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.