"I have to believe..."

I've always loved the Avalon song "Dreams I Dream for You". There are so many amazing words of truth in the verses, but the chorus has continued to resonate in my heart for years.

The dreams I dream for you
Are deeper than the ones you're clinging to
More precious than the finest things you knew
Truer than the treasures you pursue
Let your old dreams die like stars that fade from view
And take the cup I offer and drink deeply of
The dreams I dream for you

As I've listened to the words in the past I have tried to recognize that the plans I have for my life are not always as beautiful as those that God has. I have tried to remember that He has a richness that He desires for my life that is not always the treasure I seek. But I do not think I have ever really understood these words. I do not believe that my depth of faith has ever truly run this deep.

Since we lost Hope three months ago, my heart has been grieved with the possibility that God may not have called me to be a mom, to have the experience of carrying a child to full term and raise him or her. The sadness of that truth resonates deep within me. And each time I expressed my sadness, confessed my doubt about my calling to be a mom, I have been reassured with "I have to believe that being a mom is what God wants for you." Many people who love me dearly have told me that they believe God wants me to be a mom. Herb has said he has to believe that God wants us to be parents. But what is it about me that sets me apart from other women who are unable to conceive and carry to full term? I in no way believe that I am more capable or able than others to be a good mom.

For a while now I have been repeating the phrase that I heard so often "I have to believe..." and I began to take it as a demonstration of hope in my life, that I believed that God would make me a mom. But in that version of hope, I struggle for control. I grieve over the many things my body does or the aspects of life circumstances that are out of control and "prevent" me from hoping. So I've been beginning to wonder if I have the wrong kind of hope, if I have been finishing the "I have to believe" phrase with the wrong words.

What if instead of saying, "I have to believe I will be a mom. I have to believe that God wants us to have children," I am supposed to be saying, "I have to believe that the life God has in store for me is good. I have to believe that the dreams He dreams for me are precious and beautiful"? The truth in this second statement reflects a far greater Hope; it reflects a Hope beyond my circumstances. It reflects a Hope that echoes the character of God rather than the characters in my life. But this breed of Hope, this second "I believe" statement, is so much harder and creates a much deeper ache in my heart.

To say the second "I believe" statement requires me to die to my own dreams. It requires me to let go of the visions I have for my life and redefine my visions to align with God's. It goes beyond saying "Bring me anything that brings You glory". It says "The things that You bring me will bring You glory, AND they will be exactly what I need." I think the second "I believe" statement requires a large magnitude of faith; it requires a faith that moves the mountain of my will out of my line of sight. This faith requires complete absence of control and thus complete faith in the things God will bring. And this faith requires that in the midst of the hard things, the excruciating things He brings us, we will be able to say "I know that you work things together for my good."

It is so hard for me to say that I am willing to not be a mom if God has something better in store for me. I believe that being a mom is one of the richest experiences life can offer. But what if that is my dream, my belief? What if God has far richer experiences to offer me, experiences I can't even imagine? Don't I trust Him enough to believe that He wants to give me abundant life? Don't I trust Him enough to define what abundant life looks like without having to add my own addendum?

But the question is can I relinquish my dreams? And how do I do that without taking away the beauty of Hope that comes with the anticipation and joy of trying to conceive and have a child? How do I accept God's dreams fully, in all of their richness, when I don't know what they are? Recently I have been praying that God would show me the good He has in store for me, but more than just show me, enable me to believe those truths. I have been praying that He would align the desires of my heart with the desires of His. If He doesn't want me to be a mom, even just at this point in time, what does He have for me? I know we don't always get to know His plan, after all we "see [y]our yesterdays", He "see[s] tomorrows". But I think it's worth asking, worth asking for glimpses of His good for my life. And I think in the asking we are able to know Him more intimately, more deeply--truly an aspect of the good He has in store.

I still have unanswered pieces of this puzzle. I still lack the wisdom to know what this "I believe" statement looks like when lived out. But I do think that a big aspect of this "I believe" statement is just believing, just believing in the good God has for me regardless of my circumstances, believing in the fullness of life despite hardship. I say "just believing" but I know there is nothing simple about this kind of belief. I must still grieve the death of my dreams, but look forward, with great Hope, to the dreams God has for me. For "he who has lost his life for My sake will find it." God has abundant life for me to discover, it will just come at the cost of my ideas of what abundant life looks like.

Bring You Glory

I know this is an older song, but I heard it on the radio Friday night and am just touched by the lyrics. My prayer is that my heart would truly echo these lyrics, that I can truly say "Bring me anything that brings You glory" without adding an addendum like "but if you could bring me this that would be better" or "if you could spare me that I'd appreciate it". I want my heart to say "Jesus, I'll take whatever You give me that You might be glorified." (Talk about needing the help of the Holy Spirit for this ambition! But that's why God gave us the Holy Spirit, to be our Helper, and Help I will need!)

Bring the Rain
by Mercy Me

I can count a million times
People asking me how I
Can praise You with all that I've gone through
The question just amazes me
Can circumstances possibly
Change who I forever am in You

Maybe since my life was changed
Long before these rainy days
It's never really ever crossed my mind
To turn my back on you, oh Lord
My only shelter from the storm
But instead I draw closer through these times

So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of
The dark clouds that may loom above
Because You are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
By suffering Your destiny
So tell me what's a little rain

So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

Holy, holy, holy
Holy, holy, holy
Is the Lord God Almighty
Is the Lord God Almighty

In the garden

"Jesus took Peter and Zebedee's two sons, James and John, and he began to be filled with anguish and deep distress. He told them, 'My soul is crushed with grief to the point of death. Stay here and watch with me.'" Matthew 26:37-38

I've been thinking often about the grief and suffering of Jesus. Part of why He is so capable of walking along beside those who are crushed and brokenhearted is because of His intimacy with those emotions throughout His life. I am grateful to know that although Jesus knew of Lazarus' resurrection, he still wept at the news of his passing. I am comforted to know that Jesus stood in the garden, crying out to the Father, asking to be relieved of walking His journey of suffering. Jesus knows, intimately, the anguish of this world, and in a far greater capacity than I will ever know.

I am particularly drawn to the passage about the Garden of Gethsemane. It holds so many interesting aspects of grieving in a few brief words. For example, Jesus knew God had a plan for His suffering, specifically He KNEW God's plan for His suffering, and yet He still begged for another way. This shows me that even knowing and understanding the plan does not take away from the anguish that we must walk through, that understanding why, no matter how much we want that understanding, doesn't actually ease the pain.

Jesus also openly wrestled with God's plan; He was unafraid to admit His fear and His desire to run from pain. This reveals to me just how human Jesus was in these moments; He, like the rest of us, instinctively wanted to flee from pain. But unlike the rest of us, Jesus was able to take the steps to follow His Father into the raging sea of pain, seeking His Father's ultimate glory. Jesus walked INTO pain, instead of running from it. I want to be like Jesus, willing to walk into pain for God's glory. I want to draw near to the brokenhearted, be unafraid to walk the journey that will bring God the greatest glory. But I also believe that this may be one of the hardest ways for us to be like Jesus; it is so ingrained in our nature to run from pain. I know I had been living in anxiety because I was afraid of what pain I might have to walk through, wondering what circumstances, within my control or outside of it, might inflict great injury to my soul. And yet, here I am walking through them, living through pain, and for God's glory. Am I less anxious, less afraid of pain? Yes, but I still find myself trying to protect, struggling to place a shield around my heart. I think it will be a daily, a momentary relinquishing of my comfort, of my pain-free existence, to God's capable hands for His ultimate glory. For Jesus it was...

In the garden, Jesus went back multiple times before the Lord, persistent in His prayer for God to change His circumstances. Jesus had to let go of His will and take up His Father's over and over again. It took Him three times to finally accept what His Father wanted, to realize that God was not going to change His circumstances, but was instead going to provide Him with the grace and strength to walk through them. God didn't answer Jesus' request to be free of pain because He instead was going to grant the greater desire of Jesus' heart, to draw the people to His Father. God did give Jesus the true desire of His heart, but it came at a cost of His more surface desire--a pain-free existence.

The last piece about the garden that I've been pondering are the verses I listed above, about Peter, James and John. Jesus brought His closest friends with Him to the garden so that He might not grieve alone. Jesus, the Son of God, needed the love and support of friends, but they fell asleep. To be quite honest, in the past, this part of the story always made me so angry. How could they not be there when Jesus needed them? But what I've come to realize is that it was not a lack of desire; they wanted to support Jesus. They just grew weary. It can be exhausting to walk alongside the grieving. It can be exhausting to try and conjure the right words to say, or to avoid saying the wrong words. It can be exhausting to see such sadness in someone who was once filled with such joy. It can be wearying to have no real answers, no real solutions, but to just sit there and be in the midst of such grief. The disciples grew weary, as do we all. I have experienced a myriad of emotions as I've watched people drop away from me through the loss of Hope. I have been angry that people didn't remember, disappointed that they didn't show up, lonely in my tears, but I'm trying to embrace a new emotion, acceptance. Acceptance that my grief is wearying. Acceptance that people cannot meet all of my needs. Only God can, and that is what the garden was really all about.

Jesus came to His Father seeking answers, seeking comfort, and seeking communion. Jesus went to the garden knowing His disciples would fade, knowing God would not. Jesus came to the Father and asked the Father to meet all of His needs, which is what I need to do. Man will always fall short of what God was meant to do. I am never alone when my Father, the Great Comforter, is with me. He will meet me in the garden and He will walk with me as I leave. He will hear my cries, wipe away my tears, and not leave me once in the midst. He will not fall asleep or tire of my grief. He should be my source of strength, comfort and peace.

Because of all of these things I hope to walk regularly into the garden, where my Father waits to draw near to my broken heart.

Torn

I've been ruminating on this post for a while, but now is the first chance I've had to actually write it. Not to mention that God just reaffirmed the idea in my mind more today, prompting me to put thought to "paper". I am thankful for those good conversations with friends that remind me that one, I'm not totally crazy, and two, God is truly working on something. So here's my hopefully not totally crazy, God is truly working thought process.

Lately the best way I've been able to describe my emotions is torn. I feel torn between two emotions, two states of mind, two desires. In general it makes me feel slightly insane because the two conflicting emotions are so drastically at odds. They don't work together, they don't quite make sense, but they are both so very real. Here are some of my dueling realities:

I feel so incredibly torn between sorrow and peace. My heart is so tremendously broken over the loss of Hope; those moments of sadness are so intense and so hard to cope with. My heart aches and I wonder how my life will ever be the same again. But then I look at God and I experience peace, peace in knowing He's at work, peace in seeing His hand time and again, peace in trusting that His glory will win out. I don't truly understand how these emotions can co-exist, how I can feel anguished and broken, yet rest in knowing God is at work. How can I be striving so desperately in my heart to soothe the ache and still have a quiet in my soul knowing that God is with me?

I feel torn between emptiness and fulfillment. I can't explain how many times a day my heart feels hollow, empty. It's not just my heart either; I look at my stomach and I experience fully my empty womb. What was once full of life is now devoid of it. And yet I spend an afternoon with my husband, holding his hand, hearing his wise words, and my heart is brimming with love. I watch my family laugh and cry together and realize how satiated I am with affection and warmth. But the strange thing is that I can often feel both, simultaneously. My empty heart can throb but my eyes can also brim at the intimacy I share with others. How can I be full yet empty? How can I be filled up and still ache for more?

I also feel intensely torn between my own sorrow and others' joy. I wish I could explain the overwhelming despair I feel when I see another pregnant woman or watch other moms with their children. The deep grief I experience in realizing my lost opportunity, my lost moments, my lost journey is raw and unfettered. And I hate that feeling. I hate that I have a hard time even looking at a pregnant friend or family member. I hate that I have to avert my eyes or distance myself because the tears will start and not be able to stop. I hate that I find it hard to rejoice in others excitement, that hearing their new memories pains me so. But I am able to step back and recognize how joyous these events must be for them. I am able to hope for a beautiful, healthy baby and a rich life for their children. I could never wish my sorrow on any of these mothers. I am so very sad for myself and so bittersweetly happy for them at the same time. I live torn between my own grief and their rejoicing. I live in the in-between, pulled on by two desires, two very real truths. How can I weep and smile all at the same time?

I feel torn about grieving Hope and hoping for another child. I feel like my sadness is and should be very real for my little girl. I feel as if no other child will fill the place of beauty and wonder Hope brought to our lives. My heart believes that no experience could ever live up to the joyous and miraculous journey of being pregnant with my first, my little girl. And still, I feel that we must hope for another child; I feel like that would be the best way to honor Hope's name and what she offered to our world. I desperately want the experience again of discovering we're pregnant and dreaming of the life we might share with our child. Herb so wisely said that just because we're joyous about a new child, doesn't mean we will stop being sad about our Hope. But how is it that we can Hope and grieve in the same breath, in the same moments? How is it that we can love what we have and miss what was lost instantaneously?

Our thoughts and emotions are often at odds with one another. We can cry and laugh at the same time. We can love and hate someone in a given situation. We can be content and still dream of more. We have the God-given capacity to be both. I can only imagine how very torn God felt the day His son hung on the cross; what joy He must have known in reconciling His children to Himself, but what tears of sorrow He must have shed at the price that that reconciliation cost, His only son.

Maybe we are supposed to be torn, maybe it is part of living in this fallen world. We are able to know greatly the beauty of God's creation, His plan and His character, but we are also plagued with the knowledge of brokenness that sin brings to the world. We know both, we must live with both, and thus we should be torn.

I've come to terms with being torn, it is my reality for now, or maybe for always. Yet it is my hope that while I may be torn it will not be in a way that tears me from the arms of my loving Father.

Hope-full

One of my amazing former students wrote me this note. I am so incredibly moved by her words and the beauty in them that I asked her if I could share it. I am so blessed by Ellie and by her gift with words and by her uncanny ability to speak to my heart. I hope you also can appreciate her beauty. Thank you Ellie for touching my heart and allowing me to share your precious heart with others.

Hope-full

I must tell you that I think about her every day. I think of all the wonderful times we would have had when she was older and I could tell her all of the crazy stories I know about you, and joke that her mother is one big English nerd, and made me who I am today. I would tell her of all the love we all felt for her the minute we knew she was coming. I would tell her of all the love and pain we felt when she went straight to God instead.

You are a wonderful mother. I know she feels unbelievably loved and will never be forgotten, not even when we have others of your children to recollect stories to and to play with. I miss the times I would have come over and stared at her, because I know she would have been unbelievably beautiful inside and out like her mother.

I love you, and I know I'll see her one day and so will you.

Your daughter,
Ellie

Christmas without you

Journal 3:

Christmas will be different this year without you.

I can't even begin to explain how heartbroken I am to spend this Christmas without you. Christmas is my favorite time of year, and I had big dreams about sharing it this year and every year with you. But that is not to be. So let me tell you what I wanted to share with you and what I will miss.

First of all, I've always dreamed of being pregnant at Christmas. I wanted to know first hand the anticipation Mary felt in waiting for Jesus to come. I love the Amy Grant song Breath of Heaven and I just dreamed about how God would reveal to me how He had especially chosen me to carry you. He has shown me that but far differently than I had imagined.

By this time everyone would've known that you were my precious little girl, so I was looking forward to all things pink and girly under the tree. There would've been ornaments to hang about your arrival, documenting that you were to come soon. There would be things for the nursery and laughter and joy as we imagined designing your room just for you. Grandma being Grandma would've wrapped gifts for you and placed them under the tree. Of course you couldn't open them but that wouldn't stop her from beginning your love of Christmas early.

The whole build up to Christmas would be entirely different as well. This is our frist Christmas in this house but it also would be our first Chrismtas as a family. We had already purchased a cute Broncos snowman family to display--a husband, wife and little one. We aren't displaying that this year, it will remain in the closet because you aren't coming.

We did decorate but it wasn't the same without you. I was able to move furniture and lift the Christmas tree because I didn't need to protect you. Your dad got frustrated as usual putting the tree in the stand; if you were here I would've laughed and explained to you that this will be an every year occurence. We decorated the tree but I know that if you'd been here we wouldn't have waited a moment to take pictures--pictures of you inside me "helping" decorate for the first time; pictures of us as a faimly in front of the tree. These pictures would've been our Christmas card, a note to our friends celebrating the anticipation of your arrival. This year there won't be a Christmas card.

The White Christmas party will be different too. I was so looking forward to having you with me for the baking process. You would've known Grandma's voice and all of our favorite Christmas songs by the time the day was over. And we would've had another yummy food experience--I know you would've loved artichoke dip and People Chow. They're my favorites. And then we would've watched my favorite Christmas movie and you'd know those songs too. Aunt Kevyn and I would've made sure you heard the song Sisters--it's one of our favorites. All of my dearest friends would be there and I have no doubt they'd rub my belly. I was looking forward to that too.

I was so anticipating mornings with you and Jesus while we drank peppermint mocha and did our quiet time in front of the twinkling Christmas tree. Those moments are so precious to me and I wanted to share them with you.

I am also grieving advent without you. I know Grandma would've had fun little baby things for us to open each morning. And my advent shirt was to be different, it was designed to celebrate your arrival. But I changed it after you left and now wearing the new shirt brings me a bit of sadness. And I so wanted to fill your dad's advent with future father things. Instead I have nothing for Dad for advent. It makes me sad but I have no ideas.

This Christmas without you is absent of ideas. I have no ideas about what to get others. I know your Grandma Shelley wanted a portrait of your dad and I before you joined our little family. That's not quite the same now. I also don't doubt we would've purchased Grandma-to-be, Aunt-to-be and Grandpa-to-be items, not so anymore.

My lack of ideas especially extends to me. I have no idea of what I want for Christmas. All of my gift ideas involved you and now they're gone. I don't really want gifts under the Christmas tree; all I want for Christmas is you and I can't have that. So I believe Christmas morning will be bittersweet.

I'm trying so hard to still enjoy Christmas. I'm trying to allow my favorite Christmas carols to still warm my heart and try to push all of the baby references out of my mind. I am trying to enjoy decorating our house for the first time, accepting the emptiness that I feel in our house right now. I am going to try to enjoy presents Christmas morning but I know my heart will be heavy without you. I will try to enjoy as Grandma reads Twas the Night Before Christmas, even though you will be missing from the family gathered on the bed.

Please know that I am trying to enjoy these things for you, not in spite of you. I know that you fully understand that Jesus came that we might have life abundantly, so I am desparately trying to find abundant life. I am trying to honor your name because this season is above all about Hope. The Hope of our Jesus.

I will ache this Christmas season without you here. You will be missed in so many places and at so many moments, but I know you are part of a bigger celebration. Enjoy the angel's jubilation as the world celebrates the most precious gift, a baby who came that we might truly know life. I have a slightly greater glimpse of the power of God's gift this year and that is because of you.

Baby girl, I wish you were here to share in my favorite traditions but thank you precious girl for being my most treasured gift this year.

Merry Christmas Love,
Mom

Favorite Things

This is journal number 2:

Our relationship was special. I want to describe things we did together, what we enjoyed and some of our favorite things.

In some ways this question is difficult because our memories aren't the same as memories I share with others. But when I think back on my pregnancy there are many things I'm so glad we shared together.

For one, I am so very glad you came with me on baseball adventures new and old. We shared several games at Chase Field watching the D-backs in one of their worst seasons ever. But we ate hot dogs and ice cream and sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". We also experienced an amazing encounter with God at the Mercy Me concert at Chase. I felt so close to God that night and so very close to you.

We also went to two new ballparks together--Coors Field and Citizens Bank Park. You got to experience baseball with your Grandpa Don and Grandma Nancy who don't love baseball, but loved both of us enough to go see the Rockies. Another D-back loss we witnessed together. Then Dawn went on a big adventure with us to see the Phillies. I was so happy you were there sharing that new place with me, especially because your dad couldn't be. We ate some pretty yummy ice cream there too.

Your presence prompted my spirit of adventure and so off I went to Philly to visit Dawn. I'm not too keen on doing things alone, but I didn't feel alone--you were there. We strolled through the most beautiful art museum I've ever seen and I told you all about my favorite paintings. We spent hours in Constitution Hall and you humored me as I perused every display there. You wandered the city of Philly with me as we found the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall and Christ Church. You were such a trooper because we were both exhausted at that point.

Dawn went with us on our New York adventure. I'm so glad you experienced a Broadway show; the music was amazing, wasn't it? And we certainly did our fair share of walking that day, but it was worth it for the food...

Oh baby girl did we share food! You really were your mother's daughter in this area. From the get-go you were hungry all the time. I felt like I was constantly eating--yogurt, pretzels, nuts, granola bars--but you did not like chicken. Rotisserie chicken and I may never be the same again after you. But boy did you love avacado and guacamole-yum!

Although we had some rocky food moments (did I mention you weren't a big fan of sugar?) we shared some good meals. You loved pizza and just like Mom and Dad, you loved your Old Chicago. There was also the Philly Cheese steak with Dawn as well as that delicious lemon and caper chicken in New York. And you sweetly let your Mom eat a huge peanut butter sundae at Serendipity--thank you for that.

Our experiences were so limited. I never even got to take you to my happy place--Disneyland. But I am so thankful for the time I had with you. I enjoyed showing you off to others; you gave me a cute little belly. I enjoyed talking to you, explaining who people were and telling you about how things would be when you arrived. I loved singing to you--I hope those songs echo in your heart forever. I enjoyed worshiping with you inside of me; your presence gave me a greater glimpse of our God. I loved talking to your dad about what you'd be like, who you'd be and what I was looking forward to doing with you.

Thank you for being my constant companion for 19 weeks. The moments we shared I will treasure always. I wish there were more, I wish I could fill this book with stories of our adventures, I wish that all of my heart. But God has different adventures in store for you. May you frolic and sing and talk and read and hug and dance with our Jesus. Practice for me because when I get to heaven I will need you to teach me. We will share all of those things together someday sweet girl. I can't wait!

I love you sweet girl,
Mom