Redeeming into Beautiful Things

Has God ever given you a deja vu moment?

I came home from getting my hair trimmed and a quick run to the grocery store to see Josh and Addy coming toward me from their bike ride. Addy was wearing an old outfit from Cheyenne, our foster daughter, and the same helmet Chey use to wear while riding her Hello Kitty bike. I had to look twice because Addy looked so much like Chey.

I had a little lump in my throat and quickly swallowed it.

But I couldn't help my mind from thinking of the ways God had and has been redeeming the past.

Cheyenne had our hearts. She called us "mommy" and "daddy" We were captivated by her for ten beautiful months.

That December when we transitioned her back to her bio mom was difficult to say the least. Christmas was awkward to celebrate and nothing felt the same. A few months prior to her return, we had a miscarriage. And a few weeks before she returned, we decided to get our beagle, Cocoa. I knew I would need something to snuggle.

Lately, I'm reminded of how much of the past pain and heartache God has been redeeming, over and over again.

Honestly, I'm overwhelmed by it.

A few months ago, we found out we were expecting again and just yesterday, at 21 weeks, we found out our little one is a little man. Addy is thrilled and so are we.

On the days I feel overwhelmed as a mom (and they are many), I try to remind myself of what God is doing through our lives. I try to remember my blessings, little and big. 

We told many of our friends and family we were pregnant, but not early on. And I know it was hard for many of them to not see it on Facebook right away. I just want you to know, we were really enjoying telling people as we could, face to face. We felt such a joy being able to see peoples reactions and have them share in our joy. You can't fully capture those moments over social media, now can you?! 

Also, having gone through loss ourselves, we are ultra sensitive to sharing this news with others, especially over social media. We by no means want to cause further grief to those already suffering enough. But thank you friends for being gracious in our news and sharing in our joy. 

Cheyenne use to love singing the Gungor song "Beautiful Things" and to me it captured so much of her little life and soul. 

Right now, it encompasses so much of my heart. Even through my unknown, fear-ridden days as a mom, carrying another little life inside of me, I need to know that He is continuing to make beautiful things out of me...out of all of us. 

Everyone's story is a beautiful depiction of God's redemption being woven into and through our lives. Sharing in each other's pain and joy is a way of showing others a glimpse of God at work, whatever part of the journey we are on. 

Take Heart

Music is full of memories for me. 

I'll hear a song and it will remind me of a time when...

Sometimes music transports me to such fond, joyful times. 

Other times music expresses my heart through pain, adversity and questions. 

Music is indeed a powerful tool. 

Worship music for me has always proven to be the most powerful tool. There's some good chorus' and there's some not so great. I have little tolerance for shallow lyrics, especially in worship. 

I have a hard time with patriotic anthems being used in a worship service, for example. 

I'm not a fan of them. 

Because their not worship. 

Worship is also less about style and preference and ALL about who you're worshiping. 

I prefer worship services where the worship leaders lead the congregation from behind, because their not the focus. By the way, I've only experienced this once. 

But worship, good, true, lyrically rich worship is so good for my soul, my mind, my heart, my body. 

About three years ago, I was driving down the road with a sweet little curly blond haired girl in my back seat. The car was packed  and a long drive was before us. 

I was alone in my thoughts and alone in the depths of my soul. 

I felt 

Weary. 

Doubtful. 

Fearful. 

I felt alone. 

Our foster daughter slept peacefully in the back. 

She didn't know why I was sobbing. 

Would we make it home? 

How much time would I have? 

There were still hopeful possibilities, right? 

I felt my doubt return and shoot that idea down. 

I just had to focus on getting home. 

I had to be ready for 

blood

cramping

tears. 

We had just left a week of high school camp. 

I allowed people to be excited for us, 

to touch my belly, 

to offer names suggestions. 

But in my heart of hearts I wasn't sure our baby was still in my tummy. 

I wasn't sure. 

I had to focus. 

I had to get through the week and then see. 

That's what the doctors said the day before we left for camp. 

Josh and I had gone in for our very first prenatal appointment. 

I was seven or eight weeks along. 

I thought. 

There was no thrill of a heart beat sound. 

There was nothing inside my uterus. 

Maybe I wasn't as far along as I thought. 

So we waited. My midwife said I may be miscarrying but I would know in a week. 

We left for camp the next day. 

I was such a mix of emotions the entire trip. I went for Cheyenne, our foster daughter. She was so excited for this trip, to play in the lake, sleep in a tent. 

I went for her. 

The last night of camp the cramping and bleeding began. I was two hours from home. 

Cheyenne and I left first thing the last morning of camp. 

And we drove. 

She slept. 

I cried. 

Sobbed. 

And...I worshiped. 

I can't explain it. 

But it was all I had to cling to. All I knew. All of my hope. 

There are certain songs that take me back to such happy, joyful times. And there are other songs that remind me of loss, grief and excruciating pain. 

This song, "Take Heart" was one I played over and over as Cheyenne slept and I drove. It was a release of emotions and will. I didn't understand. I didn't know I wanted to understand right then and there. I wasn't looking for answers or people's pity. I just needed to know there was still hope. 

I've been singing this song a lot lately these days. It took my sights high back then in August, 2011. Now it's setting my sights high again. 

I'm thinking about my two friends suffering from cancer. Their parents pulling out all the stops, their kids hoping beyond hope for miracles. 

I'm thinking about my own dear family members suffering from chronic pain and fatigue. 

I'm thinking about friends and family without work, scraping by. 

I'm thinking about parents I know scrounging for money for their children's medical bills. 

I'm thinking about my homeless friends who come into our cafe ever day just to  be among people and get something to eat or drink or use our bathroom. 

I'm thinking about a little guy we know who just lost his mom unexpectedly this past summer.

I'm thinking about friends who were thrilled to expect their first child and lost her around 36 weeks. 

I'm thinking of other dear friends who have miscarried once, twice, six times.  

I'm thinking about children being beheaded on the other side of the world. 

I'm thinking about the parents and family who grieve the sudden loss of their children who died recently from an e coli outbreak. 

I'm thinking about the fear and pain that has impaired too many school children after enduring a shooting in their school. I'm thinking about the parents and siblings who will look at this school year completely different because of what's happened. 

Pain

Hard Ache. 

Grief

It's hard to look at all of this misery with a clear vision. 

It's hard to experience any sort of grief involving children, now as a mom. I cry way more about it now then I ever have. 

It's a sick, twisted, evil world. 

And tonight, I'm not looking for answers. 

I'm wanting to know there is still hope. 

Hope. 

Hope is that one thing that I believe our faith in God can boast about. 

Our hope is unique. 

It's bold. 

It's gentle. 

It's inviting. 

It's cleansing and freeing. 

It leads to answers and points toward the God who gives and takes away. 

He. 

He who has overcome. 

All of this pain, 

All of this hurt. 

All of these tears. 

He has overcome. 

So tonight, take heart. 

Take Heart

There is a light, it burns brighter than the sun

He steals the night and casts no shadow

There is hope, should oceans rise and mountains fall

He never fails

So take heart

Let His love lead us through the night

Hold on to hope

And take courage again

In death by love the fallen world was overcome

He wears the scars of our freedom

In His name all our fears are swept away

He never fails

So take heart

Let His love lead us through the night

Hold on to hope

And take courage again

All our troubles and all our tears

God, our hope, He has overcome

All our failure and all our fear

God, our love, He has overcome

All our heartache and all our pain

God, our healer, He has overcome

All our burdens and all our shame

God, our freedom, He has overcome

All our troubles and all our tears

God, our hope, He has overcome

All our failures and all our fear

God, our love, He has overcome

God, our justice, God, our grace

God, our freedom, He has overcome

God, our refuge, God, our strength

God is with us, He has overcome

Sharing our joy in the midst of loss

Since our miscarriage just over a year ago, I have found myself ultra-sensitive to how I share about my pregnancy and now about life as a mother of an infant. I know what it's like to loose one sweet baby, though I have no clue what it's like to have lost multiple. I learned through our loss that people, sometimes the people you least expect, can say some really stupid things in the midst of an individuals grief and healing. Christians, in particular, from my experience say some super stupid things. Sometimes all I wanted was to be quiet. Sometimes all I wanted from others was to just listen. Sometimes I wanted to scream at God, at people, at my friends, at my family. I was mad at God, mad at circumstances out of my control. I was irritated that I could be left alone and I was tearful when no one tapped in. Mostly, I was a mess.

And I also learned that spouses can grieve differently from each other. What was a big ordeal for me to overcome, was not as big to Josh. How I communicated my grief wasn't necessarily the same way Josh communicated his grief. To say that he didn't grieve is a misguided understatement. Of course he grieved. He grieved with me and sometimes the say way as I did; sometimes not. I couldn't lump his healing process into my same box, expecting it to be the same.

I'm no longer on Facebook and I rarely check or post to my Twitter account. I've heard from friends who have lost and are trying to get pregnant that reading their friends constant posts about their family and kids and pregnancy can be difficult. It can also be difficult to have so many friends pregnant or having kids, while you are still trying to get over the loss of baby number 1, 2, 3, etc.

I know I had to arrive at some sense of closure with my loss in order to move on to what else God had for me in life. I know that is a constant choice I must make every day, sometimes throughout the day. As I sit here typing this words with the breath of my baby girl near my face and her warm snuggles surrounding me, I know that I feel so very blessed. I feel blessed in the realization that she is a miracle. Her health is a miracle, her life and her existence. I know that she is the Lord's, not mine. She is merely mine and Josh's to love and teach and take care of. Ultimately she's the Lord's. Someday I may find myself wondering why she may be taken from me before I breathe my last; I hope to God I don't have to experience that. But for now, she's here and she's a gift.

I try to be sensitive when sharing about my new life as a new mom with friends who I know are grieving their losses, maybe their losses of their adult children as well, not just their baby's. Loss on any level is so difficult and it really does try our souls and tugs on all of our emotions.

I hate the why question and I'll just never understand the answer to it. Maybe I can't know the answer in my lifetime. Will I be okay with that? I know that grieving and healing is such a fundamental part of our lives. It's really part of our DNA. We exist, we live, we loose, we grieve, we heal. To others we live, we die...that's it. No hope, no purpose. I can't imagine a life like that. What's the point? There just isn't a point. I cling to the hope I have in the Lord everyday. I know that without that I am truly nothing. Sometimes I need to remind myself of that and the purpose I have in this life. I know that I am not alone. I know that my loss is sometimes similar to another person's loss, but also different. I know that others have lost more than me and that at times I've lost more than certain people. But do I really need to keep track? At the end of the day loss is loss and joy is joy. What is one person's season of letting go, might be another person's season of accepting something new. And how do we live in the in between?

We're told in our churches to "do life together." What does that actually mean? It's a cute little phrase that we like to throw out that shows our unity and our purpose. But is it more than a phrase and if so, how do we actually live that? Being a part of someones healing process is just as important as sharing in their joy. One shouldn't  really outweigh the other.