What if?

"What if we cannot conceive again?"

"What if we loose another baby?"

"What if my heart is broken again?"

As a counselor by profession, I often discourage my clients from dwelling on "What if's" questions, at least the negative ones.  Primarily because I have learned and experienced firsthand that there are typically no benefits from dwelling on these questions.  But I must admit that although "I know better", sometimes these thoughts plague my mind.  And I have reason to believe that you've had some "What if" questions of your own.  Whether they sound the same or look very different, I am certain we have both experienced the same paralyzing fear and overwhelming anxiety these thoughts can bring.

 At times I attempt to cope with these thoughts by pretending they do not exist.  After all, it's not very "spiritual" to have these thoughts of fear, anxiety, and doubt.  Right?  Or not?  I believe these thoughts are a very real part of being human.  In fact, I love reading the books of Psalms and Job because both David and Job had very honest conversations with God.  However, it is important to recognize one key word I mentioned earlier:  "Dwelling".

When we dwell on these thoughts, they begin to take residence in our mind and have the potential to steal life from us.  They have stolen my contentment, my gratitude, my peace, my joy, my faith, and my hope.  They have adversely affected my relationship with my Savior and blinded my eyes to His Truth.

And the truth at this point in most of our lives is that these are only "What if's".  They are not reality.  We do not know whether they will happen or not.  So in the meantime let's forget about these negative "What if's".  And instead choose to dwell on some positive ones.

"What if we do conceive again?"

"What if we carry our baby full-term?"

"What if we give birth to a beautiful, healthy baby?"

What if we dare to believe in possibilities?

What if we dare to hope again?

"No one who hopes in You will ever be put to shame..." ~Psalm 25:3

"I Will Help You."

Most of the time when I write a post, I feel inspired by a feeling, a thought, or an experience.  Today I feel the need to write because of the significance of the date on the calendar and what it means in our story, but honestly I just feel numb.  When we experienced our first baby's expected due date, I had much to say.  Today, I just don't know what to say.

There's something different about experiencing this for a second time.  Part of it is simply because I have been here before.  There is something about the unknown that is terrifying - at least for me.  As our first baby's due date was approaching, I was afraid.  I was afraid I would not survive.  I was afraid of the emptiness.  I was afraid of the sadness.  I was afraid of the brokenness.  However, once you've experienced something before, it's almost as if you don't have to be as afraid.  You know you can survive because you have before.  And that's how I've felt leading up to today.  I knew it was coming, but I also knew God would bring me through once again.  And He will.

I wrote a letter to Baby "J" this morning.  I wanted Baby "J" to know he/she is not forgotten and that he/she is in my thoughts today.  I wanted Baby "J" to know what today means to us - the day (or close to it) when we would have been able to meet him/her face to face and hold him/her in our arms.  I told Baby "J" how deeply I miss him/her even though we've never met.  And this is when I start to feel.

Today is so different than what I hoped for or imagined.  I remember thinking about how my sister's graduation present would be another niece or nephew and how much I thought she would love that.  I remember praying that our baby's birth would not conflict with her graduation ceremony so we could still be there to support her on that important day. I remember dreaming of holding Baby "J" and meeting him/her face to face.  I remember my dreams of being able to be a mother in a tangible way.  

This is the mourning, the grieving.  For things are not what we hoped for or imagined.  Our lives and our family are not what we hoped for or imagined.  Yet even in the midst of this I am grateful.  I am thankful for the blessing of being a mother even though it is in a different way than I hoped.  I am thankful I have two beautiful babies even though I have not met them yet.  I am thankful for family and friends who have and continue to support us on our journey.  I am thankful that Hope is never lost.  I am thankful that we will be able to see our babies and hold them one day.  I am thankful we serve a God who cares.

The numbness is wearing off and many thoughts and feelings and memories are flooding into my mind, yet I know I will survive this day.  I know God will bring me through the significance of this day once again.  Whatever significant days you have yet to face, even though the fear or uncertainty may be great, I hope you can take some comfort in the fact that God cares and He will bring you through.

"For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand, and says to you, 'Do not fear, I will help you'." -Isaiah 41:13

Not Forgotten

I am thinking of you today.  You have been on my heart and in my prayers.  I know this day may not look like what you hoped for, dreamed of, longed for, or prayed for.  But that does not change the fact that you are a mother.  So today I am wishing you a "Happy Mother's Day"!

In some ways, your journey as a mother has been one of the most difficult of all.  Saying goodbye to a child before you even got a chance to see his or her face is unspeakably painful, and to love furiously in the midst of loss is incredible. 

You are incredible.  

You are brave.  

You are courageous.  

You are strong.  

You are beautiful.  

You are a mother.  

You are not forgotten today and neither is your precious child(ren).  Even though our children are not in our arms, sitting on our laps, or holding our hands today, it doesn't change the fact that we are mothers.  It may look different from the outside, but on the inside our hearts are so full of love for our children who changed us and blessed us with the opportunity to be mothers.  

Jesus sees you today.  He sees your heart - the parts that still hurt, the parts that ache, that parts that long to hold your child(ren), and the parts that remember your child(ren) today.  You are not forgotten today and neither is your precious child(ren).  You are beautiful.  You are mother.

A Year Ago Today...

A year ago today...I remember waking up with feelings of joy and anticipation even though I stayed in bed a little longer than I should have in an attempt to get a few extra minutes of sleep.  I remember putting on my green v-neck boyfriend tee accessorized by my handmade peacock feather earrings.  I remember saying goodbye to our house guests just before rushing out the door with my husband, a little behind schedule because of those extra minutes of sleep my body demanded earlier that morning.

I remember the delicate medley of excitement and fear as we arrived at my doctor's office and sat in the waiting room.  I remember climbing onto that awkwardly uncomfortable sterile bed in preparation for our first ultrasound.  I remember feeling the warm ointment as the doctor squeezed it onto my belly.  I remember looking away from the screen for fear of my worst nightmare coming to fruition - until the doctor said with reassuring words, "There's your baby."

Then...I remember watching her as if she was searching for something that could not be found, and I vividly remember the overwhelming fear of that moment.  I remember my despair when the doctor uttered the words:  "I cannot find your baby's heartbeat".  I remember the car ride to the hospital and the additional ultrasounds to determine if our baby was "viable".  I remember that dreadful trip back to the doctor's office to await the ultrasound results.  I remember hearing the doctor mumble words that confirmed we had lost of our baby.  I remember tightly embracing my husband and leaning on him as I wept uncontrollably.

I remember the tears.  I remember the pain.  I remember the heartache.  I remember the brokenness.  I remember the emptiness.  I remember the numbness.  I remember the shattered hopes and dreams.  Yet, I remember God's promise to me that He would walk by our side through whatever the future held.  I remember the intimacy and closeness my husband and I shared as we wept together.  I remember the comfort and love we received from those who dearly love us.  I remember our baby, Ashton Hope.

In memory of Ashton today, I chose to release some balloons chosen specifically to display his/her impact on our hearts.

During today's events, I remember one moment in particular when I lost my grip on one of the balloons.  I remember desperately grasping for the curling ribbon fearing that the balloon would float away before the appropriate time.  Then, I remember tears filling my eyes as I stretched out my hand and tightly grabbed the ribbon.  For that feeling was all too familiar.  The fear of losing something or someone before his or her time, before I was ready to let go.  I was not ready to let go.  Not in that moment and especially not on that day - a year ago today.

But there came a time today when I knew I needed to let go.  So I clutched that curling ribbon in my hands one last time and I prayed.  Then it began, the process of letting go...one step at a time.

As these events unfolded today, the sun was often hidden by the clouds, but for brief moments it would gloriously shine without abandon.  Throughout this year, there were days so overcast that the radiant beams of the sun appeared hidden.  There were days so dark that it seemed like the light would never shine again.  There were days when the pain and heartache and sadness seemed to overshadow any possibility of relief or healing or hope.  Yes, there are those days and sometimes there are oh so many.  However, the sun always shines even when it is hidden by the clouds.  The light always appears even in the darkest moments.  

And it did today too.  There were brief moments in the midst of this overcast and dreary day when God in His grace allowed me to catch glimpses of the radiant sun and feel it's life-giving warmth.  

The Son always shines and His radiant Light is life-giving even in the midst of the darkest days.  Even when it cannot be seen, it still exists.  Today, I remember the healing that God has done in my heart since that day - a year ago today and embrace the hope of the Son and His radiant Light.  May you catch glimpses of the radiant beams of the Son and the life-giving warmth of His Light even in the midst of your darkest days.  And remember even when they cannot be seen, they still exist.

Meet Nilver

As our first child was growing in my womb, love for our baby increased daily.  After we found out our baby was gone, I felt like all the love that filled my heart had no where to go.  Practically speaking, that is.  I had no cheek to kiss.  No tiny hand to hold.  No smooth skin to touch.  No mouth to feed.  No practical way to express the love that was overflowing from my heart.  As a result, shortly after our loss, I had this overwhelming desire to go to an orphanage and tangibly show love to children there.  I wanted a practical way to convey the love that was in my heart.  After our second loss, this desire came back with intensity.

Four months later, I had the opportunity to hear a speaker talk about children in need and the ministry of Compassion International.  My heart was awakened once again and I remember God gently speaking to my heart.  A month later I heard another speaker share about the ministry of Compassion International and the needs of children.  I knew in that moment that God clearly placed the mission of the ministry on my heart.  I loved what I heard - the fact that they provided both physical and spiritual nourishment to children in need, and I was excited about the opportunity to love a child in a practical way - a tangible way to convey the love in my heart.

My desire and intention is not, nor has it ever been to replace our babies.  Instead, it is to furiously love in their honor.  Both times after we conceived, my motherly instincts and innate desire to love and nurture came alive, yet after our babies were gone, I no longer had someone to tangibly love and nurture.  The majority of the children who are sponsored through Compassion International have both their fathers and mothers, yet do not have enough financial resources to meet their needs.  I have no desire to replace someone's father or mother nor to replace our babies, but I love that the ministry of Compassion International gives people an opportunity to tangibly love, in Jesus' Name, by providing resources to meet the needs of children.

After hearing about the ministry of Compassion International on two different occasions, my husband and I decided to sponsor a child through their ministry.  So please allow me to introduce you to Nilver...

Nilver captured our hearts for two primary reasons.  First because he had been waiting for a sponsor for more than 200 days, and secondly because his date of birth shares the expected due date of our second baby.  I am just simply blessed by this tangible opportunity to love a child in honor and memory of our babies.  If you are interested in sponsoring a child through Compassion International, please visit their website.  It is a unique opportunity to share the love in your heart while honoring and remembering your baby and/or babies.

Trying Again, Again

For the past couple months we have been in the "trying again" phase.  I guess "trying again, again" is a more accurate way to put it.  I miss the innocence and pure joy of our very first experience of trying to conceive.  There was so much anticipation, excitement, and so much hope.  It was such a beautiful season in our life and marriage.  One that God blessed greatly when we conceived our first child.

Trying again after we lost our first child still brought anticipation and excitement, but this time it was coupled with fear and anxiety.  Knowing the joy of conceiving and the anticipation of seeing our beautiful baby for the first time, only to discover he or she did not have a heartbeat, caused our hearts to be more reserved the second time around.  However, when we discovered that we were pregnant again, we could not help, but be excited, even though we were scared to death of another loss.

Now here we are again.  Two losses later.  Trying again, again.  I think all the innocence has been stripped from this experience and oh how I miss it.  But it's almost impossible to hope recklessly and love with abandon when my heart has been broken into a million pieces...twice.  Plus, I honestly cannot deny the fear and doubt that is some times overwhelming as I wonder first of all if we will be able to conceive again, and secondly, if we will carry a baby full-term.  The fear and doubt can be paralyzing and so destructive.  At times, it steals my joy, my hope, my dreams, and possibilities.  I am ashamed to say it does, but in these moments, my humanity is ever-present.

BUT, I refuse to allow my fear and doubt to be victorious, God help me.  Even in my weakest, more vulnerable, fragile, and raw moments, I must choose hope, faith, and trust.  Not just in anything or anyone, but in my Redeemer.  This is the only thing that keeps me going.  Admittedly, there are moments when my questions or uncertainties or anger or confusion cause my faith waiver, but God always brings me back to His Truth through a song, a person, His Word, a prayer...whatever He chooses to use in the moment.

Not to say that those moments of doubt are painless or easy or without blemish.  I have failed to trust Him many times in the midst of these moments.  I have doubted His plan, His timing, and His will.  My heart has been wracked with pain and hurt and unanswered questions.  Over the past couple months, these moments have been brought on by the start of my period - every failed attempt at conception.  These have been some of the most devastating moments lately.  My heart has ached, tears have poured, questions have arose, yet God in His alluring mercy reminds me of His Truth and who He is.  He is loving.  He is merciful.  He is gracious.  He knows what He is doing.  He has a plan.  He is in control.  He is good.

When my heart is breaking, it is difficult to believe these Truths.  It is difficult to trust that He is good and that His plan is good, especially when it's the furthest thing from what I want in the moment.  Yet, because His mercies are new each morning or mourning (if you will), I can face each new day with renewed hope, peace, and joy.  And His promise is for you too.

"Because of the Lord's great love we [insert your name here] are not consumed [by fear, doubt, anxiety, hopelessness, grief, hurt, pain, etc.], for His compassions never fail.  They are new EVERY [caps mine] morning; great is Your faithfulness." (Lamentations 3:22-23, NIV)

A Different Story

This month marks a year since we first started trying to have a baby.  So guess what?  You now (if you so wish to continue) have the opportunity to read about some of my reflections about the past year.  Yes, I am one of those people.  You know the ones that take any and every opportunity to reflect.  I honestly feel like I cannot help it because it seems to happen so naturally.  I tend to ponder anything and and everything that could possibly be reflected on.  Sometimes to my demise, yet other times - believe it or not - to my joy and happiness.  This reflection includes a little bit of both.

This month, last year, brought much joy and anticipation to our hearts.  For a few months prior to, we had been talking about trying to have a baby, so needless to say, we were excited when that time finally arrived.  To our joy, we were able to conceive quickly and celebrated our positive pregnancy test.  Our love for our baby came immediately.  I remember writing to our baby about our excitement of God's creation of him or her and the prayers we had been praying on his or her behalf.  And although, as you know, the story did not turn out as we had hoped, we were changed by the short, yet significant life of Ashton Hope.

Months later we entered the "trying again" phase.  This time was approached once again with joy and excitement, yet was coupled with much fear and anxiety as a result of our first loss.  [Feel free to catch a glimpse into this experience by reading my post: "On Trying Again".]  However, our joy and excitement increased when we were blessed, once again, to conceive quickly.  I remember the joy and excitement that day, but I also cannot forget the overwhelming feelings of fear and anxiety.  These feelings that tempted me to try not to love our baby as much (even though I am ashamed to admit it) in a feeble attempt to protect myself from hurt, just in case we lost him or her.  But truthfully nothing could "protect" me from the hurt that came when we lost Baby "J", and our story, once again, turned out differently than we had hoped.

When I look back at this past year, it is obvious that our story is much different than what I hoped for.  It's not only much different than I hoped for, it's much different than I thought it would be.  I would have never imagined that a year later we would have two babies in Heaven and empty arms. And this reality causes my heart to ache.  An ache that I am reminded of in my weak, jealous moments.  Those moments that I am not proud of, but that need to be acknowledged because I have a feeling I am not the only one who has ever felt this way.  An ache that I am reminded of when I think of Ashton and Baby "J".  An ache that I am reminded of when I see a mother and her daughter.  An ache that I am reminded of when I think about what should have been or what would have been.  Yes, there is no doubt that our story has been much different than I ever hoped or imagined.

Be that as it may be, I am still choosing to hold onto Hope.  Hope that comes from the healing God brought in the midst of my deepest pain.  Hope that comes from the peace God has brought in the midst of our unexpected journey.  Hope that comes from believing God loves us more than we could ever imagine.  Hope that comes from knowing our story is not over yet.  Hope that comes from knowing the ending of our story includes holding our babies in Heaven someday.  Hope that comes from trusting the Author of our story even though I have no idea what the next chapter of our story will be.  Hope that comes from the possibilities of trying again, again.  I am choosing Hope.  For although my arms are not holding onto what my heart has longed for, they will continue holding onto Him.