Sorrowful, yet Joyful...

The littles after one of GP and AB's performances

It's been a minute since I sat down and really blogged out my thoughts and feelings as of late. Part of that is because it's been very busy, and with that busy-ness I've felt a need to try to be in the moment as much as possible. 

Evangeline as "Sally" in her CARS
class Showcase Performance

(Showcase performances for the classes I teach and that the kids take, rehearsals, tech week, performances, etc.) For the past week, that meant stopping the tears when they would start and pushing down the heavy and hard feelings as they arose because I just didn't have the mental energy to deal with them. I've cried so many tears that my face often feels raw as if it's been scratched. But with everything going on in my "back to normal" life, I'm currently in the process of finding a way to balance out being "in the moment" while still making moments to deal with the grief. I can't say that I'm doing it well, but I feel like committing to the process of trying to do it well is something. 

Me directing at showcase performance

Let me just take a moment to say that this whole "going back to normal life" feels almost like a Twilight Zone episode to me in many ways. Life feels anything but normal to me now. What I had envisioned this fall to be like has now taken a very different turn, and while the world continues on as if nothing has changed, I find myself trying to figure out where I fit since so much has changed for me. 

Lucy (right) in my advanced vocal class

Someone made the comment to me recently, "Well, it looks like you're doing pretty well..." The truth? I’m learning how to function again in the world while now having to make a separate space for my grieving heart. I’m trying to figure out how to be present and share in the joys going on around me while having to make time to collapse and recover from holding back the tears. I’m attempting to focus on the joys before me while figuring out when I can find time to bandage the sorrow that still exists. When you continue to live life in a world that your baby no longer is a part of, you find yourself exhausted. You celebrate the highs, but the reality of the lows is not lost. This is some of what that's looked like for me the past few weeks...

My precious middles just closed out a two weekend, 9 performance run of Junie B Jones the Musical Jr. It was truly SUCH an adorable show, and the artistic team, cast, and crew did an incredible job of bringing the heartwarming story to life on the stage. 

Gabriel had been in shows before we moved here, but it was his stage debut with CYT, and he played the role of Jose. He has such a beautiful voice, and it was so fun to see him and hear him. Annie had swore to me up and down for several years that she was "never" going to be on stage, but after enjoying her time on stage this summer through CCT, she decided the stage wasn't so bad after all, so Junie B. was her CYT stage debut as well. She got to announce the show each night to the audience, and it was so amazing to see her come alive on stage. She was confident, articulate, and a joy to watch.

Busy weekend of rehearsals and 
performances

If you're a parent, you've probably experienced this before like me: when you see your child doing something they love, it can bring tears to your eyes and make your heart just well up with so many emotions. I absolutely loved every moment of seeing Gabriel and Annie on stage the past two weekends! On opening weekend, I went from rehearsal with Lucy (which is truly such a blessing to get to do what I love and have my daughter there with me doing what she loves, too) to performances for Gabriel and Annie, and it was an entire weekend surrounded with my family and also so much support from friends. My heart was so full at all of the love and support from our CYT family. But I would find that while I did mostly okay around everyone, I would come home and literally just crash--physically and emotionally. It's hard to explain it, but it's basically just the feeling of being with those who you love and who love you back, and the joy of seeing your kids thrive, and the knowledge that God has truly given you so many amazing blessings in life mixed with the fact that my Sparrow will never get to experience any of that with us. I'm learning to embrace both the joys and the sorrows that coexist right now. I'm not sure I'm always doing it well, but as I stated earlier, I'm committed to the process, and I think that's a step in the right direction... 

Another peek into what that's looked like lately has been in deep cleaning and organizing. After an entire summer of being so sick from pregnancy-nausea coupled with a CRAZY schedule of activities, work, and church, my house was in desperate need of some extra attention. My closet needed cleaning out, and the little girls' room was beyond overdue from some attention. I think I'd been avoiding tackling it all for several reasons. One, it just felt overwhelming. But, two, it reminded me that it was in that shape because I'd been so sick, and I now had "nothing" to show for it. In reality, that's not entirely true, but that's how I felt. In fact, it made me mad. While cleaning out my closet, I came across the bike helmet I got for my birthday, just ten days before finding out I was pregnant. I had never used it since long distance cycling wasn't a good idea while pregnant, and the fact that I could use it now made me angry. I allowed myself to express that feeling, but I chose not to stay in it. I ended up taking my road bike out for a 20 mile ride, followed by another 12 a few days afterward. I had to stop a few times to wipe away some ugly tears, but it felt god to do something productive, just like it felt really good to make such great process in my closet and the little girls' room.

While out on my ride, the song , "Keep Me in the Moment" by Jeremy Camp came on my Pandora station. It was while I was riding in a part of the neighborhood I rode in after I lost Baby Kiki. It was crazy to see the different between now and then--when I first started riding there last year, they had just begun building the houses, but now, most of the neighborhood is finished. So much has changed, not just in the neighborhood but in my own life. I repeated the words as a prayer, "Lord, keep me in the moment because I don't want to miss what you have for me." I was reminded to find joy in whatever my present circumstance may be. Yes, I was super sick with both Baby Kiki and Sparrow, but I was so grateful that I got to be pregnant with them, and while I will never stop grieving the fact that I never will get to hold those sweet baby girls in my arms, I also see what God has filled my arms with instead. It doesn't replace them, but it reminds me that He has a plan and a purpose for everything He allows in our lives. I won't always understand His ways, but I can always TRUST His ways. Just as this neighborhood has grown and changed in the last few years, I see how God is growing and changing me, and if I refuse to keep pressing forward, I'll miss out on what He's doing, and I don't want to miss what He desires to teach me and do through my life. 

One of my devotions this week focused on 2 Corinthians 6:10: ..."Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing..."

Grieving as one with hope means finding that balance of being sorrowful yet joyful. And yes, there is SO so much in my life to be joyful about. I see the Lord’s hand on my life in so many ways—through the joys AND the sorrows. I’m reminded that I can have joy in the midst of my sorrow because I have hope in the One who has defeated death. But while I wait to see His glory fully revealed, there will be tears. And so I find Christ sitting with me in the dust, but I also find Him when I stand in the sun. His presence is there in both places, and if Christ can be present with me in both joy and sorrow then how is it wrong to grapple with both emotions? Whether this life sends me to my knees in defeat or pushes me to the heights in joy, Christ is still with me. I think, as Christians, we have been deceived in thinking that to have joy in Christ, we have to push through and be tough and not sit too long in our grief. It’s not the truth though, friend. My faith in God isn’t weak because I cry because it’s in those tears that I find Him in a new and fresh way when I allow Him to sit with me in the ashes. So yes, we make time to smile and enjoy life and rejoice in the good, but we also ALLOW grief to have its time and place. Whether in joy or sorrow, we can find our Father.

So that's basically where I'm at in these "Twilight Zone" type of days--finding the balance of sorrow and joy and recognizing how my Heavenly Daddy can be found in both. I'm so thankful He's so patient with us and that He never tires of listening to our hurt--His mercies truly are new every single day.

Praising Him in the Yeses and in the Nos...

We had my post-op appointment today...

The specialist that performed my surgery is in Downtown Houston, and if you've ever driven there, you know that the traffic is absolutely insane. I remember the day of my surgery, we had to be there right during rush hour. We got stuck in so.much.traffic and then the GPS didn't get us to the right building, and then we missed the turn into the parking garage. I was beyond late, and I had no way to get in touch with who I was supposed to check in with at the hospital. Thankfully, they gave me a call to ask if I was still coming, and I explained what was going on. They were very gracious, no doubt because they know Houston traffic all too well! By the time we got there, my anxiety was pretty high, and my nausea was even worse! All of the stopping and starting in the car from the traffic had sent me over the edge past my already debilitating pregnancy nausea. There are many things that are emotional triggers when you're experiencing a pregnancy loss, and the fact that my body still had all of my pregnancy symptoms even though I was not carrying a live baby anymore was a big trigger for me. It feels as if your body is playing a very cruel trick on you--your belly is still rounded out, you still "look" pregnant (in fact, it was just days before we found out we'd lost our baby girl that I bought my first pair of maternity leggings because my belly had finally popped. They're currently hidden somewhere in the closet. I can't bare to look for them to even get rid of them or to fold and put away in a storage container. I'd rather they just stay lost for now...), and you still "feel" pregnant...except you aren't. There's a part of you that wants to stay that way--to hold your baby in your belly as long as you possibly can because you know she'll never actually get to be held in your arms. Waking up from surgery with our first miscarriage and again with our second, the first thing I did was reach for my stomach and realize my baby was gone. It wasn't all a bad dream; it was the reality. My entire body and spirit felt completely empty. In some ways, I'm thankful they loaded me up with as many anti-nausea meds as they could, because it lessened the blow of everything since I wasn't quite "with it" for several hours. 

It's interesting the things that come to the forefront of your mind when your mind isn't exactly working at its fullest capacity. In recovery, I immediately felt an intense need to see my children. I needed to see that they were all okay. I told DH I needed to see our kids, so he showed me a picture from our family vacation, which apparently made me MAD. "No! I want to see them NOW! I want to see that they are okay in this very moment!" He sent my mom a text (my precious momma drove in and stayed with us for a whole week) and he said, "She says everyone is good!" I kept asking though, "NO! I need to SEE them!" It took awhile for GiGi to round everyone up for a photo, and I was being extremely impatient, but I settled down once I saw my four sweet babies all together smiling. 

Another thing at the forefront of my thoughts was work. I always geek out any time I go somewhere and see a grand piano, and this hospital had pianos everywhere! I guess I had remembered that because I told DH to grab my music so I could finish up recording for the show I'm vocal directing right now. I had stayed up late the night before I went in for the initial procedure for everything, and I was SO close to finishing recording all of the vocal parts for the show, but I couldn't quite get them all finished. I think there was a part of me that felt I had to rush back into the busyness of life. I wasn't pregnant anymore, and life had to move on. I was far from ready to move on, though. In fact, I'm still struggling with this. I was almost dreading today's appointment because it's kind of like a final chapter in all of this. Once the doctor "clears" you, it's as if it's all over...except it's not. I still find myself breaking into tears throughout the day. I so desperately want to still be carrying my baby with the wonderful expectation of getting to hold her in my arms in February. I know life has to go on, but it's a struggle to figure out how to resume normal life when your life will never be the same. 

Because my first miscarriage brought about so many complications, my doctor chose to be extra cautious in my appointment today, ordering labs and tests and exams that she wouldn't normally do. My HCG levels are still elevated, and it looks like I have some sort of infection. She also ordered a sonogram...it almost felt cruel to have to lie on that table for an ultrasound. (I'm not mad at her for it--she's been so thorough, informative, and extremely compassionate.) I thought back to all of the times we went in for ultrasounds in my other pregnancies and seeing those sweet images on the screen. But today, there was nothing exciting to see on the screen, so I stared up at the ceiling and counted all of the tiles--15 regular sized ones in rows of 3, with a half square to the right and a 1/4 square to the left of each row. There were no pictures to print out with images that you could barely make out of what was the head and what was the rear, there was no heartbeat to hear...just ceiling tiles to count. Because of what was found on the ultrasound, which is likely the cause of all of the pain I've been having since my surgery, I now have to make a choice of how to take care of the issue. Those of you who know me well know that I can be extremely indecisive--I don't even like having to pick a restaurant to eat at, so all of these very big decisions that surround a second trimester pregnancy loss have been excruciating. All I can do is pray and ask God to guide me to the right choices. 

When we arrived home, I quickly had to get Annie's makeup on for the kids' tech week rehearsal. While doing that, we discovered the dogs had both gone outside at the same time. This is only an issue when it has rained...which it had, and our pony of a puppy had THE best time rolling around in the mud trying to convince her brother Maxx to join in on the fun. (Being older and wiser, Maxx knew better.) This meant Ruby needed a bath ASAP, but bathing a 60 pound energetic dog is quite the task. As I was working on her, my husband came in to tell me his dad had fallen and his parents were at the hospital. He then came back to tell me they discovered his dad has broken his neck. I literally thought, "Lord, are you serious?? Why?" I honestly don't think we can handle any more surprises...or maybe it's just that I don't WANT to handle anymore surprises. It is definitely a time where it feels like when it rains, it POURS, and everything is left...muddy. (We are still waiting on word for if DH's dad will need surgery or not. Please pray for him, for my Momma2, and for the doctors.)

As I've grappled with all of these thoughts today, the Lord brought to my mind a precious story that He's used again and again to comfort me. I've probably blogged about it before, and you've possibly even heard me share it, but I needed to be reminded of it tonight, so I'm going to share it once again...

Many of you know that my daddy passed away when I was pregnant with Lucy. It was such a hard year for our family: Michael was diagnosed with cancer, and after months of trying to get pregnant, we were told we might not ever be able to have children on our own. However, just a month later, we were pregnant with Lucy, but just a month after finding out we were having a girl, my daddy passed away suddenly. The year ended with the birth of our long-awaited baby girl. It was truly a rollercoaster of a year. As I struggled through my daddy's death, my home church's pastor shared a Truth with me that I have carried with me ever since. He said something along these lines: "Paula-Beth, you prayed and asked God for your husband to be ok. God said, 'Yes,' and you praised Him for it. Then you prayed and asked God to allow you to have a baby. Again, God said, 'Yes,' and you praised Him for it...but this time, God has said, 'No.' He didn't answer you like you wanted Him to, but He wants to know, will you praise Him as much when He says 'No' as you do when He says 'Yes'?" 

That story has been brought back to my mind many times over the past 16 years, and I'm thankful God whispered it back to me again today. We prayed and asked God for a healthy pregnancy and to get to love and lead this child, but God said, "No," and He's asking me, once again, will I still praise Him, even in this? At this point, all I can do is ask the Lord to help me get to that point. I KNOW He is worthy of my praise, I know He is at work, and I know He will lead me to that place, but, for now, I just keep crawling into His arms for His comfort as I struggle through these moments. And you know what? My Jesus is so kind to be patient with me, to remind me of His Truth that He is worthy and at work, even in this. I'm clinging to Him in every moment and asking for the strength to glorify Him through this grief. I will say it again and again and again, not because I'm trying to convince myself, but because I refuse to let the Enemy drown out this Truth: "God, you are good, in both the yeses and nos."

A Changing of Seasons...

Fall has always been my favorite season, but I can’t say that this particular fall is my favorite.
It’s not the changes outside that I’m disliking. I still love it when I walk outside and there is a bite in the air from chillier temperatures, and I enjoy watching the leaves change colors and fall from their trees and dance in the wind. (We’ve only had a few days like that here in Texas, but this time of year always reminds me of the many falls I got to spend in Illinois where the change to fall was very much evident whereas, In Texas, fall is more of a “faux-l”🤣) The falling leaves from their absent trees remind me it’s time to let go and see what beauty will come from the process. But this particular fall, it’s harder to let go. Sure, there are some things I’m more than happy to let go of right now in my life. But there are others that are beyond painful to loosen from my grasp. It’s a season of loss that many of you may be all too familiar with. 

Seasons in life don’t always give the telling signs of change like the seasons on our calendars. The moment the leaves would begin to turn and the wind would pick up in a different direction, I knew fall was coming in Illinois. (Whereas, in Texas, it’s usually the first sighting of pumpkins being sold at Walmart that signal fall is upon us and dinner in a pumpkin can go in the oven🤣) But seasons also change in our lives, too, and the change from one season to another isn’t quite as obvious. In other words, you usually can’t tell at the exact moment when you’re entering into a new stage in life. There’s not an alert you can set up on your phone’s calendar. In fact, this season change in my life has caused me to have to remove many of those alerts I had anticipated in my previous season-apps on my phone that told me what size the baby was growing into every Tuesday, doctor appointments I had already scheduled, my c-section date when we would get to hold our baby in our arms…all dates I visibly could see and was greatly anticipating have now been removed, and with their removal, I can see how the season has changed in my life. Yes, now that I’ve had a few moments to breathe from the shock of everything, I can see it more clearly as I’ve begun the process of grieving what I thought life would look like in this moment instead of the cruel reality of what has become. I can see now when the seasons changed, but it wasn’t as graceful and beautiful as the sight of a colorful leaf floating to the ground. It was sudden and challenging, crushing and heartbreaking, and somehow hurtful and numbing all at the same time. And yet, as much as I find myself hating this unwanted change, I’m reminded… 

“To everything there is a season and a time for every matter under Heaven: 

A time to be born and a time to die,

A time to plant and a time to uproot,

A time to kill and a time to heal,

A time to tear down and a time to build, 

A time to weep and a time to laugh, 

A time to mourn and a time to dance,

A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, 

A time to embrace and a time to refrain,

A time to search and a time to give up, 

A time to keep and a time to throw away. 

A time to fear and a time to mend.

A time to be silent and a time to speak,

A time to love and a time to hate,

A time for war and a time for peace. 

What does the worker gain from his toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-11) 

I want to make sense of all that has transpired in these last several weeks, yet I’m reminded that I’m not always going to be able to fathom what God is doing, yet I CAN always find the signs of His presence in the midst of these changes. I think the questions we always want to ask in situations like this are something like the following:

“God, WHY??” 

“Why are you allowing this?” 

“Why did this have to happen?” 

“Why didn’t You stop this from taking place?” 

“Why did you allow the joy of this baby to come into my life if You were only going to take her away?”

The beauty is that God allows me to shake my fists into the air and question Him, and He is patient with me to guide those fists back down in prayer and worship of Him. It’s a process He allows me to go through that ultimately draws me closer to Him when I finally let those fists down in surrender and then open up my palms and ask a different set of questions. Instead of why, I begin to ask what, and how:

“Lord, WHAT are you wanting to do in this situation?” “God, WHAT is your purpose for me in this?” 

“Father, HOW can I respond in a way that will bring You the most glory?”

The obstacles we face in this life are opportunities for us to come face to face with our Father. Because of Who He is, He alone is able to take our losses and breathe life into us. It’s not until I hit the bottom that I can experience Him lifting me back up. Without the pain of hurt, loss and grief, I would never get to experience the comfort my Heavenly Father longs to show to His child. 

Ultimately, God wants me to turn to Him with thanksgiving and praise. Job, in the darkest of circumstances, was able to turn to the Lord and say, “In all circumstances—whether You give or You take away—I choose to bless your name—to praise You!” It often takes a bit of time to get to that point where I can say, “Lord, I praise you that my baby is no longer with us…” Just the act of writing those words brings me to tears and makes me uncomfortable. But I WANT to be at that point. Many would say my inability to proclaim that right now is sinful, but the truth is this: God knows my heart. He knows that my deepest desire is to praise Him through even this. At my core, I know He’s working this all together for my good and His glory. But right now, I’m in the thick of grieving through it all. It’s what I call the stage of “Lord I believe; help my unbelief.” God isn’t chastising me for grieving; He’s carrying me through it, and He’s also bringing people-His hands and His feet-into my life who are helping me carry this heavy load. These are the things I CAN praise Him for right now as I struggle to voice the other. 

A dear friend recommended a book to me this week: “The Book of Common Courage” by K.J. Ramsey. In it, she says, “Courage is not the possession of the bravest or biggest but the choice to move toward the heart when the mind and body are separated by fear. Courage is the choice to move our fear into communion….Courage is the practice of trusting we have a Good Shepherd who always cares…” You see, our grief isn’t sinful and our tears are not shameful. Rather, our struggles give us the opportunity to question God and lean on Him more than we ever have before. We can choose to let our grief help us dive into a deeper realization of our need for our Saviour. In these times of sorrow and hurt, we also receive the ability to experience God’s presence in a new way. We often see the Lord as all powerful and mighty, capable of any and all things. We see the promise of Him going before us to prepare us and behind us to protect us, but in times of grief, we can also experience Him being WITH us. 

Friend, if you’re experiencing a changing of seasons into a time of loss, know that you aren’t alone. Loss may signify death to us, but those who are in Christ have the promise of His victory over death. I don’t know how He will choose to redeem the loss we encounter, but I do know He promises to do so. Some days I’m able to cling to that promise more surely, and other days I find my fists up in the air again with questions and hurt, but in all circumstances, He is with me, and He is with you, too.