flowers in the water

It was five years ago this week.

 My husband and I dropped off our two young boys at a friend's house.  Quietly we got back in our vehicle and drove away.  After making a short stop, we headed toward our destination.  Parked.  Our feet trudged over pavement, a dirt trail lined by tall grasses, and finally sand.

It had been nearly seven months since our loss.  Since our little one had slipped away in the night.  The memory was fresh, as were the questions.  Why?  Why like that? When we had so much love to give?  I'd wrestled with God and His will as never before.   I had wept, prayed, searched the Scriptures, shared about my experience with other women.  I hadn't found any answers - but I had something that tasted like peace.

Hand in hand, we walked along the water.  It was crowded that day - it was the weekend, after all.  There were voices, people laughing, talking, splashing.  We walked on, seeking what privacy we could find.  After a while we settled on a spot by a bend in the river.

We did not think to bring a camera, but in my mind's eye I can see the sunshine, warm and bright that afternoon.  I can see the glimmer of the water, I can almost hear a slight breeze rustling the grass.

Arms around each other's waists, we stood.  Quiet in our thoughts.  Everything we'd needed to say to one another had already been said, several times over.

We had come to say goodbye.  To honor the day when we'd been expecting...not an arrival, but the mysterious countdown to begin.  The questions:  "How much longer?"  "How are you feeling?"  "Are you all ready?"  The wondering and waiting, the watching and hoping.

August, we had thought.  In August we would have a new little baby.

But it was not to be.

Instead, heaven had gained a precious new soul, a sweet one to sing with the angels, hang with the Apostles, sit at Jesus' feet.  We were sure, and yet we ached.  We ached for the love we'd lost - at least for this life. For the little love who had flown away.

We stood by the river, holding each other.  I am sure we prayed.  And then gently, reverently, we placed a small bouquet of flowers in the water.  An assortment of beauty and color.  Delicate petals, each stalk with a cell structure crafted by the One whose ways are higher.

We held each other as we watched them float away.  Tears slipped down my cheeks as I whispered goodbye.

And trembling a little, we sang.

How lovely is Your dwelling place O'Lord Almighty
My soul longs and even faints for You
For here my heart is satisfied within Your presence
I sing beneath the shadow of Your wings

Better is one day in Your courts
Better is one day in Your house
Better is one day in Your courts
Than thousands elsewhere

One thing I ask and I would seek to see Your beauty
To find You in the place Your glory dwells 
One thing I ask and I would seek to see Your beauty
To find You in the place Your glory dwells
My heart and flesh cry out for You the living God
Your spirits water to my soul
I've tasted and I've seen come once again to me
I will draw near to You, I will draw near to You

Better is one day in Your courts
Better is one day in Your house
Better is one day in Your courts
Than thousands elsewhere

We knew, and in our gladness we gave thanks.

"Blessed are those who mourn,
    for they will be comforted."
(Jesus, Matthew 5:4)

remembering our babies

Today, October 15th, marks the annual Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It's a day to remember the sweet babies who have flown away far, far too soon - whether it be through miscarriage, stillbirth, ectopic pregnancy, or the death of an infant.

This subject is one that is, all too often, dealt with in silence. There is a a strange, unspoken taboo against sharing about these losses. This day of remembrance is a way to honor the little ones who never fully shared in our families' lives, as well as to offer support to those who have suffered through the loss of a precious addition to their families.

One of the most beautiful parts about this day is the Wave of Light. At 7pm, wherever you are, you can light a candle. Leave it burning for one hour and it will become part of a continuous wave of light in memory of these sweet babies.

I know we'll be doing that in our house, in honor of our precious Riley Jordan.

the potential for joy and sorrow (reposted)

In light of my recent news, I find it an appropriate time to re-post this entry. Today is a significant milestone for me: 11 weeks, 3 days along in my pregnancy - as far as I "made it" with Riley. Yet, the Lord is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is faithful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In January of 2007, I lost a baby.

I'm not going to say I had a miscarriage, or refer to my little one as a fetus. These are facts, but they don't really convey what happened to me. What happened was, I lost a baby.

And it was hard. In fact, it was the hardest thing I'd ever been through. I grieved for my child, for the vanished dreams I'd entertained. For the chance to know...hold..mother my little one. It was a sudden and shocking loss, a betrayal of sorts. I was betrayed by my body. Also, I had to figure out where God fit into all of it.

The conclusion I arrived at was this: God loves my baby even more than I do. This kind of tragedy happens because there is sin in the world, not because God decided to punish me or my baby. I believe that God saw each tear that was cried for my little one, and that he mourned with me, even as he welcomed my child into heaven.

God doesn't always protect us from loss. In fact, it seems that all too often, He doesn't.

I know that this is hard to think about, but it's something that I've had to come to terms with, following my loss, and then during my pregnancy with Owen. And now here it comes again.

I struggled a lot with anxiety during my pregnancy with Owen. The first trimester was excruciating - not so much because I was feeling sick, but because I was haunted by the memory of my previous loss...and the potential that it might happen again. My pregnancy gave me no physical reason for concern - but neither had the one that ended so sadly. I had an especially hard time as I approached the 11 week mark, for that was when my body rejected the baby I'd imagined was still healthy...still present with me.

Those dark, quiet days - before it's possible to hear the baby's heartbeat, before I could feel the little one move - were so hard for me. I made Philippians 4:6-7 my personal verses, and posted them all over my home. I repeated them to myself in the shower, as I drove my car, as I prepared meals, and scrubbed sinks. I tried so hard to shed the anxiety, but it was difficult.

The reason it was so hard was this simple fact: I could have to say goodbye again.

There are no guarantees save one: God is faithful. He keeps his promises.

If he says that he "knit me together in my mother's womb," He did. (Psalm 139:13)
If he says that "all the days ordained for me were written in [his] book," they are. (Psalm 139:16)
If he says that his love endures forever, it does. (Psalm 100:5)
If he says that he is with me, and mighty to save, he is. (Zephaniah 3:17)
If he says that I should not be anxious, I should strive to shed anxiety. (Phil. 4:6-7)
If he says that there is nothing in all of creation which can separate me from his love, there isn't. (Romans 8:38-39)
If he says that he is with me, even in the valley of the shadow of death, he is. (Psalm 23:4)

I am not promised healthy pregnancies. I am not promised that I'll be blessed to see each my children become adults, or that I will grow old with my husband by my side. I am not promised a life without disease, sorrow, or loss. I hope and pray for all of this, of course I do. But I cannot be sure of these things.

What I am sure of, is God's goodness, his love - and that he will be with me, whatever life may bring.

I suppose, to some, this post may seem a bit bleak, as though I'm almost expecting tragedy to strike my life again. The truth is, I'm not. I'm rejoicing in this baby, and I'm making plans for him or her to join our family next year. I am expectant.

Regardless of what the next months bring, I have reason to hope...because my hope doesn't rest on any false promises of a life that is free of pain, but on the assurance that the Lord is my rock, my salvation, and my refuge. (Psalm 18:2)

¹Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, ²through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. ³Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; ⁴perseverance, character; and character, hope. ⁵And 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 5:1-5 (emphasis added)

lifesong

Last fall, three and a half years after Riley went to heaven, we finally told the boys.

"You have a brother or sister in heaven."

We told them the story. As we sat around our dining room table, our faces flickering in the candlelight of a mid-autumn night, we told them. We told them how excited we had been to give a sibling to Ben and Kyle. How we'd waited to tell them about the baby...and how our little one flew away before we did. We told them how we decided to keep the knowledge close to our hearts until a time when they were a little older.

They listened quietly. Somberly. Our oldest son, in particular, was pensive. He asked a few questions. They all were glad to think of meeting Riley in heaven someday.

A month or two later, in the midst of some other conversation, Benjamin said something like " Well, I think I know what the worst pain you ever felt was."

I looked at him curiously. "Yeah? What do you think it was?"

"When Riley died and went to heaven."

I sat silent, unable to speak. Then... "You're right, Ben. That was the worst pain I've ever felt. Not in my body, but in my heart." I paused. "But I'm so, so happy to know that Riley is in heaven....and that we can see Riley there someday."

And so, sweet Riley's lifesong lives on. The precious weight of it matters. In my heart, and all those that little life has touched. In the hearts and lives of my children.

"I once was dead, but now I live."

a mother never forgets

Tonight I will be lighting a candle to remember my sweet Riley. I thank God for this little one's time in my life, however brief.

Every year, October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. May we never forget the precious weight of each and every soul.

Psalm 84

~for Riley Jordan~

Psalm 84

For the director of music. According to gittith. Of the Sons of Korah. A psalm. ^a]">[a]

¹ How lovely is your dwelling place,
O LORD Almighty!

² My soul yearns, even faints,
for the courts of the LORD;
my heart and my flesh cry out
for the living God.

³ Even the sparrow has found a home,
and the swallow a nest for herself,
where she may have her young—
a place near your altar,
O LORD Almighty, my King and my God.

⁴ Blessed are those who dwell in your house;
they are ever praising you.
Selah

⁵ Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.

⁶ As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
they make it a place of springs;
the autumn rains also cover it with pools. ^b]">[b]

⁷ They go from strength to strength,
till each appears before God in Zion.

⁸ Hear my prayer, O LORD God Almighty;
listen to me, O God of Jacob.
Selah

⁹ Look upon our shield, ^c]">[c] O God;
look with favor on your anointed one.

¹⁰ Better is one day in your courts
than a thousand elsewhere;
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
than dwell in the tents of the wicked.

¹¹ For the LORD God is a sun and shield;
the LORD bestows favor and honor;
no good thing does he withhold
from those whose walk is blameless.

¹² O LORD Almighty,
blessed is the man who trusts in you.

Riley

Two years ago
you slipped away
Little by little
And I? I lingered, between despair and hope

God alone saw the moment when
your spirit flew
I (your mother) could not hold you back
Though I prayed for you to stay

So that I could know you.
Hold you.
Soothe. Rock. Tend.
Mother you.

But still you flew away
To a different destiny
Than I had hoped

I know you're loved.
Held. At peace.
I know you'll have no tears
No regret
No pain
Never a broken heart

But I still miss you.