We have nothing

Through the loss of my baby I have seen things I never saw before. One of those things is that so much of the things in life that we think are important…aren’t. Scripture tells us…

 “No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money. Matthew 6:24

It also tells us…

Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth. For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God. Colossians 3:1-3

Even when I thought I had learned those lessons…there was more for me to learn. As I sat in my living room only a couple hours after losing my baby I found myself looking at everything around me…the furniture, the stuff, my children. And nothing in the room mattered except the people. I could have walked away from everything that day and not been bothered in the least by it so long as I had the people I loved with me.

I still feel that way. As the days have passed, as a week passed, I found a little of myself again, a little of the care for a very, very limited number of things has survived. I want to hang onto the few things I have that are connected with the baby I lost. I want to hang onto the limited number of things that are connected to my marriage and to the days when my children were little.

There is almost nothing on this earth that serves as a reminder of the baby I lost…my baby simply didn’t live long enough for that. The day I lost my baby I picked up an empty tote and I looked at it…thinking I had more things than would fill that tote left from the younger days of my other children but I had nothing left from the baby I had just lost.

It was a brutal reminder that we come into this world with nothing and we leave it with nothing. We simply have nothing. No matter how many things we acquire while we live on earth…we have nothing. All of the things that fill our lives are but items that take up space, no matter how much something may matter to us…in the end we will leave this world with none of the things that meant so much to us while on earth.

 “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21

I grew up in a family that quite honestly valued things. When those things overran the space we had we simply got more space. A bigger house, another storage building, a rented storage room in a storage facility. When that space got full…we got another storage place. That was the way it was. There was stuff…everywhere.

My grandparents…wonderful as they were…were like night and day in that regard. My grandmother packed her house with stuff. Knicknacks filled every space, stuff set on top of stuff. My grandpa…had his handful of things and that was it. He collected belt buckles and he kept them in a case…one case…that held all of them. He wore the same pair of boots for twenty years…or so it seemed…until they fell apart and he got a new pair not because he wanted them but because it was that or go barefoot. He had his very select handful of things and that was it. I think he would have lived in one pair of clothes too if my grandmother would have let him.

My grandpa didn’t collect things inside…but he had his tools and what have you’s outside. Vehicles, lawn mowers…junk. It appeared in the yard seemingly of it’s own accord and took up residence. And my grandmother overlooked it while my grandpa overlooked the clutter of junk in the house.

I’ll be the first person to admit I have too much stuff. I need to get rid of a lot of it. And I will. Right now my main reason for still having so much of it is simply because I’m not with it. I can’t get rid of it when I can’t even put my hands on it. But I know…more now than ever before…that the days of all that stuff in my possession are limited.

Because now when I look at stuff I don’t feel the need to keep it. It’s just there. It’s just stuff. It sits there taking up space.

If it doesn’t bring us closer to Christ or closer to those we love then what purpose does it serve?

It took the loss of my baby to show me that. Took the loss of my baby for me to see that all this materialistic stuff serves no purpose unless it brings us closer to those we love.

 

What if God...

I’ve had in mind to write a post for a while. One that has been nagging at me, picking at me, never fully forming but never letting me go either. Maybe it’s the Lord’s way of telling me He wants me to write this, or maybe it’s my Spirit…afraid that I will write it in the flesh and not in the Spirit.

You see, for me, this is a difficult post. I struggle with the very idea of writing it. I struggle with the topic, with the concept. I struggle because…

I don’t know why.

But I have struggled with it. And yet the idea won’t leave me alone.

My husband is far ahead of me in his journey with Christ. He sees Scripture and life in a way that I don’t yet. And that’s okay. It’s how it should be. I wouldn’t want to be ahead of him. I want him to guide me.

But I know too, that I am ahead of some. Ahead of many if you take into consideration those that are unregenerate. Normally, when I write a blog post it just comes to me…easy and natural. Without any effort on my part. This isn’t one of those posts. It isn’t coming easy, I’m not sure I have it in me to write this, and yet the idea just won’t leave me alone.

And so I’m going to write it.

Please bear with me if it’s choppy or otherwise wrong. I’m writing it because I can’t not write it…not because I want to.

A few days ago I wrote a post that I titled vessels. In it I hinted at this post…a post I had not yet written but a post I knew would come one day soon. Here is what I put in that post…

That brings me to a topic I want to cover in another post but will briefly touch on here. The Lord has planned our paths since before the beginning of time. I once said I wished the Lord would just reach down and put me where He wanted me. When I got off the path He'd reach down and move me back. Like a pawn in a game board. When I said that my mother told me to be careful what I was saying because living like that would be a bad thing. But for me it wouldn't be. I said that before I fully understood the Truths of Scripture. Now I know I'm nothing but a pawn in the Lord's game. He does put me where he wants me. And since He does, since the plan for my life was long ago mapped out...what and who had to be in place at certain points in my life to get me to where the Lord wanted me so that He could save me when He did. The people, good and bad, that were in my life...the experiences, good and bad...all added up to making sure I was who and what the Lord wanted me to be at the moment that He moved me into the next place. To get me to the point that He could save me...how many people crossed my path and effected who I was? How many people helped test and strengthen my faith? How many people helped break my spirit? How many vessels of destruction might the Lord have had to use to get me to be the person He wanted me to be?

 

There is something in Scripture that I still struggle with. Something I can’t fully understand. I’ve thought on it, prayed on it, discussed it with my husband. And yet…I still don’t fully understand. There are verses that imply that we are puppets on the Lord’s string, that we are pawns in His game. Arminians firmly believe that we have free will. The freedom to choose whether to believe in Christ or not. This belief in free will goes far beyond the freedom to choose Christ. It is a deep held belief that we have the freedom to choose anything.

But do we?

If the Lord is sovereign, if He has a plan for us…Do we have the freedom to choose anything? That is where I struggle. My husband tells me that we can choose some things and that the Lord will use it all to His glory. He will use our choices to bring about His plan. That when we step away from Him the Lord will draw us back.

Okay. I can understand that. But then I get to that point where I wonder just what I was allowed to choose and what was just a part of ‘The Plan’ as my daughter put it.

My husband often refers to my writing as an example. He tells me that the people I write about have no say in how the story goes. That because I am the author, I’m the one writing, everything is my choice. It’s my plan. It’s my story. And the people are in my story to serve a purpose.

I can understand that too. But I know…as a writer…that those people never have a say in what I write.

But…that is an issue that makes no difference except in how we as people, as believers see things. It doesn’t change the way they are.

But I like being a puppet on the Lord’s string. I like knowing that He will keep me on the path He has planned for me. It makes my mess-ups easier to bear. Makes life easier to bear because I know all I have to do is trust in the Lord and He will keep me where He wants me.

But what did it take to get me to the point of regeneration?

I don’t even know when I was regenerated, born again, saved…whatever term you want to place on it…I don’t know when I took that step on this journey.

I know two people that are regenerated. Out of the hundreds, thousands, of people I know…there are only two that I know are regenerated. Out of all the people I’ve ever known…there are two that I know were regenerated. There may have been more over the years and I just didn’t know. But I know of only two in my life.

If I throw myself into the mix…that brings me to three people that I know have been truly born again. I pray that I’m wrong…that I’ve miscounted, but if there are more than the fruit has not shown the spirit.

The more I’ve gotten to know these two people that are regenerated the more I’ve seen something that has made me question. You see…here’s where ‘The Plan’ comes in, where being puppets on a string comes in. The Lord, long before time began, knew who would live and who they would be. For some reason He chose some of those people to be His, a people set apart for Him. I’ve asked myself many times what did He see in me that made Him chose me over someone else? I know it was nothing I did.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, ⁹ not a result of works, so that no one may boast. ¹⁰ For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. Ephesians 2:8-10

I did nothing to gain His favor. I did nothing to earn salvation.

 I did nothing.

But for some reason He chose me. Out of all of time, out of the millions of people he could have picked…he chose me.

But…he didn’t just pick my name out of the many then forget about me. For we are his workmanship…which God prepared beforehand… I am His workmanship. He prepared me beforehand.

He prepared me.

That is what has been nagging at me, tugging at me, making me think, making me wonder. He prepared me.

He

Prepared

…Me.

How? In what way did He prepare me? What did He put in place in my life so that I could get to where He wanted me?

What did He put in the lives of the other two people I know that are regenerated so that He could save them? Save us?

If I walked into a group of people looking to find three people in the crowd that could do something for or with me I’d have an idea of what I was looking for.

Am I looking for people to help make a quilt? I’d want people that not only knew how to sew well but that knew how to piece material together, sandwich layers together, and turn it all into a quilt.

Am I moving? I’d want men that were strong enough to help carry the heavy stuff.

I may chose certain people out of a crowd and I may do it based on what appears to be who they are right now but I would need certain things to have gotten them to where I needed them today. Those quilters would have had to be taught how to sew, how to quilt, long before I walked into that crowd. The men I’d need to help me move would need the physical strength to lift on things like refrigerators and washing machines. They would need to have at least some background of physical work to get them that kind of strength. I wouldn’t be picking little girls or young boys for a job of moving heavy objects.

What, then, did the Lord put in the lives of the regenerate long before we were saved? What did He put in our lives that ensured we got to the place where He could save us?

But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law.  Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.  And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another. Galatians 5:15-26

I never fail to get caught up on ‘I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God’. Those that do such things WILL NOT inherit the kingdom of God.  As I look down that list of things we are warned against, things we are told we cannot inherit the kingdom of God if we do, I see things I have done in my life. And yet…He saved me. Then I look at the list of the fruits of the Spirit.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control;

Love. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.

Every one of those fruits are difficult to come by. They aren’t things that come naturally to man as a whole. Very few people can say they’ve always been gentle or that they’ve never struggled with self-control. They aren’t just in us. We may be blessed to come by a couple of those traits naturally but somewhere along the way, even those that are naturally patient or naturally peaceful…at some time they will struggle with something on that list.

And Scripture tells us that we aren’t naturally good. We come into this world filled with sin. And we struggle with it all of our days.

What then takes us from a sinful nature that seeks after the things we are told will keep us from inheriting the kingdom of God to having the fruits of the Spirit? What must the Lord put into place in our lives that make us into what He needs us to be when He saves us?

What?

Or who?

Of the three people I know that are regenerate, counting myself, not one of us came through childhood unscathed. We all experienced abuse. We all experienced the sort of things most parents try and protect their children from. I know there are many people with backgrounds such as ours, many children that experience abuse. Many children that learn to be adults long before they’re grown.

And most of them aren’t regenerate. Most of them are just as lost as everyone else. So…it wasn’t that. Except…was it? Did experiencing abuse as a child break us enough so that we would have a broken spirit later in life, so the Lord could save us when the time came?

Did being put in positions where we had to take care of ourselves, or others, long before we were old enough to be looking out for ourselves mature us so that we would have the maturity to give up the things of the world and seek after Christ?

It’s well understood that children that are given everything they want in childhood grow up to be selfish adults. It’s understood that children that live without discipline become brats.

I have a friend who very recently shared a philosophy of hers on raising children. In it she said that habits formed in childhood create the habits and personality of the person in adulthood. I doubt there’s anyone out there that would dispute that belief. What we are as children is usually what we become as adults. Usually…but not always.

I know someone that was very self-centered as a child. This person was violent and didn’t care if they hurt others. They aren’t that way as an adult. This person now cares about others. This person is helpful and considerate of others.

But even with the changes that took place in that persons personality their childhood still impacted who they are today. As parents we try to guide and mold our children into what we want them to become.

My daughter has a friend whose parents are both professionals. These parents have raised this girl to understand that college isn’t an option. The girl has said that very thing to my daughter. That she must go to college. In her family that is just the way it is. College is expected. A profession is expected. These parents have raised their children so that they believe they must go to college.

I don’t share those beliefs. Neither does my husband. Out of seven children, three of which are grown, one that soon will be, we have none seeking college. None that are after a profession. We simply have not ingrained into our children the belief that college is important.

We didn’t put the idea of college and a profession into our children’s lives when they were young and they aren’t seeking it now.

What did the Lord put in our paths in childhood that prepared us for the life He wanted us to live? What did He keep out of our paths that protected us from seeking things that would have taken us away from Him?

Romans 9:22-23 says…

What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction, ²³ in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory—

As I look back over my life I can see many people that affected my life. Many people that affected the choices I made. Because I knew that person, or because I saw that person’s life and the turns it took, I made choices that kept me off a certain path. There were people in my life that shaped my personality, experiences I had that affected my very nature…my spirit…my soul.

What if God…put those people there to make me who I am?

What if God…made me go through those experiences so that I could become who and what He wanted me to be?

What if God…planned it all ahead of time?

What if…I’m only a puppet on His string? Living the life He’s placed me in, experiencing the things He wants me to experience.

What if…

Only I don’t need the what if because I firmly believe the Lord did have a plan for my life, he did have everything mapped out, knowing ahead of time what He wanted me to be, and making everything work out so that I would become the person He wanted in the time He wanted me to be that person.

But I didn’t always see it that way. And even now…I marvel at the idea that those things I saw as so bad in childhood may well have been the very things that shaped me into who I became so that the Lord could save me.

I had a plan

I took a trip with my sister a few years ago. When we left the house we had a plan for how that trip would go. We knew where we wanted to be when, how many miles we had to drive each day, and what we wanted to do. We had a plan. My sister had even gone online and mapped it all out down to the best routes to take and what the weather was going to be where.

We had a plan but almost from the minute we pulled out of the driveway that plan was changed through very little fault of our own.

The first change in plans was the need to buy tires. That was an unexpected expense when we had no extra money for the trip. From there things just kept changing on us. The weather that was supposed to be mild and warm turned very cold. The plan to spend every night camping turned into night after night in expensive hotels. And so the trip went.

It turned out to look very little like the trip we had planned. We managed to keep our main plans but everything else was changed. Those changes came at us hard and fast and forced us to just go with what was happening in the moment.

And do you know what?

To this day that trip is one of my most favored memories of any trip I’ve ever taken.

The journey that I’m on now…the one drawing me ever closer to Christ is much like that trip I took with my sister. I’m learning not to make plans, not to look to the future but I’m learning that through changes that keep coming at me out of the blue. Changes that force me to stop planning ahead and live in the moment. Changes that shake my world and make me see that I have no control over anything.

But…

I had a plan.

Once upon a time.

I well remember the day that I told the Lord I was tired of trying to control things. I was tired of holding tight to everything, controlling-or so I thought-everything, right down to the little details. I handed my life fully over to Him that day. What I didn’t realize when I did that was that He already had full control of my life.

I remember, too, the day I learned to be grateful for everything. Even the bad stuff. I stood in my kitchen and thanked the Lord for something I wasn’t at all grateful for. I told Him I had no idea why I was supposed to be thankful for the bad things but that I knew He would use it for my good and so…thank you. Not the most grateful prayer, I know, but that day it was the best I could do.

I still haven’t found it in myself to be grateful for losing my baby. I just can’t. I know it was the Lord’s will. I know He has a plan that is so much greater than anything I could ever imagine. I know He will use even this for His purpose. But I can’t be grateful.

I’ve tried telling myself that the Lord may have saved my baby from a lifetime of pain. Or a slow agonizing death. Or… But nothing I tell myself has yet to make me grateful for the loss of my child.

There have been many things in my life that I didn’t thank the Lord for. Times when I struggled or hurt and it wasn’t until years later that I was grateful for what I went through. This may wind up being one of those things or I may never be grateful. Not for the loss.

I am grateful for the time I had with my baby, however brief it was. And I can see now, daily, how the life and loss of that baby is changing me. Molding me into something I wasn’t before.

Sometimes I wonder if the changes will stay. Sometimes I wonder if it will be good if they do. I can see how the experience has drawn me closer to Christ. But I can also see that it has caused other changes in me…changes that I don’t yet know if they’re good or bad.

I wonder, as I write this, if that is the kind of thing I should be writing and posting online. Should my blog be kept strictly uplifting? Edifying? And yet…we all struggle. Our faith doesn’t stop the struggles. It doesn’t stop the pain. It gives us a hope that the unregenerate don’t have but the trials and the struggles persist. We must face them, get through them.

And so…I will post of my struggles. Of my own thoughts, doubts, and wonders. So that you, my reader, can experience them with me.

If i could write a letter...

I wish I could write a letter to everyone I love. A letter that would show them my heart in a way that they could understand. A letter that would hand them every thought and feeling I have for them.

Years ago I wrote a family newsletter for our family…not my immediate family but for everyone in my grandmothers family…her brothers and sisters…their children and grandchildren…everyone. At that time I still watched secular movies. I watched a movie where someone had written a letter to their family members before they died. Each person got a letter. In it the person writing it told the person it was written to how much they meant to them, and why they made the choices in life that they had.

At that time that really resonated with me, enough so that I wrote an article in the family newsletter encouraging everyone to do just that. My thoughts at that time were on my elderly grandmother and how much she meant to me, how much I would love to have a letter from her after she died. My hopes in writing that article were that she would take what I was saying to heart and that she would write a letter to her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

I don’t know if she did. I’ve never heard a word about it from her. And although I can still say I’d like to get a letter like that from her-or any of my loved ones-upon the death of anyone I loved. A kind of final goodbye. There are some now that I would much rather have a letter from than others. And there are some that I could guess what they would say if they were to write me a letter.

My husband would encourage me to keep my eyes on Christ…to not be sad for him because he if he is gone from this world then he is in the presence of Christ…right where he wants to be. My grandmother…might remind me of the times we shared together…might remind me of the pain she knew in this body and how her time had come and she is happy to be reunited with her mother in heaven (that, by the way, is what she says about looking forward to death…it isn’t my belief or reasoning).

And yes, I’d still like to have a letter like that from my loved ones when their time comes…assuming it’s before mine. For that reason…I have written letters to my children over the years and sealed them in envelopes so they will have them…someday. I may give them some of them one of these days and I may not but I have written them. They are there.

But that isn’t the kind of letter I wish I could write right now. And although I know there’s nothing holding me back…I know there’s plenty holding me back. There are things we simply can’t say in life to those we love. But if I could write anything to those I love….and I kind of can write anything on this blog because very few people know who the author really is. That was done because I wanted the focus on Christ not on me, but it’s given me a slight buffer too. In writing what I want to because I know that most people don’t know that I’m the author of these posts.

If I could write a letter…

I’d write one letter to everyone. I’d explain who and what I am. I’d open my heart and invite them in. If I could write a letter it might go something like this…

 

Hello my dearest one,

If you knocked on my front door I would open it and ask you inside. I would offer you a place to sit down or better yet I’d offer you the spot on the couch next to me, snuggle next to you and tell you I’d like to share a story with you. Because you didn’t knock…I can’t invite you to sit with me. So I’m going to do a little better. I’m going to open the door of my heart to you…won’t you step inside? I’m going to tell you a story…won’t you stay and listen?

You, my dear one, are so very special to me. Do you know that? Do you know what you mean to me? Have I told you today how much I love you? Or how important you’ve been in my life?

I haven’t?

Then please, let me beg your forgiveness. Because you mean so much to me. I love you so very much.

Do you know now? Not yet? Then let me go a little farther. The Lord planted me on earth for reasons I can’t know. He gave me a place here and brought people into my life. Some of them stayed only a short while, others a lifetime. The Lord gave every one of those people a role in my life…you were here to touch me in some way…and He gave me a role in your life. We may or may not ever know how deeply we have touched each others lives but He knows.

I’d like to tell you a story…it is the story of me. My life has taken many twists and turns. I’ve been told more than once that I should write my life story because it has taken so many routes that many would love to read it. I’m not of a mind to write my life story. But I am of a mind to share a bit with you.

It doesn’t matter where I grew up or who my friends were. It doesn’t matter the mistakes I made along the way. What does matter is my walk with Christ and my relationship with you.

Since you already know your place in my life, let me start with Christ. If you’ve been around me very long you know that my walk with Christ has taken many steps, traveled paths that wound around until He firmly planted me on the path he wanted me on.

Christ saved me when I couldn’t save myself. He forgave my sins, overlooked my sinful nature and gave me a new heart…one with a desire for Him.

And that may be where I just lost you. That wasn’t my intention but it may be where I lost you before too. You see, I understand…if you don’t see Scripture as I do then I will lose you at this point each time. For that I’m sorry…and I hurt. I wish I could simply explain my walk with Christ to you and you see it all as I do. I wish I could help you so that you could understand. And I’d give anything if I could give you salvation but that’s the Lord’s place and not mine.

But…you say I’ve changed. That I’m different, I’m not the person you used to know. You’re right. I’m not. I’m sorry for that. Sorry that I changed on you. Sorry that I confused you. I wish I could have stayed what you knew and loved. For your sake. But I couldn’t. The Lord took my life down paths that changed me into what I am now. He changed me in so many ways.

Some of those changes have confused me. Some of them have left my head reeling and my feet struggling to gain firm ground. I can’t help the changes in me or the way I see things now. It all just sort of happened.

If it confuses you…don’t you think it confused me?

Those changes happened to me. Everything important in my life changed on me. And I was forced to change along with them.

I know you don’t approve of some of the choices I’ve made. I know you don’t like some of the changes in my life. I’m sorry. It was never my intention to hurt or confuse you. For that I will be forever sorry.

Please know that I love you. You matter to me and I will never intentionally hurt or confuse you.

If you stayed with me through my explanation on my faith and my walk with Christ…may I explain about the other changes? Were you the one that told me recently how much I’ve changed and that you don’t understand the choices I’ve made in life? If so…may I explain?

You see it doesn’t take much in life to change us. Moving to a new house changes us, facing an illness changes us, having a child with special needs changes us. Often those changes happen without our quite knowing how they happen or even that they are happening. It’s only with hindsight that we can look back and see what we used to be and are able to see what we’ve become.

I am in that place.

Christ changed me into what He wanted me to be but...He left me here going through experiences that are still changing me. The person I worked so hard to become over the years…isn’t Christ-like. The person circumstances turned me into isn’t Christ-like. And I want to be Christ-like. But more than that the Lord isn’t giving me any choice. He’s changing me…little by little…piece by piece. He just keeps molding and changing me through big things and little things in my life. He didn’t ask me if I wanted to change He just keeps changing me, keeps sending me through situations that change me.

If you don’t approve of the changes in me…know that I’m not making the changes. I’m going through them and coming out as the Lord wants me. If you don’t approve of the choices I’m making…know that I’m me and I’m making those choices based on what I feel is best for me and my family. And that they were all prayerfully made.

And above all else please know that I love you.

Thank you for taking the time to sit and listen to me. If this letter does nothing else I pray that it ensures you see Christ in me and that you know how important you are to me.

I love you

 

One week

Today makes one week since I lost my unborn baby. It has been a long, stressful week. A week full of pain. A week of learning about myself and my loved ones. A week of drawing even closer to my husband. A week of finding myself drifting further away from people I had been closer too.

A week of hurt.

A week of healing.

A week of trying to find my footing in a world that from one second to the next became different. Or at least I became different in that second. Without warning my focus shifted. What was important in my life, already a very narrow list, dwindled to almost nothing.

Five years ago I spent several months crocheting little hats and booties for premature babies. I did it because I’ve always had a soft spot for preemies. Once upon a time I wanted to be a doctor that took care of those oh-so-tiny babies. In searching for patterns and information I came across patterns for burial gowns for the babies that were born too soon, too tiny, to fit even the smallest of preemie clothes. I made two of those so small little dresses. At the time I focused only on what I was doing and not who or what I was making them for. That was the only way I could make those burial gowns, by not thinking of the fact that I was making them for dead babies. I remember wondering how people could make those little burial gowns one after another and keep making them. How could they make gowns, hats, booties so small and know that they would only ever be used on dead babies.

Today I understand.

As the mother of one of those babies born too soon, gone too soon, I understand. I’d have loved to have a blanket, a hat, booties…anything…for my baby. Not because I felt the need to dress my baby but because I need something to hold onto. Even now…a week later…I’d give a lot to have something that belonged to my baby, just to have something to hold onto. To have something to hold when the pain gets to be too much. To have something to look at…and remember…when the memories are sweet. But for me…there’s nothing to hold onto, nothing to hug while I cry, nothing to touch.

There’s no birth certificate, no baby blanket, no footprints on paper…nothing. Just the memory of carrying my baby in my body and of holding it in my hand. I do have pictures….but there are no happy pictures, only pictures of a baby gone too soon. A baby that fit inside my wedding ring with plenty of room to spare.

A picture of my wedding ring, inside my husbands wedding ring…both of them encircling our child. The baby that was a part of us. A baby that lived in love for the two months we were given with it. A baby that had a purpose in life, even though that life was so very, very short.

Today, on this one week anniversary of the loss of the baby I wanted so very much, I still find myself struggling through life. I find myself clinging more to my husband, holding tighter to our children. I find myself hurting over things like baby pictures on TV, things that I once found enjoyment in. I find myself giving myself permission on a daily basis to feel whatever emotion may be coming my way each day, each moment. At first I just hurt, then I was very sick and that was a blessing because while I was sick I was just miserable. I didn’t have to try and cope, didn’t have to fight the tears when I needed to be strong for others….I was sick and everyone was okay with Mommy being in bed. Mommy was sick so they had to cope on their own for a couple of days. And those days gave me time I desperately needed. Time to cope myself, time to grieve, time to heal a little.

But as the virus passed I was once again faced with the same things. The grief. The stabbing pain. The loss. But those weren’t the only feelings I was experiencing. Those were the easy feelings. They were the feelings I expected. The feelings I was okay with. The feelings I wanted to feel. Because I needed to hurt to know that I had loved enough. I needed to experience the loss because I couldn’t just keep going like my baby had never existed. But…it was the other feelings that made me stop. The other feelings that made me feel guilty.

The first time I laughed after losing the baby.

Not even a real laugh, just a little sound of mirth, but it stopped me in my mental tracks. Took me by surprise. Made me feel guilty. I didn’t want to feel any kind of happiness. I wanted to hurt, and I was hurting. To feel happiness in any way, it seemed, was to disregard the life I so recently lost.

It was only with thought that I realized my baby, so much a part of its Mama and Daddy, wouldn’t want any of us to live in sadness. Our baby that knew nothing of happiness or sadness…wouldn’t want us to live in sadness forever. And so I let the guilt go.

I still haven’t laughed. Not really. Not real laughter. But I’ve chuckled a few times. I’ve let myself feel happiness.

I’ve also let myself feel any emotion that sweeps through me and in doing so it has helped with the pain, with the healing, with the loss. The day I looked at my other children and faced the fact that my baby would never live to be like them, would never be a child…that day…I let myself feel a different kind of loss, a different kind of pain. And I let myself feel the anger. I didn’t fight it, didn’t try and stop it. I just let the anger come. And then I let it go.

I still hurt. I still ache. I still feel the loss of my baby.

Every.

Single.

Day.

I wake up in the morning and it hits me. My baby’s gone. Gone. Never to be again. And it hurts. But I’m facing each day, each moment, as it comes. I feel whatever emotion comes at me in this second and I don’t feel guilty for whatever that emotion may be.

Because I have to get through this and for me…that is what I need to do. I’ve found solace in talking to my husband. In telling him anything and everything about what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. But I’ve also found comfort, peace, healing, in hearing him talk of his feelings through it all. I don’t want him being strong for me. I don’t want him worrying that what he says may make me hurt more. Because…for me…when he shares his hurt with me I know I’m not in it alone. I know I’m not hurting alone.

I have one daughter that has hurt badly over the loss of this baby. I don’t want my children to hurt but because that child has hurt, because she has cried with me, because she has shared her pain with me…she has shared my pain. And because she has…I am closer to her. I know that she understands.

It’s the same way with my husband. His pain doesn’t make me hurt more…it makes me feel like it’s okay to share my pain with him, to hurt with him. If he hid his pain from me I couldn’t share my pain with him.

It’s been a week. A long, painful week. A week that’s passed way too fast. I’ve learned things this past week. About myself. About others. In a multitude of ways. I’ve learned to lean harder on my husband…for that I’m glad and grateful. I’ve learned not to lean on people I once thought I could. And I’ve learned that others…are just what I always thought they were. Sometimes I find myself wondering if I’ve become too sensitive. If when I take offense at things others say or do…or don’t do…if it’s just me and if I should just let it go. Or is it them? I just don’t know.

People I thought would show the most support…haven’t. People I thought would call and check on me…haven’t. People I thought would be there for me…haven’t been. Someone I didn’t know…showed me the most understanding. People that should have been the most concerned…haven’t even asked how I am.

It’s been eye opening and has brought with it its own kind of pain and yet…I’m kind of glad to see these people for what they are. And like the anger that I let wash over me, not an anger at anyone- just anger at the circumstances I found myself in- anger at the loss, I let these feelings of shock, surprise, and offense wash over me and then I let it go. I forgive those that didn’t live up to my expectations, those that made the hurt worse at times because I thought I would be able to share the hurt with them and not being able too brought its own kind of hurt. I let that go…let the love and forgiveness take its place. Because if I’m to have anything long lasting from the loss of my baby I want it to be a legacy of love. I want to remember that in an instant all we love can be gone and that those we love are, after Christ, the only thing important on this earth.

Love.

If I’m to learn anything from my baby…I want it to be love. My baby lived in love. It died in love. Years from now…everytime I remember my baby…I want to remember it in love. I want to know that I loved more because I loved my baby. I want to know others felt love…because I loved my baby.

And so because I want to love those that have been given to me by the Lord, no matter their place in my life, I let everything else go and just remember love is all that matters.

I know someone that tells everyone that crosses her path that she loves them. I asked her once if she was always that way and she said no. There was a time that she couldn’t forgive. You’d never know that if you saw this person today. She lives in love. And everyone that knows her feels it. If I could use only one word to describe her it would be love. If someone asked me what she brought into my life I would say love.

That is what I want to be. I don’t want to dwell on other feelings. I just want those I care about to know that I love them.

But it isn’t always easy. Just this week I’ve discovered that wanting everyone to know I love them and being able to show it aren’t always the same thing. There have been several people that didn’t live up to my expectations this week. They didn’t show love the way I thought they should.

One day this past week as I was speaking of someone who didn’t react as I thought they would my husband reminded me that Scripture tells us not to put our faith in men for they will let us down but to put our faith in the Lord as He never will.

A search for verses that speak of trusting in the Lord not man brought me a list of them. I wasn’t looking for anything but the verse itself…context didn’t matter. Here are just a few of the verses that came back when I did an internet search…

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. Psalm 118:8

Put no trust in a neighbor; have no confidence in a friend; guard the doors of your mouth from her who lies in your arms; for the son treats the father with contempt, the daughter rises up against her mother, the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; a man's enemies are the men of his own house. But as for me, I will look to the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me. Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me. Micah 7:5-8

Let everyone beware of his neighbor, and put no trust in any brother, for every brother is a deceiver, and every neighbor goes about as a slanderer. Jeremiah 9:4

Lessons abound in the midst of loss. Earthly lessons, spiritual lessons. Lessons of the heart. They are all there at a time when I didn’t want them. And yet as I leave the first week following the loss of my baby behind me and begin a new one…I’m left seeing things in a way I haven’t before. I’m left looking at life and those I love in ways I haven’t before.

Even as I struggled through so much this week, the Lord has thrown yet more at me. My husband showed me an article online that was about being gentle. And my husband has used that a few times to remind me to be gentle. While I thought I was showing love…apparently I wasn’t always showing gentleness. When I thought I was nurturing my children…apparently I wasn’t gentle.

When I sit down to write I don’t think out my subjects ahead of time. I don’t plan what I want to say. I simply start typing and let the words…whatever they may be…start flowing. Usually what comes out creates a good letter or blog post or whatever but it isn’t because I planned it. It’s just how I write. And when I talk I tend to do the same thing. I open my mouth and let the words come out. I saw one of those pictures with the cutesy sayings online the other day, it was a cat wearing glasses giving one of those looks that question your sanity, the caption around it said ‘did your ears hear what your mouth just said?’

It was a reminder…a lesson…as if I needed anything else during this last week…apparently the Lord thought I did because he wanted me to learn not only love but gentleness. And so lessons abound…in loss…through loss…around loss. Just because we feel we have enough going on and we don’t want or need anymore…the Lord may not agree.

When I started this blog I never intended to use it to share such a personal time of trial but as this week has slipped by, when I struggled with whether or not to share my thoughts and feelings this week, I couldn’t not share them. I know that there are few people that read this blog but if my experience helps only one person…then I’m glad I shared. If my hurt helps another person through a similar hurt…then I’m glad I shared. If writing this helps those I love understand even a tiny bit of what I’m going through…then I’m glad I shared.

And if it does nothing for anyone…writing these blogs has helped me…and I’m still glad I shared.

I struggled with my own thoughts and reasons for starting this blog long before I set it up. I struggled with whether or not to write posts on it after I set it up. My intention in making this blog was to share some of my thoughts and feelings on the things I was seeing in Scripture. That was it.

I knew that as a wife and mother I would slip things on parenting in, things on being a wife in, but my purpose was the Truths of Scripture and nothing else. Only…it didn’t quite work out that way. Instead of writing only of the Truths of Scripture I find myself writing of my heart. So much of what is in my heart is from Scripture but…I’m still a wife…still a mother…still a woman…still flesh.

The blog that started out because I enjoy writing…because I thought someone might like reading what I was writing about Scripture…has become the tool that is helping me through a very difficult, very painful experience.

This wasn’t my purpose for this blog but I’m glad it was here when I needed it. In writing I find…healing. In writing I find…comfort. In writing I find…peace. I find myself wishing I could hand these posts I’ve written over the last week to those in my life that don’t seem to understand. To those that haven’t been there, that haven’t seemed to care. And yet…I know I never will. I won’t hand them to those people. I will leave them here for the Lord to use, to bring to those He wants to read them.

I know those closest to me…like my husband…read every post I write. And that’s enough for me.

For those people that do read this blog…they’ve taken this journey with me…even if I don’t know they’re there or who they are. For that I’m glad and grateful.

My life was irrevocably changed this last week. I learned a lot about others and even more about myself. I learned to hurt in ways I never thought I could. I learned I’ll still lean hard on my Lord even when He allowed and even caused the pain I’m experiencing. I’ve learned I hate the word miscarriage.

I’ve never liked the term pregnant. It’s a word that takes something amazing and turns it into nothing more than a medical term. I don’t like it. I prefer things like expecting or my personal favorite ‘with child’ but I can live with the word pregnant. Because it is a word that describes something amazing, something miraculous, and it means…baby.

But over the last week I’ve learned I don’t even want to try and live with the word miscarriage. Nowhere in that word does it give any acknowledgement to the fact that my baby lived and died. People talk about a miscarriage the same way they do a blow out on a care. ‘So-and-so had a miscarriage yesterday’…where in that does it acknowledge the life that lived and died? Where does it acknowledge the pain and grief of those left dealing with the loss of the baby?

Someone told me today that she has never had a conversation with a mother that that mother hadn’t experienced a miscarriage. Yes, she had…me. Before the loss of my baby last week I had never been through this before. And as this person said this it was put to me like a normal, expected happening in every woman’s life. Just a part of becoming a mother.

Maybe it is just a part of it. Maybe it is just one of those things on the way to having children. But it isn’t just anything for me. There’s no just a miscarriage. No every mother experiences it. No…anything.

It was my baby. My baby. And it died. There’s no just…anything…in that. It was my child, my husbands child. It lived in me…our love and lives brought to life…and it died in me.

For a little while I carried a miracle in my body.

Now I carry it in my heart.

Vessels

What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction,in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory—even us whom he has called, not from the Jews only but also from the Gentiles? 

Romans 9:22-24 

I couldn't tell you how many times I had read the book of Romans when the verses above just popped out at me. You see, Romans is one of my favorite books. I've read it over and over again. I enjoy it and find myself going back to it often. But for some reason those verses had just never stood out to me until one day...there they were.

And on that day I knew a new kind of pain. One in which I not only saw that my salvation had been given to me, not because I chose to believe in Christ and prayed the sinners prayer as many believe constitutes salvation, but because the Lord in His power and wisdom, chose to save me out of billions of people. I had understood that my salvation came through the hands of my Lord and not through anything I had done for quite sometime. But when Romans 9:22-24 stood out to me for the first time I saw something I hadn't seen before. 

I clearly saw...

What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience vessels of wrath prepared for destruction,in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory

What I saw was that God has endured vessels of wrath (people) that were prepared for destruction. He's putting up with people He created for destruction! 

Why?

That same set of verses answers that too. It goes on to say...

In order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy.

Let's back up for just a minute. I found the following definitions for vessel.

1 a :  a container (as a cask, bottle, kettle, cup, or bowl) for holding something

b :  a person into whom some quality (as grace) is infused <a child of light, a true vessel of the Lord — H. J. Laski>

2

:  a watercraft bigger than a rowboat; especially :  ship 1

3

a :  a tube or canal (as an artery) in which a body fluid is contained and conveyed or circulated

b :  a conducting tube in the xylem of a vascular plant formed by the fusion and loss of end walls of a series of cell

Take a look at the definition for 1b...a person into whom some quality (as grace) is infused.... a person with a quality. What quality? Romans 9: 22-24 tell us. In one place it speaks of vessels of wrath, later it talks of vessels of mercy.

So the Lord is enduring vessels (people) of wrath prepared for destruction. He's putting up with people He created for the purpose of destroying them.

Why?

...in order to make known the riches of his glory for vessels of mercy.

Who are the vessels of mercy? The believers, his chosen ones, his elect. The ones ...which he has prepared beforehand for glory.

And that was the moment when I experienced a new kind of hurt. So because he saved me there are people out there that he prepared for destruction so that my salvation could happen. That brought with it a sense of guilt because they didn't stand a chance because I did. My salvation was through nothing I did. It wasn't me but the Lord. And still that nagging sense of guilt when I fully understood what Romans 9:22-24 was saying. Because I am saved someone can't be.

That brings me to a topic I want to cover in another post but will briefly touch on here. The Lord has planned our paths since before the beginning of time. I once said I wished the Lord would just reach down and put me where He wanted me. When I got off the path He'd reach down and move me back. Like a pawn in a game board. When I said that my mother told me to be careful what I was saying because living like that would be a bad thing. But for me it wouldn't be. I said that before I fully understood the Truths of Scripture. Now I know I'm nothing but a pawn in the Lord's game. He does put me where he wants me. And since He does, since the plan for my life was long ago mapped out...what and who had to be in place at certain points in my life to get me to where the Lord wanted me so that He could save me when He did. The people, good and bad, that were in my life...the experiences, good and bad...all added up to making sure I was who and what the Lord wanted me to be at the moment that He moved me into the next place. To get me to the point that He could save me...how many people crossed my path and effected who I was? How many people helped test and strengthen my faith? How many people helped break my spirit? How many vessels of destruction might the Lord have had to use to get me to be the person He wanted me to be?

In order to make known the riches of his glory to vessels of mercy.

Vessels of wrath were sacrificed...and put up with by the Lord and others...so that I, a vessel of mercy, might be saved.

Wow! There aren't words for what that makes me feel. Sad because those people never stood a chance. Amazed that the Lord put those people here so He could save me. Awed that He went to such lengths for all of His people. Guilt that I was picked as a vessel of mercy when I didn't deserve it.

I recently told my daughter about those verses. I knew she wasn't ready for them, that they hold a truth so deep in Scripture that just hearing it could scare her. But I also knew that she was discussing something where the best response was to tell her of those verses and let her make of them what she could. When I told her she was shocked. I could see it on her face, see it in the way she didn't speak for a few minutes, hear it in her voice when she did. And I understood. Because those verses are shocking. They bring with them a world of human emotions. 

And the Lord has saved me.

What does it do to those that are lost? 

I still find myself having to stop and just marvel when I read those verses. I have to process it for just a moment each time I see it. I have to remember what it's saying about me. I have to thank my Lord that I for some reason I'll never know found favor in my Lord's eyes and that I am a vessel of mercy. I have to thank Him for not making me a vessel of wrath prepared for destruction.

Because He saved me.

When I wouldn't have sought Him...he set the plan in motion.

When I wouldn't have chosen Him...He chose me.