. The longer that he continues to swallow fluid, the longer that I can carry him! Sometimes, several days go by without my noticing any hiccups, and I start to worry that he may no longer be swallowing. Then, out of the blue, he starts hiccuping again, and I thank God that He has given us more time together.
Every time that I see another ultrasound, I am reminded again that David’s chest is extremely small, restricting the development of his lungs. The irony of it all is that he is completely viable in my womb because I am able to supply him with all of the oxygen that he needs. Theoretically, he could live inside of me indefinitely, and I sometimes wish that this were possible.
My emotions have ranged greatly during the past 12 weeks. At the beginning, I wanted all of this to end as quickly as possible. Then, as time passed, I slowly began to appreciate the time that God has given me to carry David, though it may be short. Many well-meaning people have told me that they are “praying for a miracle,” and I usually respond that the “miracle” may not be physical healing. So far, I have not seen any evidence of physical healing.
It may sound strange, but for a while I was not even open to the possibility of David’s physical healing. The thought of his death was painfully difficult to bear, but somehow accepting this reality was more bearable than hoping for a physical miracle. I guess that I was afraid of disappointment. However, I am reminded that “hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.” Romans 5:5.
I can now say that the Holy Spirit of God has granted me the ability to hope, not necessarily in a miraculous healing for David, but the ability to open my heart to whatever God wants to do in this situation. Certainly, He is able to miraculously heal David, and I should not dismiss this possibility in order to protect myself from disappointment. You see, my Father has shown me that I can trust Him with my heart because He will not disappoint.
My Father knows how fragile my heart is, so I do not have to be afraid of trusting Him with it. I can hope for miracles, knowing that My God is able. He is able to change David’s prognosis by simply speaking the word. Just as He spoke all of creation into being, He can speak life into this precious child.
This is not a “name it and claim it” theology whereby one can attain miracles by having “enough” faith. I believe that true faith is quite opposite to a “name it and claim it” theology. True faith is to believe in God’s goodness, His plan and His provision no matter how dim the outlook may seem. True faith is to walk by faith and not by sight. True faith believes in God’s ability to redeem any situation, for “without faith it is impossible to please Him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who seek Him.” Hebrews 11:6.
So, by the grace of God, I will continue to hope in Him each day, and I will cherish every hiccup knowing that it is a gift from God.
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