Callouses

 I'm so excited to meet our little girl in a few short weeks. I'm praying that she'll be healthy and whole and that she'll thrive over the coming years. Our home is prepared to welcome her into our family; we have packed our hospital bags, painted her bedroom, and set up a bassinet next to our bed. But Sunday, November 30th, is Samuel's due date. It's the first anniversary of the due date of our first miscarried baby. And I can't help but grieve the absence of our son.

I have been wrestling with the juxtaposition of the grief I carry from the loss of that baby and the joy I feel at the imminent arrival of a new baby. In the midst of that wrestling I have come back before The Lord with my heartache.

I talked to him about how I felt insignificant in my pain, if he is all-powerful why didn't he take action to protect me? Why didn't he intervene to save my baby? And while we were at it, what about these long-standing hurts that I've carried in my heart for years and years, where was he during those?

It's amazing to me how gentle he is with one as presumptuous as me. But he shared an image with me, of us walking side by side. My first impression was that he wanted me to know he was with me during all of those times. I won't lie to you, I wasn't satisfied with that answer. "Ok, you were with me. That's great. Why didn't you DO anything?"

Callouses. Callouses on your feet. As we walk side by side, we are barefoot and my feet get banged up. They are the feet of one who brings Good News and they need to be prepared to go to the hard places. "Ok," I thought, "for the hurts I've carried from childhood, that makes sense. But the miscarriages? Those, too?" I just felt his sorrow in that moment, we are on a journey together and there is a destination. He doesn't want my feet to get banged up, to need stitches from the deeper wounds, but the destination... it's worth it. He helps me along when my feet are tired and he bandages up the wounds to keep them from festering.

It's some mixture of images from the book "Hinds Feet on High Places" and the story of "Lord of the Rings". It's not a perfect analogy, but in LOTR Frodo embarks on a journey of grave importance. Gandalf knows the way and leads him (at least through parts of the story); Gandalf never wants Frodo to experience hurt or pain or loss, but the task, the destination is worth it. I feel like Frodo... and my giant feet are bleeding and torn up. But The Lord knows where he's taking me and he knows the destination is of vital importance.

I may not fully understand the journey that I'm on but today I will chose to trust the one who is leading me.

Lavish Love

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! I John 3:1

My life has changed so much over the last 18 months.

In December 2012 we moved into a low-income, primarily black neighborhood. There are people in our neighborhood who live without power, even during the winter, because they can't afford it. Many children will not receive Christmas presents because their families simply don't have the extra money.

In March 2013 we had a miscarriage. The pregnancy was planned, I was five weeks along and though I had only known about that tiny life for one week, he was already a part of our family. Losing him tore a hole in my heart.

Then, in July of that same year we had a second miscarriage. The pregnancy was also planned and she made it to seven weeks gestation. During the three weeks we knew about her we prayed, feared, hoped, and waited. After we lost her my heart temporarily lost its ability to hope in the goodness of God.

In October 2013 James was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder and in March of 2014, 12 months after our first miscarriage and the day before our second lost baby's due date, Liam was diagnosed with autism as well.

I entered into 2014 wholly broken. My trust in The Lord had been shattered. I showed up to church with a smile on my face and a heart that was hard as stone. And I realized that something needed to change. I decided to take a break from church in order to work on my relationship with The Lord. My incredibly supportive husband, Nathan, continued to attend church and since he brought the boys with him, I was given a consistent weekly time to talk to (rail at) The Lord.

When I have shared about my intentional break from church in the past, some people respond by commending me for being deliberate, like taking that time is a testament to some innate goodness or spirituality in me. But that's just not the case. I chose to allow the space to get things right with The Lord for two reasons: 1) I'm a big chicken. I've always been in the church and being a Christian is a core part of my sense of identity. Leaving The Lord or the church would force me to re-define myself and that scares the mess out of me. 2) My husband is in ministry. This is his career and I know that The Lord and church will always be a part of our family rhythm and for him to succeed in his career means that I need to get straight with Lord. These are admittedly selfish reasons. I was in a pretty self-focused phase. It is a testament to the goodness of The Lord that he was willing to work with my self-centeredness to bring me back to him.

Over the course of around four months during the beginning of 2014 The Lord MET ME. He pursued me, he answered the questions that I screamed at him, and he loved me. And he invited me to trust him again. He asked me a question: "Am I enough for you? If I am all you have... if your kids die or your husband leaves you, if you have another miscarriage, or if you don't and that baby also has autism, will I be enough for you?" When I got to the point, in the midst of kicking, screaming, crying, and praying, that I could say "yes" to that question, we decided to try again for a baby.

I have shared much of this information in previous posts. But I share it again because those experiences have heavily influenced my perception of the Lord's blessings. If material blessings are from The Lord, does that mean The Lord doesn't care about the people in my neighborhood who don't have material blessings? Where was he when our children were dying? And so I've pushed, hard, against that mindset. But refusing to see some earthly blessings as being from The Lord can be equally as damaging, and we might miss the heart of the father for us.

Recently, some of my family contacted me and offered to fly Nathan and I to Colorado for a vacation. We've never had a real vacation and they wanted to bless us in that way. Upon our arrival in Boulder, we were taken to a house whose owners are out of town for the weekend. We were greeted with food to prepare for dinner, food for breakfast the next morning, a movie night basket, and personal letters from some close friends and family who wrote to encourage and love on us. We have been overwhelmed by the generosity and thoughtfulness of our hosts, whose desire is to love on us with the love of our Heavenly Father.

Their desire is to share the heart of the Father with us. And I find my heart softening toward him once again. Maybe material blessings can be a glimpse of the Father's heart for us but since our world is not fully redeemed we can also be sure that we will face hardship and suffering. The two are not mutually exclusive. Yes, we live in a broken world and death is a reality that no one can escape forever. But sometimes when we receive gifts we can begin to recognize that the same father who welcomed the prodigal son home with his robe, ring, and a feast welcomes and cares for us. Sometimes those gifts remind us that we have been adopted as sons and we have a father who loves us more deeply and truly than we could ever imagine.

Just days after we found out that I was pregnant with the baby I'm still carrying, I purchased a maternity sweater on clearance at Target. It was a scary purchase. "What if I never get the chance to wear this sweater? What if it stares me in the face as a reminder of a lost pregnancy?" But I made a choice to hope. For me a choice to hope wasn't the same as a belief that everything would be ok, but it was simply hoping they would. And believing that if they weren't The Lord would still be with me.

This weekend, in the cool Colorado mountains, I had my first chance to wear that sweater. As this baby grows, kicks, and moves inside of me and we are gifted beyond what we could have imagined, the truth of the Father's lavish love for me sinks deep in. And the ultimate truth of his lavish love is not found in our vacation or this healthy baby girl, but that we are considered his sons and daughters. These gifts are just glimpses into that amazing reality.

Autism: what it is and what it isn't

James (our 4.5 year old) was diagnosed with autism 10 months ago. His younger brother, Liam, (3 years old) was diagnosed 5 months ago. During that time I cannot tell you how many times I have heard people tell me how "normal" they seem. While I understand that most people have pure motives for sharing that observation with me, hearing that my kids seem "normal" so frequently has done two things to me: 1) it puts me in the position of feeling like I am constantly "defending" their diagnoses and 2) it has made me realize that the average person has no idea what "autism" actually means.

To qualify for an autism spectrum disorder diagnosis, a person has to present functional impairments (meaning that the impairments interfere with routine, age-appropriate expectations) in three areas. Those areas include Reciprocal Social Interaction, Communication Skills, and Restricted and Repetitive Behaviors.

Reciprocal Social Interaction evaluates things like eye contact, emotional expression, sharing toys, and joint attention (when you observe something together, e.g. when a child shows you a toy or a book because they are excited about it). Because autism is a spectrum disorder, a child does not have to have severe impairments in each area observed for the "Social Interaction" category. One child may display appropriate eye contact but may not be able to express his emotions appropriately. Or the impairments may vary in severity. Liam will engage in eye contact when he is excited about the activity but he will refuse to engage at all when he has lost interest in an adult-directed activity. Both Liam and James will engage in parallel play and some interactive play but for the most part only if that interactive play is physical in nature, like chasing each other through the house.

Communication Skills evaluates appropriate verbal communication. This category is surprisingly tricky to people who are not familiar with autism. What most people don't know to look for is the difference is "spontaneous speech" and "scripted speech". "Scripted speech" is often referred to as "echolalia." Liam's communication delay is fairly obvious; his speech is at an 18-month level and he often remains silent when people greet him or ask him how he is doing. James's delay is much less obvious; when he was first diagnosed it was common for him to repeat the last few words of a question. Many people (myself included) assumed that he was answering them. Teacher to James, "Would you like to play with the trains or the blocks?" James's response, "The blocks." Sometimes his responses might actually line up with his preferences, but sometimes they don't. And other times the disconnect was more obvious, me to James: "James, who is that?" James: "Is that."  James and Liam also show a great capacity to memorize lines from television shows and frequently used expressions. James is able to insert those phrases into conversation in ways that make it seem that he genuinely understands what he is saying. It takes a close ear and a keen mind to discern that he is often not aware of what he is saying. It's more like his brain has files of social situations and when he needs to take a mental "short cut" he just looks for a file related to his current social situation and inserts that comment. [We were once at a restaurant after a long week of travel during which James spent a whole lot of time playing with kids his age--read, he was wiped out socially. While we were waiting on our food to arrive, James got up from his chair and started to walk away from the table. When I asked him what he was doing, his response was practically monotone, "I'm just going to slip into the kitchen and have a word with the chef." He was quoting "The Emperor's New Groove" which we had watched frequently that month.]

Restricted and Repetitive Behaviors refers to a person's need for things to be a certain way. This can affect their style of play, their need for a rigid daily schedule, their ability to be flexible during transition, specific and/or obscure interests, and many other things. For Liam this category is fairly mild. He has preferred ways of playing with toys but can be redirected with mild to moderate frustration. If we allow him to play without direct adult interaction his play can become very focused and very repetitive. For James this category is a little more noticeable but only if his caregiver has the eyes and ears for it. James becomes distressed when his peers play with toys the "wrong way", e.g. putting trains on a road or cars on a train track. On the surface, this looks to many people like he is having trouble sharing, when he is actually in distress because things aren't the way his mind asserts they "should be." We have to be careful how we word things when we speak to him or we will give him an incorrect expectation of his day. Sometimes he is easy to redirect and sometimes we have melt-down city. Every day is a new adventure

Obviously, this is a brief overview, I'm not an expert and my kids are only two kids. They are not THE picture of autism. But what I hope to impress upon you is that these are three rather broad categories that can present very differently in various people. A person can be accurately diagnosed with autism and be very, very intelligent. Their restricted and repetitive behaviors can give them a focus to learn, frequently about a specialized or favorite topic. For other people, the impairments related to communication skills are so severe that they are unable to grasp any verbal communication--they cannot understand what people say to them or produce speech in response. When the communication impairment is that severe, a person with autism may not develop past an internal age of 12-18 months.

Many people have asked me whether my kids might "grow out of" their autism. The simple answer is "no." If they have been accurately diagnosed, they will never grow out of autism. Autism means that their brains interpret the world differently than "typical" people and that will never change. Many people with autism are able to learn skills and strategies for navigating the world around them, in what I think may be a similar way to the ways that people can learn and become fluent in a second language. There may come a time when you are able to "think" in that other language as if it were your first but it takes a lot of work and a lot of practice.

Sometimes I feel like our (my family's) whole world revolves around autism and I can't help but wonder if I talk about it too much. I never want to over-focus on how hard it is and lose sight of how wonderful my kids are but I also don't want to shy away from being honest about the difficulties that we face as we do our best to raise our kids. Mostly, I feel like the more information I can share about what autism actually means the closer we will be to autism acceptance.

Maybe my kids will play with your kids and you will be able to coach your kids through how to respond to James when he gets a little intense and says to your child, "Excuse me Sarah, excuse me Sarah, excuse me Sarah, excuse me Sarah." Or maybe our family will visit your family and you'll be able to anticipate the reality that my kids don't understand verbal instructions the way their peers of the same ages do... meaning they might break anything that is breakable and within reach so you'll move anything of value out of their reach, not because they are "bad kids" but so that we can relax a little and focus on having legitimate conversation. Maybe, just maybe, sharing this kind of information with other parents will help pave the way for our children's generation to operate out of understanding and acceptance rather than fear and skepticism and that one day my children will form deep friendships with some of your children.

The Cat and the Bag and All that Jazz

A few months ago I read a blog post/article that had been posted on Facebook. I don't remember what the point of the article was I just remember the author sharing that in her family it was a running joke that anytime they needed to reference a metaphor they would shorten it a certain way. For instance, instead of saying, "That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?" they would say, "The pot and the kettle and sh*t!" Well this is my adaptation. The cat and the bag and all that jazz. It's time to let the cat out of the bag.

We are expecting again.

We've just made it to the second trimester and are looking forward to the in-depth anatomy scan in late July that will both reveal gender and any possible major anatomical abnormalities.

We are due December 23 and in a lot of ways this pregnancy is a huge part of our year of restoration.

But assuming that everything goes well and we welcome a healthy baby around Christmas, this will not be the restoration of our family. We lost two babies who will never be replaced and our family will not be whole until we are reunited in heaven, assuming that all of the children we raise on earth make decisions to follow Jesus.

This is, however, a huge step in our restoration of our relationship with The Lord. In the midst of the intense fear of the first few weeks (the weeks in which we lost our two little ones in my last two pregnancies) we discovered that our hope in The Lord as a good God is now deep and true. I remember praying, "Lord, I know that you are capable to intervene on our behalf and protect this baby. And Lord I ask that you would, I ask that you would be moved with compassion on our behalf. But I will not stake my belief in you as a good God on your willingness to intervene for us."

Just days after we found out that we were expecting I had the opportunity to be a part of some prayer ministry at our church. Up to that point I felt like I had been able to hold in tension my very real fear of another miscarriage with my trust that The Lord is with me and his grace is enough for me no matter what happened. But it was taking all of my brain power to do that. When I left I felt like the weight of the intense fear had been lifted. There were no promises and I still have no promises of a healthy baby but I know without any doubt that The Lord is present with us in our joy and he has been with us in our sorrow.

I'm reaching that awkward stage of pregnancy where I'm showing enough to make people wonder if I'm pregnant but not enough that people will ask. And I've found myself hesitant to share our big news. I'm not bursting at the seams, excited and unaware of the ways that our pregnancy might yet go wrong or for the ways that other people around me are presently hurting--with the ache of their own loss or the pressing longing for their own children. I find myself wanting people to be excited for us but also wanting to explain to them that we are still scared and that we still miss the babies that we lost. . . but at the same time I don't think I need to share about our miscarriages with anyone who notices that I'm pregnant. So I find myself in a mental dilemma. For now when I tell people who are already aware of our miscarriages I just explain that we are excited and also nervous. It's getting more real as my belly grows. And to those who aren't necessarily aware I try to just accept their congratulations and let it rest there.

I also know that there may be people out there who see our situation, having two kids on the autism spectrum and wonder what the heck we must be thinking. And to a certain extent I would say that this is our decision and if there are any people who have a place to speak into our decisions to grow our family or not, the list of those people is very short. But more than that, I would say that my kids are amazing, full of joy, and they teach me so much every day. I wouldn't trade them for anything and I know that I will feel the same way about this new baby whether he/she is on the spectrum or not.

I think there have been a few people who have struggled to know how to respond to this news. Since this is my blog I'll just take the liberty of offering a few suggestions to anyone who might be unsure. Please avoid anything that attempts to diminish the hurt or pain of our losses. . . things like, "See it all worked out for the best," or "God knew you needed this particular baby," make us feel like we are wrong to mourn the death of those children. On the other hand, "Congratulations, we'll be praying for your family," is a perfect response. "We're so excited for you, we'll be praying for the health and for the Lord's presence and guidance for your family," is also a good one :)

We are so thankful for each of the people who read this blog, who ask us how we're doing, and who have walked alongside of us as we have mourned and as we rejoice. Thank you for being a part of our journey.

Homecoming

I haven't posted on my blog in awhile but it's not because things aren't happening. It's just that one of the biggest things isn't something that I'm ready to write about publicly. So I've been biding my time, waiting for the time when something came up that was both worth sharing and appropriate for sharing.

I'm planning to go to church tomorrow.

It's been six months since I've been to church and honestly, I'm nervous. I wrote about my break from the church in mid-January. I was bruised and broken from the losses we suffered in 2013 and church became a place where I felt increasingly bitter toward The Lord. I frequently heard a message that implied--never explicitly, only implicitly--that people who are faithful receive blessings and miracles. As someone who was in the midst of suffering and loss my mind and heart couldn't help but fill in the words expressing the other side of that coin--people who are not faithful, suffer. And let's be honest. Every one of us has been unfaithful in some way. I couldn't--and still can't-- honestly say that I've been faithful in every way. My grief combined with the knowledge of my own fault and made me bitter toward a God that would punish me by allowing my babies to die.

As my heart hardened toward The Lord I became comfortable with simply going through the motions. I showed up to church and our small group every week with a smile and a, "it's going ok." In January I realized that something needed to change and the best way for me to do that was to take a break from church. I've spent as many Sunday mornings as I could in the quiet hours when Nathan and the boys were out of the house to process my grief and allow The Lord to pursue me. And he has.

I was finally able to be honest with him. I remember yelling at him one Sunday morning, "You said your goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life. But this doesn't feel like goodness and mercy. You're going to need to explain that one to me because I don't get it." I told him that I couldn't do the work of turning my heart back to him, that he would need to do it (based on a passage from Lamentations). Then going to our women's conference at church and feeling The Lord sweetly say to me, "I'm turning your heart, I'm doing that work." I went to see a counselor at our church (if you've ever considered talking to someone like that, I would love to put you into contact with the woman I met, I can't say enough good things about her and our meeting) and at that point realizing that I was in a more balanced and theologically sound place than I've ever been before. At that time I was nervous about saying yes to the question Jesus was asking, "Is my grace enough for you?" because I felt like the question needed a forever answer. Then I realized that I needed to say yes every day, just as I take up my cross every day to follow him and that realization took some of the pressure off so that I could say yes.

A few weeks later I had a prayer session with the counselor from church. It was such a special time with The Lord.  I asked him about some of my fear and he said, "I am with you. I will never leave you or forsake you. My goodness and mercy will follow you all the days of your life." I told him I was confused about what his goodness and mercy meant and he said, "I am your goodness and mercy." Can I just tell you how sweet that was? I have been wrestling with that verse for so long, trying to apply human logic and I've really been confused since we had our miscarriages. And then, in the space of about 90 minutes of prayer he answered my question so perfectly. "Ooooohh,"my heart said, "it all makes sense." HE is my goodness and mercy and he will follow me--he has been following me-- all the days of my life, even as I've walked through the valley in the shadow of death.

So now I feel as though my break from the church has accomplished the goal it was meant to, my relationship with The Lord is largely healed. And it's time to return. The break was never meant to be permanent, it was only meant to give my heart time and space to heal.

And I'm nervous. I'm nervous about the awkward questions and attention that may arise when people who have noticed my absence now notice my presence. Sharing these personal feelings on an online blog is one thing but attempting to condense all of this into a polite 30 second response in the church foyer is something entirely different. Some of the people who will ask me are people who have been reading this blog and keeping up with my journey, people who ask me how my break is going when they see me because we are close. Others are probably not reading along and have not been as personally part of my journey. I'm not sure if they understand the reason I needed to take a break to begin with. I haven't decided yet how to respond.

There's another reason I'm nervous; maybe unsure would be a better word than "nervous." I know that many of the things that I heard from the pulpit and the music leaders in 2013 will continue to be a part of services in 2014. The reality is that most churches in the United States struggle to find a biblically sound theology of suffering because there's simply no way to make it true AND comfortable. So I'm left with a question: how do I respond? Do I hold my tongue, frustrated and lonely? Or do I speak up, likely becoming a nuisance and bother? How do I speak up in a way that invites conversation, honest and unflinching, when my heart is still so tender and scarred?

As I'm writing I realize that both places of fear are hypothetical responses to hypothetical situations which are largely out of my control. For now all I can do is pray. If or when these situation arise my best response will still be prayer, for wisdom, grace, and love.

His Grace

When I was young, my family didn't have a whole lot. You might say that we were poor. Dad was employed full-time and Mom stayed at home and homeschooled four young children who were very close in age. They sacrificed, scrimped, and scraped by to make it work. 

Mom sewed our matching Easter outfits, we made homemade Halloween costumes, we almost never ate out. I remember being in fourth grade or thereabout and when I saw a Pepsi in my friend's fridge I asked her what it was "for". She was confused by my question because the Pepsi was there to be consumed but my mind had such a hard time grasping what soda was doing in the fridge if they weren't having an event or friends over or some kind of special occasion to justify the treat of soda in the house. 

When my parents made the decision to enroll us in public school so that Mom could go back to school, we all got new backpacks (I think from Sam's Club). We each got the same style in a different color. Mine was purple. They had drawstring tops with faux leather flaps that clipped down over the drawstring. I used that backpack every year from fifth grade until the middle of high school. Every year I begged my parents for a new backpack, I wanted a Jansport like my friends. But every year my parents asked me, "Do you NEED a new backpack?" and I could never say, "yes." My backpack worked just fine, I WANTED a new backpack. So one year I set aside a portion of my back-to-school-clothing-and-supplies-money to buy a new backpack for myself. Ten years later and I still use the backpack I bought that year.

During Bible studies sometimes we come across verses that talk about how "God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus," (Phil. 4:19) and each time my mind pipes up with a reminder about the differences between "wants" and "needs." And I think to myself, "This is no promise for cable, smart phones, new designer clothing, and the best food, this is a promise for needs." And for me needs have always been a short list: clothing for work, food, shelter, transportation, etc. Basic survival needs.

But here's the flaw in that line of thinking: we all die. All of us. Even the people that Jesus raised from the dead, they died again. So verses that promise that God will meet all of our "needs" can't be saying that He will always meet all of our individual survival needs. It just doesn't add up. I've come up with two possible explanations for how these verses can be explained in ways that I think more closely represent the whole of Scripture (bear in mind that I'm not in Seminary and I have no formal training, these are just some thoughts that ring true with me and some other people whom I would describe as being very wise and in-step with the Spirit).

The first explanation is that many passages which talk about how God will meet all "your needs" are passages in which the author is addressing a community of believers, not an individual. As a community, we are comforted in the midst of the grief we experience when a member of one of our families dies. As a community, the presence of The Lord transforms us in the midst of suffering and death. And a remnant will persevere. There will always be at least a small group of believers who are spared in the midst of a catastrophe. So in a sense, if these passages are speaking to a community of believers, then the "needs" which God supplies might in fact be related to physical survival... of the community in the form of a small remnant. Members of the community may die, but there will be members left to carry on the work of the Gospel.

The second explanation is meant for the individual. The Lord spoke to Paul and he recorded it in 2 Corinthians 12:9, "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" My list of "needs" is already pretty short--food, clothes, shelter-- but maybe it needs to be even shorter--His grace. If His grace is the sum of my needs then I can trust him in the midst of the worst trials and suffering I've ever experienced. I can take the posture of accepting whatever He chooses to give me instead of clutching onto the things that mean the most to me --especially my husband and my kids. 

There are so many different ways that The Lord can speak to us. It's usually not an audible voice. A few months ago I went to a Women's Conference at my church and one of the songs we sang had a line that repeated, "Your Grace is Enough," (it might have been the Chris Tomlin song but I don't remember exactly) and I couldn't sing it. I try to think about the lyrics of songs when I'm singing them, especially in church, and if I can't sing the lyrics honestly, I refrain (haha, no pun intended). I most commonly remain silent during songs that are about healing and especially if the worship leader has set the song up to be one about physical healing--for reasons that can mostly be explained by this post. But during that song, in the midst of this conference, I felt The Lord prodding me and in my heart the question burned, "Is His grace enough for me? Will I be satisfied with His grace alone? Even if every member of my family dies. Even if I fail as a mother. Even if we have another miscarriage. Even if. Even if. Even if. Is His grace enough?"

You guys, I started writing this post three weeks ago. Nathan had taken the boys to church but he had to come home without even unloading the kids because James was having such a hard time and he knew that it'd only get worse for James in Sunday School. Nathan and I had a fight that morning (which we resolved that afternoon). The next day Liam was unexpectedly diagnosed with autism and we began to question whether trying for a third baby again would be unwise. The following day was our due date for the second miscarriage we had last year. And since then I have felt so weighed down. I have felt incompetent, incapable and unworthy. I am a hot mess, I can't keep up with house-cleaning, bill-paying or budgeting. I am constantly second-guessing myself and I am desperate to make all the right decisions. I am terrified to say yes to Jesus, that His grace is enough. Because to say "yes" is to give up control. And I know that even though this is the scariest question I've ever wrestled with, saying yes is the only way to be free from fear. It is the only way to know that I won't be crushed under the weight of loss. 

Jesus said, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matt. 11:28-20) A few chapters later he says it a different way, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me." (Matt. 16:24) I think it might be the same message to two different groups of people who needed to hear it differently--the first to those who know they don't have it together and are hurting and the second to those who think they have everything sorted on on their own (younger brother vs. older brother from the Prodigal Son story). Either way, we have to say, "Yes, I will stop clutching my illusion of control (setting down my burdens/denying myself) and I will trust Him and obey Him because His grace is enough for me (taking on His yoke/taking up the cross).

I feel like I am right on the cusp of saying "yes". Of course I've said yes in the past, but since then my faith has become a house of cards, dependent on the Eleventh Hour Miracle. The suffering of this past year has blown my house-of-cards-faith over and I'm re-building the foundation. In Luke 9:23 Jesus words are recorded as, "Take up his cross daily," which gives me hope. I'm supposed to say yes every day, but I've already told you that I'm a hot mess. Sometimes I don't wake up with a smile on my face ready to release control of the things that matter most to me in the world. Maybe for a little while I'll say yes two out of every seven days and more and more the muscles of release will loosen up, they'll stretch and strengthen until I can say yes 29 out of every 30 days. 

Maybe the more I say yes, the more I can keep saying yes. Every day, His grace is enough.
Today I will say, yes. His grace IS enough.

Autism Awareness 2014

OUR JOURNEY

Last year at this time one of my Facebook friends was campaigning for her friends to Light it up Blue for her son who had recently been diagnosed with Autism. We were at the top of the ski slope that has been our autism journey. James had received his referral from the pediatrician to be evaluated by the schools but we wouldn't find out that he is on the autism spectrum until the end of October, about six months later.

By the time we were given James' diagnosis we were fully prepared for it. Or at least as prepared as you can be. I was expecting it.

Throughout this past year we have also been addressing a relatively severe speech delay in our younger son, Liam. The organization providing his evaluation and services prefers to start with a few months of intervention before conducting the standardized autism diagnostic test. I have been concerned that Liam might also be displaying some characteristics that are consistent with autism but -- whether to avoid providing a diagnosis that they weren't qualified to make or because they didn't actually see it -- the therapists that he sees have not expressed concerns regarding him being on the spectrum.

Recently we made the decision to start seeing a Developmental Pediatrician, a specialist that we see in addition to our normal pediatrician, who can diagnose developmental delays, help us know how to advocate for our kids in the school system, prescribe medications if the kids wind up needing them for ADHD or insomnia in the future, and this doctor would help provide some continuity for the kids when it come to therapies and delays that need long-term monitoring.

James had his appointment at the beginning of March. We confirmed Autism and something that is basically a pre-cursor to ADHD. Later in the month Liam had his appointment. The doctor diagnosed Liam as being on the spectrum as well.

Honestly we were a little caught off guard. I suspected that she'd find something, but there are so many things he does that are not typical of ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) that I really thought there would be some other thing that I'd never heard of. Or that he'd be just outside the spectrum. She basically said that there are things he does that are very "spectrum-y" and other things he does that are very "not spectrum-y" and that we might look back in five years and wonder why we had given him that diagnosis. But right now the diagnosis fits and it should help us get the help and resources that we need to keep him on the right track.

RESPONSES:

And here's the thing. When people hear "Autism" they tend to forget that autism is a spectrum and that kids can fall all across the spectrum. So we often get one of two responses.

The first: "I'm so sorry!" and offers of prayers for healing. And our lives have changed. This is hard. But my kids don't have a disease. If you are a praying person, I beg for prayers that I would have patience and creativity. That there would be peace. And sleep. And good food. That we would have wisdom and discernment as we make choices about therapies and schools. That we would be wise as we navigate IEP meetings and advocating for our kids. My kids just see and hear and feel the world differently than I do and sometimes it's hard for me to know which words to use and which battles to fight. When to discipline and which methods will work. What do they understand (even if James can recite the rules, does he really understand them; and just because Liam can't speak isn't it possible that he understands more than he can say)? When should the day be child-directed and when should it be parent-directed (if my kids always got to chose we'd probably watch tv all day). I honestly don't feel like there's anything "wrong" with my kids, they're just "different" and its up to me and Nathan to figure out how to relate to them so that they can navigate life. Sometimes that's hard.

The second response we get: "But they seem normal". I think when most people say this the sub-text is likely, "help me understand." But I have my own baggage. And while on this journey I've had people tell me (not in so many words) that when I was seeking an evaluation for James that I was trying to avoid taking responsibility for parenting him. This is pretty common for parents of autistic and sensory processing disorder kids. So please do us a favor and say what you mean. If that's, "I don't know very much about autism, can you help me see what you see?" or "I'm not sure what the warning signs of autism are. I can't discern a difference between your child and my child, could my child have autism, too?" Not that I would be diagnosing anyone, but that could be a starting point for a conversation about what it's like to parent kids who are on the spectrum. That way I know that you at least have a foundation for beginning to understand why I turn down invitations to just about anything if its during a time that Nathan is working or traveling (I'll tell you now--my kids don't understand normal safety precautions, they'll grab a knife off the counter to play with or spray themselves with roach spray if they can reach it or put batteries in their mouths; when I'm at home I have a general sense of when I can relax and what I need to worry about but when we're out of our house I'm on high-alert all the time and even then, depending on the setting, I just can't handle it without help from another adult). But if what's really in your heart when you say that they seem so normal is "you're deluding yourself and your kids are manipulating you," then please just don't say anything at all. Instead, observe our kids and how we interact with them. Talk to them and play with them. Take on a learning posture (green line on the Entry Posture Diagram for all you STIMers out there!).

AUTISM AWARENESS

Sometimes I think a movement that promotes "Autism Awareness" can do more harm than good. I wouldn't say that autism is something that needs to be "eradicated" not the way something like Tuberculosis or Polio or even Miscarriage and Still birth do. An "awareness" movement doesn't always promote understanding; it often promotes fear. There's a large group of people who have autism or asperger's who are trying to be adults and they're trying to make friends and get jobs. This kind of "awareness" often isolates adults and makes them feel broken.

On the other hand, I think that parents should be aware of the warning signs of autism. We should be aware that our children or our family members may be affected. And we should be aware that not everyone who is diagnosed with "autism" will look or act the same way. Early intervention is important. Ongoing research is required. But instead of "curing" these kids, I think we need to learn the language they're speaking. I've been thinking lately that my approach to my kids might be similar to the approach other parents who have adopted young kids from other countries take. So many times there is a reason or a trigger for their meltdowns and I have to come put myself in their shoes to figure it out. I have to find new ways of saying things so that they'll understand. I feel like we don't speak the same language and every day I'm faced with a decision: do I railroad them and force them to obey because I'm bigger and stronger or will I attempt to speak their language and learn from them so that we can work from trust and understanding?

Ultimately, their brains are physiologically different than ours. But their value as human beings is no less.

WAYS TO HELP

Most of the time I'm not sure how to ask for help. But here are two practical ways that you can start, 1) Wear blue on April 2 in support of James and Liam and the journey that our family is on, take a picture and tag Nathan or myself when you post it on Facebook or Instagram and give it the hashtag, #TheStoryofJamesandLiam, 2) Ask me about them. If there are things that they do you don't understand, ask me. I'm passionate about helping people understand them because they are pretty great kids and very misunderstood.
If you really want to go the extra mile in support of our family, you might consider supporting Nathan financially as he works in Campus Ministry with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and he raises all of his salary and operating budget. We're working toward getting him fully-funded so that we're closer to being financially free for me to stay at home. Go to this website for more information on how to do that: http://www.intervarsity.org/donate/to/nathan_white

Thanks y'all, we couldn't do this without you!

Days of Amazing Grace: Lent

We didn't observe Lent in the church that I grew up in. In fact, I remember being in a meeting in Wright Place on ECU's campus with my InterVarsity Staff leader and (I'm a little embarrassed to admit this) commenting that someone had a smudge on their forehead on Ash Wednesday... I was very unfamiliar with traditions surrounding Lent and Easter. All I knew was that my church, in the Christian and Missionary Alliance, did a sunrise service every year on Easter Sunday.

I think once in college I gave up sodas or something for Lent but I really had no concept of why I was giving something up or what was the point of the tradition. To be honest with you I'm still largely unfamiliar with church traditions and the history of Lent. Last year our family observed the Daniel Fast during the last three weeks of Lent, on invitation from our church. The leadership of the church invited the whole church family to participate in the fast and petition The Lord for an answer, breakthrough, or miracle. I personally entered the fast wanting to submit to The Lord my need to justify myself to others. I often seek to justify my actions, motives, and abilities to others and my hope during the fast, was that I would be able to submit to The Lord and allow him to justify me.

My hopes and expectations for the fast would not come to fruition. I got pregnant the day before the fast started and miscarried our baby four days before the fast was meant to be broken. In the last year I have come face to face with the emptiness of my faith and how dependent I was on the miracle at the eleventh hour to prove that the God I serve is good, powerful, and loves me.

I recently read a book, One Thousand Gifts, it was a gift from a close friend who knew that I was unlikely to purchase the book myself but, having read the book, she also knew how helpful it would be for me to read. On the third page of text she says,

Really, when you bury a child--or when you just simply get up every day and live life raw-- you murmur the question soundlessly. No one hears. Can there be a good God? A God who graces with good gifts when a crib lies empty through long nights, and bugs burrow through coffins? Where is God, really? How can he be good when babies die, and marriages implode, and dreams blow away, dust in the wind? . . . Where hides this joy of The Lord, this God who fills the earth with good things, and how do I fully live when life is full of hurt? How do I wake up to joy and grace and beauty and all that is the fullest life when I must stay numb to losses and crushed dreams and all that empties me out?

Ann Voskamp, the author, was asking all of the questions that have been burning in my heart. The rest of the book details her journey of joy. Her friend challenged her to record one thousand gifts, one thousand gifts from The Lord. This book of gratitude has been so restorative for me.

You see in the midst of the deepest, sharpest pain that I've ever experienced, I'm the kind of person who cannot believe that there is a "why?" behind it all. I refuse to believe that there was some good that came out of this pain that made the loss of two babies worth it. I believe that bad things happen to good people. Eventually, bad things happen to just about all people. I know that The Lord is so great a redeemer that he can take even the worst thing I've ever experienced and transform it into something beautiful but I'm unwilling to believe that he would cause that pain for the sake of that good. For the past year, I've felt stuck in that place, unwilling to acknowledge any good that might have come from my pain for fear that others would look, triumphant, exclaiming, "well look at that, there's your answer, Michal, that's why you lost two babies in miscarriage." And if someone actually said something to that effect, it would be very difficult for me to respond kindly.

But Voskamp makes a point. "Who deserves any grace? . . . Why doesn't anyone ask that question? Why are we allowed two [grace days]? Why lavished with three? A whole string of grace days?" And so, my perspective has changed. Now I can say that I am thankful for the marks that Samuel and Cora left on my heart. I am thankful for the time I had with each of them, for the blob-like ultrasound picture I have of Cora that only means anything to Nathan and me. I'm thankful that The Lord allowed my house-of-cards faith to be knocked over so that it could be re-built on a truer foundation. I'm thankful that he has been at work in my heart even as I have remained in pain and bitterness and anger. I'm thankful that he has been patient with me in the midst of my stubbornness.

Lent begins tomorrow and my family will be entering into a time of pain and memory. It has been one year since we lost Samuel and March 18th would've been Cora's due date. There's no way that we'll be able to escape the reminders of the past year. So I felt like this year required a less traditional approach to Lent for me; as our church begins to talk about Lent and Easter, I will choose to engage in a different way. Instead of giving something up for forty days, I'm planning to give thanks for forty days. Each day I'm going to deliberately look for 10-15 gifts and record them in my journal. They can be small and repeatable, like Liam's giggles or sweet-fort-making-moments with James. The point is that I'm looking to the gift-giver and thanking him, everyday for the blessings he gives because they are so many. One day of grace is a blessing. Two? Amazing.

Life outside the box

Before we ever got pregnant with any of our children, I wanted to have boys. I had worked in daycare settings, caring for infants, one year old toddlers, and two year old toddlers. I observed babies who were 9 and 10 months old and knew that at that age the girls were already starting to be a little dramatic and the boys were obsessed with balls and physical play. So when we found out that James would be a him I was stoked.

I learned from discussions with my husband and observations from my childhood that since women are often the primary caregivers and teachers, boys are sometimes expected to behave like girls since women have only ever been girls. So I resolved that I would not try to force my sons to sit still and behave like girls, that they would be allowed to get dirty and explore the outside and have adventures.

I moved into parenthood with confidence, after all, I had had the chance to watch dozens of other parents navigate the infancy and toddler stages and I had observed their successes and failures and I thought I knew what kind of mother I was going to be. I knew how to set up eating and sleeping schedules, how to burp babies and change diapers, how to apply diaper cream and what creams I liked. As an infant and a toddler James was all boy. He was into everything as soon as he could crawl. I remember explaining to my friends that there are four kinds of kids, 1) You tell them "no" and they dissolve into tears; 2) You tell them "no" and they generally obey; 3) You tell them "no" and they wait until your back is turned to do it anyway; and 4) You tell them "no", they look at you and smile, then do exactly what you told them not to do. We assumed at that point that James was the fourth one. He was obsessed with the outlets, he climbed on the table, he was into the drawers in the kitchen.

When James turned three he was in preschool and started to act out in ways that were inappropriate for a classroom setting. He would throw things on the floor or become obsessive over the trains. The teacher mentioned that he didn't respond well to his name being called from across the room. I realized that I was at the end of my expertise. I had never worked with three year olds before, I had no idea what to do with him. So I started to read books, ask my friends, and talk to our pediatrician. Eventually I realized that I wasn't having a battle of the wills with James, he's not a defiant child. I began to realize that even though he's very verbal, he often doesn't understand conversation or simple instructions. It's easy for him to feel socially lost in a group of people and revert to doing his own thing. Sometimes "doing his own thing" is quiet, basically every mother's dream, he'll play with his trains quietly for 30-45 minutes. Other times "doing his own thing" means that he wants to explore the kitchen (knives), splash in the water in the bathroom, or pull the step-stool up to every elevated surface that I use to keep contraband and other age-inappropriate items out of his reach.

We found out this year that James has autism and sensory integration disorder (SID). SID can be broken down into two categories-- Low Registration/High Registration and Sensory Seeking/Sensory Avoiding. Registration is the body's ability to perceive sensory input. James is Low Registration which means that his body needs more sensory input for it to "register" in his brain. Seeking/Avoiding is the distinction between a child who craves sensory input and the child who avoids sensory input and is distressed by it. James is seeking. So basically we're working with a child who runs into people, hits them, throws things on the floor, dumps out "sensory toys" (like pasta tables) and then when you add in the autism, he can't understand why it's not ok.

Liam expresses many similarities to James and also some key differences. Liam is largely nonverbal. He has shown some good progress over the last six months in speech therapy but he still has a hard time communicating basic needs and he cannot communicate any verbal information about his emotional state (angry, sad, scared, etc). He also has SID and is Low Registration/Sensory Seeking.

Let me be clear. Whatever diagnoses or labels you put on them, they're still my boys. They are the kids that I have known and loved since the moment I got a positive pregnancy test. Their labels may change but my love for them will never change. They are both so funny, James quotes lines from movies at the best times and Liam is a goofball. They are kind and thoughtful, they look out for each other. I love that I get to be their mommy.

There are times that this life is a struggle. In many ways I struggle in all the same ways that other mommies struggle. I am frustrated when my children disobey. I feel completely out of my league, like I have no idea what I'm doing. I constantly wonder if I'm making the right decisions or doing enough for them. I worry about trusting other people to take care of them at school, at church, or at home when we have babysitters.

But I also have a different set of worries: James and Liam would not be able to tell me if something inappropriate happened at school/church/with sitter. They don't understand normal safety precautions and we have to be vigilant when we're near moving vehicles, when there are knives on the counter for food prep, when we're at someone else's house and they can reach batteries or magnets (they may eat them), when we're near swimming pools or the ocean (they have no fear of the water). Recently I realized that in our town the predominant form of socialization happens at festivals (Pirate Fest, Watermelon Festival, Collard Festival, etc) or at large gatherings in our Town Commons. We can go to those things and bring our children. But we cannot go with the kids and expect to socialize with other people. They each want to run in opposite directions and I can't trust that they won't wander away or try to jump in water or drink someone's drink or who knows what else.

Honestly, it can be rather lonely.

It's not my intention to complain, not really, I just hope you'll hear my heart. When I turn down your invitations to birthdays or going to festivals or hanging out in open spaces, know that I'm not copping out. I'm not making excuses. Those settings are a genuine struggle for me and our family and I will leave feeling like I didn't get to spend time with you. If you have breakables in your house that are in reach of a very tall four-year old, would you consider moving them up a little higher before you invite us over? Or roll with the flow if I suggest my place instead? When we talk about what our kids might "get into" keep in mind that James has the ingenuity and physical ability of a four year old with the behavioral restraint of a two year old. And Liam has the ability of an almost three year old with the restraint of a one year old. So when I go double check an area, it's not because I doubt your ability to gauge what would be safe for a typical four year old, it's just that I know my four year old is not typical.

In so many ways I'm very new to this journey. Just one year ago we were starting to get those "bad behavior" reports from preschool but we hadn't started the referral process for evaluations. But I love to help people understand the little that I've figured out about how their brains work and how they experience the world differently; I think it's fascinating and love to raise awareness and understanding. I'm passionate about working with my kids so that they can be in "normal" settings without causing unreasonable discomfort to their peers (predominantly, that they don't physically hurt anyone) and helping their caregivers understand good ways to communicate with them.

If you think you might be at the outset of this journey or if you know someone who is walking this same road and you have questions, feel free to contact me. Or if you'd just like to understand how to talk to my kids in a way that they understand, let me know. I can promise you I don't have all the answers. But like all mothers, I love to talk about my kids :) They're pretty amazing.

I will wait for him

1 la·ment verb \lə-ˈment\: to express sorrow, regret, or unhappiness about something

Two Sundays ago I sat in the quiet house, taking in the silence. Nathan was on nursery duty at church and would be gone for both services leaving me a large chunk of time alone. (In a previous post --The Break-- I described my need for a break from the church in order to process the pain of two miscarriages and to work my way back to the Lord.)

For the first time in months, I was looking forward to spending time in my Bible. As I sat down with a cup of coffee and my Bible, I decided to start by flipping through Psalms. I was already familiar with some Psalms that express sorrow, Psalm 13 being one of my favorites:

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, 'I have overcome him,'
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.

What I'm beginning to realize is that many --most?-- Psalms end on that note of hopeful resolve. I often get the impression that the writer is speaking to himself, reminding himself of the mercies of the Lord and making a choice to praise. Other times, the writer claims victory over his opponents and describes their downfall. A part of me wants that resolve but a part of me just isn't ready for it.

My close friend who is grieving a miscarriage told me something her husband said. To paraphrase, there are two biblical and legitimate responses to pain and grief. The first is to dwell on scriptures of hope and promise and resolve to praise the Lord in the midst of your pain. The second is to be in the depths of the pit and to know that the Lord is with you. I tend to fall into the latter category. I'm in the pit... and I'm just now beginning to feel the presence of the Lord with me.

From my observations and my friends' observations, people who are Christians tend to fall into one category or the other and we tend to have a hard time relating to people who are in the opposite category. I might say that Psalms tends to be in the former category, acknowledging the pain but claiming hope. For most people who are not grieving it is easier to enter into the grief of someone who is full of hope and praise-- they can understand it and engage with it. But it is much, much harder to come alongside of someone who is in the pit. Mostly we just need people who will be there for us. We don't need words of encouragement or victory--they just don't ring true.

Honestly, in retrospect, one thing that might have been really helpful, and might still be helpful, would be to hear people pray for me (but again, not in a "claim the victory" sort of way). To hear someone else express the Lord's heart for me and his presence with me, would have been so helpful.

Going back to my Sunday time in scripture, I wound up looking up the word "dancing" in my concordance because I wanted to find the verse that says "You turned my mourning into dancing." It's a concept I've been thinking about frequently. It's from a verse in Psalms. But another use of the word "dancing" in the Old Testament came from Lamentations chapter 5 and it says, "You turned my dancing into mourning." That caught my eye.

I spent the morning reading through Lamentations and for the first time in a long, long time, Scripture felt true to my experience. It's like "crap crap crap crap crap--a little glimmer of hope-- crap crap crap crap-- the Lord did not abandon you-- crap crap crap crap". That could be our story from last year. It's the latter category, the response to suffering that is in the pit but with the presence of the Lord.

Here are some of the passages that struck me (taken from Lamentations chapter 3):

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.'

For men are not cast off
by the Lord forever.
Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.
For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to the children of men.

You have covered yourself with anger and pursued us;
you have slain without pity.
You have covered yourself with a cloud
so that that no prayer can get through.
You have made us scum and refuse
among the nations.

Streams of tears flow from my eyes
because my people are destroyed.
My eyes flow unceasingly,
without relief,
until the Lord looks down
from heaven and sees.
What I see brings grief to my soul
because of all the women of my city.

I called on your name, O Lord,
from the depths of the pit.
You heard my plea: 'Do not close your ears
to my cry for relief.;
You came near when I called you,
and you said, 'Do not fear.'

I know that was rather long, but honestly, that passage contained almost all of the hopeful language from the whole book. This is a book that captures my grief. And it also reminds me that there is cause for hope in the midst of the pain. The Lord is with me in the depths of the pit and says, "Do not fear."

This past Sunday wasn't quite so warm and fuzzy. I basically spent the time I had by myself to pray... but "pray" might be a loose definition of what I did. I talked to the Lord. Yelled at him, really. When I write down my prayers I wind up filtering them and I don't always express what's in my heart. So I expressed my heart to him. I asked the questions that have been burning inside me. I told him that I don't understand. And just before Nathan returned I looked up a verse from the end of Lamentations in the commentary we have. Lamentations 5:21 says, "Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may return; renew our days as of old."

The commentator explains that the writer was making a distinction here. "Their prayer is not, 'Turn thou to us,' but 'Turn us to thee,' which implies an acknowledgement that the cause of the distance was in themselves. God never leaves any till they first leave him, nor stands afar off from any longer than while they stand afar off from him; if therefore he turn them to him in a way of duty, no doubt but he will quickly return to them in a way of mercy... This implies a further acknowledgment of their own weakness and inability to turn themselves. There is in our nature a proneness to backslide from God, but no disposition to return to him till his grace works in us both to will and to do. So necessary is that grace that we may truly say, 'Turn us or we shall not be turned,' but shall wander endlessly; and so powerful and effectual is that grace that we may as truly say, 'Turn us, and we shall be turned;' for it is a day of power, almighty power, in which God's people are made a willing people." (Matthew Henry's Commentary on the Whole Bible)

To paraphrase: I can't turn my own heart back to God. But if he will turn my heart back to him, I know that he will also come close to me. And that's how I left it with him, "Lord, I need you to do this work in my heart because I can't do it." And now I'm waiting. I'm trying to walk the delicate balance, maintaining a heart that is receptive to the Lord's molding and waits on him, without falling to either side--one that says, "I'm waiting on the Lord which means I have look for ways to change my own heart," essentially taking over to do it myself and the other that says, "Well I'm waiting on the Lord so he's gonna have to come through with a big miracle or sign," closing my heart to the possibility of change.

"The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."

I Walk the Line

I walk the line... or at least I try to. The line that narrowly divides self-advocating and being obnoxious, asking the right questions and being "that" patient, trusting my own instinct and trusting the medical expertise of doctors and nurses.

First I need to say that this post goes well beyond my own experience in miscarriage. When Liam (my now 2 1/2 year old) had just reached his first birthday, I took him to his well-check Doctor's visit and spoke with his pediatrician about his lack of verbal skills. At that point he was only slightly delayed and a referral may have been premature but in retrospect we see that at 12 months he would have benefited from early intervention. At each subsequent well-check and sick-visit I brought up his lack of speech to our doctor. Admittedly it was hard to pinpoint exactly how many words he could use since he would use a word once then we wouldn't hear it again for months. That being said, I think I knew by 18mos that we really needed help but the doctor was determined that we would wait until his 2 year check up to see if he improved. At two years we got his referral. At 26mos his evaluation put him at an 8mo verbal level.

Also, I've spoken to many other people who have struggled with knowing when to push back and ask for more tests, a referral, answers, an appointment, so I share this as an encouragement.

Your doctor is in the exam room with your body for what, 20 minutes? You're with your body 24 hours a day. Just saying.

(I recognize that the flip side of the coin is that there are many people who abuse the 24 hour nurse call lines because they're paranoid. I'm blessed to have a sister who is a nurse and has worked in the ER; she talks me down from the "Oh my gosh I have to take James/Liam/myself to the emergency room right now" ledge.)

Now, back to my experience with doctors and miscarriage. When we lost our second baby the doctor explained that 25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth. He started saying that they would run a few tests before we could try again but, glancing at my chart, he realized that we have two children already so "we know you can have babies." He explained that he and his wife had had a miscarriage in the middle of their four children and that we are "just on the wrong side of the percentages." He said all of this with an appropriate amount of compassion in his voice. But the more I've thought about it, the more unsettling that was to hear.

Every woman who has had a miscarriage or still born baby is on the wrong side of the percentages.

Every woman who has ever had a miscarriage or still born baby is on the wrong side of the percentages.

Natural Family Planning (NFP) is a way to chart certain signs that your body gives you about your fertility cycle so that you can either avoid or achieve pregnancy. One of the things you chart is your waking temperature. According to the book that I have, if your temperature is lower than 97.3F during a certain time of your cycle you may be experiencing low thyroid function. When I began to chart low temperatures I assumed that it wasn't a big deal and the book probably wasn't describing my symptoms. A few months after our second miscarriage I began to experience some pronounced exhaustion, inability to focus, and hair loss. The energy and focus problems felt like the first trimester of pregnancy and the hair loss was reminiscent of postpartum hair hell. The combination of these two sets of symptoms gave me the courage I needed to set up an appointment with my Primary Care Physician.

Going into the appointment I was nervous. I had to wait a few months to be seen since I was a new patient and by the time the appointment day arrived, I was no longer experiencing the extreme exhaustion, inability to focus, and hair loss. I was worried that my doctor wouldn't be familiar with NFP and that she would dismiss my concerns as illogical. Although she was not very familiar with NFP, she had heard of it and validated my concerns regarding my period of exhaustion. When I told her what the OBGYN said about not doing any testing in response to the miscarriages, she explained that we do know that there wouldn't be a genetic reason for the miscarriages since we've had two successful pregnancies but that things like hormone levels can fluctuate and there may be an answer there. She ordered a panel of blood work that would test my thyroid function and a few other things related to exhaustion (kidney function, Vitamin D, Vitamin B12, etc). When the results came back I was surprised to learn that everything was normal except for one thing. My Vitamin D level was very low.

The research that I've done on the internet regarding a link between Vitamin D deficiency and miscarriage has been inconclusive. What I mean is that there seems to be many people posting on forums and other places about a link but I wasn't able to find a reputable scientific website that connected the two. The most valid-sounding theory that I found suggested that low Vitamin D would cause the lining of the uterus to be thin, making it difficult for a fertilized egg to implant successfully, which would fit with my symptoms (early miscarriage with the bleeding starting quickly). All that to say, I know that Vitamin D may not have caused my miscarriages and I know that even if we get my levels up to normal that won't guarantee that I won't have another miscarriage, but-- there is a possibility that the miscarriages were caused or linked to my Vitamin D levels and that bringing my levels up will give us a good chance at a successful pregnancy in the future.

All in all, I'm frustrated that in the United States there is a standard of three miscarriages before beginning tests. I can understand wanting to avoid painful and invasive testing after the first miscarriage. But it took one needle stick and four vials of blood to determine that I have low Vitamin D. Between the two miscarriages I had blood taken 8-10 times, just to test my pregnancy hormone levels. It's mind-boggling to me that it was too much work? too expensive? too inconvenient? not covered by insurance? I'm not sure what keeps OBGYNs from doing a panel of blood work after the first miscarriage, but I don't understand it.

So my point is this: keep asking questions, do your own research and come to appointments prepared to make suggestions and requests, and trust your own instincts. You may not find any answers. You may not have low Vitamin D. But if you're having fertility issues or your kids are having developmental issues, what is the harm in getting tested? The worst that can happen is that you wind up with a bruised ego, you were overreacting and there's nothing wrong. But more and more, I'm finding that my instincts are good, and it's better to check... you might just find the answer you've been looking for.

We Had Cupcakes and Cried

There is a certain misconception regarding miscarriage. One that I mean to shed light on in this post. Many suppose that since I have never held my lost babies in my arms that I must not have any memories of them. And while it's true that I've never seen the faces of Samuel or Cora -- or held them in my arms -- I most certainly have vivid memories, reminders, and important dates that will always be reminders of the short time I had with each of them on earth.

I know the night that we got pregnant with Samuel. (Sorry if that's TMI, but chances are, if you're still reading my entries regarding miscarriage and broken hearts you'll roll with me on this one.) The point is, I only knew that I was pregnant for a week. But I was actually pregnant for three weeks. And I know which three weeks they were. We started the Daniel Fast at church they day after I got pregnant and the Fast was broken the weekend that we miscarried. Full disclosure: we broke the fast a few days early-- the Wednesday that I started bleeding and we went to the doctor, I'm pretty sure we ordered a pizza that night.

So there are memories that I have within those three weeks that I can't recall without a stab of pain. The roadtrip I took with Nathan when we discovered the song, "Thrift Shop". Changing the fast to include dairy for me so that I could try to make sure I was getting enough calcium (I was really loving cottage cheese with black pepper). Having some friends over and offering them "Daniel-Fast-Friendly" cookies, knowing that I was pregnant but holding it in because it was too early to share. We watched 3 seasons of Downton Abbey that weekend. We went to an Easter Egg hunt at the Community Center down the street. Two people told us that it was about time to have a third baby. All vivid memories.

With Cora it was a little different. We knew about her for three weeks so I was pregnant for five. I had multiple blood tests to track my hormone levels. Phone tag with nurses and doctors. Confusion about what everything meant. A phone call from the midwife in the middle of Fitness Connection where I finally gained some clarity. Telling my small group about the pregnancy and my need for prayer at Bonefish Grill. Going to Raleigh to Pullen Park and Marbles Museum, Liam was at the peak of his frustration with communication, James camped out the train table and Liam screamed and refused to go into one of the rooms. Working during the days after the miscarriage, telling my co-worker that I was having the "cramps from hell" and letting her believe it was a standard menstrual period.

It's such a hard thing to explain. When I found out I was pregnant it was still very surreal. There was a part of me that kept asking myself if I remembered correctly. The test WAS positive, right? It's a huge thing to wrap my mind around. And even as I try to wrap my mind around it, I attempt to make sense of what I know to be true, my body is growing a human being, I have at least a thousand questions to try to answer. Will it be a boy or a girl? What will we name him/her? How will I tell my husband? How will I tell my family? How will I tell my kids? What will happen at work-- how much time can I take off? Will I return to work at all? If I go back to work will it be full-time or part-time? When and how will I tell my boss? What kind of awesome Facebook reveal will I do? How old will James and Liam be when this baby is born? Where will the baby sleep? How can we rearrange the house to fit a crib? What things did we get rid of that we need to buy again? Will this baby have special needs the way that James and Liam do? Will James and Liam still be struggling in school by then? On and on and on it goes. So that when it's gone, our whole world shifts. The rug has been pulled out from under us.

As time goes by I stop to consider my life occasionally. There is no mark on my body or outward sign that reflects the impact they had on our hearts. My womb is empty, there is no pack n play set up next to my bed, the sounds in my house are the sounds of preschoolers, not a newborn. But I know. At least I have an idea of what my life would be like we had not lost those two little ones. Samuel's due date was November 30th. He would've been almost 2 months old by now. Cora's due date was March 18th, I would've been about 33weeks along, and we would've already had the big gender-reveal ultrasound.

My point is this: there is really no "getting over" this. The pain will always be there. And like one who has had a limb amputated, we learn to limp along. The wound stops bleeding, a scar forms, but something will always be missing. My heart bears the marks that my body does not.

I'm so blessed to have James and Liam. Many people have miscarriages or struggle with infertility and never have the chance to carry and birth their own children. I don't take my children for granted. But I do have vivid memories of my water breaking, my hospital stays (they were so different from James to Liam), holding each of them seconds after they were delivered, nursing them, and caring for them through all hours of the night. As time goes on and I pass Samuel and Cora's due dates I know exactly what I am missing.

This year on Samuel's due date I worked then we attended the Saturday evening church service. It was the first weekend of the Advent season and I was completely caught off guard by the pain of it. Sermons and songs on expectation, a tiny baby, and a pregnant mother made my heart ache. At that time I hadn't given myself space to grieve or process. Opening my heart to worship the newborn Christ was more than I could take. When we returned home a crack had formed in my armor and I was ready to remember my baby. Nathan and I sat together after the boys had gone to bed and we remembered the son that we lost. We had cupcakes for his would-be birthday and cried.

The Silence was Broken

By the way, I really wanted to call this post "The Silence will Fall" but it wouldn't have made nearly as much sense and I figured only a handful of you would've caught on to the Doctor Who reference :)



It was last Sunday. Nathan had returned from National Staff Conference late the night before and I was working at the restaurant by myself so that I could catch up on the hours that I took off to watch the boys while he was traveling.

Nathan had been met by the Lord so sweetly at the conference. One speaker in particular was able to share a balanced, thoughtful, scriptural perspective on suffering. A perspective that is hard to come by and one that we were desperate to hear. The speaker was John Ortberg, an author and pastor of books and a church that I have never heard of, but his name was familiar. This past week I watched two of his three talks on vimeo and I am planning to watch the third one sometime this coming week.

His first talk was called, "Who is this Man?" and he explored the impact of Jesus on history and culture. His second talk was about Easter Saturday. Wow, that sounds awkward. We have Good Friday and Easter Sunday but we don't have a word for Saturday. The moment Nathan started to tell me about this talk I could feel the lump in my throat and the tears threatening. Easter might do that to me for awhile.

In this talk, Ortberg described Good Friday as the darkest day in the world, and Sunday was the greatest day in the world. Friday is the day of trouble, Sunday is the day of deliverance. But sometimes we don't understand the point of Saturday when we talk about Easter. We sort of want to skip ahead to the good stuff. There's something so true about the darkness of Saturday, something we often miss. It's the day after your best dreams have died but you still have to go on. Jesus ended Friday on the cross by saying, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Saturday is the day of God's silence.

Ortberg quotes CS Lewis in his talk, a passage from A Grief Observed. I don't remember how much of this passage he used, but the book has been very important for me in processing my own grief. At the risk of including more than Ortberg did...

"Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be -- or so it feels -- welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become... Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?"

In the midst of suffering, we don't always feel the presence of the Lord.

Ortberg goes on to explain that there are repeated themes of "Third Day" stories throughout the Bible. On many occasions bad things happened and deliverance came on the third day. The trouble is, you don't know it's a third day story until the third day. He then shares an idea, that we, as humanity, are still waiting on the resurrection. In many ways it is a Saturday world and God is still at work. There are 3 ways that we can respond to Saturday: Despair (decide it will always be Friday), Deny (give simplistic explanations, false triumphalism, and cliched answers), and Wait (Rest, complain, talk, abide in Him.). On Saturday we have the chance to be with Him in a way that we cannot be with Him on any other day because on Saturday you know that He is YOUR ONLY HOPE.

Ok, back to last Sunday. I was mulling over all that Nathan had told me about this talk and how it resonated so strongly with my experience. There is suffering and hardship but there is still hope. Not necessarily hope of blessing on earth or restoration of what was lost, but eternal hope to "glorify God and enjoy Him forever." (quoted from CS Lewis again) My heart was heavy still, heavy with our loss, finally starting to face it. I was realizing that "there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it." (again CS Lewis).

I used to be in the habit of casually praying throughout the day, "Lord please help..." all the time. When I decided to take a break from church I resolved to stop praying that way, recognizing what an empty, manipulative gesture it was. How could I ask for the Lord to help or be with someone when I didn't trust Him or really want much to do with Him? But when I was at work that day, my heart quieted for a moment and I talked to Him, briefly and with honesty, "Lord, Saturday hurts." In the small prayer was so much more. "I'm tired, I'm hurting, I don't understand. This life is difficult. I don't know how to wait for Sunday." His response was similarly brief and honest, carrying far more than the two words I heard, "I know," He said (not audibly of course, but I felt his response deep in my heart). In that response I felt the comfort of a Father to his daughter and I knew that he hurts, too, for the broken world. He is also waiting for His creation to be restored. The response was so much like my heart toward my son, when he's injured and crying, "Mommy, it hurts!" and all I can do is hold him through his pain, my own heart hurting for him, and say, "I know Sweetie. I know." And there, while making bread at work, the silence was broken.

"There was no sudden, striking, and emotional transition. Like the warming of a room or the coming of daylight. When you first notice them they have already been going on for some time." (CS Lewis, once again) Maybe his presence has been here, warming the room and lighting the dark for some time. But I'm just now starting to notice it. My hope is that as Spring comes, and warmth and lightness spread over the earth, the presence of the Lord will become more real to me.

The Break

I mentioned in my last post that I decided to take a break from church for a little while. So far everyone that has spoken to me about my decision has been supportive. But I know that most likely there are people who read my post and don't understand my decision. So I want to give a bit of back story.

When we lost Samuel, our hearts were broken. In the storm of grief, we found ourselves lashing out at each other. We were new to grief, never having lost anyone closer than a grandparent. We didn't realize that we would grieve differently and sometimes those differences seemed to push us apart.

We lost Samuel in the midst of Easter season. As I said in my last post, our church was observing the Daniel Fast, a 3-week partial food fast, and we were encouraged to bring something--a problem, a question, a desire--to the Lord and implore him for guidance, an answer, or provision. The fast ended Easter Sunday and a few weeks later, at the end of a church service, the Pastor invited us to celebrate the ways that we'd seen the Lord meet us miraculously during that season. My husband and I had to get up and leave, it was so painful to be in the midst of that celebration knowing that we had lost a dear child the very weekend that was the focus of celebration. Thankfully we ran into one of the associate pastors who knew our story and walked with Nathan through this pain, he prayed for us in the lobby. When we got to the car, I reflected that if the lead pastor had been willing to give a small caveat, a qualification to the celebration, something along the lines of, "Now I know that not everyone received miracles during this time. In fact some of you may have heard painful 'nos' from the Lord. But I want to invite you to rejoice with those who rejoice even as we've mourned with you,"... if there had been some sort of acknowledgement of the pain that we were in, I would have been able to enter into that time of celebration. As it was, I left in tears, feeling isolated and mostly alone.

We decided to talk to a couple of counselors from our church; we knew we needed help. By the time we landed in their office we were in a better place. Between the Sunday of celebration and our meeting with the counselors, I remember sitting at church, being broken in such a sweet, tender way by the Lord. I don't remember the sermon or the context, but I remember sitting in a chair, feeling for the first time that the Lord was my Father, sitting next to me with his arm around me, grieving with me. As opposed to sitting up in heaven with my baby (there was a subtext there that I wouldn't allow myself to voice: he was in heaven with the baby he had taken from me).

So when we arrived in the counselors' office, I felt like I was on the upswing. I was seeing the presence of the Lord around me, I knew the right answers to my deepest fear (I knew the Lord did NOT take my baby), and Nathan and I had reopened lines of healthy communication and were supporting each other well.

I felt like I was just starting to recover. We stepped out in faith and tried again for a baby, getting pregnant right away. When I did the math and realized I was due March 18th, right around Easter, I secretly hoped that I could take it as a promise from the Lord that this baby would live. Maybe a redemption of the previous Easter. New life where there was once death (not that Cora would have replaced Samuel in any way, but my mind was and is, eager to draw meaning from numbers that supports my own desire).

When we were losing Cora, I subconsciously tried to pray differently, hoping to yield a different result from the Lord. I thought I could manipulate the Lord to do what I wanted. After we confirmed her passing, I actively tried to lean into the Lord's presence, I didn't want to repeat the silence we shared after Samuel died. I wrestled with questions of why I believe, what do I expect of the Lord, and why do I pray. But somewhere along the way I lost sight of my hope. It's like physical therapy after an injury; it hurts so much but you've got to keep it up. Sometimes it's easy to convince yourself that you're all better and you don't need help to recover anymore so you stop doing the hard work of healing. That's pretty much what happened to me, I stopped leaning into the Lord and my pain.

The pain was too big for my heart to bear. So I stopped. I stopped thinking about the Lord or my lost babies. I took on more hours and responsibilities at work and poured myself into caring for my amazing family (they are pretty stinking amazing). And the thing is, when you've grown up in a family of Christians who are thoughtful about the faith they hold, you know all the right answers. Knowing all the right answers kept me from asking the questions that were dwelling in the deepest places of my heart.

In December when we attended church and the pastor said what he did, to the effect of, "People who are faithful are blessed", I just felt my heart constrict within me. The only conclusion to draw from that statement is that people who are not blessed must be unfaithful. Does that mean that God didn't bless us with Samuel or Cora because we weren't faithful? This was my deepest fear, one that I wasn't able to bring to light yet. As we left I realized that my heart was pulling away from the Lord. At the time, I was okay with that. I was comfortable continuing to go through the motions without bringing my pain and questions to the Lord. (I think my pastor meant well and he didn't say exactly that, but in my hurt, that's what I heard him saying. I don't mean to start drama, but I share because this is part of my story.)

I think my turning point came later in December when I had the chance to join my husband and his co-workers at Regional Staff Conference for InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. While we were there I had the chance to fellowship with fellow wives and mothers and I shared with two women about the year we had. One of them asked a few questions like,"How are you coping?" that helped me to see the ways that I hadn't really dealt with the pain of this year. Her questions helped me to see that I couldn't keep up the pace that I was using to keep myself from the Lord. I wasn't without the Lord and healthy, I was without the Lord and unhealthy. Something needed to change. She encouraged me to take a day of retreat, something that my husband is incredibly supportive of (he's really the best, Happy Anniversary honey!!).

So I took a day, went to Barnes & Noble, and bought "A Grief Observed" by CS Lewis. I read it in one sitting at the B&N cafe. The book is the journal that Lewis kept after his wife died. This book was indescribably helpful for me. Lewis is one of those people whose theology is well-respected in my family and to hear him asking questions of God like, "how can he be good?"... well, it gave me words for my feelings and freedom to express them. I realized that I needed more than a monthly or bi-monthly day of retreat to recover. I needed weekly or daily time to read and re-discover my faith.

So I decided to take a break from Sunday morning church. This should give me a minimum of a weekly time when I have the house myself and I'm able to bring my questions and my emotions and my pain to the Lord. My intention is to continue on in our Small Group and in community with other believers. Recently Nathan returned from National Staff Conference with InterVarsity and he was impacted by the speaking of John Ortberg (more on that later!). After discussing one particular part of the conference with Nathan I realized that at church I've been surrounded by some people who are in denial to the pain and suffering in the world, believing that victory has already come. On the other hand, I've been in despair, unable to see the hope of the work of redemption that's currently in progress. Being around people in denial has pushed me further into my own despair. Taking a break from church is chance for me to rebuild my foundation and reclaim my hope. I have every intention of returning to church but for now I need some space to heal.

I'm beginning to hope again. And I believe that the Lord will meet me here, in my honest questions and my brokenness.

2013: The Year from Hell

Many of you know that this year has been difficult for us. Many of you know that this year we found out that our older son has Autism and you might assume that his diagnosis was the reason for our difficult year. That's only a small part of the story.

We lost two children this year.

In December, 2012, when Nathan was at Urbana, I started to think that I might be ready to have another baby. At the time, James was 3 and Liam was about 1 1/2. I thought we might wait a few months but that we might have a baby in 2013. When Nathan returned from Urbana I was surprised to learn that he had started to consider growing our family as well. We even took it as a sign of the Lord's leading that we had both begun to think of it at the same time. We weren't sure if we had a solid plan as far as childcare and finances go, but we also knew that we hadn't had plans for James or Liam and that the Lord had provided. This would be the first time that we intentionally "tried" to get pregnant and we were excited to see how the Lord would provide and lead our family.

We got pregnant quickly, I found out in March 20th that I was pregnant, due November 30th. We were in the midst of the Daniel Fast at the church we attend (a 3-week partial food fast). The church was preparing for Easter. March 27th I began bleeding. I knew something was wrong and went in to my OB office as soon as it opened. Their pregnancy test was negative but they drew blood to see what the hormone levels were in my bloodstream (it's important after a miscarriage to make sure the hormone levels return to normal). My levels were higher than the midwife expected and she wanted to test them again to determine if this was a "miscarriage or an abnormal pregnancy." They typically need 48 hours between blood tests in order to track the hormone levels. The 27th was a Wednesday and the 29th was Good Friday and the office was closed. We would need to wait until Monday before we could have the follow-up test. I knew the chance of a pregnancy that would lead to a live birth was slim to none. It would take a miracle, one could call it a raising from the dead... As we entered into Easter weekend I couldn't help but hope. The disciples didn't have any reason to hope that they'd ever see Jesus again. He was dead. And yet... he was raised from the dead. The sermon series during that month highlighted the power of prayer. There were so many stories of God coming through at the Eleventh Hour with a miracle, some sign that he's there and he cares for us and he's powerful. I thought to myself, what if as a result of this baby living we have a new understanding of the miracle of Easter, how special would that be?!

Unfortunately that would not be the case. On Monday the pregnancy hormone level in my blood was down considerably. It confirmed a miscarriage. We were assured that just because it happened once, it doesn't mean it'll happen again. We could try to get pregnant again in a month or so and we should have no reason to be overly concerned that it'd happen again. In the week that we knew about this child we had discussed baby names; we both felt in our guts that this child was a boy. In my mind, I had kept coming back to the name "Samuel". For a middle name, I thought. My prayer for my children is that they would hear the word of the Lord and obey it, as Samuel in the Bible had done from the time he was a child. When our world was crashing down around us we had a small measure of comfort know that our baby is in Heaven, with our Lord. And so we chose to name him Samuel because, just like Samuel from the Bible, our baby will spend his whole life in service to the Lord.

During that month we got a referral for James from our pediatrician and in April he received a pre-screen from Pitt County Schools and determined that he should receive a full evaluation to determine if he had any delays or disabilities that would require services from the State to help prepare him for Kindergarten.

In July, just after Liam turned 2, we received a referral for Liam to be evaluated by the CDSA for his speech delay (when a child is 3 or older he is referred to the school system, if he is younger than 3 he is referred to the CDSA, a different department in the State's infrastructure).

Also in June, about 3 months after losing Samuel, we decided to try again for a baby. We felt like fear was the only thing holding us back from trying again. Again, we got pregnant right away. We found out July 8th, while Nathan was traveling for work, that we were expecting again, due March 18th. We scheduled a doctor's appointment right away. The test they did was positive and they gave us the choice of waiting to have our next appointment at 9 weeks, when they typically start prenatal appointments, or doing some blood work to test my hormone levels and scheduling an ultrasound at 7 weeks to determine if there was a heartbeat. We decided to go ahead with blood work and the ultrasound, the tension was thick and we couldn't help but be fearful.

The rule of thumb for typically developing baby is that the hormone levels double every 48 hours. So we entered the waiting game. Test 1: 400. Test 2: 700, it was going up but not doubling so they ordered another test. Again, it went up but didn't double, so we needed another test. We did a total of 5 blood tests. Most of my correspondence with the OBGYN was messages sent through the nurses so I really had no idea what was going on. Finally, I was told to come in for an ultrasound at about 5 weeks. They wanted to confirm that the pregnancy wasn't ectopic, which was pretty much my worst fear. I couldn't stand the thought of choosing for this baby to die, even if there was no chance of her reaching full-term. Thankfully, the ultrasound revealed a fetal sac in my uterus. There was not a heartbeat yet, so they scheduled another ultrasound for the following week. Still no heartbeat but the sac had grown so they weren't "ready to call it" yet. We scheduled a third ultrasound for the next week, just before Nathan would have to leave town for about 4 days for work. Two days after my 2nd ultrasound I began to cramp and bleed heavily. It was July 31st.

I knew there was nothing the doctor could do and we had plans to spend the day with my parents, my sister, and my sister's children in Raleigh. My parents are missionaries in Nigeria and they were stateside for a few weeks. This would be our one day to gather the grandchildren and enjoy each others' company. I had hoped to reveal to my parents that day that we were pregnant. We would've heard the baby's heartbeat by then and we could rejoice together at this new life. Instead, I had to break the news to them, over dinner at Moe's, that we were in the midst of losing another baby. I went to work the next few days, broken; experiencing pain emotionally and physically. The cramps were awful. I should've just stayed home, but there was no one to cover my duties and I knew that missing work would hurt their business and that staying home wouldn't change our situation. Nathan and I had both felt in our guts, that this baby was a girl. In my mind and heart, she was always "Cora", a family name from my side of the family, which means "maiden".

In August we found out that Liam was speaking at an 8mo level (he was then 26mos) and that he has difficulty regulating how his body responds to sensory input. He began Speech therapy and Occupational Therapy. In October, James received his evaluation from the school system and we learned that he has High-Functioning Autism and many of the same sensory issues that Liam has. He began to receive one-on-one help from the state at his preschool and occupational therapy. Unfortunately the preschool that the boys were at had a difficult time accommodating their special needs and director made an abrupt decision at Thanksgiving that the boys could stay at their school until Christmas but that we would need to find a different school after that. Knowing that we would be traveling a lot during December, we decided to keep them home in December with the hope of finding a new school for them in January.

And so ended 2013: the year from hell.

Not surprisingly, I've had a hard time processing the blow after blow. Healing is still a long way off. I've recently decided that I need to take a break from church in order to intentionally process and redefine my relationship with God. Sometimes the things that I hear at church make my heart contract. I feel wounded and shut down and it's been pushing me away from God. (The pastor recently said something to the effect of "Don't you ever wonder why God's blessing just seem to come down on certain people? It's because they're being faithful")

I've declared this 2014: the year of restoration. I started reading "Hind's Feet on High Places"; I read it once about 5 years ago and I loved it. I also started reading "Streams in the Desert", a daily devotional recommended by a friend. My jury is still out on this one... some of the entries I've glanced through almost have that "claim your victory" mindset that makes me cringe. Finally, I'm reading "In Search of Deep Faith." I'm really excited about this one. It's the story of a father who took his family on a pilgrimage through Europe to visit important landmarks of Christianity, over-lain with the history of those men and women, many of whom gave their lives for their faith in Christ. It's the kind of book that doesn't gloss or sugar coat the suffering that Christians experience; and it calls the audience to deeper faith, which is exactly what I need right now.

Here's to meeting the Lord this year.

FAQ's: 1) Were we trying? um, yes. Firstly, if we had been surprised by a pregnancy that we lost, we would probably make damn sure not to get pregnant "accidentally" a second time. Secondly, consider the subtext of this question before you ask it of someone who is suffering after a miscarriage. It communicates that you're attempting to categorize their suffering. As in, if I wasn't "trying" to have this baby, maybe I won't miss her. (Sorry, when this is the first question I'm asked after sharing that I've had a miscarriage, it makes me feel like, instead of mourning with me, you're attempting to categorize my hurt, it's a sore point for me)
2) Do we know why? The answer is no. We don't know why we had two miscarriages. We don't know why James has autism. There's no strong family history of miscarriage or autism. Sometimes things happen and we don't know why. According to the Doctor at the OBGYN, "25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth and [I'm] just on the wrong end of that percentage". I'm pursuing some theories with my Primary Care Physician but the OBGYN is currently not interested in running any tests because I already have 2 kids so we know I "can have babies" as the Doctor said.

This is a hard thing to share. Our culture doesn't know how to mourn well. Or how to comfort those who are mourning. Sometimes when people attempt to make me feel better they just hurt me more. It's been easier to keep this loss private than to open myself up to the ways people try to explain away suffering. But I need to share. As part of my own healing, I need so share our story and make our grief public. These two children need to be mourned. Our family will never be complete this side of heaven. We will always miss Samuel and Cora. I also need to share because people don't realize how often this happens and how many other women are going through what they're going through. We need support and it's hard to get when we don't let other people in.

If you're wondering what an appropriate response is, here are some excellent options: "I'm so sorry to hear that", "I'm broken hearted with you and for your family", "thank you for sharing this, I'll be praying for your family".