Sunlight and Shadows

It's been 2 years.
2 years since that first day of hurt.
2 years since the sadness began.
The sadness that doesn't quite go away.


I was surprised at how much I was dreading this day.
I don't know why I thought it wouldn't be a big deal.
It clearly is.
But in the past week or 2, I'd find myself startled by grief.
Grief that seemed out of place.
After all, it's been 2 years.
And we have Davy now.


That's when this whole tangle of emotions begins to twist inside me.
When I was first pregnant with David, a few well meaning people said to me, "see, now you'll have this one. It will help so much. Imagine, without the miscarriage, you wouldn't have this baby."
They were right.
I wouldn't give up my Davy for the world.
But does that mean I have to be glad, or thankful, for losing the baby before him?
I know that isn't what they meant.
But no matter which way I look at it, it doesn't make sense.
Loss doesn't make sense.
It just hurts.
There is no explaining it, no figuring it out.
It stings and burns and you don't have to find the good in it.
I am allowed to say I am glad for Davy, but also that I am so, so sad that I never knew that other baby.
Yes, still.
I won't ever be able to explain how I can be in the sunlight and the shadows at once, but sometimes I am.


The thing about my miscarriage is that it was also the start down a dark road for Aaron and I.
Or maybe we'd been headed down that road already but we hadn't acknowledged it yet.
I can't help but look back on that time with some deep, deep aching in my heart.
I can't help but think of that loss, too.


Those days seem like a life time ago.
Much of that darkness has been lifted.
With hard work, many tears and infinite amounts of grace, God has redeemed us.
Through it all, I have fallen more in love with my husband than ever before.
But more importantly, I have fallen more in love with Jesus.

God has used these trials, these hurts, and my loss, to shape me.

I understand things now that I never did before.

I have compassion and understanding that I didn't have before.

You can say to me, "I am struggling in my marriage," and I won't judge you, or be surprised.

I will say, "I've been there."

I will be real with you.

You can tell me how much you miss your baby.

Even if that baby was no bigger than an apple seed.

And I will cry with you and I will say, "I know."

Because I have lost, I can walk with others who have, too.

And I want to.

Because no one should walk through loss alone.

I recently re-read one of my favorite books, The Yearling.
One of the characters in the book, a young boy, passes away.
His family is full of rough and tumble men.
All his stoic, taciturn older brothers don't know how to deal with their grief.
When Penny, a man who along with his wife, has lost many babies, arrives, his loss allows him to bring them comfort.
From The Yearling:
"The talk broke over Penny in a torrent.  The relief of words washed and cleansed a hurt that had been in-growing.  He listened gravely, nodding his head from time to time.  He was a small staunch rock against which their grief might beat.  When they finished and fell quiet, he talked of his own losses.  It was a reminder that no man was spared.  What all had borne, each could bear.  He shared their sorrow, and they became a part of his, and the sharing spread their grief a little, by thinning it."


Isn't that a beautiful description of the way we can share one another's hurts?
Sitting here now, after loss and hurt and searing grief, there is sunlight in the shadows.
The sunlight is that I can be the comfort the way others were to me.
On one of my hurting days, my sister-in-law reminded me of the verse, "in this world you will have trouble, but take heart, for I have overcome the world."
God did not promise a life free from pain.
We live in a fallen world and pain abounds.
But He promises that in the end, the hurt will be overcome.
And He promises comfort.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ." (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)

The kids and I have been learning the hymn, How Firm a Foundation.

It is beautiful.--one of my favorites.

This verse describes so aptly the last 2 years of my life.

“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not harm thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine."

I cannot say yet, that I would have chosen these trials.
What I can say is that I am grateful for the opportunity to offer that comfort I received to someone else.
I could choose anger and bitterness.
Or I can choose to let Him consume my dross. 
I can choose to let Him refine me.
I'm trying.


Love from,
Greta

When There's Nothing Left to Stand On

You know when you've heard something a hundred times but then, for the first time, you really hear it?

And these words that you've heard, that you've spoken, that you know by heart, take on a meaning that they never have before.

Your heart fills and so do your eyes.

And they both overflow with gratefulness for a new understanding; a revelation.

You want to mark that moment.

You want to remember when His voice spoke into your heart, and you heard Him.

I grew up on hymns.

I've been singing them for as long as I can remember.

We sang a favorite of mine in church today, The Solid Rock.

It's one I've sung many times before.

It's one I know most of the words to.

It's beautiful.

But this time, the words of that hymn ministered to my heart in a way that they never have before.

"My hope is built on nothing less,

Than Jesus' blood and righteousness;

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, 

But wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand,

All other ground is sinking sand,

All other ground is sinking sand."

The words struck me--"my hope is built on nothing less."

Where is my hope?

Where have I leaned for strength, for protection, for happiness and peace?

I've leaned on myself.

I've leaned on my marriage.

I've leaned on my husband, my children, my friends, family, home, job, even my circumstances.

And some of those things have failed me.

At some point in my life, all of those things will fail me.

Why?

Because they are sinking sand.

"When darkness veils His lovely face,

I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale,

My anchor holds within the veil."

When I walked through my darkest valleys, He was there.

When it was so dark, it seemed like He wasn't, He still was.

The rest of my world sank around me, but He was my solid rock.

People will fail you.

Your marriage will fail you.

Your children will fail you.

One day your job might not be there.

Or your home.

One day there will be a fire, an earthquake, a car accident.

We think it won't happen to us.

But it will.

And if our hope is in this world, then we will crumble just as our world crumbles around us.

But if our "hope is built on nothing less" than JESUS, we will stand back up.

Tossed, buffeted, thrown down and hurt by the gales of this life, we will stand back up, because we're "resting on His unchanging grace."

And after that we can look back on the hard times, yes, even the hardest times, and see that He was always there.

It makes me love Him so much more.

Because He was there for me when I was alone.

When I thought all hope was lost, He stayed the course.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil,

for You are with me; 

Your rod and Your staff, 

they comfort me."  Psalm 23:4

I realized today that for much of my life I have placed my hope in the wrong place.

I have given Jesus part of me, but held back much more.

"I can do it myself."

Oh, I hear myself in my 3 year old daughter all day long!

The truth is, I can't do it myself.

No one else can do it for me either.

He is the only thing that doesn't change.

"All other ground is sinking sand."

So I will ask myself, "who am I standing in today?"

"Who am I leaning on?"

It can't be anyone, or anything, but The Solid Rock.

Love from,

Greta

Be a Voice

Today is Sanctity of Life Sunday.
Did you know?
It's been 39 years since Roe vs. Wade passed and abortion was legalized in America.
For some, this anniversary that calls for celebration--freedom for women.
But since that ruling, an estimated 52 million abortions have been performed.
That is 52 million babies whose heartbeats have been stopped.
52 million babies whose legs stopped kicking and arms stopped moving.
52 million babies who stopped sucking their thumbs.
52 million lives ended.
It is a tragedy.


The tiny, helpless, unborn baby is always heavy on my heart, but this time of year more so than ever.
It was 2 years ago this month that I learned I was pregnant and 10 weeks later, learned we had lost our baby.
That little life was so celebrated.
And so mourned.


That is the way each of us should feel about each little life lost to abortion.
We should not judge the women, doctors or nurses who take part in abortions.
Rather, we should spend our energy being a voice for those who have no voice.
It isn't easy.
No one wants to talk about it.
It's uncomfortable, unpopular, unpleasant.
You may offend someone, lose friends, or make enemies.
But there are times when each of us are called to take a stand for right and wrong.
It's a matter of life and death!


I found this, written by R. C. Sproul Jr., and it offers something to think about.
He is speaking to pastors, but we can apply his words to ourselves, whether we are pastors or not.
Will you dare to speak up when society tells you not to?


"To be silent is to be complicit. It is to tell our children and grandchildren that we are as guilty as those Germans who knew, and were silent. Of course our pews are filled with the guilty. The same is true of every sin we preach against. Of course the grace of God in Christ trumps even this great evil.
But the same Jesus who died for our sins calls on us to suffer the children to come unto Him. When we are silent, when we treat abortion as a mere social problem, a mere political issue, we expose our complicity. So preach faithfully. Proclaim not the sanctity of life, but the holiness of God, whose image the least of these bear. Call for repentance from the pulpit God placed under your care. Preach the same good news that He preached, that the captive are to be set free, that those marching toward death are to be rescued. Preach, and take the heat. For Jesus says such will make you blessed. Walk by faith, and preach by faith, in season and out of season."


This week, lots of people on the web spoke up against injustice and freedom.
Everyone was talking about SOPA .
Big Internet companies, blogs and Facebook posts abounded, "sign this petition!"
"Let your voice be heard!"
"Tell Congress they can't take away our freedoms!"
As I read these, I wondered if there would be any posts today.
Would there be Facebook posts saying, "remember the unborn!"
Would Google go black for 52 million lives lost?
I didn't think so.
But you can remind people.
Share this post.
Do a Google image search on sanctity of life and post a picture on your facebook page.
Write your own blog post.
Take a moment to mourn for those whose lives have been lost.
Be a voice for the voiceless.
Love from,
Greta


And if you disagree with me, or don't know where you stand in all this, please take a moment to watch this, and see what being pro life really means.

2 Years

The last 2 years have been full of sunshine.

And shadows.

Today is the 2nd anniversary of my due date that never was.
To every one else, just another day to mark off on the calender.
But to me, a day forever etched in my heart.


After 2 years the pain has lessened.
I read these words that I wrote last year, the day I was hoping would be the one when I would meet my baby.
It's different now.
Not so much that searing grief as a deep sadness.
I wonder what might have been.
I wonder about the life that wasn't lived out.
And, I still miss my dear little fourth baby.
Whenever I see daffodils I think of my Baby Dear.

Aaron gave me a card this morning that had this verse in it:
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."  Matthew 5:4
And that, dear friends, is true.
Through these 2 very hard years, God has brought me comfort in so many different and unexpected ways.
Our miscarriage was the beginning of some very rough times for Aaron and I.
And so, as I was mourning the loss of our baby, I was also mourning my marriage.
But in the end, God brought comfort.
I am not saying things were magically "all better" like nothing was ever wrong.
What I am saying is that after the mourning, and the clinging to Him through it, God brought comfort.
It is like I said in this post, "weeping may tarry for a night, but joy comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5


And even in those times that I felt very alone, I never was.
God was there.
And He showed Himself in many ways.
In the friend who brought me a candle, sat on the couch with me and cried with me.
In the flowers left on my porch.
In the notes I got, some from you who read my blog and I have never even met.
In the offers from friends and family to take the kids so I could rest.
In the comments left here.
In the meals people brought.

In all the gestures, from small to grand, that were made and that brought comfort to my aching heart, God was there.
"Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."  Matthew 25:40
You see, you never know how your small act of kindness will minister to someone's heart and bring them comfort.
You never know how much those cookies you made will bless someone.

I have learned much through this loss.

I have learned the value of reaching out to others in honesty instead of hiding and putting on a brave face.

That doesn't help me, nor can it help anyone else.

Instead, I am learning to comfort others with the comfort I have received. ( 2 Corinthians 1: 3-4) 

I am so glad that my little one's life made an impact on mine, even though it was only with me for 12 short weeks.

Thank you again for walking with me through those days of hurt.

Thank you for being living kindness to me.

Thank you for giving me this place to remember.

Love from,

Greta

Hurting, Healing and The Chronicles of Narnia

God is a great designer.

For example, He knew that a busy mommy might not sit down and care for herself.

She might not rest like she should, and stop herself from doing dishes and sweeping the floor.

But she will sit down to take care of her baby.

And so, in those first days when Mommy so needs to sit, but might not otherwise, there is a tiny person who cries every 2 hours to eat.

And Mommy has to sit.

To take care of her baby,

And thus, she also takes care of herself.

It is a great design.

And it is no accident.

One of my favorite things about nursing, besides being forced to sit when I otherwise might not, is that lots of reading goes on while I feed the baby,
If the kids are busy playing, I get to read myself.  
It's wonderful to have all that extra time to read and not feel one speck of guilt about it.
After all, I have to feed the baby,
But often times, the kids aren't busy playing and they sit down with me and we read together.
There seems to be a need for extra cuddles, and snuggles and Mommy time after a new baby comes home and this nursing/reading time provides that.


We started reading Prince Caspian of The Chronicles of Narnia series right after we were all back home together.
We've read it before and listened to it on cd before.
But somehow, those books never get old.
In fact, no matter how many times I read them, they just get better and better.


In the past year, I have listened to the entire series on cd and read the entire series on my own.  This is my 3rd time reading through them in just one year.
I am a fast reader so this in no big commitment.
It is just pure enjoyment.
And also, it is a lot of balm for pain.


God has used the words of C. S. Lewis, the words in these books to provide so much healing for my aching heart in this past year.  
He has ministered to me as I read of His grace, His forgiveness, His faithfulness and more than anything His deep, deep love for me.
I have known God almost my whole life.
I became a Christian when I was 3 years old.
But when I read the words of C. S. Lewis, in these "children's books" I see God, and Jesus in a whole new way.


This time I could not hold back the tears as I read this scene between Lucy and Aslan:


"She rushed to him.  She felt her heart would burst if she lost a moment.  And the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and putting her arms as far round his neck as she could and burying her face in the beautiful, rich silkiness of his mane.
"Aslan, Aslan.  Dear Aslan, sobbed Lucy. "At last."
The great beast rolled over on his side so that Lucy fell, half sitting and half lying between his front paws.  He bent forward and just touched her nose with his tongue.  His warm breath came all round her.  She gazed up into the large wise face.
"Welcome child," he said.
"Aslan," said Lucy.  "You're bigger."
"That is because you are older, little one," answered he.
"Not because you are?"
"I am not.  but every year you grow, you will find me bigger."


And He is bigger.  And more beautiful.  And He loves me so very much.
I love the way Lewis shows Aslan loving everyone in those books.
His love is so tender, so dear and so very real.
It helps me understand and feel Jesus' love for me even more deeply.


And then there is this scene with Edmund, the traitor.
He follows Aslan, even though at first he cannot see him.
When he finally does, Aslan says to him, "Well done."  
All is forgiven.  
His past is past and Aslan sees instead what Edmond has done well, not what he has done wrong. 
Such a great reminder, isn't it?


And Susan, who knows Aslan is there, but is afraid to follow him.
"You have listened to fears child," said Aslan.  "Come, let me breathe on you.  Forget them. Are you brave again?"  
We have all been there before, but we only need to come back to Him and find His strength to be brave again.  Oh, to let His breath fill us is strength indeed.


My boys recently told a friend that these books are so good they make me cry.
And they do every time.
In an amazing way, they meet me where I am.
It is a spiritual experience to read them.
I learn about myself and my faith and my relationship with others.
That is some truly powerful writing.

I knew there would be some rough days after the baby was born.
Postpartum can be hard.  It can be very, very hard.
With past pregnancies, I experienced a day or 2 of it, and then it passed.
With my miscarriage, it lasted much longer.
I didn't know what to expect this time.
But I knew I needed to be ready.
I needed to know there would be a day where I'd think, "I can at least fit into my "skinny" maternity clothes."
And I would try.
It doesn't work 4 days after the baby is born.
And then I would lay my head on the steering wheel, crying, "I hate being fat."
Ridiculous, you say.
Maybe.
But at the moment, it felt pretty real and horrible and overwhelming.


But far worse than those feelings are the other feelings: of fear, doubt, frustration and wanting to give into old anger and hurt.
Those are the things I knew I really needed to watch for.
It is hard to hold them back when you have a really good excuse to let it all go.
"I JUST HAD A BABY!  I'M TIRED!  I'M EMOTIONAL!  I'M FAT! I HAVE 4 KIDS AND THEY ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY! I'M OVERWHELMED! I HATE EVERYTHING!"


Have you ever felt that way?
I have.  I did.
It was the day of the me laying my head on the steering wheel and crying.
It all sort of snowballed from there.
After a while, I picked my head up.
I told Aaron how I was feeling.  He let me cry some more.
I was so thankful he was home with me.
I was sure I'd die if he'd gone right back to work like usual.
We prayed together.
And things were better.
Not gone, but better.


And then, through James picking what book we'd read together, God put The Chronicles in my hands again.  He let those beautiful stories bring healing and calm to my stormy soul.
He cares for us so much.
So much that He created a world full of creative people who reflect the Him--the greatest Creator of all.
I am so thankful for books, for stories, for beautiful language and for the people who tell them.
What a blessing.


It is easy to put God in a box. We think He can only minister to us in one way: at church, or when we read the Bible.
But He is so much bigger than that.
He cares for us in every way, from making us sit down to nurse our babies, to giving us great literature to read.
Don't think for a moment that you don't matter to Him.
"Cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7




Love from,
Greta

Labor Pains

Aaron and I went out on a date Friday.  We figured it would probably be the last before baby arrives and we ended up in Laguna Beach.

Laguna Beach is one of our favorite towns.  

It's where Aaron proposed to me.

It was the first stop on our honeymoon road trip.

We have celebrated anniversaries, birthdays and romantic getaways there.

That little town holds a lot of our memories.

Now we have one more.

After dinner at the only Italian restaurant that was still open, we asked the waiter to take our picture.

"This could be the last picture of us before the baby is born," we joked.

We stood up and I started having contractions.

We walked along the beach and they became more painful and closer together.

Every 3 minutes.

I had been joking all day that planning for Lilly's birthday party the next day would put me into labor.

Maybe I was right.

All of my labors have been different.

James was 5 days late and I was facing imminent induction.

I was a first time mom and induction was most decidedly not a part of my all natural birthing plan.

So I took castor oil.

That night my water broke and my contractions started right away.

They were 2 minutes apart and they hurt.

But it still took 8 hours before I was ready to push.

And 2.5 hours of pushing before he was born.

With William, I never even experienced labor.

He was a breech baby who would not turn.

So at 39 weeks, I had a scheduled c-section and it was done.

Lilly was different still.

I was expecting another big baby, so my dr. and I were pretty determined to get the baby out early.

But without inducing since she was going to be a v-bac.

Dr. did his part to help and I took castor oil again.

The next day my water was leaking and I headed to the hospital.

I was hardly in labor and the contractions were so mild I talked and laughed through them for a long while.

But when that girl was ready to come, she came fast.  

I was at 6, my water broke and she was born 15 minutes later.

Yow!  That hurt.

So I've never really had a labor that starts with just contractions.

I wasn't sure if these were the real deal.

But when I felt like I couldn't walk anymore, we headed to the car.

"Should we go to the hospital?  Should we call anyone?"

When sitting in the car for a half hour didn't change anything, we decided to go to the hospital and wait for a while there.  

It was on our way home and it seemed silly to drive all the way home if we might be turning right around and coming back.

When we drove up to the hospital, I was unprepared for how it would affect me.

It was hard.

Tears came immediately.

The last time we pulled up there, I was miscarrying.

I was hemorrhaging and scared.

I was sad and hurting.

It was the start of many more months of sadness and hurting, for me, and for Aaron and I.

I didn't think it would all come back to me like that.

We got out of the car and Aaron held me and let me cry.

We prayed and went into the lobby.

I didn't want to go up to L and D until I was sure this was the real deal.

I'm still not a fan of induction and I didn't want any decisions to be made "just because I was already there."

So we just walked.

And nothing was really changing.

I wanted to try sitting again.

Aaron suggested we go into the chapel.

"There's probably a Bible in there and we can read for a while."

Oh how good our God is to us.

There was, indeed, a Bible sitting there, open to the book of Isaiah.

I admit, I am not usually a fan of, "I just open up the Bible and let God speak to me."

I have favorite passages I am drawn to and know and love.

Those are most often where I head.

But Aaron said, "I'm just going to read where it's at."

Isaiah 23: 1-2

"But now, this is what the Lord says--

He who created you, O Jacob,

He who formed you, O Israel:

Fear not, for I have redeemed you:

I have summoned you by name, you are Mine.

When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you:

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire,

you will not be burned,

the flames will not set you ablaze."

Isaiah 43"5

"Do not be afraid, for I am with you."

There were so many other comforting words in that chapter.

As Aaron read to me, tears streamed down my face.

Here I was, not really planning on going into labor that night and feeling that fear that comes when you are face to face with the knowledge of certain pain and uncertain of everything else.

Labor is not easy, and until that baby is in your arms, there is always the fear that something might be wrong, or could go wrong.

Having a baby is scary.

God's words brought comfort to my heart.

Even though I would walk through fire, (I call pushing out that baby the burning ring of fire!) He would be there.  

And then Aaron read this verse.

Isaiah 43: 18-19

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

See I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up,  Do you not percieve it?

I am making a way in the desert

and streams in the wasteland."

Now the tears fell faster.

From the moment we knew about this baby, it has been to us a sign of God's grace in our life.

Out of sadness and brokenness, He offered new life.

What a sweet, sweet reminder of that truth as we sat together, in a place that held memories of great sorrow, but also will hold much joy.

My contractions subsided.

We went home.

And, obviously, real labor has not started yet.

But those verses, and the pain of labor have been on my mind a lot.

During our walk on this earth, we experience a lot of labor pains.

There is hurt, and sorrow.

People hurt us, accidents, illness and pain are part of this life.

It is not easy.

But just as the pain of labor produces the most wonderful gift of all, so often does the pain of our life labor.  

But only if we allow God to do that with the pain.

If we allow Jesus to walk with us through hurt and we let Him refine us and shape us through pain, we can come out on the other side, bruised, but better.

It doesn't mean that the pain is gone forever.

Because, as any parent knows, labor pain is just the beginning of the pain you experience as a parent.

There will be more to come--different pain maybe, but it will come again.

It is a matter of our perspective.  

If we dwell on the pain of the past, we'll never move forward.

We'll never see the streams He's made in our wasteland.

We'll miss out on so much joy.

Because on the other side of that pain there is joy abounding.

I know.

Because I have lived it.

And I am still not looking forward to real labor pains.

But I am so looking forward to the joy that follows it.

Much love from,

Greta

PS.  I am linking up over at Minivan Diva's God Things.  Hop on over and take a look around.  

Also, if you want to see what I did with the extra time I had on my hands by NOT having baby Friday night, check out my other blog to see the baby's corner.  It turned out pretty cute, I think.  Go here to see.