This was intended to be a short social media post, but I’m a writer at heart and just can’t keep it all in. So, here’s to reflecting on the past year of my life in what I thought was a ‘brief’ manner.
I spent my morning reading, watching the clouds gradually pass by and reflecting on how things seem to keep moving even when I’m standing still. When birthdays hit, it feels as if an account needs to be given of all the highs and lows of the following year and that from it all, self-actualization has been reached. Maybe we do this because we feel we need to show the world that we’re evolving for the better. I don’t really know, but aren’t we always doing something to prove we’re worthy of love and affirmation?
Looking at the past year of my own life, I haven’t shared much publicly these days. The words that I am so used to writing still manage to buzz around my head in the form of anxious thoughts. Sometimes I feel too deeply that I don’t even know how to formulate words around it. Both aspects have certainly been triggered by my own losses within the year and only amplified from the weighty grief of heartbreaking news after news that fills the world and our feeds. Who even knows where to begin? I don’t. All I’ve been trying to do is be honest with God and honest with others, albeit imperfectly, but it’s all I can really encourage others to do… though if honesty looks like despair and bitterness, it’s never really a good place to stay — trust me.
There are so many things I want to say, and maybe if I’m moved enough, I’ll make another post for all the thoughts and feelings, but in the meantime… I am grieved by a world shaking their fists at God and anything/anyone attached to him — not out of judgment ’cause I’m right there with them. I’ve been stuck for a while shaking my fist, too, although because I have the knowledge of who he actually is and I’m surrounded by people who know it too, mine tends to be stuck in my pocket, while I smile through gritted teeth, hidden by shame.
Is it fair to say (at one point or another) we’ve all had a thought that we aren’t/weren’t enough, we haven’t been given enough, or lastly that God himself is not enough? I’ll speak for myself and confess I’ve had all three thoughts of insufficiency. My earnest prayer for my birthday was, at its core, the truth that shatters all of that. He so graciously reminded me of the abundant life he sent his son Jesus to give.
Freedom looks like living fully known and fully loved… it is knowing we’re forgiven, accepted, cared and provided for all in abundance.
Abundance does not equate to materialism necessarily, but rather I’d say synonymous with freedom. Freedom, as we celebrate (or mourn) this Fourth of July, to me looks like no more: striving; living for the approval of others; disappointment and shame from unmet expectations; falling under the weight of this world; second guessing our worth or identity; questioning our standing with God or even his intentions in a cruel and broken world, etc. Freedom looks like living fully known and fully loved in submission to the One who created me, you, and the universe (yes, He is above even that for those new age folks). Freedom is knowing we’re forgiven, accepted, cared and provided for all in abundance. Even when we face sorrow, misunderstanding and heart aching pain, there is supernatural joy and peace that is available, my friend, and that is the abundant life that Jesus so gave his very own for you and me to live.
That doesn’t mean we don’t grieve, face hard things, or even encounter depression… it just means there is so much more to experience and it’s the heart of God for you — it’s relationship, not religion. Anyways, I told you there was a lot on my mind, and this hasn’t even begun to scratch the surface. It might not even make sense stuffed up for a “quick” post. Nonetheless, what a wonderful thing to celebrate on another year of life. Here’s to 27!
"He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?" Romans 8:32
I was reluctant to post this because honestly, it’s not my favorite work. I wanted this to sound much more poetic than it actually is — but I guess it makes sense because this is my least favorite part. All I could do is retell it and invite you to join along.
So here is the continuation of our birth story. If you’re just jumping in, check out part one here. For those who have been following, I’ll continue…
Things were stalling out, but I had just switched positions in the effort to help Joshua down the birth canal. Around 2:30-3ish the doctor informed me he would be breaking my water soon if it didn’t happen naturally. My mom and husband excitedly started getting into their surgical gear. I thought, ‘how weird to see this boy who had been held at a distance at one point, to see him grafted into the family, getting ready for the arrival of the newest family member with his mother-in-law.’ What a weird yet beautiful scene — it made my heart so happy.
The nurses (who are the real heroes let me just say) switched shifts and the newest nurse went to check Joshua’s heartbeat before they’d break my water. She was not finding it as easily and I thought to myself, ‘Don’t panic Bri. She is new and she’s just getting used to where Joshua is positioned now.’ Enough silence went by before a doctor was brought into the room with an ultrasound machine.
All I could do was pray that my nurse had been wrong. I didn’t know whether to watch the doctor’s face or the scan. What would give it away more? The stillness of the monitor, or the creased lines in my doctor’s face?
“So here is where his heart is… as you can see, his heart is not beating anymore.” Who knows what was actually said? I felt like I was in a different realm, watching this happen to a different family. That couldn’t be me who just lost her baby.
I don’t know if the squeeze from my husband’s hand woke me up, or the doctor’s empathetic, “I’m so sorry.” As my husband let out a guttural cry and choked on his tears, I realized, ‘Oh this us. If Michael’s crying, this is happening. This is real.’ My mom held him.
The thing is… I knew this was a possibility. I had heard the doctors’ vague speeches over and over. I had read the Trisomy 18 testimonies on support group pages. I knew the potential outcomes. And even then, I knew Joshua was already in a better place… but nothing ever really prepares you for a tragic reality.
There was a muted acceptance. A morbid sense of peace. God you heard our prayers, and this was your answer. It just wasn’t your will. I had the slightest of smiles, if you could call it that, because surely, we couldn’t both be breaking down. Eventually I said to my husband, “Hey. We know God can do anything, even now. If he wants to confound us all, he can raise Joshua up just like he rose up Lazarus and the little girl. But if he doesn’t… we know he is in the presence of Jesus right now.” I squeezed him and probably cried too.
The doctor gave us at least 30 minutes alone and then came in to break my water because even though my womb was now lifeless, it wasn’t yet empty. I began to push, and Joshua came out within the next 15 or so mins. And with a room of people, what should have been noise and life buzzing about, there was mostly silence. Who knew what to say?
The first words that came out of my mouth as the doctor pulled him out was, “Birth is so weird.” It is and yet it makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Like, “I just did that!” Honestly, I wanted to do it all over right then and there. If only this time I’d get to hold my son alive. My husband was a champ too for standing right by my side and watching it all up close.
The nurses swaddled little Joshua and put a hat on his head before they handed him to me. His eyes were slightly open which was a little weird, but also what I grieve even now: he was so close. My heart nearly stopped when I saw him. His face looked exactly how my husband’s does when he gets his serious look going. He had my head shape with my husband’s specific features. I originally had no idea how our baby would look with Trisomy. When I saw Joshua though, my heart was glad to see him look just like his mommy & daddy.
We took turns holding him. I can’t even say my heart was full in these moments because it was too conflicting. How joyous to see my husband holding our first child, or my mom now a grandmother. While these things were true, they were incomplete. He would have to cover his son’s casket with dirt a week later. She wouldn’t get to spoil her grandson for years to come.
I remember feeling devastated for everyone else… how would they all feel when they were expecting a new title, too? A grandfather or great-grandmother. Our siblings now uncles and aunts. Michael and I now parents. My heart weighed heavy. I remember calling Michael’s grandmother who was so happy to hear our voices. When we broke the news to her, that all turned to sobbing.
Joshua stayed with us for a little while until the nurses silently whisked him away. We took pictures with him. I cried on and off. We laughed on and off. We tried. I almost didn’t want to fall asleep because I knew I wouldn’t wake to see his sweet face. The next morning, I arose and sat at the window until it hit me like a ton of bricks. We just had a baby… he should be here.
The delivering doctor came in not too long after and had confirmed some of the findings he shared with me the previous day. He had said my placenta came out right after Joshua which was a little unusual. There was a blood clot on the back of it and he explained to me that it had abrupted which was likely why I went into early labor. There is no known cause for why these things happen… it wouldn’t be unlikely if something traumatic like a severe fall or accident occurred, but that wasn’t the case.
Our parents wondered, what went wrong? Why didn’t the doctors do something sooner? I think my mom went out into the hall demanding answers. I get it. When something heartbreaking occurs that we truly don’t have the words for, we try our best to find some sort of explanation. If we can find some answer, or a scapegoat to blame, then perhaps we won’t have to face this sort of pain the future. We try to gain some sort of control.
Trust me, we considered an autopsy. We saw our son get healed from seven abnormalities to just one—we wanted to know what happened, too. We wondered if it was our fault. Should we have just gotten the c-section? What would happen if we had continuously monitored him? But it honestly doesn’t matter what these answers are. Because remember? Control is not peace.
The only thing that could take away the guilt and anger from potentially gnawing at us was trusting God’s sovereignty, albeit as weakly as we could. That and the reality that our son was now fully healed and whole in the arms of our Savior.
Though he bawled like a baby at first, my husband has seemed to be at peace ever since. He shared with me how that day in the hospital room, he saw this image burning into his heart: Joshua walking with Jesus. He was at peace knowing that.
People may think Christianity is a crutch, a distorted perception we blind ourselves with to explain away hard things like this. ‘God had to have a plan to allow this hellish thing to happen…’ right? I for one don’t see that plan in action right now and frankly I don’t know if I ever will on this side of eternity. But I’m learning to be honest with God as much as I can, and cling to him in the gap between the now and not yet.
There is a lot I don’t know or that I even still question… but there is an absolute assurance that for those who trust in God, they will meet him face to face. Death is not just the end for them, but it is a doorway. Jesus, through the cross, has built a bridge for us to enter into eternity with him. Not everyone will go to heaven because not everyone knows Jesus; they cannot get there on their own.
It’s not about how good you are on earth – or even bad. You can be Mr. Rogers, the Dalai Lama, heck Ted Bundy… but unless you know Jesus and believe that He died for your sins on the cross in order to bring forgiveness and relationship between you and God, then you will be eternally separated from God and let’s just say heaven ain’t your home.
“And this is eternal life, that they knowyou, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.” (John 17:3)
There is good news though for those who have lost an infant like myself because I too wondered, how could Joshua be in heaven if he didn’t have the chance to know Jesus? For someone emotionally and intellectually incompetent, like an infant, it is believed that they, too, will go to heaven because they haven’t even had the chance yet to learn of who Jesus is and what he has done for them. But we know that on the cross, Jesus was looking at every unborn child and dying for their sins too, making a way for them to enter into eternal security.
Though I may not fully be able to grasp it myself yet, there is no wishful thinking or doubt that Joshua is safe, healed and whole in the presence of Love himself. There is full assurance. But I want you to know that the pain of it is still real. I mourn the loss of every moment I haven’t gotten to have with Joshua while my friends move on with their babies. It’s still heavy from time to time — thankfully my Savior carries the weight for me.
I ask God to give me the faith to believe in the following truth and hope for it with all my heart… and I want to invite those who have experienced the brokenness of this world, but don’t know the hope there is in Jesus Christ to join me:
I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” (Revelation 21:4)
As we wait for the fulfillment of this promise, we still experience the loss and pain here on this side of eternity. We wait in between the tension of the now and not yet. We wait with God’s loving heart comforting us in our affliction, so that we may comfort others in their affliction (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).
Perhaps this is the part of my story where I’m not quite on the other side, yet I write my way through. I pray for you who may be feeling the weight of this broken world, that our story would remind you: You’re not alone. And there is a greater hope. Let’s (not so) patiently await Him together.
"If we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." Romans 8:25
It’s a new month and for some that might be exciting. Others might not have even noticed. If you’re anything like me, perhaps you too were met with grief in some way. The thing about grief is that it leaves you wondering, “how do I move forward from here?” when the rest of the world seems to be moving on.
I wish I was the type to look forward to things and have an optimistic perspective. My husband is great at that, but me… not so much. Instead of opportunities, I see mountains too high to climb. I’d much prefer to see what’s in front of me crisp and clear with definition and clarity rather than a vignette of distorted figures fading into darkness.
So here I am on the first of September, a month riddled with emotional landmines, face to face with my current reality. It is day three of waiting to hear back from a company that a friend connected me with, and by now I had hoped at least an interview would be set up.
And crazily enough, I took a pregnancy test this morning since I’m still waiting for my cycle to come back. I don’t know how this postpartum thing works entirely, but I admit the desire to try again after our loss is there and if it were up to me, I’d speed it right along. (Thank God that it’s not!) I don’t know which seems more crazy: the reality of conception occurring so quickly, or the slight hope in me that it would. (Note: it was negative people…)
Trust me, I’m scared to share that publicly, but the reason I will… is to share that I’m human. I am messy and full of mistakes, misplaced hope, stolen dreams and a broken heart, yearning to be hopeful and met with crushing reality. Life seems like a constant waiting game at this point, and I don’t know if there will ever be a time of “arriving.”
As a Christian, I know all the things… I am forgiven and free, hope-filled not hope-less, and Christ mends broken hearts. Because of Him, I can have lasting hope and peace now in the midst of my circumstances and there’s no “point of arrival” that I’ll reach here on earth, anyways.
I know all these things and believe most of them on a good day. But again, I am human and it’s much easier — much more natural — to see things from my limited viewpoint rather than one of eternal standing. It is easy to see things as they are right in front of you, and call them out for what they are, rather than believe for the things that you clearly aren’t seeing.
Belief in, or the hope for, the things that one cannot see… that is faith – it’s supernatural: to trust when nothing or no one seems trustworthy. Admittedly, my own tends to waiver. I don’t admit to being a perfect Christian, let alone person. But the little faith I have it is in the only one who can be trusted that he will show up one way or another.
The reason why? “Know therefore that the LORD your God is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him.” (Deuteronomy 7:9) It’s in the text: he is faithful. On a day like today, I can murmur the smallest of agreeance and say, “I trust you,” believing that all of this waiting is for some purpose. And if not, I’ll trust that God hears my cries and will comfort me in it.
Belief in, or the hope for, the things that one cannot see… that is faith: to trust when nothing or no one seems trustworthy.
That is why I write: I hope that my words will point me to the one who is faithful and I hope it points others, too. I write to believe when I cannot see what’s in front of me. I write to remind myself of who God is and that he can be trusted. I write to reflect on my problems and realign my perspective, my viewpoint, to one of eternal standing and security. I write to allow God’s heart to flow through my words.
In a sea of unknowns, I want to choose to trust and rest. I want to give thanks for all that is currently in front of me and all that is past. I want to have faith that wherever I see problems, God sees broken things to be mended. And thankfully, He is in the business of restoration. I am grateful for the time off of work that I have. Though I’m tempted to strive to be productive all my days, I am glad to simply just focus on being and getting by, allowing myself to feel all the emotions that inevitably will come up.
What gave me peace this morning was the fact that in this amazing, vast world… God cares for me. His word says,
"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?" Psalm 8:3-4
The next verse goes, “You crown me with glory and honor.” Glory is a hefty word that I won’t divulge into today, but let’s think of it like God’s manifested presence and wonder. Honor meaning “full of worth, dignity, esteem.” In this incredible world where it’s easy to feel lost or insignificant, rejected or looked over, the Creator of heaven and earth who holds the stars in place says:
I am invaluable. I am marked by his presence. I am created in His image and I am lovely because he says so. I carry the heart of God within me. I am worthy.
So if you’re anywhere in my shoes today, or perhaps you can fill in your own circumstances, I want to remind you, too, of the following:
No matter who might overlook you, or what companies reject you, God has chosen you for himself before the beginning of time. No matter what hurtful words others may say about you, God says you are worthy. Despite how big the world seems, you are seen and you are held in the arms of Love. While you are waiting for that positive pregnancy test, or whichever dream it is to come to pass, find the joy in the in-between. Whatever uncertainties you face or situations you are fearing, may the fact that our Creator is with you be a comforting balm to your wounded soul.
It’s the first of September and I’m choosing to surrender all that I long to understand. Everything that I want to grasp onto, I let go and hold loosely knowing that anything can happen and I may not have control of that, but I know the one who does. And I know he loves me and has promised to be with me.