Starry Night...

As I was putting Evangeline down for a nap today... I gave her a big kiss and told her something I say to her often. "I've loved you the longest!" ...of course, she gets this because she is the oldest... but it's still our secret and we try not to advertise this to the other two.

Today... her response was a bit different. "Momma... really what baby am I?" ... I knew exactly what she meant...

She's seen the pacifiers that we hang on our tree each Christmas. She walks past the empty picture frames I have hanging in our hallway... and she even remembers my last two miscarriages.

So I told her... "Actually, Doodle, you're my second baby."

She's been a bit obsessed, lately, with this babies we've lost. I'm sure because she can understand the excitement and anticipation of our little girl, due in November. She can see and feel her little sister growing inside of me... and she knows she would miss this baby if it weren't in our lives.

What she doesn't know is the tremendous sadness and uncertainty that her dad and I faced exactly 7 years ago today. (July 24th, 2008)

Seven years ago... David and I had already announced the due date of our first little one. We had surprised each family member with a pacifier... and everyone was eagerly awaiting meeting little baby Rockey.
I was 11 weeks pregnant and David and I sat in the waiting room anticipating our first ultrasound. We were so excited... and never anticipated the nurse's response as she searched for a heartbeat. As I lay there on the ultrasound table, the excitement turned into confusion... and eventually the confusion turned to sadness. There was a baby... but no heartbeat. Just silence... that long, awful silence. She searched for a while, then asked me to change as she talked to David. She showed gave us a picture of our sweet baby... then, prepared me for a blood test... and tried to give me an idea of what would come in the following days or weeks.

We drove home in that same, awful silence that permeated the ultrasound room. Our hopes and plans for the next 9 months(and life in general) had changed in a moment. My thoughts wandered to the future... would I ever be able to have children? What would a miscarriage feel like? Would I know when it was happening? Obviously, these questions are almost humorous in hindsight... now that my house is full of children, but they overwhelmed me at the time.

We had friends over for dinner that evening... and they shared their exciting news with us... they were pregnant! Ugh... I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. Really God? This seems ironically cruel. Of course, we were thrilled for them... but the timing was heartbreaking.
I think of the confusion and pain that was almost overwhelming on that day. I believe in a God who is all-sovereign, all-powerful... and all-knowing. I believe this God is loving and knows me personally. I believe that he created me in my mother's womb and 'ordained each of my days before one of them came to be' (Psalm 139). I guess usually these verses in the Bible seem to encourage the normal christian. But for me... it made me question this all-powerful God like never before. And as a passionate person... My love for God has quickly turned to hate on a few occasions... especially this one.  Why would God 'allow' this life to begin? 'Allow' the excitement and anticipation to grow... only to snatch it away? If he knit me together in my mother's womb... why didn't he do a better job with the precious life that I would soon be forced to flush down the toilet?

A few days later... I naturally miscarried our first baby. Which... if you've read any of my previous posts on the topic... was traumatic, horrible and heart wrenching. But I don't want to focus on that today...
Today... I feel like the Lord has helped me to take a few steps back and view our story over the past 7 years  the way He sees it. As a masterpiece.

As an artist ( broadly speaking)... I have always been drawn to the impressionist's. Seemingly meaningless strokes of a brush, random colors ... if you're looking up close. But just take a few steps back. Glance at the random colors and brush strokes from afar... and you see the painting as the artist intended.. as a MASTERPIECE. The artist knew what he was creating all along.
At this point in my life, however, I must admit I was not a fan of this 'Artist' who was painting my story. These drab and heavy colors were overwhelming the palette I had anticipated to paint my life with. I didn't understand these chaotic brushstrokes and random colors... not at all what I had imagined for my life.

Just a short while later... we found out that we were expecting again. The fear was stronger than the excitement. No fun announcements were made... I was just anxiously awaiting that first ultrasound... and a heartbeat.

Hate for God and fear for my baby finally gave way as the months passed and I finally met my darling Evangeline. I remember missing my first 'lost' baby... while holding my beautiful firstborn daughter. What a strange feeling. Realistically speaking, had we not lost our first baby... the world would've never known this brilliant personality and strong-spirited soul all wrapped up in my little Evangeline. I can't imagine life without my 'doodle'. The strokes are still chaotic and mysterious... but the colors seem to be warming up.

By Evangeline's first birthday... we had another bundle of joy on the way! I was definitely nervous... but allowed myself to be excited, and soon enough... we had a baby brother! A pensive and colicky little thing... he was attached to my hip. Oh, dear Elliot... he and I had quite the strong bond from the beginning... since he never slept and needed his mama all the time.

Time marched on. Many blessing were heaped into my life... which meant, naturally, that God and I were on better terms. My human heart accepts blessings without question. I'm pretty sure the brushstrokes in my life still seemed chaotic... but the colors were glorious.

At this point in our lives, David and I knew a few friends who had just gone through the unthinkable tragedy of losing a baby at full term (stillbirth)... and we also had a scare when Elliot was born not breathing. We knew that we wanted more children... and were acutely aware that anyone thinking that they were in control of perfectly planning their own family was grossly mistaken. The illusion of control is just that... an illusion. No one plans on a miscarriage or a stillbirth. No one plans on a cancer diagnosis, a disabled child or a fatal car accident. If your life or family planning has gone the way you 'planned' or hoped (4 kids evenly spaced by the time I'm 30) ... then you are simply blessed. You are not in control. I don't say that to be mean... I say that to help lift the burden off your shoulders... because if you think you are in such control of your life... you must be carrying a very heavy burden... a burden not meant for any of us to carry. The heavy weight of perfectionism and the illusion of controlling one's life are heavy loads to carry. Quite exhausting, I imagine. And I promise you... eventually, something in your life will brake the mold... and it will send you reeling in anxiety and despair if you somehow think that the only one holding the paintbrush is you.

These days... I like to imagine myself picking up the paintbrush and helping this 'Great Artist' paint the story of my life... because he loves me and wants me to join in and create something beautiful... but I've realized that to 'white-knuckle' this brush from the 'Artist' would only be foolish... and so I've learned to relinquish my control and learn to trust. Trust that he sees my story from an eternal perspective. Trust that the one who created me and ordained my days, has a brilliant design for the reasons behind his creation.

There was a sense of freedom that came from knowing that I was not in control... and that life and death were not in my hands. That our children are a gift from God whether we had our 'acts together' or not.

Which brings me to September 2011. I found out I was pregnant again when Elliot was just 7 months old. I was overwhelmed at the thought of '3 under 3'... but was so excited. I had had two healthy, consecutive pregnancies ... and the thought of another miscarriage was far from my mind. I kept the secret all to myself for a week as I nursed Elliot twice a night... and took the time to take pictures of him in a 'big brother' onesie and wait for the photo book to come in the mail in time to surprise David on our anniversary. Of course he was thrilled... and we chuckled at the fact that there was once a day that I ever worried about being able to have children.
Our plates were full... in the best kind of way.

We announced our new addition to our family... which if you've had three kids, you know this is the time the excitement dies down... and the concern amps up. "Oh... was this a surprise?!" ... "You know how that happens..." well meaning observers would comment.
The only thing more intriguing then announcing a third pregnancy in this day and age... is announcing the fourth. This immediately sends friends and family into 'intervention mode'. Wide eyes and blank smiles... 'oh... wow?!' ... followed by apologies of how they initially responded... followed by inquireries of future family plans. "So... are you done? "
... I'll choose to leave you all hanging on that one.

Anyway... about a week after our announcement, the unmistakable and unexpected pain of a second miscarriage was my new reality. These dreary colors, that I though I was rid of, were once again permeating my world. Isolated grief and sadness that only a mother can feel. This time... the confusion and questioning was less. I had walked through this before and knew that the backdrop of darkness in my life made the beautiful colors more brilliant in comparison. I knew that God had beautiful things for me in the midst of pain. I trusted that He was painting something beautiful... but none of these things take away the deep sadness. The reality of remembering when I was in my first trimester with Evangeline and Elliot... and knowing that there was a beautiful life inside of me that I would never get to hold.

Several months later... our sweet Mary Adeline was on her way! I imagined the colors a little more pastel with the arrival of another girl ... but the bold colors seemed to explode on the canvas of our life. Joy unspeakable... hysterical chaos... three sweet blessings that made me want to shout from the rooftops and pull my hair out at the same time. Had I been in complete control of my story, my children would've slept better, obeyed quicker and the girls would've kept bows in their perfectly combed hair. What the heck... If I were in control, I'd go ahead and make myself a few inches taller with high arches and a less 'sturdy' midsection... but that's not the point. Let's stay on track...

But what I could never have created on my own was unfolding before me... the sweet bonding and quiet moments that only happen in the darkest hours of the night. The redemption of the imperfect. The beauty of unkept curls falling over a yogurt covered cherub face... I would've never thought of that! My own paintbrush would have stayed in perfectly placed lines. And if I was still grasping too tightly for control... I would've missed cherishing that sweet face, all the while... searching for that god-forsaken bow!

Somehow the pain in my life was turning into trust. The striving turned to ease. The chaos turning to beauty.

Over a year later... December 2013... at 13 weeks pregnant... we lost another sweet baby. I'm not sure why... but this was the worst of me. The physical and emotional labor and delivery... that culminates with empty arms. Nothing but a small gold box buried deep in the earth. Another pacifier on our Christmas tree... another empty frame on our wall. Perhaps this loss was harder for me because we didn't have another bundle on joy on the way anytime soon after. Or maybe because I thought I had 'paid my dues' and didn't deserve this unfair treatment. Either way... the baby's due date 'July 3rd', came and went. The year anniversary of the miscarriage came and went. There was no joy of a new life to saturate the sadness... and no 'mystery' of 'well, I wouldn't have this child if we hadn't lost that child'. It was complete loss and sadness. We would've had a little one year old this summer...

February 2015... On a cold and dreary Valentine's day, the weekend we were supposed to be moving into our new home, I miscarried our fourth baby. No words...

And now...here we are, with another sweet little girl on the way. Eight pregnancies in seven years. Three beautiful children to hold and love... four to love and miss... and one on the way. I'm tempted to relax and assume that everything will be fine since we've heard that beautiful beat of her heart. But I've learned enough in my 34 years on this earth to realize that resting on the hope of something as fleeting as a heartbeat is not where my trust should lie. Christ is my solid rock. I can fall through all the layers of trust this world alludes me with... and the quicker the better... because I know that placing my feet on that rock is the only true security.

All of our dark skies and chaotic brushstrokes look different. Chronic pain, multiple surgeries, miscarriages, infertility, broken relationships, losing a child or a loved one, a difficult marriage... so  I've learned that it's best not to compare. Comparing one masterpiece to another seems rather senseless to me. Each are beautiful in their own, unique way. Each take different amounts of time to complete. Each telling it's own story.

The idea that time heals pain is quite unrealistic. But it does take time for the paint to dry... and time for my hardened heart to soften. It's taken me time to slowly let the ashen colors and chaotic brushstrokes of each miscarriage, sleepless night and pain infused day, to soak into the canvas. And it's taken time for me to start backing away from those moments in my life. I thought I would lose something special as I backed away from these moments. Afraid that somehow backing away from them meant I didn't care anymore. But it's turned out that backing away from my darkest moments has opened up a whole new perspective. The darkest strokes in my painting are the ones that deepen my perspective and cause the stars to shine brighter.

I used to view the sky as a dark and dreary canvas... with, perhaps a few, beautiful stars gracing the sky occasionally. But, as I grow in love and trust of the 'Great Artist'... the God of the universe who created me and loves me, a Father who loved his creation enough to send his son into a dark world to rescue us and redeem the broken and shattered pieces of this life... my view has been turned inside out.

The reality of the sky has become the glorious and bright colors of heaven. The darkness... simply the drab and dreary canvas of this broken world. The shattered dreams and missing pieces of this life tear away the dark facade of this earthly sky only to reveal eternal beauty beyond what we can imagine. Why would I ever want to paint my own fading stars on the canvas of this life with the illusions of control and my idea of perfection?

The more of this earthly canvas that is ripped away... the better I can see eternity... and the more glorious it becomes.