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.

God’s Promises…

 

There’s something special and almost magical about spotting a rainbow. The vibrant colors reflected in the sky are truly a beautiful sight to see, and from a spiritual standpoint it’s a significant reminder of the promises of God. God used the rainbow to specifically promise that He would never flood the entire earth again. As believers, this beautiful symbol can also remind us of each of His promises upon our lives.

When I was a teenager, there was a popular CCM artist who had a very heavy classically trained pianist background. I spent hours a day in my teenage and early adult years training as a classical pianist, so I really resonated with his music. At that time, the local Christian radio station would frequently play his song “Rainbows in the Night.” Listening to it today, many would find it sounds pretty dated as styles have changed quite a bit since then, but I still love the gorgeous classical solo moments and the deep meaning to the lyrics: 

[Verse 1]

Deep within this darkened heart of mine

The Word of God still shines with hope

Deep within this frightened life I live

A voice so soft and still grows

And when the sun is hidden

And the shadows cloud my starless skies

Amazingly, I turn and see a light

[Chorus]

God's promises are rainbows in the night

Shining hope inside when shadows cloud my eyes

His promises are rainbows in the night

Guiding through the darkest times

God's promises are rainbows in the night

You may be aware that a baby born after a miscarriage is often referred to as a “rainbow baby.” This is because rainbows symbolize beauty after a dark time just like the birth of a baby brings joy after such a tragic loss. Our pregnancy in 2022 was something we’d never planned on, but when we miscarried, our family was suddenly missing someone. We prayed and asked God what He would birth from that feeling, so when we became pregnant again this year, we were cautiously ecstatic. Conversations soon became centered around “When the baby comes…” as we prepared for this precious one’s arrival.

I struggled every day with fear of losing this baby, too, but I knew I had to choose to trust. (I think we often shame ourselves when we struggle with fear, but it’s not the actual fear that is the problem. Rather, it’s what we choose to DO with that fear. For me, this meant I had to make a constant choice to look to the Lord, and isn’t that where we ultimately want to be?) As I daily chose to surrender my fears and trust the Lord, a frequent prayer was that God would prepare my heart to grieve or rejoice for whatever HIS plan was for this baby. In the end, this meant that the Lord was preparing my heart to grieve another loss, as Sparrow was not meant to be our rainbow baby. 

Before my surgery, a sweet friend brought a meal over to our house along with the most precious gift—glasswork art of a rainbow. She told me that as she made it, she prayed for our family. It’s hanging in the window by where I have my quiet time, and I love how the sun shines so brightly into it at certain points of the day, reflecting such rich, vivid colors. 

As I reflect on losing Sparrow, I will be totally honest with where I’m at in this process of my grief which is I just do not understand how this could be God’s plan for us. Why even allow us to get pregnant again if He was going to take this baby from us? I’m thankful God allows me to come to Him with these questions. Rather than blame Him or become bitter, though, I so desire to surrender the hurt and confusion and just let Him wash over me with His comfort and love and grace. I’m reminded I can question God while still ultimately choosing to trust Him.

I have come to terms with realizing I may never understand why this played out the way that it has, but I do know that the Enemy would love nothing more in this situation than for me to allow my limited understanding of God’s plan to cause me to question my ability to trust in Him. Anger, bitterness, and confusion won’t bring my baby girl back, but surrender to the Lord will bring me comfort as I struggle through my hurt, grief, and loss. It’s in the darkest of night when we get the blessing of experiencing a peace and comfort that only our Heavenly Father can give. I can understand joy better when I have experienced sorrow. I grieve deeply because I loved deeply, and I can recognize beauty more fully when I know what it feels like to sit among ashes. No one wants to experience pain, but we get the opportunity of experiencing comfort on a deeper level when we have endured great hurt and loss. 

As we drove home from the hospital on Friday after my surgery, it started to rain. Just one exit from our home, my husband said, “Paula-Beth, look! Look at the sky!” As I looked up, I saw a full rainbow painted across the sky. My husband and I both began to cry. It was as if the Lord was saying, “I see you, and I see your pain. You are not forgotten. Don’t forget the promises I have for your life.” 

I know we are being held by the Ultimate Comforter as we wade through this season of intense grief. I know His promises are just as true today as they were two weeks ago when my baby was still alive. Again and again I will choose to trust. This is a dark time in our lives, but we know He has overcome the darkness, and in His kindness He continues to send us messages that point to His light piercing through these dark moments. His Word is True, and He is ever faithful and good, friends. As I wrote these words the other day as the rain fell against my window, this was my prayer: "I’m going to cling to Your Truth, Your faithfulness, and Your goodness with all I have today as I hear the storms raging outside on this rainy fall day, and as the storms of my life rage up within me. Yes God, you are still good, even in this." 

Being the Hands and Feet of Christ

Just a head's up: this is a long post. I thought about breaking it up, but wasn't sure the best way to do that. Writing has always been cathartic for me, and right now, I just need to be able to speak what's on my heart. As much as I hope all of these words are able to minister to someone, I needed to find an outlet to just express where I'm at right now, and apparently, there's a lot swarming around in my brain these days! Whether or not you make it through this entire post, thanks for giving me an opportunity to share my heart...

I think anyone reading this has walked through some sort of tragedy in life, and I hope you’ve been blessed by having people come alongside you as you struggle down a path you never expected to have to walk. These paths are numerous in type and unique to each individual, though, andmany of us often struggle in finding the best way to come alongside those we care about in their times of grief, loss, pain, etc. As I was reflecting on how so many have reached out to us during this recent unexpected turn in our life, I wanted to share my gratitude for all that everyone has done, but also offer some ideas on how to come alongside each other for those of us who struggle knowing what to do when tragedy strikes those we love…

The last week+ has been a devastating one for our family learning that our baby was no longer growing inside of me. Many of you know I had a late first trimester loss back in April of 2022. It was a total surprise pregnancy that rocked our world, but we quickly became ecstatic to tackle what we thought was a new and exciting path for our family. We have grieved over losing that precious baby girl, so when God surprised us with a “rainbow baby” back in June, we felt overwhelmed with the blessing and excitement to have the opportunity to add another member to our family. I had to remind myself daily that it was okay to both be extremely excited but hold all things loosely, knowing that God’s ways are perfect and good, and I could trust Him with whatever outcome He had for this new pregnancy. Our baby was fully formed with all of her organs in place and my body was busy providing what she needed to grow inside of me. But it was not God’s plan for us to get to bring this baby home and love her in our arms. I may never understand the reason for this loss on this side of Heaven, but it doesn’t change the Truths that God has promised me: 

“…I will never leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) 

“The Lord is FAITHFUL to all His promises and LOVING to all He has made.” (PSALM 145:13)

“…for the Lord comforts His people and will have compassion on His afflicted ones.” Isaiah 49:13b 

“When you pray, I will answer you. When you call to me I will respond…” (Isaiah 58:9a)

“The Lord, the Lord God, is merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abounding in goodness and truth.” (Exodus 34:6)

“…For Lord will go before you,the God of Israel will be your rear guard (also go behindyou)…” (Isaiah 52:12b)

We see the character of God and His promises to His people woven throughout Scripture. I could easily go on and on, as my list is far too short, but hopefully you’re catching my drift that the Word of God is True and we can trust Who He is. I’m not capable of fully understanding His ways because I’m not yet fully glorified with Him.

I can, however, trust His heart, and it’s a choice I get to make whether or not I will do so when faced with circumstances completely out of my control. One thing I never lose control over, though, is my choice in how to respond to what He allows in my life, and that has been a hard reality lately during this time of mourning. I believe God knows our human minds will often struggle to truly understand His character-His goodness- when our circumstances seem anything BUT “good,” but He is merciful to us in our questioning. I believe we often experience both His mercy on us and a glimpse into His character by Him giving us tangible reminders through the outpouring of love of His people. He’s been so gracious to bless me with that in this situation, and it’s made me realize ways I can bless others with a tangible expression of God’s love when they are hurting. With this, I realized maybe I’m not the only one who sometimes struggles with trying to navigate sorrow with a loved one when you haven’t walked a similar road. So, I just wanted to take an opportunity to share how others have responded to us in the past week and a half. My heart is both so full of gratitude and grief at the same time. It’s a strange combination to experience, but I thank Him for coupling my grief with His tangible compassion. 

1. When you’re in the midst of losing a baby and are faced with unimaginable decisions, you may find that you just aren’t capable of making normal, everyday decisions. Just because one life stops doesn’t mean that the other responsibilities in your life stop, too. I currently just don’t have the ability to make simple decisions for my family as we’ve had to make some VERY weighty decisions that have no “good” or easy outcomes, and as my body has fought infection during the wait to be able to pass my baby, and now as I recover physically and emotionally from no longer carrying this baby inside of me, it’s just been really hard for me to even decide which clothes I need to wash for everyone for the week. (I’m being very vulnerable right now-maybe others don’t react this way, but my body kind of went into flight mode this past week.) The day before we found out our baby had died, we had planned to make a big Costco trip as we were in serious need of groceries. I began to feel especially nauseated that evening (I tend to get debilitating nausea in my pregnancies until I get close to the halfway point), so we decided I would rest that night and make the trip the next day instead. However, we weren’t anticipating an emergency trip to the doctor that day instead of a grocery run. After coming home with the unbearable task of sharing this devastating reality with our kids to try to help them begin the process of their own grief for their baby sister, I was mentally spent and almost frozen in how to return to normal life activities. The next day, I tried to sit and just make a simple meal plan and grocery list, and my mind my went completely blank. We survived on takeout those first few days until a precious coworker and friend set up a meal train for our family. Now, I know I have so many people who I could ask in a heartbeat in a situation like this if they would be willing to cook a meal for us, but I felt so guilty asking anyone to take on that burden when they have their own families to feed in the midst of very busy schedules. Having someone just set this up for us, and then seeing loved ones eagerly sign up night after night to make meals or provide resources for us to be able to easily feed our family each day has been an incredible act of kindness and outpouring of love for our family. Even as simple as dropping off disposable plates and utensils so we don’t have to worry about cleaning up after a meal—I had no idea the burden this would lift from me during this time. I cannot even begin to express how much it has meant to me to have the ability to feed my family well through all of this, and just to not have this one, extra thing to think about and plan for right now. I will never, ever forget this tremendous act of kindness and love. All that being said, never underestimate how simply dropping off a box of Kleenex and a package of cookies, or if you have the time to make a home cooked meal, or the resources to send money for doordash—how all of these things can provide a tangible experience of God’s care and provision to someone who is hurting and struggling.

2. Another way we have experienced God’s kindness is from friends who have literally shown up on my doorstep and scooped up my kids to take them to classes, rehearsals, or offer rides home, and even having them join their family on fun outings. I’m emotionally and physically unable to do these things with my kids right now. (This may sound extreme, but I was literally waiting for my body to suddenly go into labor that had a high risk of me also hemorrhaging  before making it to the hospital. I was in physical pain from cramping and trying to fight off infection, and now experiencing the physical and emotional pain of recovering from surgery. My body and mind just haven’t been capable of a lot of things we normally do, so having people step in and step up has again been such a beautiful expression of God’s love and kindness through His people. My little ones may not be able to fully express to you right now how important this is for them, but I promise you this momma sees it, and I know they’ll look back on it one day with a true appreciation. I also see you being gracious with my older kids who haven’t figured out a way to properly articulate how they’re feeling, and you’ve offered them love and patience when maybe they seem to ignore your condolences. I see how it touches them even though they may not express it well. You are being salt and light to them, and it has been a blessing to my hurting heart and provided for a need I don’t really have the guts to always ask for—when you’re dealing with a heavy burden, the last thing you want to do is place even the smallest burden on someone else. 

3. I’ve also experienced God’s tangible love through precious coworker friends eagerly and willingly taking over my responsibilities at work so I can have the time I need to recover. They all have plenty on their plates, too, and it has been so selfless of them to allow me the time my body and spirit need. As I awoke from surgery today, one of the first things out of my mouth (I was highly “under the influence” and only know this because my husband shared it with me) to my husband was, “get me my binder—I need to finish recording parts for rehearsal and work on my lesson plans.” My husband quickly reminded me that all I needed to do in that moment was rest and remember that all of that was already well taken care of. When you’re grieving, your mind often freezes (as I’ve explained previously) but at some points it will awaken in a very frantic way. For me, this is out of guilt of placing a burden on someone else. I felt the need to get back to work as quickly as possible. But in reality, my body and my mind need time to recover, and my husband reminded me that I have MANY people who are happy to give me that time. (If you are up for a laugh, feel feee to ask my hubby all of the off the wall things that came to out of mouth while waking up from anesthesia and a cocktail of nausea medications.)

4. Yet another tangible way people have shown me God’s love is through literal tangible things I can look at to add beauty to a time filled with ashes. I have been surprised with flowers delivered to my door and handmade gifts with very special meanings that I can look at and find comfort in as I remember my baby girl. These items truly have lifted my spirits because it’s just not the gift that is meaningful— it’s also the time and thought the person placed into it desiring to let me know they see my pain. At the hospital, the chaplain came to see us and pray with us, and with him he brought some information for dealing with grief as a mother, a father, and even for our parents. He also included a sweet teddy bear. My precious Evangeline fell in love with this “baby Sparrow” bear. After being told her baby sister’s body was still in my belly, but her heart had stopped beating so her soul was now in heaven, she has struggled fighting off tears (she’s very adamant she doesn’t want to cry) but she has very much been impacted by this loss. Each day since, she has come up to my belly to hug and kiss the baby. It’s something she looked forward to daily in my pregnancy, so I think it was very hard for her to let go of the way she had tangibly been showing love to a baby sister she so desperately wanted to be the “best big sister” to.

The night before the surgery, I had to make sure she understood that after that day, the baby’s body would no longer be in my belly. Without saying a word, she went up to my belly and gave her sister one last kiss and hug. So today, when I came home with something tangible representing her baby sister, I truly think it meant the world to her. We currently have “Barrow” (as in sparrow’s bear) sitting on a cabinet, and she will randomly go pick it up and give it a quick hug before returning it to its current place. I never would have thought that could help her in her own grieving process, so I’m so thankful for whoever had the idea to gift grieving families with something like this. All that being said, both people we know well and people we have never met have used their resources, talents, and insight to show us comfort and love in a very real way. 

5. Perhaps one of the simplest, yet often hardest, of ways you can show God’s tangible love to someone walking through loss is through a simple text message, voicemail, card in the mail, or quick in person hug if you run into them. I know it can feel awkward to reach out when there are no perfect words to be said, but your time and effort to offer compassion is a refreshment to a weary heart. Honestly, for me, having the answers for how to walk through this grief isn’t what I need—I just need to know you’re willing to walk through it with me. Believe me, I know it can be awkward to reach out when there seem to be no words. I have found myself in this place before and chose not to speak out of fear of saying the “wrong” thing. But, just knowing that you’re willing to walk beside me and sit in the ashes with me is an incredible gift to a grieving soul. A text as simple as, “I heard this sermon or song today and it ministered to me and brought you to my mind. If you’re feeling up to listening, I pray it comforts you in some way.” Or, “I have no words for what you’re experiencing, but I want you to know I’m here for you and I love you. How can I pray for you specifically today?” Or maybe some of you are able to share from personal experience and then extend the offer of a compassionate ear. Our lives are each unique and we can’t ever truly understand exactly what someone is going through, but there is SUCH comfort in sharing your willingness to walk alongside someone in their personal grief and loss. Thank you for braving that awkwardness and just letting me know you love me, again and again. Your messages bring such comfort to me even if I’m not able to respond right away. (Many of these messages have shown up right in the midst of an emotional breakdown, after a difficult phone call from my surgeon, or just in a moment when I’m feeling very lonely. Many times when I find the tears flowing, I will go back and read over these messages or listen to the songs you have shared because they help point me back to the Lord as I’m grieving. Never underestimate the power of telling someone you love them and care for them. In doing so, you are helping a hurting heart see Jesus more clearly in the midst of a very confusing time. 

6. Please don’t take this next one the wrong way—what I’m not suggesting here is that you need to send someone money when they’re experiencing loss like this, but I can’t fail to mention how God has shown us His provision during this difficult time. God has given us people who have helped offset a very unexpected financial burden. The truth is that losing a baby at this stage often costs much more than actually getting to deliver your baby at full term and bringing them home. We didn’t know how we would cover the first bill that came in just TWO days before it had to be paid, but God has been providing for that need, and it’s been a humbling reminder that God ALWAYS provides for our needs. It shouldn’t ever take me by surprise, but I’m ever blown away at His timing and provision through His people.

I could go on and on about how so many of you, both near and far, have ministered to our hearts, minds, bodies, and souls as we walk this difficult road. The body of Christ is truly so beautiful, and we all have the ability to play different parts in it. Every single act of kindness you have shown has meant more than I’ll ever be able to adequately express. You truly have shown so very many tangible acts of God’s incredible character—His presence, faithfulness, love, mercy, faithfulness, goodness, etc. etc. etc.! I hope I haven’t overlooked thanking any of you personally, but if I have, know it’s not at all intentionally; I’m just not thinking clearly these days. Please know your selfless acts of God’s love mean the world to me right now and are helping hold us up during all of this. 

Losers...

I’m not really sure why I never published this blog. This was written shortly after our first miscarriage j  April of last year. I’m going to post it now as these thoughts were certainly apart of that story, and I want to keep that story intact.

I was reflecting on some things lately regarding our miscarriage. Who am I kidding--it's a main topic of conversation for me right now. In doing so, the words, "when we lost our baby..." had come out of my mouth, and as soon as they did, they left a really bad taste.

"Lost our baby..."

When I found out we were expecting "Baby Kiki," I was immediately kind of freaked out, but that didn't last for too long because I got SO excited! My momma mind was already thinking of the sweet days ahead of getting to rock and feed our precious little one, getting to see my children interact with their baby sibling, imagining what he or she would look like and what their personality would be like, wondering what Sunday mornings would look like with getting everyone ready for church, pondering what the next school year would feel like with so many different things going on for each of my babies. I wouldn't say I had specific plans, but I certainly had specific dreams of what life might entail. And within a moment, that was crushed. So, yes, I suppose I do feel a bit lost as a Momma, trying to redirect the course of our family, yet feeling like something is missing that I can't do anything about. And when you say, "I lost my baby," there is so much condemnation that statement can bring about. It's like saying this came about because of something I did or didn't do. It feels like it's my fault. My job as a mother is to protect my baby, but I lost them instead. These are all thoughts that can swarm around in the forefront of my mind if I choose to entertain them. 

Instead, I just have to keep going back to the Sovereignty of my God. He gave us 3 months to love this baby and to look to Him through that process. And He's now given us the opportunity to trust in His perfect plan even when it makes zero sense to our family. Just like our baby is very much not lost, our pain is also not lost on Him. So I choose to praise the only One Who is able to make beauty from these ashes, and even if I don't get to see that beauty this side of Heaven, I will still choose to trust in Him for the simple fact that He IS worthy, and it depends nothing upon my response to Who He is.

So, in these times of feeling very lost, I'm trusting that I am overwhelmingly found in my Saviour's grasp. He hasn't bene caught off guard, and He isn't frantic trying to figure out what's next. He's in control, and I am not.

Everything’s (not always) Coming Up Roses…

 It’s a month until I turn “29” again. I remember my first 29th birthday. Heading into that birthday, I dealt with a lot of sadness because so much of what I thought life would look like hadn’t come to fruition. Hindsight is often so beautiful, though. I can look back on these last ten years and see that my Jesus has moved so many mountains in my life. The story that has played out in these last ten years is so much greater than anything I could have ever hoped for. Has it all been rosey? Certainly not! We have experienced some of the deepest hurt and grief in these last ten years, but I can see God’s hand on every page of our story. 

As I get ready for this next birthday, I am filled with some of those same feelings from ten years ago. I was so excited about celebrating this upcoming birthday knowing that new life was coming later this year. It honestly makes me dread going into this next month with things so much different than what I had anticipated…this isn’t one of those rosey stages. But something happened this week that reminded me that even the most beautiful things have unlovely moments…

Some friends recently gifted me some beautiful flowers, and my mom and DH planted them and others for me after I had my D&C. It’s been very therapeutic for me to water them each day and to see them bloom. Gabriel had even been asking to plant some things, so we he’s excitedly seeing the progress of his sunflowers each day.

 I love seeing all of the vibrant colors peeking through my flower bed now. I have a miniature rose bush that has such a gorgeous deep pink hue,

but in the last few weeks, the blooms started shriveling up and lost their vibrant color. I’ll admit that it stung a bit to see them die off. I’m not the best with flowers, so I worried maybe I had killed my plant. I eventually pulled off the dried up petals some time last week, and a few days later, when I went out to water my flowers, I saw that one, tiny bud had begun to bloom again. New life was growing right before my eyes, and I was reminded that more is to come…if I can be patient and continue tending to it each day. 

I’m reminded that God is at work, my friends. Even in the moments when it seems like all of the good has shriveled up and the beauty has died, He is still tending to it, and He is able to make something beautiful from it. I see how He has done it in my life before, time and again. So many times I have felt forgotten or unseen, but my God is EVER at work. I so desperately desire a different outcome many times, but I will choose to trust Him even when my heart is broken. This isn’t one of those “rosey” moments in my life, but I can feel my Jesus raining down on my broken heart. He’s the Master Gardener, and this is one of those necessary seasons of pruning. The honest truth is that I feel so broken right now. My heart aches. But I’m choosing to trust in the process because He isn’t done yet. And even if I never get to see the blooms that come from all of this, I will still choose to trust Him, because I know He IS able, He IS good, and He IS worthy! 

Yes to the Yes’s and to the No’s…

 I remember Mother’s Day of 2007. We had just found out we were expecting Lucy, and we were beyond excited. We went out to eat after church and ran into the surgeon who had done dh’s surgery on New Year’s Eve and just a week later broke the news that DH had cancer. I remember the dr being hesitantly happy for us since it was very early on in my pregnancy. We pretty much shouted our pregnancy out to the world, though. We had prayed so long for a baby, and we were so thankful that God answered “yes” to that request. 

That summer, my daddy passed away. We found out during rehearsal at church early on a Sunday morning. It was the most intense grief I had ever felt before, and I had so many questions for the Lord. I didn’t know if my Daddy knew Jesus or not. I had prayed for him daily for so long, and I had conversations with him about the Lord, but I never saw the change in him that I prayed for. I’ll never forget my home church pastor talking to me the days leading up to his funeral. “Paula-Beth, God has heard your prayers all this time. He said yes to you when your husband was diagnosed with cancer and you asked for him to be okay, and you praised Him for that. He said yes to you when you prayed and asked Him for a child, and you praised Him for His answer. But this time, God said no. Will you still praise Him even when His answer isn’t what you want it to be?” His words have stuck with me through every joy and every trial I have faced since then. 

This past year has been full of a lot of life changes. God has said yes so many times to us. We have been called to an amazing church where we’ve made sweet friendships and we get to serve together. I am beyond thankful for the group of ladies I work with at Mother’s Day Out and the precious children I get to love on. Our kids are thriving in school and in life in general. Our two oldest have surrendered their hearts to Jesus. We love our neighborhood and have an incredible home…I could go on and on. But the Lord has also said no to us. In the past year, we’ve lost my grandmother, my brother, and our baby. I have again pounded my fists into the floor and cried out to my Jesus asking why, and begging Him for a different answer. But in those moments, I’ve been reminded of dear Pastor John’s words: I praised Him for the yes’s, but will I still praise Him for the no’s?

My God is so good. He’s so good that His goodness doesn’t depend on a single one of my circumstances. And He’s so good that He can even accept my broken and grief-stricken praise. I can’t understand His ways—they are so much higher than my own. But I can trust Him. 

Mothers Day 2022 looks a lot different than it did 15 years ago. I have so many reasons to celebrate, but I also have reasons to grieve. And in the midst of all of the sweet snuggles and the deep grief there is the steadiness of my Heavenly Father. His goodness is constant, His mercy is ever new, and His ways are PERFECT. I can’t understand them, but I can still praise Him. 

So today I celebrate that the Lord has given and that He has taken away. My flesh fights the why’s and the what if’s, but my heart holds fast to Him. 

Baby KiKi...

You were a bit of a mic drop moment for us;-) I carried you for 12 weeks and 2 days, and it was one of the best surprises of my life.

When I found out about you, I finally understood the story in the Bible where Sarah laughs at God saying He’s going to give her and Abraham a child in their old age. I'm not quite as old as Sarah was, mind you, but by the time you've hit your SEVERALth 29'th birthday, you're considered of "advanced maternal age," and on Thursday, February 24th, I found out that I was going to be referred to as a "geriatric pregnant patient." We were PREGNANT! I think the color drained from DH's face when I first told him. We couldn't believe that all of those years of joking that our first and last child would be 14-15 years a part would come to fruition. (It's a common occurrence amongst several members on my husband's side.) It took the shock a few days to wear off, but then I became extremely excited. We would get to have another baby!  And our kids, holy cow were they over the moon with love and anticipation for meeting their new baby brother or sister. Lucy cried happy tears, Gabriel ran around the room shouting out different sayings and questions in a total happy tizzy, Annie claimed she would not be changing any diapers ;-), and Evangeline wasn't quite sure what it all meant. It didn't take too long for them to all get aboard the Baby Express, though. They would often come up to me and lovingly pat or rub my tummy, giving kisses and talking to "Baby KiKi" which Evangeline had affectionally named her sibling. Every day, they would come up and ask me, "What size is the baby today??"

The extreme nausea started in at 6 weeks and never eased up. I took it as a good sign that baby was growing and developing as needed...and I also took a LOT of naps! Every appointment had gone great. At my first appointment, they did an ultrasound where we got to see and hear baby's heartbeat, flickering away. At my second appointment, we got to hear that joyous sound once again on a doppler. That was last Wednesday. I opted out of the traditional genetic testing (it seemed irresponsible to spend $400 on something that would only give me a list of statistics…now I wish I had done it so we could have known baby’s gender…) and decided to go with the nuchal translucency scan instead. I was excited to go for that scan on Monday and get to see how much baby had grown and watch them wiggle around. I was also a bit anxious as I knew the likelihood of them finding something wrong was much higher given my age. Regardless, we were all absolutely in love with this precious little one.

The scan was very awkward. The tech hardly spoke to us at all, asked if I'd had any bleeding during my pregnancy (I hadn't) and ended the ultrasound pretty abruptly after just about 5-10 minutes. (It's supposed to be a 30 minute to hour long scan.) She said she needed to talk to the radiologist to make sure she got the images she needed, and then she'd come back and do a transvaginal ultrasound. For this one, she didn't speak at all and had the screen turned away from me. I could see the worried look on DH's face as he tried to figure out what was on the screen. Once again, it was a very short scan, and she told me I could get dressed. In my heart, something didn't feel right. I was disappointed I didn't get to 'see" my baby, and I was worried that something was possibly wrong. I kept trying to reassure myself by knowing that I'd never done that type of scan, so it could be my confusion was from not being familiar with the procedure. 

She had us wait in a room where Michael and I stared worryingly at one another. He told me, "Paula-Beth, I don't think I saw the heartbeat, and I always can spot it on a sonogram. I don't think the baby was moving." When the tech came back for us, she just said we were free to go. I asked her where I needed to go for my bloodwork. She said I didn’t need to do it today and would hear back from my doctor about the results because they would be calling me "VERY soon." I could immediately feel a lump grow in my throat as I tried to choke back tears. "Something's wrong, isn't it? We can tell by your face that something is wrong..." DH said. She replied, "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to say anything, but your doctor will be calling you VERY soon."

Michael had to push me past the reception desk because I was determined to get my bloodwork. When we left the office, the tears immediately began to flow. I felt like I couldn't breath, and right then, I knew in my heart that something was wrong with my baby and they weren't going to make it.

My doctor called within minutes and set up an appointment with me for that afternoon to discuss the "abnormal" results of the scan. I think I cried the whole time in the car, but in my head I kept repeating to myself, "God is sovereign. He's in control, and even if the worst happens, He is still good."

When we met with my doctor, he shared with us the news we feared. The baby's heart was no longer beating. I was 12 weeks 2 days, and that's what baby was measuring, so it literally had just happened. He was so compassionate and kind, spoke some important truths over us, and allowed us to mourn the news. He let me know they also found a subchorionic hematoma, and we already knew my thyroid had gone completely wacky, but he assured me he didn’t feel any of these were the cause of this loss. He then said he needed to shift his attention to my care and future reproductivity, and he explained the options I had for removing the pregnancy. Since the baby was completely formed at this point, delivering at home sounded extremely traumatic to me. I could not wrap my head around delivering my dead baby into my hands over a toilet. The doctor agreed that at this stage of pregnancy, a surgical D&C was my best option. They called the following morning (Tuesday) to let me know the surgery was scheduled for Wednesday morning. I would go in for pre-op the day before.

But before we could totally wrap our heads around the surgery, we had something else that had to be done: figuring out how to break the news to our children that we would not get to hold and love this baby and see them grow. This may have been one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but God clearly gave me the words He wanted me to say to them. What was even harder about the situation was they knew I had gone for a sonogram, and they had so been hoping they'd be able to tell us the baby's gender. As we gathered them up together, they were all asking questions like, "Is it a boy or a girl? Did they find twins??" I choked back the tears and calmly told them no, we weren't having twins, and I didn't find out the gender." But as soon as everyone sat down and I began to speak, my voice started cracking and the tears began flowing hard.

"I want each of you to know how much Mommy and Daddy love you, and how thankful we are that we get to be your parents and watch you grow. I also want you to know that God is ALWAYS good. He is sovereign and He is in control. Even when bad things happen that we don't understand, we can trust in His goodness...today, at the sonogram, we found out that the baby's heart isn't beating anymore, so we aren't going to get to bring this baby home to us. But we have great hope in Jesus, because we know your brother or sister is with the Lord now, and one day, if we each have a relationship with Him, we will get to spend eternity with them praising and worshipping God."

Evangeline had so many questions as she tried to wrap her brain around what we were saying. "How can the baby be in heaven when it's still in your belly, Mommy?" I responded, "Well, when we get to heaven, we get a new body. The baby's soul is in heaven, but Mommy will have to have surgery to get the baby's body out of my belly so that I don't get sick. It's not safe to leave the body in there." Lucy then asked, "Why would God give us this baby that we were so excited about and then take it away?" At this point, all of our kids were wailing, and this went on for a VERY long time. We held each other and weeped with one another. And DH told Lucy as he reminded all of us of the story of Job who lost EVERYTHING, yet he was able to proclaim these words: "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. BLESSED be the name of the Lord!"

The past few days have been a struggle. Before the surgery, every time I dozed off I would wake up with the sudden realization that my baby was no longer growing inside of me, and yet I still felt every bit of exhaustion and nausea that I'd been having all along. My body still felt pregnant, my tummy was still hard, and my heart so badly wanted to still be pregnant. The day before the surgery was also Annie's birthday though, and while it wasn't the typical celebration we try to have, we were determined to make sure she felt special. She started the day off with her telling her Daddy, "You know, it IS my birthday, but I also feel kind of sad..." And she has continually told me, "Mommy, I hope we can have another baby...I really wanted to see the baby. Can you show it to me?" We ate lunch with her at school and brought donuts for her classmates. And some PRECIOUS friends came over to the house and decked it out with huge balloons, a delicious cake, and gifts. People stepped in so quickly and with a true desire to help us. It blessed my heart more than I can fully express. 

That was Tuesday, and then yesterday (Wednesday) was my surgery. It wasn't a super smooth day--they blew out my vein trying to get the IV in which took at least 5 tries. The 10-20 minute procedure I was supposed to have turned into at least an hour and half. Apparently, I lost about 650 ml of blood. Those numbers don't mean much to me, but I was told that's not desirable lol. Thankfully, I didn't end up needing a transfusion, but I'm a bit anemic now. Because I was in the OR for so long, they had to add another IV and intubate me.

Here's a little intermission with a funny story from my enroute to the OR--you never know what you're going to say when they pump you full of drugs at the hospital. As they wheeled me off in the opposite direction of my husband, apparently I yelled out, "EAT A CARROT!!" Dh said he cackled at that. (This is our family's special--and silly!--way we say "I love you" to one another.) I am sure the nurses thought I’d lost it. 

I woke up from surgery feeling an emptiness I haven't ever felt before. My baby was no longer inside of me. My stomach felt empty, and there is a hole in my heart unlike anything I can explain. No, I didn't get to know this baby--I didn't know if they were a boy or girl, what color hair they would have and whose features they would end up with. I never got to hear them cry or snuggle them up close to me and breathe in that magical baby smell at the crown of their head. But I got to carry them and love them for 12 weeks.

Physically, my pain isn't too bad right now. I'm hurting, and it's a weird physical pain, but its managable, and the bleeding hasn't been bad yet either. But, oh my heart. It aches in a way I know many of you know all too well. And yet, each time the tears begin to flow, the Lord whispers to me a Truth that covers me in a peace that only He can give: 

As I grieve over not holding my baby in my arms, I remember that my baby is with Jesus, and that I have the assurance that I will get to meet them one day in Heaven. Not only that, but as Daddy-God holds my baby, He is also holding me through this at the same time. 

As I find myself having to answer the tough questions from my children, I realize how much love my kids truly have for one another. They were SO excited for this baby and already loved them so very much. It's a blessing to get to experience that kind of love, and it gives us opportunities to have eternal conversations with our kids. 

As I question why God allowed this to happen, I realize I'm still thankful for it, despite the outcome not being what I wanted. I got to experience growing this precious life inside of me, and I experienced so many joys and hopes and so much love and excitement as a result. I wouldn't trade for those 12 weeks of getting to carry my baby.

And as our family continues to find our way through the valley, friends and family have swarmed in to lighten the load. The encouraging notes, the sweet gifts and meals, and most of all the PRAYERS...The family of God is such a precious and beautiful thing. God knows exactly what His children need, and He never fails to provide it for us.

I'm choosing to trust His perfect plan, and I'm choosing to stand on the Truth that He is ALWAYS good, and when I don't have the strength to stand anymore, I find myself surrounded by dear brothers and sisters who will hold me up. In Exodus 17, we read about how the Israelites were being attacked by the Amalekites. As long as Moses held his arms and staff up, they would succeed in the battle, but whenever he tired and put his hands down, they would fall behind. So they put a rock underneath him so he could sit, and Aaron and Hur held up his arms for him, and the Israelites were victorious. Isn't this a beautiful picture of what brothers and sisters in Christ do for each of us? Countless times this week, I've found a rock placed for me to sit on, and I've felt the power of friends lifting my weary heart back up. I will NOT let this experience defeat me or take away the joy I have in Christ. Rather, my desire is to allow it to mold me into who He has for me to be. I know I will always grieve over losing this baby, but I also know that I don't have to grieve as the world does. I have hope, and I'm choosing to stand firm on It.