Dear Chance. . . One Year In Heaven

Dear Chance,

How has it been one full year? One year ago today you were born into my arms, yet you were already being held by our Heavenly Father.

This past year has been a rollercoaster for mommy with lots of downs and lots of ups and lots of twists and turns I didn't expect, and some I did. But while I have been on my grief rollercoaster, one thing that brings me much comfort is knowing you are experiencing pure peace and love, for there are no emotional rollercoasters in heaven. Only deep joy because you are in the presence of Jesus. You bypassed all of earth's yuck and instead went straight to forever bliss. So when I think of you experiencing only joy and only peace and only a continual awe for our Savior, I rest easier in this in-between. I rest easier knowing all you know is perfect love.

I will never forget those sacred hours after your birth. For five hours you were with us. I studied your face intently, wanting to remember every detail. Your nose, lips, hands, toes . . . every inch of you was beautiful and perfect. A picture of you sits on the dresser in mommy and daddy's bedroom. So while you are not here experiencing life with the four of us, you live on in our hearts and minds. I get to see you everyday, for now just in a picture, but someday soon we will meet again.

I am filled with joy knowing that in the short twenty weeks in my womb, you fulfilled your life's purpose. Some of us walk around this earth for years upon years not fulfilling God's call on our lives. Brushing Him off in the name of busyness or various other earthly distractions. How amazing that you accomplished God's purposes for you in only five months. You have inspired me to step up and perservere and not shrink back (Hebrews 10: 35-38). You have instilled in me a constant reminder of Jesus and of the true reason I was put on this earth to begin with. . . to shine Jesus to the world. Because that is what you do. Because when I think of you I think of Jesus and the real point in all of this . . . to make His name known among His people.

Chance, I just love you so much it hurts. Your birthday is proving much harder than I anticipated, but even in the pain I am filled with hope and truth and I can smile through the tears because God is faithful. Do I wish you were here in my arms? Of course, and I always will. That is just the mommy in me missing her baby boy. But do I trust God's ways over my own? Do I trust that He who formed the world and cares for the birds of the air even more so cares for me and my best? Of course, and I always will.

We celebrate you today, sweet little one. We celebrate heaven today. And we celebrate the promise that God is big and mighty and always working for our good. The tears are present, but we are choosing joy. Get ready, there are lots of blue balloons coming your way.

Love you forever and always,
Mommy

Remembering our babies. . . Desert Song

For the month of March my sweet friend, Maria, has asked fellow loss moms to guest post once a week on her blog, in honor of her son, Gideon, who went to be with the Lord two years ago this month. Maria never ceases to amaze me, and continues to use Gideon's story to spread hope and joy and the love of Jesus. God has used Maria's family in big ways, both in my life and in the lives of many.

Remember when I won her "Gideon Strong" giveaway in 2014? That was no coincidence, friends. Only the inner workings of Jesus and His Holy spirit.

I am beyond honored that she asked me to guest post today, to share a little bit about Chance and the faith journey the Lord has taken me on through our loss. I hope you will hope on over to her blog to read not only my words but the words of other brave, resilient mommies.

Click here to read my guest post, Desert Song, which is actually a sneak peak of a bigger project in the works. :)

As Chance's one year birthday/heaven day approaches, I cannot thank you all enough for the continued love and support you have showered not only on me, but our entire family. You've been our rock when we felt it easier to sink. And thank you, Jesus, the strongest of all, for gifting us with song, despite some desert wandering.

Rise & Shine

There is something about watching the sunrise each morning that captures my heart and, some mornings, takes my breath away. Especially since losing Chance. There is something so powerful about going to bed at night, darkness all around, yet awakening at that beautiful moment, that beautiful peak between dark and light. The dark is still there, still present, yet the light is visibly there, too, touching the dark. It's that moment when dark and light intersect, and you know that in moments time, the light will overcome. Because it always does. Day after day after day no matter how dark the night, the light eventually breaks forth and wins.

July 4, 2015 will mark three months since Chance's birth. Three months. In ways it feels like just yesterday that I was holding him, and in other ways it feels like much more time has passed. And I think about this phenomenon. How three months can feel like three seconds and also three years. How the darkness and the light of the last three months have been weaving together this amazingly ornate picture of tears, and growth, and longing, and stretching, and beauty from ashes.

Because beauty really can come from ashes.

Because no matter how dark darkness feels there is always the promise of pure light on the other side.

Because the One who holds us in all our joy also holds us in all our sadness.

Because if we just keep putting one foot in front of the other even when we don't feel like it, and keep searching endlessly for the sunrise we will be so pleasantly surprised when we find it and realize that the light is winning.

Because the light always wins.

Then your light will break forth like dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your guard (Isaiah 58:8).

So keep searching, friends. Keep striving for the light. Keep striving for the light that does not burn out. Keep searching for the beauty that comes from the ashes of your story.

For the light keeps shining in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5).

Choose to let God's gift of a sunrise sink deep and inspire you.

Choose to rise and shine.

Where pain and peace collide

I think there comes a point after any loss, trauma, or any life altering event, where both pain and peace take up residence in your heart. Where sadness is still a very real emotion, yet deep down there is peace and contentment. Where grief and sorrow still bring you to your knees, yet deep down there is comfort and hope. Opposite emotions living in one space. In one moment there are tears, and in the next the tears are replaced by an overwhelming sense of joy. A heart that is literally aching while at the same time feeling settled and calm. A constant longing for my son that translates into a constant longing for Jesus. This is my reality.

I read somewhere the idea that faith doesn't necessarily make our situations any less painful, but faith just keeps us from being swallowed or overtaken by our pain. I have to agree. There has not been one day since losing Chance where I haven't broken into tears. Yet even in the midst of my hurt God has given me an underlying sense of calm and overwhelming peace. I felt it the second I looked into my son's face, a moment I will never forget. I am so thankful for this balance God is gracing me with. I know in time the daily tears will cease. That one day as I crawl into bed I will stop and think back and realize no tears were shed that day. But in the meantime, he is continuing to remind me that he is strong enough and big enough and loving enough to keep moving me forward in faith and trust.

Saying goodbye

This is the hardest post I have ever had to write. . .

Some of you know that this past Wednesday, April 1st, our world came crashing down. Totally unexpected. No warning signs. No hints that this particular appointment would be any different.

We were scheduled for our 20 week anatomy scan this past Wednesday and arrived eager and thrilled to see our baby and learn if we were expecting another precious girl or an adorable little boy. The technician seemed equally as eager and after learning we had two girls at home, commented on how fun it was going to be to surprise us in a few moments with the news.

Yet right when she started the scan I knew something wasn't right. My eyes were flashing across the screen looking for the heartbeat and I couldn't find it.

Then the questions started slowly. . .

"When did you say your last ultrasound was?" At 10 weeks gestation.

"Ok, and when did you see your Dr last?" Two weeks ago, 18 weeks 3 days. Everything looked great at that appt. Heartbeat was in the 150's.

"Are you still feeling some pregnancy symptoms?" Yes.

"Ok. I'm just taking a few measurements and then am going to have the Dr come in." 

I knew my initial feeling was correct. I quickly asked if there was a heartbeat to which she replied she was not finding one, she was so sorry, and would have the Dr come in to speak with us.

And at that moment it was as if time stood still. All I could do was release my tears. It was as if I was in the midst of a nightmare, but couldn't wake up. The Dr came in and very appropriately but compassionately explained that based on the images she was seeing, there was no immediate reason or explanable cause for the death of our child (spine, brain, etc all looked just fine). She explained some potential causes for a 2nd trimester loss, the testing options that are available if we are interested in investigating the cause of death, and our options moving forward for delivery of the child. We were eventually moved into a counseling room to talk further with the Dr.

We left several hours later and I felt like I was walking in a fog. We sat in our car and cried and just didn't move. I kept telling Brandon "I don't even know what to do right now. What am I supposed to do? Do we keep sitting here? Do we go home? Is this really happening?"

 . . .

We are so overwhelmed with the love and kindness that has been shown to us over the last 48 hours. Phone calls, texts, surprise gifts and food drop offs, scripture reminders. . . everything. We certainly do feel the love and support from our family and friends.

We will be admitted to the hospital shortly to start the induction and delivery process. The Dr explained it could take 1-2 days. We are so thankful that we will be given the option of seeing and holding the baby if we so choose.

This is by far the hardest thing we have ever had to do. All we know to do is pray for strength and pray that God alone would be glorified by our experience and story. While we would not wish this experience on anyone, we am thankful for the reminder that on this Easter weekend, death does not have the final say. Not then. Not now. Not ever. In the coming hours we will hold our precious baby who is already being held in the arms of Jesus. And we will put our hope in Him alone and in the promise of seeing our little one again on the other side.

"Not For A Moment" - Vertical Band Church featuring Meredith Andrews