Piece by piece

I can't believe it has been 6 months since Levi was born and almost a year since I found out I was pregnant.  It feels like that was another lifetime... and maybe it was.  When I see myself now, I feel hardly recognizable, but not because I see the grief stricken mother wondering how to keep living in a world her children won't get to see (although I do still see images of that mother at times).  But, I see a woman who has been rebuilt after brokenness into something that is strong, but flexible, tender, but fierce, and most of all full of hope with hands open to receive whatever may come - joy and heartache.  It is hard to put into the words the shift that has occurred inside my heart as I have wrestled with the Lord and with myself over why I have to belong inside this story I never wanted.  But I have learned some valuable lessons along the way that I want to memorialize so I won't forget what God has done.

1) There is no healing in pretending, there are no short cuts to grief.  It doesn't unfold like a neat 5 point pathway that you naturally progress down and then you reach the end and it is finished.  It is like a violent and unpredictable ocean that you can fight against or learn to lean into so that you can find the surface again.  God doesn't take the pain away just because we ask him to.  I didn't experience perfect peace just because I wanted it.  It wasn't until I allowed myself to feel each moment authentically and process those feelings and thoughts taking them to the feet of Jesus and just telling Him whatever my truth was in that moment, that I began to feel the weight of grief lessen.  When I experienced those moments with Jesus, I discovered that He had feelings too and was not simply observing my pain from a distance, but actively experiencing it with me.  I so desperately needed to know that my Father hurts too and suffers alongside us.  Pretending the pain away by quoting scripture at it or chasing after the multitude of platitudes that inevitably follow a disaster didn't do anything to heal the deepest brokenness of my soul.  Showing up in your pain matters, being authentic about your struggle matters and it was only when I decided to keep showing up and telling the truth of my heart that I began to experience hope again.

2) We can do hard things, but we don't have to do them alone.  It is easier to hide our pain, to distract ourselves from experiencing it's weight, to smile because we think we're supposed to.  It is uncomfortable to see someone in pain.  Our human instinct is to heal it, to fix it, to make the pain stop.  But, what if the only way to heal is to hurt deeply?  I've learned in this journey that not everyone can walk next to you - and that's okay, you don't need an army.  But you need a few trusted soldiers - who will go to war with you and will sit in the darkness with you for as long as it takes.  By being open about my journey I have had the privilege to show up for others, to walk into their darkness, and to hold the hands of hurting women in need of hope.  I am so grateful for that.  God often brings deep healing in community, and I'm thankful for those who continued to show up, to listen, and to trust God's work in my life.  What hurting people need most is for others to not be afraid of their pain or try to fix it, but to be embraced in the midst of it and to experience the validation of others who will hurt with you. 

3) Fear only feels like the truth.  To have some of my worst fears realized more than once made those fears feel much more real than the Truth of God.  Fear is a normal human instinct, one that has enabled survival and can be adaptive for us to respond to.  Fear is real and its visceral expression only solidifies the feeling that it is the truth.  To deny it or try to stifle it seems a little delusional, because it tends to show up even when we don't acknowledge it - nightmares, anxiety, feeling out of control - all of these physical experiences are rooted in fear.  For me, the only way to overcome the feelings of fear that I experienced when I thought about the future was to chose to trust God's heart.  This was actually the most difficult part of my healing.  I wrestled intensely with what it means to trust a Father who doesn't promise to prevent this and then doesn't rush in to fix it.  I can't even pinpoint exactly what shifted for me, except that I quit trying so hard.  I prayed and wrestled and begged God to repair the broken trust I felt between us, but He didn't - at least not right away.  He gently reminded me that it is His job to repair the brokenness and to quit trying so hard - and I did.  I continued moving forward in this journey, but chose to operate on an underlying belief that God is exactly who He says He is.  I began to experience this hope that was coming alive in my heart that God was building something much more beautiful than the tiny dream I was holding onto for myself.

4) Brokenness is beautiful.  When I finally quit clinging to the life that I felt was robbed from me, the dreams that seemed to shatter the moment I reached for them and started living in my present life - I realized that it was so beautiful.  As I began to lean into this life, appreciating the moments with my children and experiencing joy again with the recognition that it was truly joyful - I realized that this is an abundant life and that I was living this life because of my brokenness.  Without the darkness, the pain, the terrible suffering, you can't experience the power of hope.  Who hopes for what he already has?  Suffering has a way of bringing life into focus and it allowed me to feel joyful, and alive because I could recognize it and because I have a hope that is not rooted in the things the world says will bring happiness.  Opening my hands and trusting God doesn't mean that He is going to grant my wishes or that I will be spared from more pain.  But it means that until I can let go of my fear and hurt I can't be open to receive whatever good things He has for me - even when it doesn't look good.  I am so grateful that God has taken me off the nice, neat, normal path where I don't experience my need for Him and I got everything I ever wanted - I would be an entirely different woman.  This story, the one I never would have written myself, it has led me to my Great Inheritance, the one that cannot be destroyed and where hope is anchored so deeply that it can always be found.

I didn't think this place existed, I had no clue how to get here and I certainly couldn't imagine living in a place that felt full, joyful, and abundant.  God's grace is deep and his promises are true, we can give God the glory and it can still hurt.  But when I look back, I don't see the tragedy that I expected, in fact, it looks pretty damn beautiful.  He has brought so much restoration, piece by piece transforming me into something whole again.  Thanks be to God - I know He's still working.

Unanswerable Questions

As the shock dissipates and the reality comes rolling in like a giant wave of destruction that one could never outrun - I am overcome.  By pain, by disappointment, by a cacophony of questions that seem to pour out of my heart and are received only as an echo in the darkness.  There is no answer that comes, no response, just their echo that seems to go on forever.

The spiritual struggle that is at war within me right now is more intense than any struggle I have faced with the Lord before.  I think in the past it felt like I was a disappointed child.  I wanted something and my Father said 'no' and I wailed and wrestled against him and it was a real struggle.  But ultimately, I trusted my Father, I trusted His care for me, the goodness of His heart and I submitted.  I finally relaxed into him and quit fighting and I felt better, I was able to accept whatever it was that He would give me, even if it wasn't what I wanted.  Now, this place is deeper and darker.  It feels like the distrust and betrayal of a child who has had her Father promise he will come and then he continues to not show up when he said he would.  The sadness, rejection, betrayl and hurt are real barriers to being able to trust that father again.  I don't mean to imply that this is a crisis of faith for me in the sense that I may choose distrust and walk away from my Father because I did not get what I wanted.  I just mean that this crisis of struggling with, who is the Good Father when things unfold in a way that does not feel like it could possibly be the most good, the most kind or the most loving - it is real.  I will not pretend like I understand this or like the answers don't matter.  I believe that walking through this valley with honesty and earnestness is part of the spiritual journey.

The truth is that in the depths of my despair, I am not experiencing this supernatural protection  or comfort from Jesus that makes it feel better.  In some ways, God feels far off and I don't think that is an accident.  When I look at the scriptures, it seems that there are definite times when God hangs back and does not rush in with the answers to make everything better right away. "Truly you are a God who hides himself." Isaiah 45:15, "As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. " Ecclesiastes 11:5.  The Psalms are full of David crying out to the Lord asking "How long will you forget me?" And "Will you reject me forever?"  Even Jesus uttered similar words as he hung on the cross.  I think the place I am in is not unique - I think it is exactly the place where God builds faith - the place where it looks like a wasteland and hope is nowhere to be seen, not even on the horizon.

I am learning that it is not the suffering, the loss or the pain that threatens to destroy my heart.  People have a remarkable capacity to endure hardship and suffering when it makes sense.  Men and women choose to die for the sake of their country, to protect their children, to be martyred for their faith.  It is the confusion, the circumstances that cannot be explained that threaten to crush the spirit most acutely.  I can understand suffering as a result of my own sin or even the sin of someone else that impacts me... But when you did nothing and you had nothing to do with or no control over what happened; those are the situations that shake our foundations so deeply we cannot simply get back up and move on.  As I have been reading the book of Job, I have been struck by what appears to be the source of Job's most intense frustration.  It is not the suffering that God has allowed to be inflicted upon him, it is his inability to find God in the midst of it.  Job says, "Oh that I knew where I might find Him, that I might come to His seat!  I would present my case before Him and fill my mouth with arguments... When He acts on the left, I cannot behold Him; He turns on the right, I cannot see Him.  But He knows the way I take; when He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:3-4, 9-10.  Over and over Job laments that God feels far off and talks of how he longs to be able to communicate with God about this disaster.  I feel this way right now.  I want God to rush in and make this better, help me understand what He is doing, affirm that He sees and cares.  It isn't that I don't believe the things that I know to be true about God.  It is this seemingly incompatible place of my knowledge and beliefs about him and my actual reality.  I have to believe that it is in this place of incompatibility,  this place of impossible questions that real, enduring faith is born.  As Dr. Dobson puts it in his book, When God Doesn't Make Sense, "What is faith?  It is 'the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen' (Hebrews 11:1).  This determination to believe when the proof is not provided and when the questions are not answered is central to our relationship with the Lord."

I know my questions are mostly unanswerable, but that doesn't stop them from pouring out of my broken heart.  And that's okay - it is okay to struggle and not be able to accept a simple - God is good all the time.  It doesn't mean it isn't true, but my heart needs to get there and for me that takes time and learning what it means to trust God when your dreams fall apart.  I would rather have that kind of faith - the kind that can withstand unanswered questions  and dead children- than the kind that says the right words but doesn't believe them.

If I am honest

I write not just because it helps me process my pain, but because it makes me feel braver and less alone.  I am learning to be honest with myself, to not rush towards the silver lining, to tell the truth - even when it is hard.  I guess that is one side effect of suffering.  You quit caring about all of the crap that doesn't matter, you only have room for what is important.  When you are broken, when you are shattered into a million pieces, when the fire burns the fiercest and threatens to consume everything… this is where love is born.  I don't want to be here, no one chooses the furnace, but when it chooses you - you will either be consumed or you will fight like one who overcomes hell and somehow light will pour out of all those broken pieces and create a radiance that is not your own.  

I am not there yet, not to the place of the broken pieces coming together to form anything from which light can pour forth… but I have hope that the radiance exists, that there is still joy, still hope, still healing.  I'm still in the midst of the disaster, the one that strikes and you know that sometimes good people get screwed for no reason.  Sometimes you get something so awful that you never deserved.  You cannot 'win' your way out of it by working harder or being better - sometimes life is really unfair.  Having suffered similar losses before, I know what it is like to cling to Jesus like the life jacket He is and somehow find dry land again and after careful examination realize that you are 'okay.'  You are not the same, you will never be the same, but you faced your greatest fear and survived.  It was easier for me to see good, to see the ways that those experiences made me richer, deeper, more compassionate and present.  It was easier to look back and see that God had made something good out of my pain.

Now…if I am honest - which I will be… I don't care.  I don't care about all of the fruit that grows out of suffering.  This coming from a person with a well developed theology of suffering.  I'm just over it.  I don't want to grow, it isn't enough to lose another child just to learn a lesson of some kind.  I have to believe there is more, that God's redemptive purposes are greater than that.  I am learning to be gentle with myself, to quit running away and striving so hard, to just accept that this is my heart right now.  To acknowledge that while I know all of the true things about God, it is a million miles from my head to my heart at this moment… and that's okay.  Hope will come, but it is a door that each person must open on their own - no one gets to do it for you.  

I was praying today and just telling my Father about my deep hurt and disappointment.  I had this vision of myself with my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces and I carefully gathered them and put them in this hard, protective shell and I cradled it carefully in my hands.  Jesus put his hands around mine, He didn't say anything but I could feel him beckoning me to look at Him, to open my hands… but I couldn't, even when I tried, I couldn't see His face, I couldn't meet His eyes, I couldn't unwrap my hands.  I was desperately holding onto what is left of my heart and feeling so fiercely protective of my hopes, my pain, my dreams… how can I open my hands and truly let go when I know that even if He holds it all, it doesn't mean that I will receive what I want?  

That is where I am, this is the truth.  I know that God won't leave me in this place, that He won't give stones when I ask for bread, but He can handle it.  He can handle my heartbreak, my unbelief, my pain … whatever I bring Him - He can take it.  I may not be ready to hand it over yet, but I know He's there, hands gently cupped around mine, waiting for me to be ready to let go.

New Year

Wow... it has been a while.  2014 was a significant year in our household.  The year began in the wake of significant heartbreak following the loss of our sweet Ethan.  That loss really opened up something in my heart that freed me to quit trying to hold it together or work hard enough to earn God's favor.  It was simultaneously painfully difficult and wonderfully freeing to come to a point of real brokenness, allow myself to feel hurt, anger, disappointment, and deep grief. 

In His mercy, God did not leave me there.  He showed himself to be ever-present and no matter how I came to Him - angry, defeated, hopeless - He did not withdraw His hand and continued pour out kindness.  In the Spring, shortly before Jeff's birthday, we found out that we were pregnant again.  I remember feeling immediately terrified and not very joyful.  Through each doctor's appointment and ultrasound, God carried me, despite the terror and the uncertainty - He was faithful.  I was consistently reminded that no matter what the outcome of this pregnancy was - I would be okay.  That is a benefit to facing your worst fears and coming out on the other side ... there isn't anything to be afraid of anymore. 

On November, 18, 2014 at 11:58 AM after just a few hours of labor, we welcomed our daughter, Lydia Grace Priour to the world.  She is perfect.  She has a ton of hair, a beautiful smile, a sweet and easy going nature.  She is all we prayed for and hoped could be ours. 

Our first meeting

While this is certainly what we prayed for and we were overjoyed to bring our daughter home, it doesn't re-write our story.  There is a Lydia because there is not an Ethan, there was an Ethan because there was not a baby conceived before him.  There has been significant loss that will always be a part of our family.  I couldn't have chosen this path and having a healthy baby right now does not erase the pain of the years prior.  However, having been through that pain I learned things about myself and my family that I can't imagine we would have learned otherwise.  I am certain now that God will be enough ... no matter what.  When Lydia won't go to sleep, when she screams at me and I don't know why, when being Mommy is hard, it is much easier to choose gratefulness and patience.  I am grateful for our family, and I am also grateful for the journey to this point - even the painful, terrible parts.  It has shaped each of us - Jeff, Haydn, myself.  I don't pretend to understand why for some the journey to grow a family is difficult and painful and for others it is seemingly effortless, but I do know that no matter what your story is - God wants to use it, if you will let Him.  I am excited about 2015 and the new adventures God has in store for us.  One day at a time, that is all we have been given and what is entrusted to us... one day.  Live it fully, whether rejoicing, grieving, or waiting, God has a purpose for this day.

Finding Strength

As I have been confronting my grief and processing the pain I have felt an intentionality in the process - I don't want to waste this opportunity.  I recently had a conversation with a friend where she essentially said that she couldn't believe that I was being honest about my situation and my feelings in such an open way and that it must make it hard for me to know that others are aware of my suffering.  It seemed like a strange observation to me, that it would be better for me if my pain were less obvious. 

Early in my walk with the Lord, He impressed upon my heart a theology of suffering that essentially boils down to the heart of suffering existing for the glory of God.  When I sat in my dorm room reading Desiring God by: John Piper, it resonated with me so deeply - even though I had no idea what it would mean to truly suffer.  I hesitate to even attempt to summarize Piper's theological interpretation of suffering, but I will select a few passages from the 'suffering' chapter of that book that sum up his viewpoint:

" All experiences of suffering in the path of Christian obedience, whether from persecution or sickness or accident, have this in common: they all threaten our faith in the goodness of God and tempt us to leave the path of obedience.  Therefore, every triumph of faith and all perserverence in obedience are testimonies to the goodness of God and preciousness of Christ - whether the enemy is sickness, Satan, sin or sabotage.. Not only that, the suffering of sickness and the suffering of persecution have this in common: they are both intended by Satan for the destruction of our faith, and governed by God for the purifying of our faith."

"The point is that Christ sovereignly accomplishes his loving, purifying purpose, by overruling Satan's destructive attempts, Satan is always aiming to destroy our faith; but Christ magnifies his power in weakness."

" The pearl of greatest price is the glory of Christ.  Thus Paul stresses that in our sufferings the glory of Christ's all-sufficient grace is magnified. If we rely on him in our calamity, and he sustains our 'rejoicing in hope,' then he is shown to be the all-satisfying God of grace and strength that he is.  If we hold fast to him 'when all around our soul gives way,' then we show that he is more to be desired than all we have lost... so suffering clearly is designed by God not only as a way to wean Christians off of self and onto grace, but also as a way to spotlight that grace and make it shine.  That is precisely what faith does; it magnifies Christ's future grace.  The deep things of life in God are discovered in suffering."

There is so much more that could be quoted or summarized, but really, just go buy the book - it is worth it!   I believe that nothing is wasted and as terrible as this year has been, it would be wasteful to not share what God has done and is doing through this process of grief and suffering.  I think another important piece of this puzzle for me has been to be where I am and quit trying to profess that which I do not possess.  It has been so healing for me to be able to be honest with God and bring him my pain and disappointment and experience Him in that moment without trying to rush to promises of peace and comfort that I just don't feel right then.  Somehow in my honest weakness, his strength is most evident.

I know for everyone who walks this terrible journey of infertility, stillbirth or multiple miscarriages - it is extremely personal and different for each person, so in no way do I think everyone needs to or should respond in the way that I am choosing to.  But for me, over the last few weeks, I have felt a need to just let it all die and grieve the loss of my dreams.  I dream of a family with 3-5 children (some adopted) and all of them close knit.  I dream of a loud house full of yelling children, big dinners with children all around the table, babies to rock, hands to hold, beautiful chaos. This dream may never come true.  Even as pathology reports return with no answers and no indication of any problems, I don't know that God will ever choose to give us a healthy baby.  And if He doesn't....it certainly won't change who He is, but it changes my experience of him.  Can I trust Him and love Him and follow Him and believe Him just as much as if my dreams were fulfilled the way I wanted them?  I don't have an answer to that right now - at least not an honest one.  But, I find my heart experiencing peace I can't explain, hope that is not rooted in getting what I want, and grace that is enough - even when I  see others get exactly what I want without having to walk a road that is full of pain.  This leads me to believe that walking this road will only solidify my experience of Christ and not just my belief in Him.

I have wrestled with the heart of God and what God truly desires for me.  Just as Luke11:11 says "Which of you is a father whose son will ask him for bread and would hand him a stone, and if he asks him for a fish will, instead of a fish, hand him a snake,”?  This feels like asking for a fish and getting a snake.  I have struggled with feeling like it is not enough to go through all of this just to learn a lesson or grow spiritually.  I have been reminded about the ways that God and Satan can take the same situation and what Satan intends for evil, God can use for good.  I have been asking the Redeemer to come and redeem this...I don't see it now, but I do believe that is who HE is and what he does.  

Choosing to believe that God's plans are better than my own is really hard and definitely a choice that is being made every day, some days every moment.  But I know I am not alone and just as God carries my children with Him, He carries my heart and my dreams and my brokenness... it doesn't make it all okay, but it makes my burden much lighter.  I want my suffering to magnify the future grace of Christ, spotlight His sufficiency in weakness, and testify to His power over death and destruction.  I can't do it... I have tried and failed over and over again to humanly make this right.  So, I will continue to 'boast' about my weakness and put my suffering on display, not because I want sympathy or pity (especially not pity), but because when I am weak - HE is strong.