Why Remembering Isn't As Hard Today

Today is the second anniversary of John's death, and while I am fully aware of this day and think of him, I do not feel the sadness and grief as I did on the 16th. It was this way as well last year. I cannot completely explain it. It is as if the day of his death was a great letting go. That it still is. A day to exhale, chest concave and loose.
When he was born, there was a road that must be taken. A path to walk filled with hope, chance, pain, worry, love, joy, and faith.
On the day he died, he went alone. Straight into the arms of Jesus, and I believe, reunited with his twin sister that was lost so early on. I could not make that journey with him. It was for him alone to take. I released a precious gift, so quickly gotten, knowing I would someday take the same journey. The one of gasping for the last breath, of feeling beating stopping, and a new path spreading out brilliantly before me. 

Today though, I rest, knowing that he is safe. Free from harm and sin. That he is waiting, worshiping the King, and happier than all of us have ever known.
There is great freedom in that rest.
And because of that, great comfort in today.

Feeling Thankful

I don't know what has happened over the last few days . . .
God has been allowing me the freedom to grieve. To be real in my selfishness of wanting my sweet son back. To want to have a normal birth, a normal pregnancy, to just feel normal. 
I have cried out to Him and He is answering me. 
For every time I ask "why is it this way?" I hear a soft still voice.
It is not a thunder, it is a whisper.
And it is a salve to my festering wounds.
When I ask Him why I have to deal with MTHFR and shots, a black and blue stomach due to a simple needle thinning my blood, I hear Him say, "I have provided a way to help your baby grow."
When I tell Him about my fear of another c-section, a spinal, and all off my excess scar tissue in my uterus, I hear Him say, "Another c-section just might fix your insides."
When I tell Him my fears of this beautiful baby not growing I hear Him say, "She is big and bountiful in this moment and I have given you ultrasounds every 3 weeks to check and ease your heart."
I hear His provisions for every complaint. And ultimately in His fatherly patience I hear Him say,
"Are you only going to trust me when times are easy? Will you not trust me when times are hard? I sent my Son to die for you, am I asking of you too much?"
And I am humbled yet again,
at the magnitude,
at the majesty, 
and at the mercy,
of my King.
Blessed be the Name of the Lord.

1 Kings 19:11-12  And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.

When It is Dark . . .

There came a point earlier on in this pregnancy when I could not get out of bed. When the tides turned under my feet and I could feel an ocean sway inside of me at every moment.
I would lay in bed hearing my children in the other room asking Daddy if Mommy was going to be ok, hear them get angry, happy, sad, and I could do nothing to be with them.
I would lay in bed praying for distraction from the constant flow of stomach woe, for the upheavals to dissipate, for any form of relief.
Yet, it wouldn't come.
And then in the bathroom I would see red and think, "I am losing this baby."
I would cry aloud for mercy as the nights wouldn't let me sleep, the cramping wouldn't cease and the fear wouldn't take flight.
My husband prayed over me, "Lord, if she is to lose this baby, show her mercy and do it quick."
And then as the weeks went on, "Lord, show my wife mercy, please."
My faith went weak following my body's ques. And I talked openly to God about this. He knows it anyways.
And then I heard this song.

 

And it became my prayer.
I can know truth. I don't have to feel it.
I can pray for strength, I can pray for faith, I can pray to hold on to the fight.
And I can fail.
I can cry out to Him. I can ask why? I can tell Him I can't go on. That I don't want to go through the hard again.
And He is there and will answer according to His perfect plan.
And I can trust, good or bad, the outcome.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.

To Zofran or Not to Zofran

I have never taken meds before in a pregnancy.  I have had quite a bit of morning sickness with each one, (losing weight with my son James the first trimester,) but I was determined not to take meds.
Sticking my nose up into the air, I would silently "poo-poo" any woman I heard that took Zofran during pregnancy.
I throw up a lot in pregnancy. I figured if I can handle it so can everyone else, right?!
And then I had John . . .
and my whole world changed.
Knocked down to ground zero, what I thought was essential came into question.
Before John, I thought if I thought positively and stayed strong I could do anything.
And then I couldn't will the HELLPs away. I couldn't will my placenta to feed my baby and I couldn't save his twin. I couldn't keep my son from dying and I couldn't jump back in the saddle so to speak after he did.
I was broken. Physically, mentally, spiritually.
I had to go back to the Bible and see what His Word said, not what I thought or what I had read from other people.
I thought we would never have another child and when we found out I was pregnant I was shocked. Blood tests had showed signs of early peri-menopause. I thought the journey of birth was a closed door. I was happy but scared too.
I promised myself that I would do this pregnancy right. No messings around. I would have the perfect diet, excersise, journal my thoughts, not gain to much weight. I was going to be so healthy.
And then around six weeks the intense nausea started. My Trim Healthy Mama eggs wouldn't stay put, I couldn't take a sip of water. After a few weeks I resigned myself to Cheezits and cranberry juice, but only after I went to the hospital with dehydration and I could not stop throwing up.
I went from a non-med-taking pregnant woman to one taking Diclegis, Zofran, ad the occasional Promaza-something or other, (when it got really bad). I was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum. Basically that's a fancy way of saying you can't stop throwing up. Oh, and I was gaining weight at what I thought was an alarming speed but the doctor assured me it was swelling and it turned out he was right.
I also take Lovenox injections, a variety of doctor prescribed vitamins, and baby aspirin. This is all to ensure my placenta continues to feed this little one.
Yes people, my home birthing days are over. My stick-up-my-nose stupidity is over. I am hanging on, hoping this baby gets here. And that is doesn't make an early appearance.
I am praying these meds won't do damage to my little one. I am trusting God to take care of the details while I deal with the situation. And I am walking out each day knowing I know nothing. And maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Moments

I know the Father loves me,
but in some moments I feel Him hold me,
tiny breath of mine exploding,
as He talks to me in grace-toned mercy.
He loves me still,
the ragged sinner,
the one who left the 99 in search of . . .
but what? There was nothing there, 
just baited memories of Love.

And He came after me, just like His Word says He would,
and I am grateful that I heard His voice and turned my heels back to Mercy. 
To the voice I heard calling in my childhood, but didn't know who He was.
And in certain moments, moments where I see His favor, I remember, and I fall in love all over again.

Motherhood

It is a beautiful day.
Sun starting to rise and my sweet 4 turned 5 year old snuggles close.
She smells like spring.
I am a mother.
I am not a new mother.
My heart has been beating babies for 10 years.
Maybe longer.
But it seems my season is changing too.
It seems that God has His hand over my womb,
and is slowing its course.
My body seems to be falling into fall.
I am trying to learn acceptance,
for He controls life.
To have . . .
or not to have . . .
And I am thankful.
Thankful to have birthed all 5 of my precious peas . . .
Thankful to see 4 of them grow,
thankful to be allowed to hear someone say,
I love you Mom.
Thankful to give God all the glory,
and thankful to trust.

When Grief Becomes Sin

It happened so subtly, so sneakily, I hadn't noticed.
This grief became an excuse.
I never said it out loud. True enough.
But the lasting effects my health has dealt with,
the lasting effects my emotions have dealt with,
have allowed complacency.
A cold indifferent complacency.
My smile has been a sacrifice.
One I haven't been to ready to make.
I have sinned.
The Lord has put it on my heart to speak softly and sweetly,
but I have become crass, crude and coarse in my tone and language.
I thought what else was a woman who has lost a child supposed to do when hope deferred hits hard.
I never thought it consciously of course.
Satan is much to smart for that.
No he whispers in my ear, that this lot,
to lose a child, to deal with health that hasn't completely mended,
is unjust.
And after I rebuke that,
he whispers I deserve it.
That one tends to pervade.
I am weak.
And so the lies slip in.
Permeating the truth,
and choking me dry.
And so I give in and I sin.
I believe I cannot conquer and so I react painfully wrong.
Lazily, cowardly, and harshly.
To myself.
To others.
I compromise convictions.
I tell myself it is right.
But, I know . . . I know that it isn't.
It happened so small, so bit by bit, morsel by morsel,
that I hadn't realized the trail was set, the bait taken,
and the straight and narrow had become quite wide.
But, God.
God.
He keeps calling,
although the whisper was hard for me to hear this time.
I feel his fingers reaching for mine,
and I am turning back.

I Am Waking Up

It happened recently.
The fear of having another baby,
the fear of not having another baby.
It boiled to a point that I couldn't purpose myself into living.
My eyes lived looking at fear.
And I was becoming paralyzed.
Have you ever felt like your feet were lead?
And that you were walking, talking, moving,
breathing intoxication?
See, I have learned that you don't have to drink,
use pharma, smoke or sneak to be intoxicated.
Fear can make you walk more crooked than 14 shots of Tequila.
Fear can cloud you , crowd you, and drown you in despair.
It impairs your mind, muscles, and motives.
And it has chased me fervently my whole life.
But . . .
God.
Just whisper His name.
God.
Jehovah.
The Great I AM.
Can you feel it?
Did you say it out loud?
Trust me.
Open your lips to love and say. His. name.
Freedom.
And the more I call out to Him, the less fear entangles.
The more I speak His Words,
the less I hear my own.
And my eyes show clear,
my heart beats steady,
I am waking up.

I Haven't Wanted to Write Lately

I haven't wanted to tell the truth that I hit a crashing wall of tiredness after moving to KY, moving back home in 2 weeks, having house guests, getting sick, my Grandpa dying.
I hit a wall. And I didn't want to do anything.
Nothing.
Nada.
And I was angry.
Because I have four children that need me.
And I didn't want to do anything.
Have you noticed all the I's and Me's here?
I am awfully important to myself.
Oh sure it looks like I give give give.
Mopping floors, wiping tears, and bottoms, teaching math,
creating games, making lunches, laundry . . .

Does my list look a lot like yours?

And I can be doing a lot for others, doing keeps you busy and it LOOKS really lovely,
but when inside your grumbling, mad at the responsibilities and your thinking constantly about how I can get to ME, well, the stench of sin slips out eventually.
A snide comment here, lazy job done there,
impatient glances, answers and appetites will be realized.
By the ones that you love
by the ones that love you,
by yourself.
And when I came face to face with my deceitful heart, and saw the corroding of love and grace,
I fell flat faceward toward the Word.

For He never gave ungratefully, He never spent himself selfishly, never took His eye of off others,
never wished to be free but freely bled. I will never be poured out like Him, but in these moments, I see how far I really am. And how great He really is. How my faith can be so small and self-centered and how far He will reach till I turn my hands out to grab His.
Oh, and I am reaching today.
To touch the palms nailed open,
to feel the washing away of my sin,
to behold the loveliness of my Creator.
Won't you run to Him too?

I'm A Little Bit Country and a Little Bit Rock and Roll

I love music. I love music that praises the Father.
I love hymns.
And I love to shout praises to my Jesus.
I love to be solemn, broken, on my face in reverent praise.
I love to jump praises, arms raised high, face turned up to Him.
I love to worship Him because He alone is worthy.
Amen.
Let it be so.

I Want To Be Used

How does it feel, to be used. Not doormat, or defiled,
but spent, out of breath, running towards.
How does it feel to be Radical?
I want to be used.
I want to live out plans in abandon.
Not my plans, His plans.
I want to be fearless and faceless,
caring not about my own glory, but His glory.
I want to say yes to hard, and no to comfort when it suits Jesus.
To every thing there is a season.
I have been in hibernating and holding, at His will.
At His timing.
But . . .
there is a stirring in my heart, and it races as I type as I pray as I perceive
this awakening.
To live used.
He calls . . .
and I turn up my palms to answer.

Summer Serenade

The days are getting sunny side up here in Montana. It feels as if it wouldn't come.
I hear summer calling in the distance. It echos and bellows and beckons me in.
My garden is planted.
Small this year. Small compared.
It is hard to put in the energy and time it takes to make things grow.
Yet, what else is there of value in this life?
Nothing but things that grow. What doesn't grow, becomes trash, tossed wayside, flip side, and curbside. What doesn't grow feels hollow.
I guess that is why life, without tending feels empty. A pleasure here, a moment there, but at the end of the day, a hole.
And yet, the tending requires so. much. sacrifice.
I struggle with it, but know without the plow, without the spade, without the water,
I see no fruit.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

So, even though energy wanes, and some days I don't turn the dirt, I plod on, hoping to be faithful to a life of sacrifice. One that holds weight and measure. One that has value.

Is it That Day Again?

You know that day?
The day spring cleaning is planned,
the day that school is tossed out the window,
the day that you are GOING to accomplish something?

That was my day today.

Or so I thought.

My two year old fell and gashed her head open.
She's a bit accident prone.
No stitches necessary, praise the Lord.

No one would nap.

My four year old decided to not listen.

My son became obsessed with Adventure's in Odyssey and wouldn't focus on anything else.

Then, my two year old pooped all over the bath tub.

Defeat. Mass defeat. What was I doing? How did this happen and how in the world was I going to get anything done, ever, ever, EVER again?!?!?!

Uhmmmm, ever been there? It ain't pretty.
Amazing how the devil likes to drown us in disaster.

But, I have a covering.
He is my husband.
And he offers his hand and pulls me out of the pit when he sees me fast falling.

His hand is strong, and tender and knows just what I need.

I need the playroom reorganized.

1 hour later, it is clean, spacious, the heavy lifting, the heavy burden, done.

And I can breathe.

And know tomorrow is another day.

I thank the Lord that I have another chance to do it better.
I thank the Lord I have a husband who changed the course of chaos.
I thank the Lord that His mercy is new every morning.
And I pray that I will slow down from my desires and do what He has for me.
That I will seek Him early, and serve Him.

And I am Grieving

Just an hour ago, my Dad's voice is chipper, talking about my children,
he's rushed on the phone,
and then he interrupts himself.
"Grandpa is failing fast. I go back out tomorrow. It's a matter of days."
I knew Grandpa's end was coming, but the phone call found me dumb.
And I cried.

I love my Grandpa. I have lived with him, I have laughed with him and he knows all my secrets.

My Dad hurried off the phone, unable to process his own grief.

For the leaving of this earth means a journey somewhere else.
I do not know what my Grandpa believes.
He does not talk about such things.
But I do know that God is good.


Here it is though. The swelling of sadness in my soul. I know this ache. I have not finished processing the ache my son left. And while my Grandpa has lived a life full of family, full of love, full of greatness, full . . .
it is running its course.
for life inevitably brings death.
And I ache all the same.
This grief . . . this grief . . . this grief,
it is so very grave.


And yet . . .
there is life. Abundant.
It is life that never ends, life full of purpose, life with passion,
a life of praise, of worship, of love, of adoration,
life beyond the grave.


Psalms 100:4  Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.

Seeing the Doctor

I went to his office. The man who delivered my boy, saved my life and cried with me as the little man lost his. I went in search of answers, in search of truth, and on some level closure.
"Can we have another?" The question rings hard. Pounds my chest tight, breath taken soft.
"Yes, you can, and with medical help, chance of recurrence is only 3%," he answers.
Husband looks like stars, my mouth drops deep. "Really?"
Really.
He spends an hour with us, talking in words far beyond my scope. Explaining what happened, explaining chances of our future. All I hear is,
"His Mercy Endures Forever."
I do not know what the future holds, whether this body is a willing vessel for new life. I do not know what God will speak to my husbands heart. I do not know if He will choose to breathe life allowing me to assist Him in a perfect miracle.
Because all babies are miracles, fingerprinted by the Lord.
And I feel grateful that I have gotten to birth 5 of them.

Today

Today, I lost my patience. Raised my voice, and let 'em down.
My husband though, in all his loveliness, told me this was not who I was as a Mother and that I could rebound. And I did.
And it made me ask again, "Who am I?"
The question that is asked by so many in our self obsessed culture. The question that really has no merit of importance, no pertinence, no lasting pleasure.
No, "Who am I?" is not the question that makes my heart pound pretty, my countenance smile rainbows, or my words spill honeydew.
No, the question that echo's in my selfish moments, calling back to me, when I focus in, is "Who does He want me to be?"
And when I listen, when I shut myself up, slow still silent, I hear Him calling. And I run, punching through plastered ugliness, to reveal the beauty, the beauty that He has me becoming,
His Servant.

If Valentine's Day Left You Empty . . .

We don't do much for Valentine's Day around here. We have a lot of love, but we don't have much love for the buy, buy, buy mentality.

So, when I woke up on Valentine's Day to find a note sitting on the counter from my husband I was surprised. It meant so much more than any box of chocolates ever could. I love it so much I asked him if I could post its contents. He agreed.

"Good Morning. Please read this at breakfast time. Everyone special in my life, My wife Kersten, Wonderful daughters Norma, Hazel, Mary and Magnificent James. I love you all soooo much that I do not need a special day to remind me to love you all. While the rest of the world has to wonder if anyone really loves them, Be happy that you know that you KNOW that you have a Father in Heaven that truly loves you and one right here on earth that wouldn't know what to do without you. You are all very special and do not need some cheap imitations of love to let you know this, because I am telling you. You are! Love to all,
Dad"

Pretty awesome. And written at 3am on the way out the door to work. I'd say our day was pretty happy.

But if you didn't have a great and happy day, if the chocolates were left on the rack at the store, or there was no one to give you a hug or a rose, do you know that you KNOW that you have a Father in heaven that truly loves you? Because He is there,  He is waiting, and His love is a love that will truly satisfy.

John's Story Part Seven The Final Chapter

There is so much more to John, to his birth, life, death, than I wrote. There is so much more to my story of recovery. Infections, grief, medicine, choices, and not so graceful testimonies. I am a human grieving mother after all. I have gotten mad. I have lost my cool. I may write more on the subject at some point. I may share more of his beautiful moments. I hope I share those, but for now, I want to take a turn at the here and now and share the life we have. The normal that is becoming us, and the way God takes care of a family after great loss. Thank you for joining me with remembering John. I hope you stay with me as we live without him here, but carry him with us, in our hearts, in all we do. He has changed the landscape, the colors have brightened. He has changed our spirits, we have expectancy we never knew. He has changed our hope, heaven has never seemed so real.

I'm Awake Again

It is after midnight. The hum of the computer and the crackle of the wood stove, are the overwhelming sounds I hear as I wonder why it is so hard to sleep tonight.

I was busy today. It was a good day. The kind that homeschool Mom's have when it all just comes together. My children smiled.
So did I.

And now, in darkness, with fake screen glow piercing, I fight the thoughts.

Six months. January 16th will be six months. Half of a year. And I can still see his little breaths,
one,
two,
three . . .
as he let go of me and fell into the arms of Jesus.

And I am lonely. Surrounded by blessings, love, and life, I long for him selfishly.

And I wonder, will I ever have another?

Half of a year, and time marches on, dragging me with, step by step, like a little girl following her Momma to the bus stop.

I don't wanna.

And as I say it, as I face my gut force of emotion, I feel Him.
And he swoops me up,strong tower, mighty to save,
I fall desperately into the arms of Jesus.
And I cling.



and I let Him carry me.

High Places

I am reading a new book. Hinds Feet on High Places. Have you read it? I am halfway through, but I have to say, it is hitting a nerve in me. When going on a journey with the Lord, whom would you think He would ask you to bring? I would have thought joy and peace. I asked my husband. He said, "Hope and peace." But in this book, she recounts her main character bringing, Sorrow and Suffering. It hurt to read that as I feel as though that is what the Lord has asked of me recently. The main character, Much Afraid; (Did I forget to mention this was an allegory? *wink*) she meets a flower along the way, Acceptance-with-Joy. I keep seeing this flower but I have yet, truthfully, to let it bloom in my heart. I pretend to accept, but the truth is I WANT MY BABY! Oh, LORD, I cry out to you today, help me to accept your will. Help me to trust, help me to not be afraid and help me to accept with joy the journey to High Places you have sent me on. Even though the way looks like a wrong turn, I will follow You.