International Women's Day and the Women With No Names

When was the last time you went to your doctor? How about your OBGYN? Did you wonder how this specialty of medicine came into existence? I hadn’t given it much thought until I listened to a program on NPR a few weeks ago about the father of modern gynecology—J. Marion Sims.

But I don’t want to talk about him, at least not directly. March is Women’s History Month (and today is International Women's Day), so I want to talk about the women who made his discoveries possible. The women he practiced on. The women he studied. And more importantly, I want to talk about the women he exploited to find cures to ailments many of us no longer are at risk of facing.

I don’t want this day to pass by without saying something. I care about women. I care about the issues women face. I care about the women who have gone before me. I care about women who have suffered in ways I have a hard time imagining. Which is why I listened to a broadcast of The Hidden Brain on NPR. The February 16 episode tells the story of slave women Sims operated on in order to find a cure for obstetric fistula. He found the cure, but not before he operated on these women without anesthesia, without their consent, and in horrifying conditions. One of these women, the primary subject of the episode, is named Anarcha.

It’s not an easy thing to listen to, these stories of mutilation and pain at the hands of this doctor. But I felt I had to listen in order to give honor and power to their stories. These women were real women. Real people who had no opportunity to consent or even ask for the “treatment” they were receiving. These were women who were not only abused by slave owners, thus resulting in their pregnancies, but they also suffered the agony of then losing those babies in complicated deliveries. We don’t even have names for all of them. A name, the thing that gives us our identity and individuality, is not even documented for some of these women.

In history books we read stories of people and so often we know their names. We know of Harriett Tubman and Martha Washington. We know of Jackie Kennedy and Susan B. Anthony. But for the women whose broken bodies were literally the very foundation for so many of the medical advances we have today, we have no names. Only stories. We have documents telling us what they went through, the cures that were found, but we have no names. And all I kept thinking as I heard of what they endured, at the hands of a doctor who wanted to make medical progress, is that God knows their names. They are not lost to him. We know Anaracha’s name, but God knows them all.

So I want to honor these women this month, the women who have no names, and even the one who is—Anarcha. I know what it’s like to have complicated pregnancies and to lose babies, but more than that, I live in the modern age where so many of the difficulties I faced having children were remedied by the very medicine these women went through so much pain for. You probably did, too.

Their bodies were broken, so mine could be whole. Their children were lost, so I could hold mine. Their lives were ruined by the curse of childbirth, so mine wouldn’t have to be. This is a sacrifice that none of us deserve, but that I am eternally grateful for. So as I hold my healthy baby and hug my growing twin boys, I am thankful to God for them, these mothers of modern gynecology. They deserved better than what they received at the hands of a doctor who was zealous for his own medical discoveries and glory. They deserved to be treated with dignity and respect. They deserved to be treated as humans. They deserved to be cared for, not mutilated. And they deserved to be named.

A Tale of Four Thanksgivings

That first Thanksgiving was hard, so hard that when I think about it I still feel the pain that flowed through my weary body. I remember how I felt that first Thanksgiving, achingly aware that my body was empty. Empty of a baby that I wanted so badly. Empty of the hope of a baby any time soon. I was surrounded by pregnancy in every sphere of my life, and I could barely choke out the words “I’m thankful” when we all shared our Thanksgiving joy around the dinner table. It felt like a lie. I didn’t know how to be thankful when living felt like death and tears came too easily for my comfort.

Little did I know it would take two more years before I would know the joy of pregnancy again.

I remember how I felt that second Thanksgiving. When treatment was inevitable and I had no assurance I would ever hold a baby in my arms this side of heaven. I spent my holiday battling hot flashes and mood swings in a drug induced menopause all in an attempt to get my body to do what I felt in my heart it was supposed to do—carry and sustain a baby. It was a little easier to say the words “I’m thankful” that Thanksgiving. I had seen God work. I could see, though dimly, that through the dark and heavy clouds of loss and infertility, God was doing something in my sad heart. I just didn’t know what it was yet.

I remember the fourth Thanksgiving, smack in the middle of the baby years with twins, spending many hours pumping and feeding and going to the doctor and therapy. I wondered why after all my longing for a baby God would give me such difficulty with their lives. I wanted ease, not discomfort. I wanted simplicity, not complication. I was so overwhelmingly thankful for every ounce of them, yet I struggled with my circumstances that looked different than I anticipated. Yet still, God was doing something.

Here I am on the sixth Thanksgiving. Lord willing, farther along than I was in the beginning. Still waiting for prayers to be answered. Still battling discontentment with the life I have been given with its mundane struggles, sin, and sorrow, yet daily reminded of the rock solid truth that God is a good and faithful God to his people. He doesn’t leave us. He gives us only good things, even if our definition of good is different. This Thanksgiving, I feel like I am coming to terms with the reality of life in a broken world and I am thankful for it in all its complexity.

I’ve had Thanksgivings of want and Thanksgivings of plenty, Thanksgivings of rebellion and Thanksgivings of restoration. It’s easier to say “I’m thankful” than it was in the beginning, but not because I got what I wanted. These children give me much to be thankful for, yes. But it is more than that. I’m thankful that in my darkness and cynicism and unbelief God did not forsake me. I’m thankful that when I wrestled through the lot he was giving me he still pointed me upward and worked faith into my brittle heart. I’m thankful for years of sorrow and loss, because in the loss of what was most precious to me God was found to be infinitely better than any earthly thing. I’ve learned in the wanting that God shows up, that he can be trusted, and that even when the clouds hang low a break in them is coming.

So I’m thankful this Thanksgiving. As I kiss my boys goodnight and tuck them in bed, I’m so very thankful that they are here with me. I’m thankful for their boundless energy and middle of the night cuddles. I’m thankful for the life they bring to our home that was once so strikingly empty and quiet. But I’m equally thankful that God was here with me as he taught me how to wait on his timetable.

Our Third Son

One year ago today, we walked into an ultrasound room with hopeful hearts. We walked out of that very room heartbroken and confused. February 24, 2015 looks very different than February 24, 2014. I spent the better part of that day last year packing for a planned trip to Florida and processing next steps for our unexpected loss, all while weeping uncontrollably over the baby I would never meet.

It was a harder miscarriage than our first. Emotionally it registered about the same, but physically it took its toll on me and dragged on much longer than anyone ever expected. It made us wonder if we could endure another pregnancy, another rise and fall of dreams for a child. So we waited the months that were medically necessary because of the physical effect of the miscarriage and asked God to unite our hearts around the possibility of another baby--a baby we knew in our hearts we ached for.

And God heard our prayer.

We spent the better part of the first half of this pregnancy convinced we were having a girl. All the old wives tales about gender seemed to be leaning pink, so we were pretty sold on a name for the baby should we have a girl. But a boy? We were stumped. We had already used up two names on the sons we currently have, so thinking about another name proved difficult for us. So we didn't.

When the ultrasound technician informed us that our suspicions were false, we were floored. Daniel kept saying "wow" over and over again. We are delighted to add another boy to our brood, we just weren't expecting it this time around.

For weeks we talked about names, wrote down names, looked up names, and then talked about names some more. We could not come to a consensus. As we were driving to the airport for Christmas we settled in to listen to a seminar on parenting. The speaker read from Genesis 4 and when he got to verse 25, we stopped:

And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and called his name Seth, for she said, “God has appointed for me another offspring instead of Abel, for Cain killed him.”

"What about Seth?" Daniel said.

We have always liked the name, we just forgot about it until that moment. Seth means "appointed one" and in particular to the story in Genesis, he is the God-appointed son in place of the one who was lost. So much of this pregnancy has linked us to the baby we lost. We heard Seth's heartbeat the day after our other baby was due. We found out we were pregnant the month we were due with the one we lost. In many ways, we feel like Seth is the joy that has come in the morning (Psalm 30:5). After we talked about this name, and the meaning behind it, we knew that the story of how he came to be would be perfectly woven into his very name, much like the names of his older brothers.

For his middle name we went off from our normal way of naming our kids. So far we have chosen family names for our children. Luke's name is Lucas Daniel (after Daniel). Zach's is Zachary Garrett (after my grandpa), but we could not find a family name that went with Seth! When I first became a Christian I was exposed to the writing of Elisabeth Elliot. Reading her gave me a context for a female Christian writer. Prior to my conversion, I wanted to be a writer. As a new believer, she opened up God's word to me, and gave me a female example to emulate. And he also happens to be due the month my first book releases! Jim Elliot's story influenced Daniel as a college student as well. So we felt it fitting to name him Seth Elliot, to honor the lives of two people who have impacted us greatly.

As I reflect on all God has taught me in the year since our second miscarriage, like our first, I am undone by his goodness once again. In the dark days that followed our loss it felt as if I would never see the sun in my circumstances again, let alone in my own soul. But God is faithful. He restores the years that the locusts of sin, suffering, and loss have eaten. He brings joy out of mourning. He causes the sun to rise in the dark corners of our hearts when his frowning providence seems to tell a different story.

In two and a half months we will meet this precious boy, Seth Elliot. We love him already.

A Momma's Heart Breaks, No Matter Her Culture

It's been a sad cycle of news these last few weeks. We've heard reports of children being slaughtered in Iraq, thousands have died and suffer from Ebola, Robin Williams committed suicide, Michael Brown was killed, an American city is in emotional upheaval reminding us all of our nation's rocky history, and James Foley was murdered for all the world to see. These are just the things I can think of off the top of my head. I know there are more and it's hard to take it all in. I don't respond to major news stories usually. Most of that decision is owing to the fact that I don't know enough about it to offer any credible insight into the situation, and almost all of it is owing to the fact that others (much wiser than I) have better things to say. So I listen and think and talk and pray. But I rarely write about it.

Until now.

I'm not going to offer any commentary on any particular situation. Again, even though I'm writing about the generalities of our sad news cycle, I still don't feel adequate to speak into any one situation. But I am going to speak to one thing that unites a large percentage of our global population.

I'm a mom.

My heart has been slowly breaking as I processed each piece of sad news these last few weeks. With each snippet of story I saw, one thought kept coming to my mind, I wonder how the mothers are doing?

Motherhood is the great equalizer for us as women. It's why we share birth stories with complete strangers. It's why we offer advice with a new mom. "It will get better," we assure her. It's why we cry when we see other mothers sending their children off to college (or the first day of school). We've been there. We know the feeling. We've felt the morning sickness. We've felt the first kicks. We remember the feel of their heads when the nurse first placed them in our arms. We've been up late at night with a sick toddler. We've kissed a skinned knee, packed a lunch, wiped a tear, and never once have we thought we would be the one to say the final goodbye to them. If the thought has crossed our minds, it's been in our deepest nightmares.

But as I've watched the news lately that's all I can think about. The mothers. The mothers who have rocked their babies to sleep and read them books, now burying those same children in the cold, dark, ground. And I can hardly choke back the tears.

Whatever we believe about any situation that is happening in our world (whether or not missionaries should go to places that threaten their lives, who was at fault in the death of an African American teenager, how to handle the suicide of a celebrity, or how to respond to the crisis in Iraq) one thing is certain, the people we are talking about as the latest fodder for the evening news are children of grieving mothers. Whatever is true about them, their mothers lost something that can never be replaced--or at least are facing the possibility of the loss.

And while I have no answers to the many problems facing our world I do have this. Tears. A mother's heart breaks the same no matter where she's from. And this momma is grieving with her.

A Run to Remember

On Saturday our family had the opportunity to run in our first 5k as a family of four. Daniel and I ran one together before we were married, but it hardly counted as a run since I could barely walk the whole thing. This time it meant something to us. We ran in the Race to Remember, which benefits an organization called Mamie's Poppy Plates. This organization provides hand painted plates of footprints and birth stats to families who have lost a child in early infancy or in pregnancy. While we have never experienced infant loss or stillbirth, we have lost two babies to miscarriage and felt like this race was a worthy cause to give our time to.

Leading up to the race I was really anxious and I couldn't put my finger on it. As I drove to pick up our race packets on Friday it hit me. I was aware that running in a race in memory of the two babies we have lost put our grief right out into the open. Of course, it's a race to remember, so it's only fitting that I would remember the babies we don't have with us. It felt so raw and in my face to take part in something that put my loss out in the open. The Internet is one thing. Looking people in the eye who have experienced similar (and far more horrific) losses to my own was freeing and excruciating.

As we stepped inside the park to join the pre-race festivities I felt my self-conscious fear melt away. Everywhere I looked there were families in shirts bearing the names of the babies they have lost. I made a point to read and process every precious name on every shirt. Names of lives desperately wanted. Names of babies who were gone far too soon. Names of boys, girls, full term, premature, and sick babies who never made it through their first few moments of life outside the womb, if they even got that far.

And that was the point.

Every person who chose to run that race on Saturday knew they were running for something more than themselves. Grandfathers ran in honor of their grandchildren. Brothers ran in honor of their sisters. Cousins ran in honor of their cousins. Aunts and uncles ran for their nieces and nephews. And mothers ran for their babies. I read those names because like their family members, I want to remember that their lives mattered, even if they were brief.

The beauty of memory is that we are given the chance to remember what is most precious to us. Even if it is laced with pain, we still have the hope that our memories remind us of happier days. God did not need to bless us with this gift, but he did. Throughout the Bible he tells us to remember, most importantly to remember his kindness to us. On Saturday, like many other mothers who have babies no longer with them, I remembered not just the lives lost, but the goodness of God in the midst of the pain. God gives and God takes away and his name is always worthy of my praise.

(Before the race there was a balloon release in memory of the babies who have died. If you had an early pregnancy loss before you knew the gender you received a white balloon. If you look closely, the above picture is of our two white balloons floating away.)

Hannah's Loss

Whenever I hear someone talk about Hannah from 1 Samuel it is usually because of her great trust in the midst of her barrenness. She is the test case for infertility, really. Barren in a culture that gave women their worth by the fruit of their womb. Reviled by the second wife who bore her husband the multitude of children she so desperately wanted, yet couldn't have. Misunderstood by those around her who observed her grief over her emptiness. Yet, she trusted God in the midst of it all. And God heard her prayer of desperation.

But there is something about Hannah that I often overlook. As I was listening to this sermon the other day I was struck by something in this biblical story.

Hannah lost the son she begged for.

In the wake of her great joy over her precious son, she walked in obedience to a vow she made to God and gave her son back to the One who gave her the gift of life in the first place (1 Samuel 1:11, 22, 28). The pastor I was listening to said that it would be expected for Hannah to respond to such a loss with unimaginable grief. This was pre-Skype, pre-texting, pre-modern mail system. Saying goodbye to her son, Samuel, meant saying goodbye forever. When she left him with Eli she left with him every dream of seeing him grow into a man. Every dream of seeing him learn how to write his name, read a book, or do anything that a normal little boy does. Except for the times when they went up to offer yearly sacrifices, when she left him with Eli that was it. As she promised in that tear filled moment before his conception, she gave her son back to God.

But what does Hannah do? She worships God (1 Samuel 2:1-11). She doesn't shake her fist at him in anger. She doesn't go back on her word. She worships the One who gives all good things to his children. She praises him for his character, his goodness, and his faithfulness to his people. She just kissed her little boy goodbye, left him forever, and all she can do is look to God and praise his name.

What Hannah recognized was that her son was really not hers to claim. He was a gift. God gave him to her and he had the right to take him back. She understood that the focal point of all of her barrenness, all of her pain, and all of her joy in the birth of her son was God. It was not about her getting everything she wished for. It was about God being magnified in her life and in the life of her boy.

And oh, how he was magnified. It was through this longed for boy that God would bring his people back to himself and prepare them for a king. It was through his leadership that the line of David, the line of our Christ, would be established. Hannah's loss was not for naught. It was for us. It was for our joy. It was for our salvation.

Rarely do we see the final outcome of our losses. We don't often get to see the ultimate point of them all, but it doesn't mean it is not there. Hannah never got to see the Christ who was promised. She probably never saw the king who would carry the lineage of our perfect King Jesus. But she trusted the promise nonetheless. She knew her story wasn't the final word. Neither is ours. How do we know this? Because of the loss of another--our precious Christ. It is his loss that assures us that our losses mean something much deeper than the agony we feel in the moment. It is his loss that promises that one day all things will be made right by his once and for all defeat of all things evil. Hannah hoped in the God who would get this done in his time. And so should we. Hannah was able to look in the face of her precious boy as she walked away from him for the last time and know that God would win in the end and her loss was not in vain. The same is true for us, friends. The same is true for us.

The Goodness of God's Ways

I have thought hard about the goodness of God these last three years. What I keep coming back to is that God's ways are not my ways. The bible tells me that and I know it in my soul. April 2 is a "God's ways are not my own" sort of day for me. You see, April 2 is the due date of our first baby. I could have had a three year old today. In previous years I have marked this day with a myriad of emotions. The first year hit me the hardest and each subsequent year has been a little less painful, yet no less impactful.

This year feels more real to me than last year. Maybe it's because last year I was drowning in the ocean of multiple middle of the night feedings and crying newborn twins. But I remembered. Every year I remember. I remember what could have been. I remember what the stinging loss felt like when I first heard the words "there is no baby there." I remember what it felt like to lose the baby. I remember what it felt like to cry out in agony every month that led to that precious babe's due date. Remembering is all I have of this little one.

But this year feels more impactful because I'm walking through another loss of a little one. The pain of the first loss is now wrapped up in the pain of the other. In God's kind providence, the twins' original due date was April 3, the day after our first baby's due date. In many ways, God was showing us the beauty that could come from the ashes of our grief of loss and infertility. He met us in the darkness and gave us hope that he is for us.

So we cling to that truth this year as well. His ways are certaintly not our ways, but in the same way we remember the precious babes we have lost, we also remember all of the good he has done and promises to do for us. Even in the sadness, we are putting our stake of faith in the ground and declaring that he is good and always does good to his children.

It is true, that his ways are so far beyond what we can comprehend. But he has never failed us. Not in the loss of our two babies. Not in our years of infertility. Not in our darkest days of despair. Not once. And that, too, shows us that his ways are not our ways. A God who cares enough to meet us in the darkness, also promises to bring us into the light.

So as we walk through another April 2 with a house less full than we intended, we are thankful. Thankful for the blessings he has given us in these two boys. Thankful for the gifts he gave us in the babes we lost. And thankful that his ways are not our ways. They are always better.

The Stewardship of Pain

Nobody likes pain. I know I don't. We hate pain so much that we do whatever we can to avoid it. We have a headache, we take ibuprofen. We get a leg cramp while running (true confession!), so we stop running. We have surgery, we go under anesthesia. As a society, we have come a long way by means of pain management.

But what about the pain that runs deeper. The pain that settles itself within your very soul. How do you avoid that pain? Some turn to a variety of coping mechanisms. Some simply try to avoid it all together, as if the pain never existed. What is the Christian to do? Do we adopt the world's methods for "pain management," or is there a better, more sustaining way forward in the midst of searing pain?

Jerry Bridges has some helpful words for our pain. In God's providence, Jerry Bridges has been on my nightstand for both of my miscarriages. For the first one, it was Trusting God. This time, it was The Joy of Fearing God. Both times I have been helped tremendously by Bridges careful and God-exalting words.

We usually think of Christian stewardship in terms of money. Some churches have "stewardship campaigns" during which they seek to get their membership to pledge toward the annual church budget. Then the concept of stewardship was broadened to include our time and talents--or as one slogan puts it, "Be a good steward of your time, talents, and treasure." The idea behind these concepts is that whatever resources God has given us, He has entrusted them to us as stewards to use for His glory.

Now apply that idea to pain, either physical or emotional. If we believe God is sovereignly in control of all circumstances of our lives, then our pain is something He has given to us just as much as our time or talents or treasure. He has entrusted the pain to us to be used for His glory...

Closely akin to trusting God in our pain is trusting Him to fulfill His promises, even when we can't imagine how He can fulfill them (225-226).

That is what I want for my own life. I want to steward the pain he gives me for his glory, and ultimately for my own good. This radically changes our perspective on suffering and pain. It takes pain from being something that is against us to something that is given to us as a gift. It is always for our good, even when it feels and seems bleak.

Stewarding our pain well can only be done with the future in view. If we merely looked at the present we would grow weary rather quickly. Instead, like so many who have gone before us, we must look to the eternal home, healing, and rest that awaits us with our Lord. It is impossible to steward our pain well on our own and with tunnel vision. We need God to give us an eternal perspective and the hope that Christ will reign victorious over even the most excruciating pain we face.

Oh Lord, let it be so in my own life, even today.

 

 

The Testimony of Patience

I have never been a very patient person. In fact, it is a constant struggle for me. I suppose I could attribute it to the fact that I am a planner and with my planning comes a regular anticipation of what is to come. My lack of patience can be in something as simple as childlike hope in a future family vacation to sinful frustration when things don't happen in the time frame I have planned.

As I've gotten older, I have grown to realize that my impatience is actually something far more serious. In my impatience I often am proclaiming (with my attitude and my thoughts) that if things could simply go my way, I would be much happier. In its most basic form, I'm saying that God can't be trusted.

I can recall a number of times where I have gotten to the end of a particular situation only to realize that the joy in the outcome is diminished by the tantrum I had in the waiting. Sure, God acted on my behalf, but my distrust for him left a bitter taste in my mouth when I should have experienced the sweetness of his grace. But I can recall times where I've seen God act and felt great joy and trust in his good plan for my life. No bitterness over my sinful attitude. No sorrow over my attempts to control. Just pure, sweet fellowship with the One who always has my best interest at heart. I want more of the second outcome. Not the first.

David knew well what it meant to wait for the Lord to act. He faced crisis after crisis with little insight into the end result. Yet, he trusted in the God who promises good things to his people. Psalm 40 is a beautiful testimony of a man who "waited patiently for the LORD" (verse 1). David had seen God act on his behalf repeatedly and this reinforces the truth in his weary mind that God will do it again. When he is faced with enemies on every side he remembers that God has delivered him in the past. When he feels that his life is in danger, as it most certainly was on a regular basis, he recalls the God who holds his life in his hands. When he feels forgotten and alone, he remembers the God who promised to never leave him or forsake him. For David, external circumstances were not the final say in his life. God and his all powerful purposes were. David trusted in the God he could not see, not the circumstances that were so clearly in his full view.

But there is something more important about waiting on God in the midst of a trial (or even a slow moving situation). It's not just about us. In Psalm 40:3, David says that "many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD." Every response we have to any given situation is telling a story to a watching world. Every attempt to take matters into our own hands, instead of waiting on God to fulfill his purposes for us is saying that God can't be trusted as much as we can. In contrast, every time we trust God when everything else around us is crashing down, we tell a very different story about our God. Trusting God, and waiting on him when it looks bleak or pointless to wait, tells the watching world that God's ways really are better than our own. It puts him on display, not us. It makes him look great, not our own ability to manipulate an outcome.

Manipulating is easy. We all know that. It's the quiet trust when you can't see through the dark and foggy window of life that can take your breath away. And that is why we remember. David knew that left to himself he would never be able to endure the myriad of flaming darts that life would throw his way. So he remembered God's past faithfulness and hoped that it would come again. The same is true for us today. Not only do we have the anchor of our own history with God to steady us when the waves come crashing, but we have something even more powerful. The history of God's people through the ages as told in his word. David's testimony and the testimonies of countless others remind us that God can be trusted. Nowhere do we see this more clearly than at the cross. God promised thousands of years before Christ that he would make a way for his people to be right with him again.

And then he did it with his own Son, Jesus.

We can rest patiently on the Lord because every promise he makes to us comes true. We can rest patiently on the Lord because Christ came, died, and rose again and is now seated at the right hand of the Father pleading for our very patience right now. We can rest patiently on the Lord because every word of God proves true, even the one that says he will keep us until the end.

It Never Gets Easier, But God is Always Good

"It doesn't get any easier, does it?"

You meet kindred spirits in some of the strangest places sometimes. As I nervously stood in line at my local drugstore I dreaded what I was about to do. I knew I needed the medicine in order to have some form of closure and to complete the miscarriage, but something felt so wrong about it all. Deep within my soul I wanted to scream to all who were around me:

"I'm not having an abortion. I promise. I was pregnant. I wanted this baby!"

Thankfully I didn't have to. But that didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable for me. As the pharmacist asked me the obligatory "are you pregnant?" (which is apparently required when you take medicine like this) my heart ached. I didn't know how to respond. Yes, I kind of was still pregnant. I was still carrying the baby, but the baby was no longer there. So I stumbled to get the words out and eventually confessed that I needed the medicine to help with the process. No one tells you how awkward it will be to do that.

But then something sweet happened. After the pharmacist left, the pharmacy tech continued to finish out my order. As she processed my credit card she mouthed the words "I'm sorry." She went on to tell me how she also had two miscarriages and confirmed my feelings that this really doesn't get any easier.  She understood. She had been there. And she validated my grief and my fears. The Lord met me with comfort even through a process that brought me much dread.

Her words have stayed with me these two weeks since we learned we lost our fourth child. In many ways her words are very true. I used to wonder if having another miscarriage would be easier since I know what to expect or since I have two other children now. But I don't think those things really change the awful reality that there is nothing good and easy about losing a baby. It is true, since I have gone through this before I know what to expect. I know what a miscarriage is like. I know how my heart processes things weeks and months later and I know the dark days that can lie ahead. The knowledge of what to expect makes me prepared, but it doesn't lessen the sting in any way. And having our sweet boys surely gives us great joy in the midst of great sorrow, but having gone through a successful pregnancy only reminds me how wonderful it is to hold that precious babe for the first time. They are a bright spot to our weary souls and a needed distraction from the chaos of our lives right now, but we still feel the loss of their sibling acutely.

As I've walked through miscarriage, infertility, and now another miscarriage I have quickly learned that there is nothing easy about living in this sin-cursed world. The stain of sin is all around us. Sometimes we are impacted by it directly. Sometimes we see the effects from a distance. But it never makes it easy. If it were easy then this would be our home. Right now our eyes are veiled to the glory that will one day be revealed, but our hearts know it is coming. Our hearts know that one day this will all be made right and we will understand God's purposes behind it all. Right now we only see darkness, but our hearts tell us there is light coming. And that is what we cling to. With tears in our eyes and lumps in our throat we are begging God for more faith through this dark valley of loss.

And we trust him.

The same God who brought us through our first miscarriage and infertility will sustain us through this loss as well. The same God who gave this barren woman arms full of two precious children will not leave me to myself. His love is sure. His ways are always good even when they feel utterly awful. By his grace we are (and beg to continue) walking by faith in his good ways and not by the sight that is so clouded by our circumstances.

"The Lord has promised good to me. His word my hope secures. He will my shield and portion be as long as life endures."

The Frowning Providence of Miscarriage

Pregnancy has always been a bittersweet experience for me. We lost our first baby through miscarriage after a few short weeks in my womb. After two years of surgery, medicine, tests, and begging God for another child, God graciously gave us the twins. They have been the greatest earthly joy in our lives. But my pregnancy with them wasn't easy either, leading me to deliver them eight weeks early. We love having children and long for more, but we always enter pregnancy with a slight hesitancy. We know how it could end. We know how uncertain it can be. The innocence has been lost for us.

It was with that cautious fear and expectant hope that we began walking through another pregnancy. In mid-January we were overjoyed with the news that God had given us another life. We were so excited to see the twins with another sibling who was so close in age to them. But we were a little nervous. Would this pregnancy proceed as planned? Or would it unexpectedly end? Would it be complication free? Or would I face another difficult pregnancy? Early on we learned that my progesterone was low, which only heightened our fear. But we also felt a calm that only the Lord could provide. We had seen him walk with us through so much already and wanted to trust him completely with this little one he had given us.

Pregnancy symptoms came on early and with full force, leading us to believe that all was well. We scheduled our first appointment and went last Monday fully expecting to see our wiggly, 9 week baby on an ultrasound.

But that was not to be.

I knew something was wrong when the ultrasound tech took longer than I was used to. With the twins, she found two of them within seconds. This time she struggled to find even one. Within minutes our worst fears were realized. The baby had never fully developed, but the sac did. Essentially, my body had been thinking I was growing a baby all along, which explained all of my pregnancy symptoms.

To say that we are heartbroken would be an understatement. It's been a week and we still are trying to process the reality that we are walking this road for a second time. Miscarriage is so ugly and so raw. It takes the hopes and dreams of expectant parents and dashes them on an ultrasound table or the bathroom floor. It takes something that should bring the greatest joy and ushers in the greatest pain.

And we are feeling all of it.

The twins have been such a bright spot for us in these dark days. They don't know that Mommy and Daddy are grieving, but they do give us love and affection regardless of our tears and pain. They are a balm to our broken souls.

We have been comforted by the truth that God never lets us go. The loss of our third baby was not a surprise to him. He is a good and loving Father who walks with us through even the darkest of days. And we have felt that mercy, too. We learned with our first miscarriage and subsequent infertility that God is working good even in our pain. It is through tear-filled eyes that we long to see his goodness in the midst of this sorrow, too.

"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face."

How to Help Your Infertile Friend: Take Her to God

When I thought about the myriad of ways to best help an infertile person one thing kept running through my mind over and over.

Take her to God.

The pain of infertility, like the journey of the Christian life, can be so cyclical. One day you feel amazing and hopeful. The other you want to curl up in a ball on the floor and cry until there are no tears left.

But taking the infertile person to God can often be a tricky thing. What the infertile woman needs, like I have already said, is not more over-generalizations about her circumstances. And reciting theology to her can come across as that way--even though a healthy theology is necessary for dealing with the sorrow of infertility. But good theology must come before the trial, so you have a sure footing when everything else around you is shifting sand. In the midst of the trial it can sound like pithy one-liners to sensitive ears.

In my miscarriage series, I said that one of the best ways to help your friend in her loss is to know her--really know her. This will give you the opportunity to know when to speak and when to listen. This will give you insight into her soul and help you know what she needs in any given moment. Sometimes the infertile person needs to know that God loves them. Sounds simple, doesn't it? But when your womb is empty, the absence of a dearly longed for baby can feel like the very nature of hatred from God. Assure her that it isn't. Maybe she needs to know that God always keeps his promises. The Bible is full of examples of God keeping his promises to his weary saints. Remind her of that wonderful truth. Maybe she needs to know that infertility doesn't have the final word in her life. Yes, her body (or her husband's body) is broken. Yes, it feels like evil is prevailing over her right now. But it won't be that way forever. The cross is the promise that the evil that seems to be winning right now will one day be eradicated and we will be given new bodies in the new heavens and the new earth.

The reality is that none of these things will take the pain away ultimately. And these aren't concrete answers for every situation. They are merely examples of the varying ways a woman needs to know that God is for her, not against her in her infertility. But what I hope you take away from this short series on helping your infertile friend is that what suffering people need more than anything is God. They need to know that you love them and that God loves them. They need to know that you won't leave them and that God will never leave them. They need to know that you are with them for the long-haul. And so is God.

Infertility is full of complexities. And every case is different. As you seek to help your infertile friend in whatever stage of the trial she is in, ask God to give you the grace to love her well. As I already said, God delights in giving good things to his children. And by his grace, may you be that good thing for your suffering friend.

How To Help Your Infertile Friend: Treat Her Like a Normal Person

One of the most helpful things you can do for your infertile friend is to treat her like a normal person. Infertility has a way of making you feel like a freak of nature. What an infertile person needs to know is that infertility does not define them. They are not less than human because they cannot conceive. Their womanhood is not determined by a pregnant belly or a house full of children. They need to know that they are just as normal as the next woman.

When everyone around them is sharing news of another pregnancy, this truth can be hard to hold on to because the reality is that their body (or their husband's body) is not functioning like it was made to. They often feel this acutely. But what they need help seeing is that their biological failure is not a personhood failure. Their identity as God's child is not tied to what their broken body can or cannot do. This is why they need you to come along side them and treat them like their life is just as valuable and exciting even in the midst of a profound suffering.You can have a tremendous impact on our hurting friend by treating them like they are as human as you are.

So how do you do that?

Obviously, this varies from person to person, but one way I felt "normal" with my friends is that they expressed interest in the things that interested me. It might seem really small, but infertility can be an all consuming experience. From doctor's visits to charts and tests, it can often feel like your life is one big experiment. My friends helped me get outside of that experience by caring about the other things that I really loved.

Another thing is that they didn't shy away from was sharing their lives with me. It can be hard to share exciting baby news or the details of your potty training experiences with a friend who desperately wants a child of her own, but nothing makes an infertile person feel more abnormal than when he or she knows someone is intentionally holding back about their own children. Like I said in my last post, carefully composed words require knowing your friend, but so does knowing when to share your life with them. An infertile person can feel very alone at times and refraining from sharing your life with her for fear of making her pain worse can only make her feel more alone. Infertile people are very aware of the myriad of babies that are always seeming to pop up right in front of them, so you probably won't be sharing anything with her that she isn't already acutely aware of.

As you walk this road with your hurting friend she will be greatly served by you remembering that there is really very little that separates you from her. While you may be able to conceive with ease, you both bear the image of Christ and find your identity in him alone. Standing on this truth will help you see her as a normal person in need of eyes of faith to see her Savior in the midst of her pain.

How to Help Your Infertile Friend: Part 1

It's been over a year since God opened my womb and gave us these twin boys, which means it's been over a year since I've felt the daily sting of infertility. All throughout our struggle to get pregnant, and in the months following our pregnancy, I have wanted to write something that would help others know how to help their friends in this difficult trial. I have written about how to help after miscarriage and I have written to the infertile woman, but I have never written to an outsider looking in on the infertile couple. There are a number of reasons for that. In the midst of our journey I never felt like I could really pinpoint the most helpful things. We were truly upheld by so many dear people, but in the moment I never wanted to come out swinging against the ones who maybe didn't know exactly how to help. During infertility was not the best time for me personally to write about it. I felt like God had more work to do on my own heart before I could write about it.

But as I am now farther removed from it, my prayer is that I can help those who earnestly desire to encourage their weary friends as they walk this hard road of infertility. Here is part one.

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Choose Your Words Carefully

This can apply to many situations that have nothing to do with infertility, which is why I mention it first. As believers, we know that our words matter. We know that our words have value for another. And we know that our words can either bring life or bring death to a person's soul.

Nowhere is this more important to recognize than when you are dealing with a suffering person. And infertility is a form of suffering. For the infertile, there are days where the reality that she cannot get pregnant is right on her shoulder, screaming lies into her head. Lies like "you aren't really a woman." "This defines you." "You have no purpose because you can't bring life into the world." Carefully composed words can be a healing balm to a discouraged and fainthearted saint.

But another more common temptation when you are helping your infertile friends is the urge to generalize their situation and lump it into every other instance of infertility that you are aware of. I still struggle with this, and I have gone through it! The truth is there are a myriad of reasons why a couple might be infertile. And as their friend, you might want to help find out that reason. While some may know why they can’t get pregnant, some don’t. Some situations require simple procedures to fix the problem. Some require years of treatment that only amount to drained bank accounts and broken hearts. What an infertile couple needs most is not a story about how a friend of a friend got pregnant with the same treatment. That might be true. But for every story of success there is another of failure. This doesn’t mean you never offer advice or insight. Just be careful what you say and when you say it. Sometimes silence is the best policy.

 

And I understand how hard this can be. When I don’t know what to say, I often say too much. I just want to say something, anything, to alleviate the pain. But sometimes removing the pain is not what your friend needs. She might just need empathy. She might just need you to sit with her and cry. But here is one thing I can almost promise you, if you have thought of a reason for why she is infertile, she has probably thought of fifteen more. The infertile woman knows her body (usually) more than she ever wanted to know it. And she understands conception usually better than most.

 

So if your desire is to help your friend, and I trust that it is, understand that a carefully composed word goes a long way. This doesn't mean you have to walk on eggshells around your friend (we will talk about that in another post), but it does mean you think about what you say before you say it. Words, if chosen wisely, can go a long way to helping your suffering friend.

The Flame Can't Destroy You

Trials have a way of taking everything out of you. Whether it is the stress of tight or non-existent finances, the burden of a wayward child, or the pain of the monthly reminder of infertility, there is no denying that trials are exhausting. In the heat of the moment it can feel like we are going to die. When everything around us is falling apart, it's hard for us to see that there could be any light at the end of the tunnel. And in the darkest days, it feels like we just won't make it.

One of my favorite hymns is "How Firm a Foundation". I often repeat the lyrics of this song in good and bad times. The line that usually stays on repeat in my head goes like this:

"When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie. My grace all sufficient shall be thy supply. The flame shall not hurt you, I only design, the dross to consume and the gold to refine."

The words of this song are taken from Isaiah 41 and 43. This line in particular comes from Isaiah 43:2b-3:

"When you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the LORD your God, and the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."

So while I might feel like any given trial will lead to the end of me, God's word promises that the trial is not intended for my demise, but my refinement. The writer of this hymn uses the imagery of gold being refined by fire. Gold only becomes more precious the more it is put through the fire. And our faith in God grows the same way. Rarely do we see intense periods of growth when life is moving along with relative ease. But when the flames of life are rising up around us, whether it be suffering, normal daily trials, or simply the mundane realities of living in a fallen world, it is then that we are seeing our old character slowly burned away to reveal a new, Christ-like character that is precious in God's eyes.

God uses every seemingly insurmountable trial (and even the ones that seem relatively easy) to make us more into the image of his son, Jesus. He wants us purified because he knows that is what is best for us.

And even when our faith is shaken by the circumstances of our life, we can trust that the God who designed the process of our refinement will not leave us to ourselves. He will uphold us. He will restore us. And he will continue to make us new until that final day (Phil. 1:6). The flame can't destroy us because it can never take away what makes us God's child--faith in him. Faith can't be destroyed by even the most dire circumstances because God is the one who gave us the faith and he is the one who will keep it to the end.

The flame will not destroy us ultimately. It might burn us badly, but it won't take away our faith because we are upheld by the one who is the author of our faith.

God's Love and Our Suffering

“The more I learn about the normalcy of suffering in this life, the more afraid I am that God is going to make my life harder.”

Does that statement sound familiar? Maybe you haven’t gone so far as to voice your concerns to that degree, but deep down, when you ponder suffering you are also afraid that God might choose you to be the one to bear the stamp of suffering. And if you were truly honest with yourself, you really don’t want to be that example for everyone else.

I mean, God is a loving God isn’t he? He is the very embodiment of love. How could he truly expect his child to endure lifelong suffering or terrible heartache? And when you do, how do you respond to your preconceived idea about his loving, wonderful plan for your life?

It is a term that gets thrown around quite frequently. God is love. But what does that mean? Does it mean he always gives us what we want? Does it mean he is non-judgmental? Does it mean he is a happy, father figure in the sky waiting to pour out blessing on us?

God’s Love is a Mysterious Love

To believe that God is love means we must learn to trust his heart, as Spurgeon said. We can all recall times where we have absolutely no idea what he is up to, or why is ordering our life a particular way. And I have good news for you, Christian. If you are in Christ, God’s heart is always favorable towards you (Romans 8:1). He always acts on your behalf in view of his love for you. He will never give you anything that is not sovereignly designed for your good and ultimate glory (Genesis 50:20, Romans 8:28). Like every good father, he knows our deepest need—even if we cannot see it. He is ready and able to meet that need, even if it means taking us through devastating trials and suffering. It is all from his loving hand. Sometimes it is a great mystery to us, but our suffering is never an unknown to him.

God’s Love is a Better Love

Jesus knew our tendency to doubt God’s love for us, and so he used the best analogy possible for helping us see the depth of God’s care (Matthew 6:25-34). All we have to do is look at earthly fathers and their care for their children. A good father always provides, always cares, and always gives his child everything she needs. He knows his child better than she knows herself. And Jesus says something profound, “God’s love is better than that.” God is infinitely more wise, loving, and willing to provide for those who are his. Every single thing we receive is because he knows we need it, and he knows that something much better is waiting for us.

God’s Love is a Forward Looking Love

Because we are often in the dark about God’s purpose for our suffering, we are tempted to draw our conclusions about him from what our eyes can see. The reality is that in suffering our eyes are usually blurred with tears and pain. We must always go back to his character and his past promises as the basis for our hope in the midst of this suffering. If we would not make conclusions about those we hold dear in the deepest moments of suffering, we must not make conclusions about our God either.

Two and a half years ago I suffered a miscarriage. In the months following I was gripped with fear that something would happen to my husband. There were a variety of things that contributed to this fear, but the greatest one was the fact that I felt like God could not be trusted with those I loved. If he took my baby, what would stop him from taking my husband, too? I was using my circumstances as a test for his goodness, rather than trusting that he had a good, long-term purpose for all of the pain. Fundamentally, I did not believe that he was for me. Yes, he can take my husband and he will have done me no wrong. But he is also not in the business of taking every good thing from us just because he can. I needed to believe that his love for me ran much deeper than my earthly pleasure. His love, evidenced in my suffering, had eternal purposes (1 Peter 1:6-9, 5:10).

When we face suffering and trials we are tempted to think that this moment is all there is. But it’s not, and God knows that. He knows the thousands of details working behind the scene of our suffering that are preparing us for glory. He has the eternal perspective in view, which is why we can trust him.

And isn’t that so much better than believing in a love that only gives us what we want in the moment? God will have no spoiled children. How many of us can recount with thankfulness the times we asked God for relief, or for something specific, only to find out later that if the prayer had been answered our life would be much more miserable now? I know I have.

Suffering reminds us that God is God and we are not. But it also reminds us that this God is a God who takes care of his children every step of the way. It reminds us that God will never leave us or forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6). It reminds us that everything we ever needed is found in him. It reminds us that one day our weak faith will be made sight, and then we will know the meaning of it all. And in that day, when all tears are wiped from our faces, we will praise him for his love, wisdom, and salvation forever.

How Christians Approach Death: Post at Her.meneutics

Like many of you, I was heartbroken over the December shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut. As a mom pregnant with two little boys, all I could think about were those parents who went searching for their children only to find out they had been killed by a mad man. I wanted to know the names of these children. I wanted to know how to pray for these families. And my heart continued to break more and more.

One mother of the slain children wrote about the process of identifying her son. It is difficult to read, but moving as you get a glimpse of a mother's love even as she views her son's lifeless body. Her decision to come forward caused a journalist to write about how we owe it to these families to listen to their stories, even the gruesome ones. And I agree.

I wrote a post last week at Her.meneutics that ties her assertions to our responsibility as Christians to grieve with people. Here is an excerpt:

"When Lazarus died Jesus went to him even when he was warned that the smell of his dead friend's body would be overpowering (John 11:38-40). Not even a decomposing body could deter him because he knew that he had power over death. As those who trust in this Christ who has victory over death, we owe it to the grieving not to run from death but to run towards it with them, to look death in the face and walk with them in their pain. But also to acknowledge, like Jesus did, that for those who are in Christ that this death does not have the final word (John 11:4).

Not only did Jesus choose to face the death of his friend, but he willing took on flesh in order to defeat death and sin. Jesus became a human being who could die so that little ones, like Noah Pozner, would one day be whole and new—and unstained by the atrocities that ripped them from this world.

 

As Christians we can look at death and refuse to turn our faces away because we know the One who conquered death by his own and is coming again to make all things new (Rev. 21:5). We owe it to grieving families to enter their pain and hear their stories."

 

You can read the rest here.

A Crushed Spirit, Who Can Bear?

"A man's spirit will endure sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?" - Proverbs 18:14

Have you ever had a crushed spirit?

Disappointment. Grief. Pain. Sorrow. Strife. Broken relationships.

All of these in isolation, or all together, are enough to crush even the strongest among us. And a crushed spirit can often last much longer than any sickness. Illnesses often have cures or medicine to alleviate the pain. A crushed spirit knows no such relief. Or does it?

Psalm 34:18 says that the Lord is near to the broken hearted and saves the crushed in spirit. The psalmist goes on to say that while the afflictions of the righteous are many, the Lord delivers him out of them all.

The proverb is true. We cannot bear a crushed spirit. But God can. While we would break under the sheer weight of such sorrow, God upholds us. And we are not alone. God knows our circumstance and is there to deliver us. Is it always immediate? No, but it will happen one day. While he will always be near to us in our moments of deepest suffering, he might not deliver us right away. Deliverance is coming, and while we wait for that day his promise to be near sustains us.

But there is something even more profound about this God who is near to the crushed in spirit. He knows the crushing blows intimately well. How can we know this? Because he crushed his own Son for our deliverance. The Savior, God the Son, was crushed for us. The Father was momentarily separated from him so we would always be near him. No one ever experienced a more crushed spirit than Christ on that day on the cross, all so we would never face such wrath and condemnation. Our ultimate deliverance from pain and sorrow is sure because the cross is sure. Psalm 34:18 is true because the cross is true.

A crushed spirit is impossible to bear, this is true. But by God's grace and kindness we do not have to bear such crushing blows alone. We have a God who not only promises his presence in every pain, but also knows our pain most intimately. A crushed spirit only God can bear, and he daily bears us up.

When God Doesn't Answer Our Questions

Asking God "why" is probably one of the more common themes of the Christian life. We've all probably been there. After the big, much deserved promotion goes to another rather than us, we ask God "why?". When we miss out on another opportunity to fulfill the dream we have always held, we ask God "why?". But maybe your circumstance is more severe. When a child dies, a baby is lost, a loved one suffers for years with a debilitating illness only to succumb to death in the end, through tears we ask God "why?". It all seems so senseless.

Job was no stranger to suffering. And he also was no stranger to asking God "why?". Job is often seen as a test case for understanding suffering. His friends failed miserably in their attempts to help him, and we are taught that this is definitely NOT the way to respond to a suffering person. It's true. But if you read through to the end of the book, when God shows up he focused a lot more on Job than on the friends. Yes, he rebukes the friends in the end, but Job gets the bulk of his discourse. And in all of the words that God breathes out to Job in these chapters, he never once says "and this is the reason why I afflicted you."

While Job is never told why he suffered, he is given something greater--a matured relationship with God. By the end of the book Job sees God in new ways and he falls on his face before him (Job 42). The point of God answering Job in the whirlwind is not that he would have all of his questions answered, but that he would get a bigger view of the God who is over it all. As far as the text tells us, Job never knows of the scenario between God and Satan. He never knows that his story is serving a purpose in God's plan to exalt himself and silence Satan. But by the end, when God shows up, it doesn't really matter. The very presence of God revealing himself to Job is enough to make him repent and resign himself to God's perfect will (Job 42:2-5).

We may never know the reason why we suffer. Sometimes we get little glimpses of God's purposes in our suffering; most of the time we don't. But we will always get what our souls most need--a deeper relationship with God. Suffering strips us of ourselves until all that is left is a broken, humble person. It is then where we can see God for who he is. Majestic. Other. Perfect. Holy. All together good. And that is better than knowing 10,000 reasons for our suffering.

God was just as concerned with Job's refinement as he was with rebuking Job's friends. In the midst of our deepest sorrows God is working. And even if we are never given an answer to our tear-filled questions, we can trust that God will show up and give us what we need more than anything else--namely, himself.

God's Unexpected Gifts in 2012

A new year is exactly that, the dawn of something new. As the calender turns over we are filled with expectation over what will come in the days ahead. But we are also drawn to think back at the year that just went away. A new year is a time for reflection. We look back at the old and anticipate the new. Many are making their lists of resolutions and goals for 2013. Some are eager over all that the year holds. While some are weighed down with the prospect of another year filled with suffering and sorrow. Some are thankful that the turmoil of 2012 is behind them and thus hopeful for a brighter future.

Regardless of your circumstances coming into 2013, God has not changed. He is the same in 2013 as he was in 2012. He is working in abundant ways for our good this year, even if we can't always see clearly through the smoke and clouds of this sin-cursed life.

It's easy for me to believe that he is good at this point in my life. After years of heartache and longing, he has given us the desires of our hearts by giving us these twin boys. And we are in the expectant and eager category this new year. 2013 is the year our twins will be born, and we are anxious for that joyous day. But as I reflect on 2012, I am thankful for all that God did in the unseen ways this year, too. The most obvious gift for us was this pregnancy, but there is so much more wrapped up in this kind answer to our prayers.

I told Daniel yesterday morning that at the close of 2012 I am thankful not only for God giving us what we wanted, but more importantly giving us what we needed. Getting pregnant with twins would have been in vain if we never saw him as more glorious as a result. God was kind to give us the deepest desires of our hearts, but he did so much more than that. He saw into our hearts and gave us what our hearts needed but couldn't even think to ask for--namely, more of himself. In the overwhelming sadness and difficulty of 2012, God showed up. We started the year unsure of the outcome. We started the year with a long six months of treatment ahead (i.e. more waiting). We started the year with an empty womb and ended with a womb more full than we could have imagined. But through every tear-filled night and nauseated morning God never left our side. He sustained us. He made us love him more. He carried us and changed us. He gave our marriage renewed hope and strength. And all of this was not contingent on whether or not we ever could have gotten pregnant. The twins are just icing on the cake. We needed the darkness before we could ever see and appreciate the light.

So we are thankful this new year, obviously for our precious Zach and Luke. But even more than that we are thankful for the God who is there. He didn't just give us children. He gave us joy that will last for eternity. And that is a good way to start this 2013.