I Never Held Lydia and Here's Why

The day after Lydia's memorial was like a roller coaster ride coming to a screeching halt.  Now what?  I feel like I've walked closely with God for 8 weeks straight, completely dependent upon Him, and now I'm supposed to go back to my life in which I had to depend on Him for very little?  There is a significant loss again in that realization.

It has been like that.  There has been a piece of me that wonders whether God still intends to use my life to glorify Himself as He has done in this past trial.  I fear that life will go back to being somewhat mundane again.  As it turns out, the only truly satisfying experience on this earth that lasts is the moments in which you hear people say, "I know I can live my life with more confidence in Christ because of what He's done in you."  Ultimately joy comes down to knowing God and glorifying Him.  You want to know what your soul longs for? That's it.  Right there.  The sum total.

A few mornings ago, out on my back porch, in the darkness just before dawn, God gave me this scripture.  I knew as soon as I read it, it was a command and a promise for me:

"Do not call to mind the former things, Or ponder things of the past.  Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth. Will you not be aware of it?  I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the desert.  The beasts of the field will glorify Me; The jackals and the ostriches; Because I have given waters in the wilderness and rivers in the desert, to give drink to My chosen people.  The people whom I formed for Myself, will declare My praise."  Isaiah 43:18-21

The command: Stop looking back.  It is time for me to let go of what God has done with, through and for me in the past.  Now it's time for me to watch for and be aware of what He is doing now.

Not two hours after I received that scripture my mom called me around 8:00am.  That's pretty early to receive a call from my mom anyway, but to receive that call with a message requesting a return phone call meant she really wanted to talk.  So I called her right back.   Mom began to narrate a testimony of a young woman she knows who has been going through a very difficult time in which she has had to make difficult choices and take responsibility for past decisions and needs to leave the consequences and future completely in God's hands and trust Him for what is to come.  My mom wanted me to know that this woman told her that it has been through reading my blog and testimony that she has learned that she can trust God no matter what happens. She also shared that as she has been trusting Him, her husband who does not know God has been seeing God's place in their current situation.

I wept.  I mean I wept.  Tears were streaming down my face.  Because she is right!  Her situation is completely different than mine.  But she totally heard the cry of my heart which is that the world would know that there is a God in Heaven who loves you and gave His son for you and is completely sovereign over every aspect of your life, and He will prove Himself faithful if you trust Him.  He is enough!

And then all of the sudden the verse from that morning came rushing back to me and I ran for my Bible to share it with my mom.  Suddenly I knew what it meant.  I am not to dwell on my testimony and look to see what God has already done through it.  I'm to watch the living water spring forth from my story and watch the trickle of stream turn into a river of living water that satisfies the thirst of the dry desert places of people's hearts whom I love and those whom I don't even know!  The beasts of the field will glorify Him because of the "new" thing He is doing.  And suddenly I see how easily I can slip into ego-centricity because it isn't about me at all!  It's about celebrating what He's doing in others now!  Behold He is doing something new!

Later in Isaiah it talks about what Christ came for: to make all things new.

To bring good news to the afflicted...to bind up the broken hearted...to proclaim liberty to captives, freedom to prisoners...to comfort all who mourn...to grant those who mourn beauty for ashes, oil of gladness instead of mourning, a mantle of praise instead of a a spirit of fainting...So they will be called Oaks of Righteousness

Before Lydia was born the overwhelmingly consistent advice I received was that "we needed to hold the baby." The nurses told us they would take her to another room, get foot prints and hand prints and photographs, put a hat on her, wrap her in a blanket, etc... and then bring her to us.  I was pretty sure based on the ultrasounds I saw that putting a hat on Lydia was not going to make the situation any easier.  So I asked that they not only do all of those things, but that they come back and describe her to us before they brought her in.

When Lydia finally arrived after many hours of labor, the room that was once filled with lots and lots of laughter was soon much quieter with only the nurses who were not tending to Lydia still laughing.  I was pretty sure I knew why, but I did not look.  Later, after the doctor was called out of the room to examine her, she returned to us to ask how determined we were to hold her.  I looked at her as seriously as I have ever spoken to someone and told her that I was never in any way insistent on seeing Lydia but that I wanted to know what she looked like first.  The Doctor went on to describe Lydia's body.  She was so severely swollen that they couldn't really make out her hands or her eyes or other key features.   There were other very descriptive details of her form that were shared that made me more than confident holding her was not the right decision.

The nurse who had promised to do all of those things previously came into the room and apologized that they weren't able to get hand prints or photographs or even wrap her in a blanket for fear of rupturing her skin surrounding her swollen body.  And then she handed us a box full of mementos many of which had very clear, crisp beautiful footprints.  I have never been so grateful for little footprints...some.. some proof that what I delivered was indeed a baby.  (Now I'm crying.)

When Jeff asked me later that evening, "How do people do this without Christ?"  

I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said, “I don't know!  Without Christ and the promise of greater purpose and eternity the only thing I have left is that I just brought that into the world!  That severely deformed baby.”

But that is exactly why Christ came.

He came to turn ashes and deformities and all things ugly into something beautiful.  And I am seeing it.

After my mother relayed the story of her friend, she told me that she and my sister would like to make a book titled "Lydia's Finger Prints."  I'm weeping now as I write this.  She would like the cover of the book to have a picture of her little footprints.  And in the book she would like to have all of the stories from people who have read my blog, who have been impacted by her little life, and who would be so kind as to write their stories.

I absolutely LOVE this imagery.  It would be wonderful to have a more complete picture of the beauty she was created to be.  And I am blown away. God's work in all of your lives, is the rest of her picture to me. 

So now I ask: If God has touched your heart through Lydia's life--in any way, would you kindly consider writing a short (or long) note to me or my mom to be included in this little book?

Mom: patcee1@gmail.com

Me: erinricher@gmail.com

Please put the subject line : Lydia's Fingerprints

The Funeral

Approximately seven years ago I heard a song titled "Blessed Be Your Name."  It is an incredible worship song declaring that I, as a follower of Christ, will worship the God who loves me-- who is more than enough--in the good times and in the bad.  In the blessings and the trials. 

I remember vividly the day I sang it at our church in Panama City Beach, Florida holding Hannah on my hip and overflowing from pregnancy with Benjamin.  I remember thinking to myself, I pray that if I ever lose a child (the worst thing I could ever imagine happening) I will be able to sing this song.

Some of the verses and chorus:

Blessed be Your name

When the sun's shining down on me

When the world's 'all as it should be'

Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out

I'll turn back to praise

When the darkness closes in, Lord

Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord...

You give and take away

You give and take away

My heart will choose to say

Lord, blessed be Your name

See, it's easy to stand in sunny Panama City Beach and sing Blessed Be Your Name while you take in your regular income, relish wonderful friendships, bask in the sunshine, fellowship and witness baptisms in the pristine waters at the beach, get on your boat with your family, meet for regular playdates.  I could never sing that song before without changing the words a little  "...when the darkness closes in, Lord, please let me say, blessed be the name of the Lord."

On August 15th we had a graveside service with most of our family present.  I wish I could express what it meant to me to have so much of my family by my side.  People traveled many hours to stand with us, encircle us, secure us, and remind us we are not alone in this loss.  My family read every word of my blog, and they walked this journey with me.  And by family, I mean my immediate family as well as aunts, uncles, cousins, and in-laws.

Arriving at the graveside was the first time I had been in the same space as my daughter, Lydia since she was born and quickly taken to another room for evaluation.  We had not held her or seen her.  It was the right decision.  But pulling up to the graveside, I completely lost my breath. Nothing, not even Amy could prepare me for the size of her little casket.

I completely hyperventilated and wasn't sure I was going to be able to pull it together in order to get out of the car.  I know Jeff was concerned because as we settled to begin the memorial the Pastor had to tell him that he had left the car running.  He's never seen me in such a state, of that I am sure because I have never seen me in such a state.  

The pastor who officiated the service spoke words of encouragement and hope. We sang Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer.  The pastor read Psalm 34, a psalm of God's goodness that I read again and again throughout our journey.  Jeff spoke briefly to let our family know how much their caring lifted us through this time.  And with a quivering voice I have never heard come from my mouth, I read a letter to Lydia:

Sweet Lydia Grace~

My heart aches standing here fulfilling earthly traditions necessary for our earthly understanding and closure, yet in my spirit I know you're not here.  But, in fact, you are in a place that is incredibly beautiful, radically colorful, and unimaginably joyful.

But I am here, left in this hurting world that groans as it longs for peace and restoration which only comes from being where you are---in His presence.

And I overflow with gratitude for your life--for the short time I had the privilege of carrying your sweet soul.  Because along that short road, Jesus met me, walked beside me, girded me up and showed me just how genuinely and deeply I believe in Him.  He proved my faith to me.

Through your life, Lydia, I have been freed from fear.  I truly believe now that no matter what the future holds, God will prepare me for it, go with me through it,  counsel me during it, and be faithful in all of it.  I have seen How perfectly He loves me in trial, and I've learned how to lean into him and shut the doors on the unknowns of tomorrow and rest in each today and the countless gifts each day has to offer.  And when the days feel full of just plain SUCK--I can rest in the promise of His goodness.

Most of all, Lydia, I've learned how small each of us are in the grand scheme of things and how meaningless my life is without the knowledge of God and all of the traits that make up his character.

Through the things you've taught me, I will carry you every day of my life and give thanks for every day of yours.

Rest in his peace, sweet Lydia, and I will, too.

And as if fulfilling one of my deepest desires, The Lord allowed me to sing those words I wondered if I'd ever have the faith to sing.  In spirit and in truth I sang the the words I prayed I'd be able to sing when I bore my own cross: "when the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say, blessed be the name of the Lord."

I couldn't have imagined a more precious way to honor my sweet daughter's life than to acknowledge the destiny that she fulfilled in her short life: she has helped God mold me into a woman who can walk confidently with Him with no fear of the future because no matter what happens, in the midst of it God has given me the gift of faith which empowers me to sing, Blessed be the name of the Lord.

In Christ,

Erin

Toeing the Line

My understanding of what it means to toe the line is that one conforms to a set of standards and rules.  This phrase has come to mind several times in the past week as I find myself toeing what feel like two opposing lines. 

During the time leading up to Lydia's death was a long period of waiting in which I toed the lines of both Heaven and Earth.  I found great comfort in remaining present in each day and not worrying about tomorrow as Jesus counseled us to do.  However, there were one or two things about which I found it difficult to not worry.  One: I struggled with worry about whether we would be forced to make decisions about prolonging (or not) Lydia's life should we arrive at that crossroads.  This time never came.  In fact, we arrived at the Dr.'s office and began to discuss past and future consultations with more experts before I interrupted and asked that we check for a heartbeat before we discuss future plans.  There was no heartbeat.  The day had finally come.  It was over. There had been no need to worry.  Two: I worried about holding Lydia's lifeless body once she was delivered.  I tried not to.  It was a struggle especially on the day of delivery.  When the time came, the answer was obvious.  There was no difficult decision to make.  We never did see Lydia's body.  And I have absolutely no doubt that I will not regret that decision.  It was right.  And it was worthless to have worried about it.  I knew when the moment came I would know what the right decision would be.  I did know.  But I couldn't help it worrying.

There are times as a Christian when you live in both an eternal mind frame as a citizen of Heaven and a worldly one as a citizen of the world.  And you toe both lines.  And it's not an easy place to be.  Frankly sometimes it feels impossible. 

I traveled to Edinboro on Monday morning with plans to have some very good times with the kids mixed up with very hard times of burial and memorial planning.  On Tuesday morning I realized that my body was definitely not recovering from the labor and delivery like it should be.  I called my doctor in RI for a consult and they referred me directly to the closest Emergency room.  I wept.  I just wanted the hard stuff to be over and this was not fitting in my plans to take my kids to the fair and Cedar Point.  It had been a long, hard road and I was looking forward to spending fun time with them.  I seriously considered not going, but I went.  I spent all of the afternoon and into the evening in the ER only to be referred for a doctor appointment first thing the following morning with a local obstetrician.  The next morning I was told I needed to go immediately to the hospital for surgery.  There went Wednesday (yesterday)--all day in the hospital and under general anesthesia. 

I didn't get to have fun with the kiddos yesterday and the day before.  And today we had to meet with the funeral home for the burial arrangements and the Pastor for the memorial.  This whole week has been full of the earthly concerns.  Burying babies, undergoing surgery, thwarted plans and expectations.  And I find that the ebbing and flowing of earthly concerns and heavenly peace aren't quite as smooth and predictable as the tide.  Sometimes it feels more like riding in a bumper car.  You might be heading along the straight and narrow for a bit, but you know the next blow could be just at the next turn. 

Today I can look at yesterday and the day before and say I'm thankful for the timing.  I'm very grateful that I don't have to go home to surgery after the memorial and that the memorial will hopefully be closure to this part of my story.  I'm extremely thankful to be feeling better.  I didn't expect the surgery to be the end to pain, I assumed there would be at least a small period of recovery.  But the surgery surprisingly brought complete healing.

I find, now, a day after the last few blows that there is more for which to be thankful than there is for which to be sad.  I wonder if it is like this in every trial.  I have a feeling God has been very gentle with me through these last eight weeks.  I pray that whatever trial comes next, He will be just as gentle and reveal His place in it just as clearly and that the pain and standards of the world will be just as easily or just as quickly outweighed by the standards of heaven.

Tomorrow is the memorial.  We have decided to keep it a very small service with family and very close friends in the morning.  In the afternoon, we will be at my parents' house enjoying one another’s company.  All are welcome to visit after the service.

I want to send one more "thank you" to all of you, again.  Your notes, comments and messages have been extremely encouraging and brought me great comfort.  It's an incredible blessing to hear the ways God influencing our story is touching the world.

The Unmistakable Footprint of God

There is so much that I want to share about the three days leading up to and after Lydia's delivery.   With genuine delight I keep saying, "It couldn't have been more perfect."  I'm telling you it couldn't have been.  There's a part of me that knows that I sound completely mentally unstable when I speak so positively about this tragic loss in our lives.  But I assure you we cry and we recognize there is nothing easy about this experience.  I will share some of the harder stuff in time.   But there is one story that needs to be written now.

This story I will tell now because it is the one that I have relayed so many times in the past 24 hours (because it is simply that unbelievable) that I don't even want to hear myself tell it again.  I'm hoping if I write it, I can just refer people here to read about it.  But I'm sure I'll continue to tell it.  I hope as you read it you can plainly see the footprint of God because He most certainly stepped into this story from before the beginning to the end.  And I am just giddy about how clearly I can see it.   Here goes:

Three years ago, we were stationed in Gulfport, MS.  From there he was deployed to Japan.  We decided it made the most sense for me and the kids to move home to Pennsylvania with my parents for the 7 month deployment. 

Shortly after settling in Edinboro I enrolled Hannah in a pre-school program.  The first day of school Hannah's teacher (Amy) met us at the door with a Navy sweatshirt on.  Hannah could read at the time so she said, "Mommy, her sweatshirt says Navy." She looked at her teacher and said, "My daddy is in the Navy." 

Her teacher smiled and said, "My husband is in the Navy, too!" 

Hannah said, "My daddy is deployed." 

She shook her head with understanding sadness and said, "My husband is deployed, too."

I found this odd since there is no Naval base near Edinboro.  So I asked her where she and her husband were stationed.  She told me they were stationed in Gulfport, MS.  Gulfport's base is a seabee base and is very small compared to most any other military base.  This is already truly unbelievable.  So I asked her if her husband was deployed to Japan and she said yes.  Our husbands were in the same battalion of about 300 seabees, both deployed to the other side of the world and this young woman and I were both back in the same small town with our children staying with our parents.  Unbelievable.

Okay, that was the heel part of the footprint.  Here is the middle:

Amy and I spent some time together over those seven months when we could get away with the kiddos, but when we got back to Gulfport after the deployment we ran in different circles so our paths didn't cross much.  But sometime after we had been in Gulfport, Amy called me crying one evening and shared that her baby that she had been carrying had been diagnosed with Turner's syndrome and they weren't expecting her to live.  She remembered my blankets and asked me to make a blanket for her with her name, Faith, on it and pray for her.  Of course I said yes, made it for her, took it to her and prayed over her and Faith.  That was the last time I spoke with Amy as I remember it.

--Given that Turner's syndrome is Lydia's diagnosis (as far as we know until we get an autopsy report) and Turner's syndrome as the cause of miscarriage past 13 weeks is extremely rare, this is just too much to be coincidence. 

Several weeks ago when we were given our diagnosis I remembered Amy's story.  It took me a week to get up the courage to call Amy because I hadn't spoken to her in so long.  I had never checked on her afterward and felt guilty about it, and I was not completely sure I could handle the pain of someone else's trial on top of my own.  But it came to a point when I knew I wanted to know more.  So I decided I'd try to call her.  Keep in mind I have switched phones three times and lost many contacts since Amy and I had been in contact.  I checked my phone not expecting to find her number.  Sure enough it was in there.  One of the first contacts.  I dialed.  I don't remember whether I was crying or what my message said, but I probably tearfully informed her of our current diagnosis and asked if she was up for talking about her experience.  I received a text back within minutes telling me that she would call as soon as she could.

Amy was just what I needed when I needed it.  She was authentic and unguarded and loving and compassionate.  She walked me through her entire experience making sure not to miss the parts that were the biggest surprises to her that she wished she would have known in advance.  She prepared me for what a baby looks like at that stage of development.  She told me about the astoundingly small size of the caskets (something I have yet to see).  She told me about the insurance that helps cover the burial--something that I hadn't thought of yet, but left me without ever having to worry about a financial burden.  A total blessing.  Amy was one of the greatest gifts God gave me in this.

She shared how they remember Faith every year by having cake and releasing a balloon in her memory.

Amy walked her road by herself without anyone to guide her down it.  The Lord allowed my burden to be lightened by the burden she had already carried.  I will forever be grateful to God for the support he gave me in her.

Here come the toes.  Friends, this is amazing!

Tuesday afternoon, August 14th, the day before Lydia was born, when the doctor informed us that the baby's heart was no longer beating and that it was time to be admitted for induction, I texted many people.  As we approached the hospital I texted Amy.

Me: Lydia is with Jesus.  Please keep the delivery in your prayers.  This next phase feels crazy.  Heading to the hospital in a bit.

Amy: Thank you for letting me know...it's going to be crazy!  I'm praying for you guys and PLEASE let me know if I can do ANYTHING!!! ...I'm so sorry you have to go through this...my heart is hurting so badly right now.  my daughter's 3rd birthday is tomorrow so they can share a birthday month!  Call me if you need to talk at the hospital or anything.

Did you catch that?  Her baby who died at 24 weeks gestation from Turner's syndrome was delivered on the 15th of August.   I went into the hospital on the 14th of August.  I labored for 36 hours and delivered Lydia on August 15th three years later, I kid you not, exactly the moment that this picture text came in from her:

--And there are the toes.

Three years ago, before anyone could have guessed what lay ahead, God was drawing up the footprint that he would undeniably leave on my story so that no one could deny that He wrote it. 

It is common for Christians to say that there is no pain that you can experience on this earth that Christ didn't experience, too.  Well, technically there might be.   But God put someone else on this earth who walked an exactly parallel path.  And on the morning of the 16th when the hospital couldn't tell me how they would transport the body to the different places it needed to go and transport the body for burial, I could call Amy and she knew exactly what to do.  She had to do all of the exact same things.  Because her family is still in the military and stationed in Mississippi, she also buried her daughter Faith about 20 miles down the road from where Lydia will lie in Northwestern Pennsylvania.

I'm so thankful for you, Amy.  I will remember you and Faith and the role God chose you to play in my life every August 15th and I will give thanks for faith and grace.  And Faith and Lydia Grace.

Losing Lydia Grace and Finding Grace

I have heard it said that the the brokenness of the world and man did not come through Adam and Eve choosing to eat the apple.  The fall of humanity actually came when Adam and Eve looked around and saw all of the perfection that had been given freely to them yet chose to focus on the one and only thing they were told they could not have.

I imagine this is the essence of Grace.  Grace is all that is freely given to us and is the essence of living life fully.  We can either embrace it and cherish it and be satisfied by it, or we can choose to look at the things we are told are not intended to be part of our story, reject grace and focus on them, dwell on them, choke them down and ultimately die by bitterness and fear.

Lydia Grace was delivered to the arms of Jesus sometime before her broken body was delivered to our broken world on August 15th, 2012 around 9pm.

I don't want anyone to think that I am oblivious to the troubling details of many pieces of this line of my narrative--my story.  There are many.  But I suppose I have clung to God given Grace in my life.  Because I simply cannot describe the days that led up to her delivery in any way that does not sound like I am describing the perfect wedding day.  Truly, it was one of the most precious and beautiful experiences of my life.  The timing of everything, and I mean everything could not have been more perfectly marked.  The characters God chose to play all of the different parts in this story could not have been more perfectly appointed.

Lydia was delivered amidst obscene amounts of laughter.  I was laughing, Jeff was laughing, a room full of nurses were laughing and the funniest doctor I have ever encountered (not my own OB) was laughing and causing much laughter.  She was Indian.  Probably not a Christian, and probably one of the most perfect and glorious gifts I could have asked for in this story.  But I didn't ask for many of the gifts that were given.  They were freely given.  Beautiful.  Perfect. And incredibly precious.

I spent much of the time savoring the moments of our labor and delivery.  I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the hand of God was on me.  I cannot wait and I hope I get the time to write down many of the amazing stories that made these days so perfect.  But I'm not sure they were actually that perfect...

...Jeff and I looked at one another many times after the delivery one of us asking the other, "How does anyone do this without the knowledge of Christ?"  

Outside of the context of Christ, eternity and probably mostly grace--the gifts freely given to us to be enjoyed and offered back in praise--this would have been a devastating loss.

After Lydia's body was delivered we were asked if we wanted to spend the night on a different floor where we would not hear babies crying. So very thoughtful.  I declined.  The following morning as I was waiting to be discharged, I stood in the hallway listening to newborn babies cry.  I wanted to know if it was going to hurt. 

 It didn't.  I was surprised.  I smiled.  

A lot.

Bringing Lydia home (I'm crying now as I write this) was never supposed to be part of my story.  I felt completely secure in this.  I feel completely secure in this.  The world would say this is a sad story. And yet, my story is incredibly beautiful.  Full of laughter, and innumerable good and perfect gifts.  

I will extol my God always.  His praise will forever be on my lips for the Grace that He lavishes on me so freely.  His favor rests on me.  Of that I am completely sure.  

Thank you Lydia for teaching me so much about my Lord.  As for you, my daughter, Lydia, Know the Lord of your mother and father and serve Him with a whole heart and a willing mind for the Lord searches all hearts and understands every intent of the thoughts.  If you seek Him, He will let you find Him... (1Chron28:9) Rest in His arms and delight in His grace, sweet daughter.  I cannot wait to serve along side of you.

Lydia's memorial service will be held graveside, informally, in Edinboro, Pennsylvania, next Saturday August, 25th.  We don't expect anyone to travel, but close friends are always welcome.   Many details still need to be worked out, but I anticipate there will be a great deal of worshiping through testimony of God's great works, prayer, and especially song.

I love you, friends.  Thank you for being apart of this journey with me and for the many perfect parts you played along the way.

"The Local Church is the Hope of the World"

I was at a leadership conference this past week.  In case you don't recognize the title, those are the words of Bill Hybels.  An incredible man of God and the host of a Leadership Summit including speakers from both Christian and Non-Christian backgrounds.  I had the privilege of listening to leaders like Condoleeza Rice and many others speak on important topics going on around the world and locally. 

By the end of the first day, one of the speakers brought up the generation of leaders coming up behind us.  He said that one of the terms most frequently used to describe this generation of leaders is "entitled."  I can't argue with it.  It's true.  I see it all of the time.  But one of the women who came to this conference is a young woman about to begin her senior year of college—part of this younger generation of leaders.  She babysat for me quite a bit last year and often stayed late to chat with Jeff and I.  She's a sponge.  She takes in any new perspective she can get a grip on.  She seeks wisdom.  She asks questions.  She learns.  She's curious.  She's an incredible young woman.  Roxana.  It's a beautiful name.

Roxana rode with me and a friend, Melanie, back and forth both days to the leadership conference.  She did a lot of listening as Melanie and I discussed general things going on in our lives.  She's a sneaky listener.  

The last evening of the leadership conference I was driving the girls back home.  Melanie asked how I was doing and I shared how overwhelmed I have been feeling by the state of my house because I've just fallen so far behind.  We continued talking.  After a bit of time had passed, Roxana spoke up from the back.  "Erin, I'm really good at sweeping and swiffering and cleaning.  I'd love to help if I can."  Knowing she was going back home to Connecticut in a couple of days and college doesn’t start for a few more weeks, I told her, "thank you."  Assuming she meant when she came back to school in the fall. She said, "I'm around all day tomorrow and I have no plans, can I come tomorrow?"  

Uh…….really???????  She's here for three days and she's offering to spend one of them serving my needs. I surrendered.  I said yes.  I'd like to say that I said yes because I have many times wished people would take me up on the offer to help them when instead they declined.   But the truth is I really just needed help.  And the thought of someone else in the house helping me felt so invigorating and motivating.  It was the first time I felt like I might actually get back on my feet.  I told her what a blessing that would be and we set a time.

Two hours later I got a text from Roxy asking if her friend Jennifer (another college-aged girl who has babysat for us) could come help, too.  Jennifer started her first year of Law School yesterday--the day after she spent the day loving me.  She spent her last day of summer at my house organizing and cleaning getting me back on my feet.

 "The Local Church is the Hope of the World."  --Bill Hybles 

"The government can offer a lot of things, but it can not offer compassion."--Condoleeza Rice. 

It's true.  Compassion is people helping people.  People loving people.  These young girls from my church acting as servants prove that they are indeed an energetic generation that will rise up and take our place and blow us away when it comes to making a difference in the world through compassion.  They are the hope of the world.

I have been back into a routine for the first time since we got Lydia's diagnosis.  For the past three days, I've been doing laundry, making beds keeping things organized and it feels unbelievably invigorating.  I feel like I'm actually a functioning part of society.  Not that I wasn't doing anything before, but there was no routine.  There was no energy.  And now there is.  It makes all of the difference.

When this whole thing began I remember asking God in prayer, "How am I going to get through this waiting?"  The answer was immediate and clear as a bell.  "Serve."   I have been serving in different capacities but not in this very personal way that these girls did.  I have been moved to make a greater difference in the lives that my life touches.  I see God already opening doors and showing me how offering service and acts of kindness are truly the blessings that will get me through this season that can so easily be swallowed up by focusing on my own "stuff." I want to be apart of the local church--the hope of the world.  

Thanks, girls.  You are precious.

Why I love my friends...

My friend offered to ask around about the insurance that covers burying stillborn babies.  Yes.  Only the greatest people offer to do these awful things for you.   But the greatest of the greatest get a response from another mutual friend that reads like this:

"So a priest and a duck walk into a bar and say this sucks. This is the website: ************.com

The baby is covered as soon as she is born. Even if she is stillborn (that's awful to write) so a duck... 

[Dad] will need to inform PSD and they will inform the casualty office. They will walk him through filing the claim. It's not a simple process but nothing about this is easy. 

The name of the insurance is [***]. 

I've made a few other calls to find out if there is anything else out there. The duck and I will keep you posted. Love you much."

I feel loved.  And amused.  Two great feelings....and "this sucks."

Thank you friends!  You make it suck a little less.

The Good Doctor

A Leader for our Journey

It's Tuesday.  That means we had another Doctor's appointment. 

The waiting room was full this morning.  Typically I'm one of two people there this early and we get in relatively quickly, but for some reason today was a longer wait.  I also brought a good friend with me as Jeff has his first day of orientation for graduate school today.  All around it was different.

In the shower yesterday morning I had an odd moment of clarity.   Over the past week my thoughts have all been somewhat jumbled and difficult to articulate regarding my last appointment and upcoming decisions.   Yesterday it all sort of came together in a moment of crystal clear thought.  I knew as soon as it passed I now had the words I needed should the question arise again during today's appointment.  And it did.

The doctor came in to the appointment room and went straight for checking the baby's heartbeat.  There was a light-hearted moment as the heart beat monitor caught Lydia's heartbeat and it sounded muffled.  I asked the doctor if it sounded that way because of the fluid around her heart.  He smiled a sweet smile and said it sounded to him like someone had dropped the monitor.  We chuckled.  I'm not sure why it was funny.  But it was nice to start the whole visit off laughing.

He mentioned again that he wanted us to make a decision about the upcoming weeks of viability.  And somehow I did it.  Somehow I mustered the courage to say the words I was given yesterday morning.

"I know you say that this child is no different than the rest of my children and default to what I would do if it were any of the rest of them, but this is not any of the rest of my children.  It is this child, the one who God prepared me in advance that I might lose and took away my fears about it's life and death.  God promised me He would fulfill this child's purposes and my purposes in carrying it.   I'm not sure what I will want to do if we find ourselves in a situation in which I'm here at the office when the child's heart rate seems to be slipping.  But I know that I cannot say today that I'm prepared to commit to the trauma of a c-section for me or the baby in addition to the grief of burying her.  I know that God has promised each day to give me strength, and I know that I don't have the strength today to make a decision about something that might not even happen in a few weeks." 

Based on the advice of a sweet friend, I asked him if we could get a referral for a consult with a neonatologist who could give us some more understanding about the child's condition and what to expect if the child is born still breathing.

He heard me!  He heard me and he was open.  And he voluntarily committed to praying about this decision and talking to his own pastor and admitted that this was not only stretching Jeff and I and our friends, but also stretching him.  He said that it's forcing him to look at things in a way he hasn't before. I promised him that I would continue to pray about it and I was open to God moving my heart still and I believe God will bring us to a place of unity about how to move forward. 

As he walked me out to schedule a consult with the neonatologist, he smiled and said he'd like to pray together at our next appointment and that he'd be praying in between now and then.

I hugged him.

I feel as light as a feather.  At this point, whatever decision he comes to, I know that He is not just a man of stances.  I believe he will seek God. He is a man of faith who prays and searches scripture and seeks wisdom.   So now I think I will pray for God to lead him and I'll pray that by our next appointment Jeff and I will feel like our doctor is now a capable leader on this journey. .I don't necessarily expect him to change his mind and completely agree with me.  I'm open to the possibility that my vision for how this will end is not necessarily right either.  But I expect confirmation in some way at the next appointment that our doctor will take good care of us, our child, and our hearts.  I just feel so much better.

When God Speaks...

Sometime in early March, shortly before we found out we were pregnant, I took a trip to Mississippi.  Though I did pray that God would use me while there, in fact I thought I was going on a business trip to learn more about running a small business.  I did that, too.  But as it turned out the Lord allowed me to be a part of a much bigger plan.  I got to spend some time with a dear friend who has poured into my life many times, and in this case I got to pour into hers and be apart of some amazing things God was doing—this is a different story and quite frankly not mine to tell, but it provides a backdrop.

During our conversations she mentioned a prayer shawl that she had been given.  She described what a prayer shawl was and recounted how she had received hers.  She had been wanting one, but the woman she knew in her church who made them for people didn't take orders, she simply made them for whomever the Lord put on her heart.  Resigned to the idea that she may never receive one as a gift, she had contemplated purchasing one but never did.   One day as she was sitting in the sanctuary and listening to the worship team rehearse, she bowed and prayed.  She prayed specifically to dedicate her next year to more fervent and frequent prayer.  As she was praying someone tapped on her shoulder.  It was the woman who makes the prayer shawls and she was presenting my friend with her latest creation.  My friend knew in that moment, since she had never shared with anyone her desire for a prayer shawl, and the impossible timing of the gift, that the Lord was speaking to her intimately and that He knew her heart. 

Of course, as she recounted this story, a longing welled up in me for such a sacred and intimate symbol of dedicated prayer, but I never voiced it.  It wasn't about me at all.  I have thought about it a few times since, but only fleeting thoughts because I know of no one who makes prayer shawls.  I wouldn't know where to buy one or even if I'd want to buy my own. In fact, this woman is the only woman I know who even has one.

Yesterday, a package came in the mail for me.   The package looked and felt like my packages look when I send out my baby blankets.  It was from my clinical supervisor for counseling.  I know she attends church but we don't speak about spiritual things very often, if ever.  We discuss my client cases and she is amazingly insightful and a wonderful gift to me when it comes to clinical supervision.  As I took ahold of the package, and felt it, I couldn't even imagine what she would have sent as she knows so little about me personally.

 If I'm being honest these were the thoughts going through my head:

"Please tell me she didn't send me a baby blanket for Lydia."

"No, she wouldn't have sent me a baby blanket."

"What gift could someone possibly give someone at a time like this that would actually be thoughtful?  Cards are wonderful, but a package??"

"Brace yourself, Erin, this might be really painful."

I ripped open the package (kind of like a band aid) so as to get the pain over with as quickly as possible.  I was confused at first as I pulled out what looked to be a blanket.  It was beautifully crocheted in exactly my favorite colors. It came with a card:

"May God's grace be upon this shawl...

warming, comforting, enfolding, and embracing.  

May this mantle be a safe haven...

a sacred plea of security and well-being,

sustaining and embracing in good times

as well as difficult ones.

May he who receives this shawl be...

cradled in hope, kept in joy,

graced with peace, and wrapped in love.

-the Prayer Shawl Ministry"

Stitched to the corner is Psalm 139.

My heart began to race. 

Even if you've read it a hundred times, read it again now for me.  If you've never read it before, please read it for me (and you) now.  I provided the link (which I had to learn how to do just now).  Scroll over the text "Psalm 139" and click the link.  Read it and see how incredibly amazing this scripture fits my current circumstances: me, the baby, the gift!  No one knew I even desired a prayer shawl!  I never would have asked for one.  And it came from the most unexpected person, and it had stitched on it a verse that applies in so many different perfect ways.

I need to tell this story because while there are difficult times in this journey--times of tears because of hurt and sorrow--there are also times of tears because of the amazing way the Lord lavishes His intimate love on us in times of darkness.  These times need to be shared, too.  I write about them because these are events in the story I desperately want to remember when I look back over this season of my life.  God spoke!

The other day as I opened this gift, He spoke to me!  He speaks to us!

"My plans for you were perfect even as I knit you together." 

"I know every thought and desire that is on your heart, even the ones you've barely thought and never spoken."

"I can and do fulfill my plans through the most unexpected vessels."

"Nothing in your life is, or ever has been, hidden from me."

And these last verses of the Psalm have a special meaning to me as well:

"Search me O God, and know my heart.  Test me and know my anxious thoughts.  See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting."  

I have prayed those last verses many times.  I know them by heart.  I prayed them a lot just before we got our diagnosis.  If you've read "The Prequel," you know that God tested me and knew my anxious thoughts--specifically regarding the baby-- and He saw the anxiety ridden parts of me that needed changed, and He had already led me in the way everlasting.  He freed me from fear before we even knew there was officially something wrong.  He answered that prayer.  He's continuing to answer that prayer.  He is so, so personal.

What a beautiful gift to receive.  I can't wait to tell my friend how God used her.   And I just love how I expected to be hurt and instead was given an amazingly precious gift.  I'm sure there's a lesson in that, too.     http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+139&version=NIV