My friend Lanae watched Tim yesterday--took him to music class along with her boys, and took him home to play with them afterward. We often trade off doing this, and I needed the afternoon, so next week is my turn. Anyway, when I came to pick him up we sat down and got talking. The talk turned to how much we remembered our dads--hers died when she was 11, mine died when I was 10. Funny, neither she nor I could remember their faces apart from pictures. All the stranger when I realize neither her boys nor Tim are yet 10, and they would probably be in the same condition if they lost one of their parents. I tend to think of Tim as so much older than I was at the time, and assume that of course he would remember us...and that's also strange.
Lanae and I both remember strange things. My dad was the strongest element in our family, in terms of running the show and holding us all to the consistent, precise, stated family rules and not letting any of us vary from the Jones program, all of which fell apart when he died. I know my dad and I got along well (but I don't remember how that manifested itself), I remember the dinnertime grace he used to say, I know of an actor whose voice sounds like his did, I remember that he thought we should send our tv programming to the Russians in order to win the Cold War. He loved steak and ice cream and eggs; he smoked and drank and I'm not sure what his beliefs were, but I think he was kind of impacted by a Catholic nun we knew. He was fastidious and kept his desk and his tools in their exact assigned order (and I learned not to touch anything in his desk or he would know it, no matter how carefully I put it back). He was conservative and I never knew until after he died that my mom is liberal--they must have agreed not to discuss it, because they never argued (my mom clams up if she doesn't agree--that's how she expresses it, unlike most of our family). He loved to spend money, though we never had any until I was 6, when his father died and he came into a trust from his mom.
I know he loved the "Cheaper by the Dozen" book on which the movies are loosely based, and he would have loved to have 12 kids--there were six of us. He probably would have had us homeschool if it were available at the time and especially if my mom had been willing (but she wouldn't have). He loved the outdoors so we went camping or on picnics even in the rain and wind; he loved tools and old cars, he made things, he barbecued, and he took thousands of pictures--only a few of which I have.
I don't remember many interactions between us, though. I remember the probably only time he ever spanked me, he immediately acted troubled about having done so (strange, since spanking all the older kids came perfectly natural to him). I remember him bringing a few presents home from outings on days other than special occasions, just because he wanted to. He and my mom used to go to coffee or lunch pretty much every day in the final few years of his life. And that is about all I remember.
When he died, the whole family's dynamics changed. My mom went to work probably about the time my little brother Greg started off to school, and my older brothers and sisters started being less family-focused and more outwardly social, the older ones dating, getting jobs, and doing typical teen things. I was generally at home, and as I recall I became more aware of being alone--with my little brother most of the time, but very much alone. The funny thing is, I don't remember much of that time at all--how my brother got to and from school (he was 7 years younger than I, and I never went with him), who watched him if I stayed after school (which hardly ever happened, if I remember right). I think if I asked Greg, maybe he could fill me in, but I don't think either of us were very happy with the setup.
The thing is, Lanae is very much like me in her memories of her father--she remembers the layout of his apartment (he and her mom had divorced), but not his face except in photos. She remembers weird little details, but not the overall picture; she too was alone at home most of the time in her remaining growing years, but doesn't remember the specifics of how she and her mom dealt with it. It must be something about the age.
She and I both felt impacted inwardly, socially messed up by being alone so much of our growing years. I remember that vividly, the painful feeling of not measuring up, of feeling that everyone else had it all together and that I never would. (It's a good thing in a way, because otherwise I might never have known my need for Christ!) I know what I've been like, and if God hasn't made me normal (whatever that is), at least He's made it so it doesn't matter; if my focus is on Him, and if He loves me, what does it matter how socially inept I might be, as long as I do my best? Lanae, in spite of having had this same awful inadequate feeling as well, seems so normal from everything I've seen. She does a fantastic job raising her three sons in spite of the fact that her husband's in the military and much of the parenting she does all on her own. God is great and gracious--and He restores the years the locusts have eaten. I know, in spite of a heightened awareness of my many inadequacies, so much more, how He is all my adequacy. Hallelujah!
It shows how man looks so readily at the outer appearance. We often don't know from observing a person on the outside what is really going on inside, or what their history is: what they've dealt with, what's changing, where they are as we see them today, how far they have come to get to where they are now, and how much more they have yet to go through. God does, and He does so entirely in love and compassion. He cares, our hurts are His hurts, and He is our Healer and Restorer, our Heavenly Father. Lanae and I both now have a Father, a perfect Father, who knows us and loves us and will never leave us nor forsake us. Already He has done a great amount of restoration. When we are done, we will be perfect as well; we will be like Him. Hallelujah, Amen!
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss. Show all posts
Friday, January 25, 2008
Sharing Tattoos
This morning I was pondering (in reference to yesterday's lunch) why we as women tend not to focus on the easy and good and happy things that have happened in our lives, but the difficult things, when we get to know each other and compare notes. It's a little like sailors comparing tattoos, we wear our trials like a badge and find commonality that links us. You can see this when it comes to birth stories; seems like invariably one doesn't even finish hers when another chimes in and (unfortunately) usually one-ups her in one or more ways. Sometimes it's hard to tell which one was more difficult, they all have such various elements. (Don't ever let these get started with a pregnant woman around, they can get pretty frightening!) I suppose if I met someone who'd never had trials, I'd need to focus on all the easy things instead. Somehow it seems like it wouldn't bind us as well, and I'm not sure why.
Perhaps the going through of trials shows us that God has enabled us to be stronger than we thought we could be (and of course on our own we wouldn't show up strong at all). The trials make us better, by strengthening our faith and reliance on God, and knowing He really doesn't ever fail us. As unbelievers, people do get through the trials somehow, but it isn't in victory. It may be in a resigned way, not knowing that God has a reason in it that we might know Him better; or especially, more usually, a bitter way. Bitterness shows that we haven't had God at the center of it, but ourselves, and we expect that it should have been better for us. I would much rather go through these things with Him; in fact I remember in the loss of a pregnancy resolving that I would watch for His hand through the whole process. The great thing I found was that He was all over it; I felt that He was closer than if He'd had skin. One of my favorite Bible verses, strangely enough, is, "It was good that I be afflicted, that I might learn Your decrees." This verse has gotten me through these many things (if you're wondering what, I've blogged about most of them, so you could read about them by going through the links, because they do help me learn about God and His great love) and I am strengthened.
So when women share the hard things they've gone through in life, if they're believers, it's iron sharpening iron, and we are encouraged for the next round. We see that God has gotten them through it, and He will do the same for us. Looking back in my life, it's the difficulties that have made me what I am today, and whatever that is, feeble enough though it is, it's much better than I was 25 years ago. God is faithful to provide for His people; He teaches us through these things so we can be a help to those around us.
Perhaps the going through of trials shows us that God has enabled us to be stronger than we thought we could be (and of course on our own we wouldn't show up strong at all). The trials make us better, by strengthening our faith and reliance on God, and knowing He really doesn't ever fail us. As unbelievers, people do get through the trials somehow, but it isn't in victory. It may be in a resigned way, not knowing that God has a reason in it that we might know Him better; or especially, more usually, a bitter way. Bitterness shows that we haven't had God at the center of it, but ourselves, and we expect that it should have been better for us. I would much rather go through these things with Him; in fact I remember in the loss of a pregnancy resolving that I would watch for His hand through the whole process. The great thing I found was that He was all over it; I felt that He was closer than if He'd had skin. One of my favorite Bible verses, strangely enough, is, "It was good that I be afflicted, that I might learn Your decrees." This verse has gotten me through these many things (if you're wondering what, I've blogged about most of them, so you could read about them by going through the links, because they do help me learn about God and His great love) and I am strengthened.
So when women share the hard things they've gone through in life, if they're believers, it's iron sharpening iron, and we are encouraged for the next round. We see that God has gotten them through it, and He will do the same for us. Looking back in my life, it's the difficulties that have made me what I am today, and whatever that is, feeble enough though it is, it's much better than I was 25 years ago. God is faithful to provide for His people; He teaches us through these things so we can be a help to those around us.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Before I Formed You in the Womb, I Knew You
I realize the subject matter of this, my twin miscarriage, might put a person off...for the first while. The really good part is at the end, but it takes going through the crucible of the story with me to get there and really understand where I'm coming from, and in spite of a seemingly hopeless beginning, it actually has a message of incredible hope. This is so often what God will do through our great pain, is end up giving us hope and a better knowledge of His great faithfulness and unfathomable love. I do hope you'll read on after all, and receive a blessing from it.
I was pregnant for the first time in seven years, since the birth of our daughter. At a grocery store, I ran into a friend I hadn't seen for a while, and showed her my expanding middle. I was just at the 12-week point, but very much showing. I told her, "I'm beginning to wonder whether it's twins, don't you think?" She said, "No kidding." Like it was obvious.
Late the next day, though, I started to miscarry. I was glad that at the time we lived within a block of the hospital. It was surely God's provision for this whole period of our lives--we were there often for one thing or another. I'd never been through miscarriage before; the pain was intense and I thought surely they'd do something to help me in the emergency room. When we got there, it was the worst emergency room visit we ever had. We were ushered into a room and though it seemed like a quiet night there, we were left alone. We had my daughter in tow--unfortunately not much we could do but bring her along. I kept buzzing the button, hoping someone would come with pain medicine, and maybe some evaluation, advice, assurance, or something. No one came. The door was locked to the adjacent bathroom, too. My husband ran around the other side to unlock it. I miscarried one at that time; finally a bunch of medical personnel came along and evaluated the outcome. Yes, I'd miscarried, but the doctor thought I was probably not through yet. He sent me home, and said he might be seeing me again.
We went home and all seemed fine for a short while, but then it became worse than the first time around. We thought we might as well stay home considering the first time, but it wasn't the same. I was writhing in pain and eventually gave up to go back in.
At least in my more obvious agony they couldn't ignore me. After evaluating the situation, they said that the only solution was a D&C, that is, an operation called dilation and curettage. So I lost my second that night. I'd never realized before how much a woman goes through when she loses a pregnancy. The emotional pain is overwhelming.
But the amazing part is coming. I was in a recovery bed, pondering to myself how I'd only been aware of these two tiny human beings at most a few weeks--and one only a day. I'd never seen them, talked to them, named them--didn't even know if they were girls or boys. But the pain of loss was more than I could contain; I'd developed such a love for them in that short time it was beyond what my being could hold.
I wasn't thinking in the slightest of God, of faith, of Scriptures. But in the midst of my self-absorbed thoughts, God pierced through with an instantaneous set of five scriptures that had to do with His eternal love for His people. "I have loved you with an everlasting love,"(Jer 31:3 nasb); "I have engraved you on the palms of My hands,"(Isa 49:16 niv); "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,"(Jer 1:5 nasb); "I will never leave you nor forsake you,"(Heb 13:5b, nkjv); "He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world." (Eph. 1:4 nasb).
I truly had five stunning verses that day all having to do with God's eternal love and knowledge of us. Frankly, often when I try listing them from memory I come up with a slightly different assortment of five, so it's to the point that I don't remember perfectly the original set. However, I know that He tells us in many places throughout the Scriptures of how long He's known us and how much He loves us. Just as He knew that John the Baptist would be a boy, what his name would be, what his purpose was, and his effect on those around him, God also knows what we are to be. He knows every word on our tongues before one of them comes to be said (Ps 139:4). Isn't it marvelous?
So in case I'm not making my point clear, at any rate, we can be overcome with love for another, and with grief over the loss of another, who we have known, or hardly known, for such an infinitesimal fraction of time compared to how God intimately knows us. And He not only knows us well, but loves us anyway--and not humanly but in a "God is love" sense: perfectly, infinitely, completely. It exploded my previous, vague, "a lot bigger than human" picture of who God is and how He graciously loves us.
Ephesians 3:14-19 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.
I was pregnant for the first time in seven years, since the birth of our daughter. At a grocery store, I ran into a friend I hadn't seen for a while, and showed her my expanding middle. I was just at the 12-week point, but very much showing. I told her, "I'm beginning to wonder whether it's twins, don't you think?" She said, "No kidding." Like it was obvious.
Late the next day, though, I started to miscarry. I was glad that at the time we lived within a block of the hospital. It was surely God's provision for this whole period of our lives--we were there often for one thing or another. I'd never been through miscarriage before; the pain was intense and I thought surely they'd do something to help me in the emergency room. When we got there, it was the worst emergency room visit we ever had. We were ushered into a room and though it seemed like a quiet night there, we were left alone. We had my daughter in tow--unfortunately not much we could do but bring her along. I kept buzzing the button, hoping someone would come with pain medicine, and maybe some evaluation, advice, assurance, or something. No one came. The door was locked to the adjacent bathroom, too. My husband ran around the other side to unlock it. I miscarried one at that time; finally a bunch of medical personnel came along and evaluated the outcome. Yes, I'd miscarried, but the doctor thought I was probably not through yet. He sent me home, and said he might be seeing me again.
We went home and all seemed fine for a short while, but then it became worse than the first time around. We thought we might as well stay home considering the first time, but it wasn't the same. I was writhing in pain and eventually gave up to go back in.
At least in my more obvious agony they couldn't ignore me. After evaluating the situation, they said that the only solution was a D&C, that is, an operation called dilation and curettage. So I lost my second that night. I'd never realized before how much a woman goes through when she loses a pregnancy. The emotional pain is overwhelming.
But the amazing part is coming. I was in a recovery bed, pondering to myself how I'd only been aware of these two tiny human beings at most a few weeks--and one only a day. I'd never seen them, talked to them, named them--didn't even know if they were girls or boys. But the pain of loss was more than I could contain; I'd developed such a love for them in that short time it was beyond what my being could hold.
I wasn't thinking in the slightest of God, of faith, of Scriptures. But in the midst of my self-absorbed thoughts, God pierced through with an instantaneous set of five scriptures that had to do with His eternal love for His people. "I have loved you with an everlasting love,"(Jer 31:3 nasb); "I have engraved you on the palms of My hands,"(Isa 49:16 niv); "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,"(Jer 1:5 nasb); "I will never leave you nor forsake you,"(Heb 13:5b, nkjv); "He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world." (Eph. 1:4 nasb).
I truly had five stunning verses that day all having to do with God's eternal love and knowledge of us. Frankly, often when I try listing them from memory I come up with a slightly different assortment of five, so it's to the point that I don't remember perfectly the original set. However, I know that He tells us in many places throughout the Scriptures of how long He's known us and how much He loves us. Just as He knew that John the Baptist would be a boy, what his name would be, what his purpose was, and his effect on those around him, God also knows what we are to be. He knows every word on our tongues before one of them comes to be said (Ps 139:4). Isn't it marvelous?
So in case I'm not making my point clear, at any rate, we can be overcome with love for another, and with grief over the loss of another, who we have known, or hardly known, for such an infinitesimal fraction of time compared to how God intimately knows us. And He not only knows us well, but loves us anyway--and not humanly but in a "God is love" sense: perfectly, infinitely, completely. It exploded my previous, vague, "a lot bigger than human" picture of who God is and how He graciously loves us.
Ephesians 3:14-19 For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
God's Handprints
People will often say that it's in the valleys, rather than the mountaintop times, that we grow the most; it's there in the trials of life that we see God's faithfulness. This was by all means true about 8 years back, when we lost a pregnancy at 6 months along. God was so close we could sense His presence and His handprints on every aspect. I actually started writing this long before I finished; in fact the part that kept me from finishing was the pain of remembering. I realize though that the publication of this might help someone else to get through an ordeal they are dealing with. I would strongly recommend that in the process of any trial, you pray that you will see the hand of God in every aspect. I did so with this and it redeemed it like nothing else could.
We had lost a twin pregnancy at the first trimester just a few months before we found that we were expecting again. Of course we were glad to start again, but our excitement was tempered with the sobering memory of the last.
I was feeling sicker than usual pretty early into the pregnancy, and incredibly sleepy. We as a family had committed to helping with a campaign for governor that was going on at the time; I was a doorbelling coordinator for two voting districts. (I'm always great at biting off more than I can chew!) I was homeschooling our daughter for 4th grade, though for this period of time I was not able to do anything well. I remember opening my eyes from sleep with effort once, only to see her running her finger along a dusty bookshelf in her boredom--a testimony to both my lack of housekeeping and lack of involvement in her education for that stretch of time. Thankfully she was already a good reader and we had a good supply of books in which she was interested!
People would ask eventually whether I'd felt the baby move yet. I had, only passively, but I just answered in the affirmative. I was starting to grow concerned. Toward Christmas, I called to see if I could schedule an early appointment. The answering machine told me that the office was closed until after the holidays.
On a Sunday in early January, we were at church. The song that I remember that day was It is Well With My Soul. The story behind that song was a sad one. The writer had lost first his son in the great Chicago fire, then his four daughters in a shipwreck, after which his wife had sent him a telegram, "Saved alone." I was pondering whether God was bracing me to get through a pregnancy loss and still praise Him. The next day, I was scheduled to go in for a doctor appointment.
This Sunday almost all the women of the church were at a retreat. There were only a handful left, and while the men met for a Sunday school class, these few remaining women joined together to talk. They forgot for the moment that I was visibly pregnant. The topic of conversation they started with, somehow, was how women they knew had glorified God when they had lost children, whether in pregnancy or otherwise.
Suddenly they remembered that I was pregnant; I told them my concerns and the fact that the next day I had a doctor appointment. They all stopped to pray for me.
When I told the doctor that I hadn't really felt any active movement from the baby, she looked concerned. She took the doppler and tried to hear a heartbeat. She heard none. She scheduled me for an ultrasound later that day. I told her that I'd tried scheduling an appointment before Christmas but that they were closed. She looked puzzled. She said they hadn't closed except for Christmas day. I guess God wanted me to get through to January before dealing with any of this!
I went home to wait for the ultrasound appointment. It had been a bleak time: Gary's aunt had died from a stroke; then within a short time his uncle died in a motorcycling accident. We had some of the flowers from the funeral at our house. I don't know why I didn't just throw them away, but rearranging them gave my nervous hands something to do.
We had some new friends from working on the campaign, and they watched our daughter during the appointment. The ultrasound revealed no movement. The doctor recommended inducing the delivery as soon as possible, scheduled it and gave us some prescriptions.
I called the midwife, and she only affirmed what we had been told. If we waited to deliver naturally, I could have some very bad physical ramifications. In fact I was already having some, since the baby had actually died a month before. My short-term memory was practically nonexistent. I felt horrible in general. I don't know whether the sleepiness was also due to this or just an extreme pregnancy symptom.
That midwife though was a blessing. She had been through so many pregnancy losses of her own and understood very well what I was dealing with. I could not imagine having suffered this pain so many times, but it enabled her to be understanding of others in that same trial (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Without the referral of our mutual friends I wouldn't have had access to her assurance, and for that I was thankful.
Early the next day I was to be at the hospital to deliver. I set out to call a friend to watch our daughter; the first friend I called was going to be out that early in the morning already, to drop her husband off at work. I felt God's provision at work again here.
Ironically, I had to go through the maternity department to get to my room. I found that for this procedure, they made no hesitation to pump me full of pain-relieving drugs and who-knows-what else. I don't think I've ever had so many things going on in my system at one time.
They took many vials of blood for testing; during this, I remember a huge moan welling up from some mysterious place deep within me. I was stunned--I knew it had something to do with the grief process, but I'd never experienced it before, though I'd lost the twin pregnancy and various beloved family members. The woman drawing the blood must have seen such before. She looked compassionate and not at all shocked like I'd expect.
Because of all the drugs coursing through me, I delivered and didn't even know it. The young girl nurse who they assigned to me seemed ill-prepared to deal with this grim ordeal. She took the lifeless baby out of the room and since I had opted to see her, she brought her back to the room. Of course it wasn't the same as seeing a live baby, it was a moment I had dreaded but thought would bring closure and finality. We named her Mary Elizabeth because of the story of John the Baptist leaping in Elizabeth's womb at the recognition that Mary approached with his Savior in hers. It testified to me regarding the spirit of the unborn, bringing me comfort that as David remarked upon the loss of the baby carried by Bathsheba, I would see her again in heaven someday, alive and well--in fact, she had beaten me there already.
Perhaps the worst part was signing the death certificate. I knew the irony that existed here: I wanted that baby alive, and she had died; those who abort wouldn't be required to sign such a document. Later I sent that thought to a legislator I know, and she presented this thought in a bill that she was working on...though I don't believe it helped the bill to receive approval, perhaps it brought someone to think on those things. A social worker came into the hospital room and helped us with various decisions that seemed to add insult to the injury we'd sustained: Burial or cremation was one of them. I talked to our pastor and he didn't see any biblical requirement either way. We decided for cremation, and afterward had to go to a funeral home to make the arrangements. The hospital wasn't the last stop in this trial. Still, at the funeral home the staff there were believers and that made the experience much easier than it would have been otherwise.
I remember for one ghastly moment on my arrival home thinking that I wanted another god, one who wouldn't put me through such a thing--and then I realized my unfaithfulness, my unthankfulness, my fickleness. God is good and loving, He did even this in love, and the verse that Peter said to Christ came to mind: "To whom shall we go? You alone have the words of eternal life" (John 6:68). It was true. God is the only One through whom we can expect any good.
I was sick for quite a while afterward; had to undergo another surgery to repair some problems that occurred connected with this pregnancy; and my mind took months to get back to anything like normal. I still have forgetful times, sometimes mixing days up inexplicably; less often forgetting or switching people's names that I have no reason to forget. These memory lapses are distinct from the everyday lapses that everyone deals with, they are unique enough and stubborn enough that I recognize them as still remaining from that dark period. Perhaps that short-term memory loss was a blessing, enabling me to get through the pain of it. God had His reasons for every aspect of that loss, I know, and I can now thank Him for the many ways that He showed His presence in my life. I thank Him also for His sovereignty, that His purposes that we can't understand will prevail, according to His plan, His wisdom...even though we would never choose them on our own. Better His will than mine.
We had lost a twin pregnancy at the first trimester just a few months before we found that we were expecting again. Of course we were glad to start again, but our excitement was tempered with the sobering memory of the last.
I was feeling sicker than usual pretty early into the pregnancy, and incredibly sleepy. We as a family had committed to helping with a campaign for governor that was going on at the time; I was a doorbelling coordinator for two voting districts. (I'm always great at biting off more than I can chew!) I was homeschooling our daughter for 4th grade, though for this period of time I was not able to do anything well. I remember opening my eyes from sleep with effort once, only to see her running her finger along a dusty bookshelf in her boredom--a testimony to both my lack of housekeeping and lack of involvement in her education for that stretch of time. Thankfully she was already a good reader and we had a good supply of books in which she was interested!
People would ask eventually whether I'd felt the baby move yet. I had, only passively, but I just answered in the affirmative. I was starting to grow concerned. Toward Christmas, I called to see if I could schedule an early appointment. The answering machine told me that the office was closed until after the holidays.
On a Sunday in early January, we were at church. The song that I remember that day was It is Well With My Soul. The story behind that song was a sad one. The writer had lost first his son in the great Chicago fire, then his four daughters in a shipwreck, after which his wife had sent him a telegram, "Saved alone." I was pondering whether God was bracing me to get through a pregnancy loss and still praise Him. The next day, I was scheduled to go in for a doctor appointment.
This Sunday almost all the women of the church were at a retreat. There were only a handful left, and while the men met for a Sunday school class, these few remaining women joined together to talk. They forgot for the moment that I was visibly pregnant. The topic of conversation they started with, somehow, was how women they knew had glorified God when they had lost children, whether in pregnancy or otherwise.
Suddenly they remembered that I was pregnant; I told them my concerns and the fact that the next day I had a doctor appointment. They all stopped to pray for me.
When I told the doctor that I hadn't really felt any active movement from the baby, she looked concerned. She took the doppler and tried to hear a heartbeat. She heard none. She scheduled me for an ultrasound later that day. I told her that I'd tried scheduling an appointment before Christmas but that they were closed. She looked puzzled. She said they hadn't closed except for Christmas day. I guess God wanted me to get through to January before dealing with any of this!
I went home to wait for the ultrasound appointment. It had been a bleak time: Gary's aunt had died from a stroke; then within a short time his uncle died in a motorcycling accident. We had some of the flowers from the funeral at our house. I don't know why I didn't just throw them away, but rearranging them gave my nervous hands something to do.
We had some new friends from working on the campaign, and they watched our daughter during the appointment. The ultrasound revealed no movement. The doctor recommended inducing the delivery as soon as possible, scheduled it and gave us some prescriptions.
While my husband went into the pharmacy to fill the prescriptions, I sat in the car and slowly and painfully went through the words of the song It is Well With My Soul again. The song's full meaning can only be grasped in the full story behind it, and I knew that in the saddest of times, still, the soul that knows Christ is secure. Joy and the ability to praise God does not depend on outward circumstances, no matter how personal, painful or intense. There is no suffering, no pain that Jesus does not understand, has not felt Himself. The words of the song testify to it:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll,
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
"It is well, it is well with my soul."
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blessed assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin--O the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin--not in part, but the whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more.
Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, O my soul!
Praise the Lord, it is well with my soul!
And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll.
The trump shall resound,
And the Lord shall descend,
"Even so"--it is well with my soul.
--Horatio Gates Spafford, 1828-1888
When we returned to the house of the friends who were watching my daughter, we told them what was happening. They listened, but later called us. They thought maybe we were making it up--that perhaps we were intending to abort a viable pregnancy, or that we were advised to make the wrong decision by having the delivery induced. They made many poorly chosen comments, and it only added to the strain of the situation. In their defense, we hadn't known each other very long and perhaps they thought they ought to prevent a ghastly decision. I have to admire their courage, however badly it came across at the time. They asked me to talk to a midwife they knew, and I agreed.I called the midwife, and she only affirmed what we had been told. If we waited to deliver naturally, I could have some very bad physical ramifications. In fact I was already having some, since the baby had actually died a month before. My short-term memory was practically nonexistent. I felt horrible in general. I don't know whether the sleepiness was also due to this or just an extreme pregnancy symptom.
That midwife though was a blessing. She had been through so many pregnancy losses of her own and understood very well what I was dealing with. I could not imagine having suffered this pain so many times, but it enabled her to be understanding of others in that same trial (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Without the referral of our mutual friends I wouldn't have had access to her assurance, and for that I was thankful.
Early the next day I was to be at the hospital to deliver. I set out to call a friend to watch our daughter; the first friend I called was going to be out that early in the morning already, to drop her husband off at work. I felt God's provision at work again here.
Ironically, I had to go through the maternity department to get to my room. I found that for this procedure, they made no hesitation to pump me full of pain-relieving drugs and who-knows-what else. I don't think I've ever had so many things going on in my system at one time.
They took many vials of blood for testing; during this, I remember a huge moan welling up from some mysterious place deep within me. I was stunned--I knew it had something to do with the grief process, but I'd never experienced it before, though I'd lost the twin pregnancy and various beloved family members. The woman drawing the blood must have seen such before. She looked compassionate and not at all shocked like I'd expect.
Because of all the drugs coursing through me, I delivered and didn't even know it. The young girl nurse who they assigned to me seemed ill-prepared to deal with this grim ordeal. She took the lifeless baby out of the room and since I had opted to see her, she brought her back to the room. Of course it wasn't the same as seeing a live baby, it was a moment I had dreaded but thought would bring closure and finality. We named her Mary Elizabeth because of the story of John the Baptist leaping in Elizabeth's womb at the recognition that Mary approached with his Savior in hers. It testified to me regarding the spirit of the unborn, bringing me comfort that as David remarked upon the loss of the baby carried by Bathsheba, I would see her again in heaven someday, alive and well--in fact, she had beaten me there already.
Perhaps the worst part was signing the death certificate. I knew the irony that existed here: I wanted that baby alive, and she had died; those who abort wouldn't be required to sign such a document. Later I sent that thought to a legislator I know, and she presented this thought in a bill that she was working on...though I don't believe it helped the bill to receive approval, perhaps it brought someone to think on those things. A social worker came into the hospital room and helped us with various decisions that seemed to add insult to the injury we'd sustained: Burial or cremation was one of them. I talked to our pastor and he didn't see any biblical requirement either way. We decided for cremation, and afterward had to go to a funeral home to make the arrangements. The hospital wasn't the last stop in this trial. Still, at the funeral home the staff there were believers and that made the experience much easier than it would have been otherwise.
I remember for one ghastly moment on my arrival home thinking that I wanted another god, one who wouldn't put me through such a thing--and then I realized my unfaithfulness, my unthankfulness, my fickleness. God is good and loving, He did even this in love, and the verse that Peter said to Christ came to mind: "To whom shall we go? You alone have the words of eternal life" (John 6:68). It was true. God is the only One through whom we can expect any good.
I was sick for quite a while afterward; had to undergo another surgery to repair some problems that occurred connected with this pregnancy; and my mind took months to get back to anything like normal. I still have forgetful times, sometimes mixing days up inexplicably; less often forgetting or switching people's names that I have no reason to forget. These memory lapses are distinct from the everyday lapses that everyone deals with, they are unique enough and stubborn enough that I recognize them as still remaining from that dark period. Perhaps that short-term memory loss was a blessing, enabling me to get through the pain of it. God had His reasons for every aspect of that loss, I know, and I can now thank Him for the many ways that He showed His presence in my life. I thank Him also for His sovereignty, that His purposes that we can't understand will prevail, according to His plan, His wisdom...even though we would never choose them on our own. Better His will than mine.
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