The Life that Was

I miss our baby . . .

I’ve settled into the sovereignty of God and found peace and purpose in his way, but every now and then a wave of grief washes over me and I wonder what life would be like had our child continued to grow in me.

I would be 32 weeks pregnant (today)- yes, I still count . . . and look at baby names and ultrasounds and feel ghost kicks in my belly.

It’s not easy letting go, at least for me.

Our kids would be 16 months apart; that number burns in my heart. It seems I meet mothers everywhere (even one tonight) whose children are spaced identically to what ours would have been. The loss feels heavy in those moments.

I realize Jonah is still a baby and adding another so soon would be grueling. From the outside looking in, it likely seems God spared us from a burdensome situation, but from the moment I saw those two pink lines on that little white stick (the one still in my bathroom drawer) I loved that child. I wanted him to live, to laugh, to share our home. I didn’t care what it required of me. I was willing to give and sacrifice anything . . . everything. . .

But he slipped from me.

I still blame myself for not being able to sustain his life. I feel broken, like something is wrong with my body . . . perhaps my hormones or thyroid. Or like I could have prevented it. . . maybe the cheap vitamin I chose to take was toxic or I should have weaned Jonah right away. I know that ultimately God is the creator and sustainer of life. His will and way prevails over us, but I cannot shake this carnal wrestling.

My birthday (June 30^th) marks the due date of our baby. I wonder if things will change in my heart when that day comes and goes, if I'll finally accept our loss and stop entertaining the “what ifs” and “should have beens.” Maybe it will bring a fresh perspective that entirely frees me from this pain. But for tonight, I ache. I question. I count. And remember the life that was and could have been . . .

Self-Absorbtion

Three housebound days, and I’m on edge. I’m not angry, just tense, frustrated and exhausted. I don’t do well confined to close quarters. I need a change of scenery and stimuli. I’m relatively sure Jonah inherited my restlessness; either that or he’s easily influenced by my mood. Poor Allen. It must be difficult living with us on days like this, with all our outward displays of inner turmoil.

I wrote the previous paragraph yesterday afternoon and this morning I’m deeply convicted. It seems the footage and photos from this weekends flood are endlessly surfacing as well as reports of devastating loss. Thousands are displaced (with no insurance to rebuild), dozens dead and I- in all my selfishness- could think only of my own temporal discomfort. No one in our home was injured; none of our belongings were even remotely damaged. We were entirely spared, and yesterday- instead of being grateful for a home to be “housebound” to and the company of my husband and son, I moped around feeling suffocated.

I am sickened by my seemingly innate self-absorption. I call myself a woman of God and say I have a heart for humanity, but when I assess my motives and actions it all too often seems there are clauses to my compassion. I am not quick to rearrange my agenda or release my creature comforts to help those in desperate need.

When will God’s heart overtake me? When will his ache for humanity grip me so powerfully that I cannot resist the notion to serve and assist others? When will I relinquish my self-centered agenda?

I am inwardly compelled, even as I confess, to identify areas of need around me and do something- anything- to ease the distress of another, even a stranger. Perhaps this compulsion is instigated by a conscience that needs pacified or an ego that needs appeased, but I pray it’s deeper than that. I pray this is the movement of the Holy Spirit within, seeking to rearrange and sanctify my wayward soul, refine my carnal tendencies and make me more like Christ.

Infinite Favor

The most reoccurring and overwhelming revelation I’ve received through the gateway of motherhood thus far has centered upon the exposure of God’s heart toward us.

I have been awed by the invitation divinely extended to women to participate in the creation of humanity. Fashioning us in his image, God imparted the ability to create life and not just life but life that emerges in OUR image. The weightiness of this reality fell upon my heart early in pregnancy and the depth of it began to unfold the moment Jonah surfaced from my womb.

Jonah is love made tangible, the breath of our covenant, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, and I endlessly delight in him! His beauty enamors me. I’ve memorized every wrinkle on his body, the delicate curves of his ears, the ocean blue hue of his eyes, the length of his lashes, his curly grin and right dimple, the golden shimmer of his hair, the soft and supple texture of his skin . . . the composition of his cry, the melody of his laughter, the various tones of his voice. . . his posture and every expression. I am enchanted by him in every way. He is my most prized achievement. There is no tantrum or demand or disappointment that could alter the infinite favor I have toward him. He is mine and I am his.

And this is just a faint whisper of the extraordinary depth at which God delights in us. Carnality taints our devotion, but his is pure and eternal, never wavering- ever faithful. He desires us, revels in our beauty and celebrates the reflection of himself he sees in our eyes. He rejoices over us with gladness and singing (Zephaniah 3:17) and yearns to lavish his everlasting love upon us (1 John 3:1 & Jeremiah 31:3). He calls us his most treasured possession (Exodus 19:5). He longs to comfort us (2 Corinthians 1:3-4) and wipe away our tears and suffering (Revelation 21: 3-4). He is for us and not against us (Romans 8:31). Nothing in all creation could ever separate us from his extraordinary love and favor (Romans 8: 38-39).

This knowledge is not new to me. I have heard it my entire life- sermon after sermon and book after book has declared God’s unending devotion to me and yet I could not digest it until I experienced the intensity of love I have for my son. The essence of Jonah unlocked the beauty and power of the declaration of God over me. His favor and delight now thunders within. I believe- I truly believe- that he is head-over-heels for me and nothing (not even my darkest moment or most sordid sin) could alter his infinite love and favor toward me!

Birth of a Blog

I have been reeling with thoughts and aching to write, mostly for cathartic release, I think, but finding the time has been difficult. The world of motherhood I’ve entered has entirely different laws than the one I knew before. It demands that I lose my “self” and the egotistical ways that once served me. I am no longer my own; my energy and time is dominated by another. I am at the mercy of the whims of a 14-month-old named Jonah. He dictates my days.

I, a lover of words, have shied away from applying language to the intricacies of this season for reasons I don’t fully understand. It seems the deeper me- the one who applies meaning to the mundane and ascribes a sense of purpose to my days- has been buried under a mound of dirty diapers (or drowning in breast milk). I have felt more lost than found in this world. It has taken much longer to reorient my senses than I ever assumed it would.

Solitude, a state I relish and once abundantly knew, seems only to find me in the wee hours of the night. My body and mind are weary from a day full of demand, yet an ache in my soul for the quiet keeps me awake. And on this night, I write. Not only write but birth a blog whose sole purpose is to provide a place to process the splendor and dysfunction of my days and ultimately glimpse Divine purpose in it all . . .