In the Blink of an Eye

The following was shared with me by my father in law.  It is a Thanksgiving prayer from Michael Holt in 1997.  And it is fitting for today, for me.

Thank you, God.  For the joy, privilege and even the painful responsibility for giving thanks.  Some days it is so natural that it seems supernatural; a beautiful sunrise, a beautiful flower, a hug from a grandchild, an answer to a quick prayer or and unexpected provision.  Sometimes giving thanks is no problem at all!  I feel kissed by God!

But, then there are those other times, those dark times in my life that some days seem to overwhelm me with impenetrable sadness.  On those days, Lord, there is no joy in thanksgiving; the privilege in conversing with you, My Heavenly Father, is reduced to a feeble “Help, Lord.”
And yet Lord, your Word says “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will in Christ Jesus  for you.” And it says, “Rejoice” and “Pray constantly.”  And I want to, but I can’t. I’m too empty, too needy, too weak, too sad!

And now, it’s “Thanksgiving!” But the encouragement of Your Word, Father, goes deeper than the Pilgrims’ tradition and bears more weight than the government’s mandate to give thanks on some special day in November.  Change me Lord into a river of Thanksgiving!  And even when it seems the river has run dry, raise up fresh springs so that I cannot help but thank you!  Not fake, orchestrated or contrived.  Not just an emotional experience, but my mind and my will joining together even when my emotions are not very interested or cooperative.

I choose, like Paul, to glory in weakness.  I choose to thank you Lord, not just for blessings and all the wonderful things of life.  I choose, Lord, even when Your light seems dim, to lift my weak and trembling heart to say “Thank You Lord!”  When I cannot sense your presence, I will thank you.  When your Spirit seems far from me, I will thank you.  When the sadness chokes me into silence, with my mind I will thank you.  And even if I lose my mind, let my last consciousness be of You, O Father, and may whatever be left of me give you praise and thanks forever.  When I can’t understand why You allow pain and struggles that seem unbearable, I will thank You Lord!  Even if it should seem dark forever, I will thank You, Lord.  Because You command me; because You are worthy; because I love you - because I know my life is safe, hidden with Christ in You!

Thank You!   Thank You!  Thank You!

This year I am having a hard time realizing that tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  It snuck up on me.  I am very thankful for the blessings God has given me, my wonderful husband, my children, my home, my extended family.  The fact that I live in a place where I am free to worship my God, to homeschool my children, to live in freedom.

And yet, I am also having a hard time this Thanksgiving.  I am still too focused on the loss of our sweet Hope.  Despite the brief time I had knowing that she was there, growing under my heart, in my heart, or perhaps because the time was too short, I find myself in despair often.  Daily.  Sometimes hourly.  She never had the chance to meet the family who loves her so, her father who named her, her mother who prayed for her, her sisters and brothers who mourn her loss.  We never had the chance to meet her, to hold her, to let her hear our voices.  And yet, she is a part of me, of us.

At first I could do no more than lay on my couch and think about my loss.  Those first days I had to force myself to shower, to dress, to eat, to sleep.  Never mind cooking, cleaning, laundry, school.  I have now been able to force myself to do more, but my heart is not in it yet.  I will be laughing with my children, and know I will not have the chance to laugh with Hope.  And I cry.  I look at our family portrait, taken while I was pregnant, and I see an empty space.  And I cry.  I sing a song in church about the hope God has given us.  And I cry.  I lay my head on my pillow at night and my heart is heavy.  So heavy.  And I cry.

And I know that I have been given so much.  That others have lost more.  Are losing more.  We need, I need, to choose to try and be thankful in all things.  I can be thankful, as Faith put it tonight at dinner, that God gave us a blessing for a short while.  We do not know why it was so short.  We may never know why.  Why is not really important.  I am choosing to be thankful that Hope was placed with us, those who love her, even for a brief time, so that she would be loved.  And loved deeply.

This will be the hardest blog I have ever written.  Please bear with me.

A few weeks ago, or an eternity ago, I cannot be certain, we found out we were expecting our fifth little blessing.  From the moment I saw the little plus sign,  I was in love.  I began praying, planning, hoping, and dreaming.

And then this dream started.  I dreamed that at my first doctor’s appointment I was told my sweet baby had passed away.  And then there was a little baby girl, dressed in a pretty white dress.  And then I wake up in tears.  And the next night, same thing. And the next night.

I went to my doctor’s appointment with excitement, and trying to push my recurring dream from my mind.  I sat in the waiting room trying to figure out how many hours I would have to stare at the same posters on the wall.  And waiting for the test that would confirm that I was pregnant, give me a due date, and schedule my next appointment.  I had taken enough home tests to know for sure, had already figured out that they would tell me June 28, 2012.  I also figured that I would be having a baby in July because my babies are always late.

Instead, I was told that we lost our baby, our sweet little baby.  From the moment I had seen those positive tests, that was my child.  I no longer considered that I had four children, it was now five children.  I was rearranging furniture, planning our summer around the new arrival, and figuring the seating arrangement in the van.  This was not possible.  I could not imagine that my dream, my nightmare had come true.  I insisted on a blood test.

I called the whole way home about the results.  As I was opening the door, the call came.  Miscarriage.  I argued with the nurse.  Then a midwife. Then a doctor.  And hung up mad that they would lie to me.  Four tests, and two days later the truth sunk in.

My baby, my sweet child, would be one I never get to hold this side of heaven.  Never even have an ultrasound picture, let alone a picture.  No baby items, no memories, just a few weeks of hope.  And a dream of a little baby girl in a white dress.  And so, my husband decided that our baby should have a name.  He choose Hope.  Hope Elaine.

Because we had told everyone about our blessing, we now had to tell our children.  And they would feel the loss hard as they had already been planning with me, excited to share their rooms, sitting by the baby in the van, and changing diapers.  They all wanted to change a diaper.

We sat them down, empty handed, heavy hearted, and shared the news.  And we cried.  And we mourned.  And we talked.  And cried some more.  And we all grieved that there was not going to be memories.  Each of my children has a memory box full of the things they loved the most at different ages.  And a journal that I write letters to my children on special days.  They wanted to make Hope a memory box.  And so we have a beautiful box with a rose print.  And full of what my other children all thought Hope would like.  There are letters and drawings.  A Precious Moments boy that says a prayer form David.  A Spiderman watch from Isaac.  His favorite.  A favorite stuffed unicorn from Faith.  The Bible that Angel was given when she was born.  A journal that Angel made.  Two roses,one from each big sister to their little sister.  A ring with footprints from my jewelry box.  A tiny baby.  They want to buy a little sister necklace for Hope for Christmas.  And they are planning on releasing balloons for Hope on the day she was due~ June 28th.

We took our little box to my mothers.  Each child had a memento to show off, a letter, a drawing.  They built their own memories of a baby that they will never meet here on earth, but know they will see in heaven.  And we cried.  And prayed.  And talked.  And even laughed.  Most importantly, we loved.  We loved each other, and our sweet Hope.

For you see, every life, no matter how short, has a purpose.  Is loved by God.  Every one of my children is loved and cherished.  From the moment they exist.  By God.  By me.  And each will have a place in my heart forever.

“Praise You In This Storm”

After almost a year of not really going anywhere in order to get things under control in your family, we have been getting out and about a little more now.  I knew we could not stay home forever, but I am tired.  Physically, emotionally, and at times spiritually.  So many times we have started out somewhere only to have to turn back home over mud, lights, noise, itchy clothes, or some other seemingly small issue. 

Now is the time, however, to gradually make our way back into things.  In recent weeks I have been taking the kids shopping with me again.  We have gone to several stores, at times even several in the same day.  We have gone to restaurants, even new ones.  We have gone to the public pool, amusement parks, and libraries. 

Things seem better now, but I think it is not the situations, the locations, or the people we run into.  I think it may be that I have come to grips with our lives and the seeming lack of normalcy.  I have decided that we need to do what we need to do regardless of the reactions or comments of the people around us.  I have prepared in advance for situations we may be facing when we go out.  Diaper bag with extra clothes for the potty training toddler.  Sippy cup.  Snacks.  Ear plugs.  Water.  A dark hoodie.  And some extra patience.  My normal supply of patience only runs deep enough to cover my children and my husband.  I have to pack a bit extra to cover all those people who do not understand why the nine year old rides in the buggy and the toddler walks.  Why my daughter flaps, licks things, and bangs her head.  Why my toddler is repeating the same phrase, same tone, the whole way through the store.  Why my son acts as those rocket fuel runs through his veins. 

Today we walked to a “new” restaurant.  And went to the store.  Without Andy.  My children are children.  They are loud when you want them to be quiet.  They find things funny that seem gross to adults.  They play all the time.  And they are also a little more.  Angel wore a head scarf and sunglasses, picture Jackie O., and I am pretty sure it was in case we ran into anyone we know.  Faith brought everything that makes her feel comfortable in a new location- her purse filled with Pet Shops and Squinkies, ear plugs, an eye mask. and water and a snack in case she did not like the food.  Isaac never sits still, but did pretty well today.  We had to start out the door twice, though.  The first time he forgot his pants.  David went to the bathroom four times before our food arrived.  Then he had an accident in the stroller on the way home.  He also repeatedly, and loudly, insisted it is Christmas time because there was a red star on the wall.  So most of his conversation was scripting from The Nightmare Before Christmas. 

The restaurant was not too bad at first.  We were the only ones there.  Then three more tables filled up.  Waitresses always treat us like we have the plague.  the place was new to us.  The music was a little loud.  The food was good, but the fries were homemade, so Faith was rocking in her chair, beginning to get overwhelmed.  David was insisting that it was Christmas night, and doing so in song.  Isaac could not sit still.  I could begin to see the other diners looking at us.  And in those times I wish that I had a shirt that says “Don’t expect normal, because we are so over that!” 

We went to the store.  David wanted a dragon bracelet.  I said yes.  He asked for it for the entire half hour we were in the store.  “Can I pay for this?  Can I pay for this?  Can I pay for this?”  I stop answering after about three, because I know he is no longer talking to me.  But other people do not know that.  Faith got excited over a toy.  Arms flapping, quoting the commercial.  Very loud.  And agian, other customers stare. 

At the check out Angel took David, who was still saying “Can I pay for this?”, out to ride a monster truck ride.  I gave Faith and Isaac some quarters.  As I was finished paying Isaac carried bags, Faith put the buggy back, and the man behind us, who had been looking at us all through the store spoke.  “Nice family you have there.  I like how they look after each other and help out.  Dont’ see that too often anymore.” 

I looked around, making sure he was talking to us.  We normally get ignored, or get told to discipline our children more.  I have been told that a swift smack to one of my children will solve our “problems”.  He was looking right at me and smiling.  I said thank you, and left as Isaac held the door for us.  As the door was closing, I heard him say to the cashier, “Those children are so well behaved.”  I was amazed.

Sure, it was a challenge.  I was exhausted.  Taking them out can be draining.  I often say it is like taking goats with me.  Except my kids are louder.  And people expect goats to chew, lick, kck, and generally have goat like bahavior.  Children, not so much.  But I felt that the children did very well.  And so did some random guy.  And as we walked home, the kids stepping in puddles so their shoes could squeek like ducks, David saying “I paid for that”, I was very thnakful for the afternoon of enjoying my children.