Sometimes when I look at a picture, I brings everything back. Smells, sounds, even what I was thinking. This is a picture of me and Zeke in September of 2001. I was saying cheese, but I remember thinking about how I could have had two kids on my lap. This is the post I told myself I'd get around to writing, explaining how I got back my peace with God.
On May 13, 2001, at 32 weeks pregnant, I found out our baby had died. We'd known for a few weeks that she had a brain malformation, but if any of the several doctors we'd seen had mentioned that it might kill her... well, neither T nor I remember ever being warned of that. So we sat at the hospital, having seen the nurse and ultrasound tech's faces, and waited for the doctor to confirm what we'd already guessed. She came in quickly and spoke with us. We chose to go with an induction and delivery that same day. We'd brought our 13 month old son, Z, to the hospital with us (we'd gone in for a quick check, because I wasn't feeling the baby move, I'd convinced myself we were over reacting). T contacted friends to come and pick up Z, but they were a ways away. Z was getting restless, so T took him to roam the halls.
I waited in the room. When I was finally alone, I started rocking my whole body, hands around my belly, just whispering "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God." Without concious thought I was praying.
It happened again later that day when our baby, R, was born, already dead. It was such a chaotic scene. My labor had gone from very slow progression to very fast. Suddenly I needed to push, and a nurse check confirmed I was ready. And with two hurriedly gloved and gowned nurses and no doctor I gave one good push. "It's a girl," the nurse pronounced. I drew in a relieved breath and with it came reality. "Oh, God!" This time I screamed it, but it was a still a prayer, from the depths of my pain.
All that day, all the days and weeks that followed, I felt closer and more connected to God than I ever had before. I couldn't begin to understand what happened, why she had to die. We wanted her no matter what her IQ, her disabilities, no matter what. But even though I didn't understand, there was an inexplicable peace about me. About us. T felt it, too. Like we were being held in God's hands.
Somehow, as the months went by, that peace became harder to find. I could still remember how it felt, but I just couldn't feel that way anymore. I was angry. Bitter. There was a prayer list at church, and I wondered why people asked for prayers. More than others, I knew that "thy will be done" sometimes meant that healing would not come. I didn't stop praying, but I think my prayers were different than people might have wished for. I seldom asked God to heal someone. I mostly asked God to send his peace. I asked for it for me, too.
The bitterness would ebb and flow. I think it actually got worse when I was closer to God. When I would lapse into periods without regular Bible study or scripture it was easy not to think about it. When I would open my Bible or talk with others, it was like poking a wound at times.
We went to a week of church camp this summer, and I began to suspect that the bitterness was growing, and that it was a dangerous thing. I know it sounds dramatic, but I really felt like I needed to deal with it. I prayed that God would send me to someone to talk to, or send someone to me. I talked with a few people about it, but didn't really feel like I had an answer or understanding.
When I brought it up in my women's Bible study, I'd kind of given up on trying to get rid of the bitterness, I just wanted to express my frustration that every one is willing to give God credit for the good, but anything bad that happens just can't be "of God". Why would no one acknowledge that sometimes God's plan included hurt and loss? Our Bible study leader wasn't from our church, and I'd found her to be a little to fundamentalist for my taste, so I really wasn't expecting any help from her. But she was the one.
"Just remember, no matter what else, that there is no better place for your little one to be than in God's arms." Now that's kind of a cliche sort of thing to say, kind of a knee jerk kind of comment that would have really hurt in the days following R's death. I almost rolled my eyes when she said it, but just nodded. I also knew that her own son had died as a child, so she was saying what she knew to be true for her. Still, it didn't mean much for me.
It was 4 days later that it sunk in. Seriously. I was getting dressed after my shower, getting ready for a busy day when it just CLICKED. Exactly, R is FINE. She is with God, and God is taking care of her, and she will never know pain, or teasing, or loneliness. *I* am going through some hard times with it, but *she* is fine. And I think I was getting a little selfish, but I wouldn't admit it was on my own behalf. I was angry and bitter because of what God had taken from her... when really he'd given her everything. I needed to remember that I was angry because of me, and my loss... and while I will miss R every day of my life, God has now filled it with so many things that may not have been possible if R had lived.
It's ok for me to miss R. It's ok to grieve. But I don't think I can be angry with God about God's plan anymore. If R had lived, would we have gone on to have G? (probably not). Would we have become fosterparents? (probably not, if we were busy with R's care, as we were likely to be). Would we have adopted J and H? (probably not) So could I pick between R living and G, J, and H? I don't want to have to choose! And I'm glad I didn't have to! I'm glad God is in charge of my life. I need to remember that more often.
God has a plan. He doesn't promise it will be easy. He doesn't promise we'll live a long life. He doesn't promise we won't suffer. He doesn't promise that we'll meet our earthly goals. But with God we will have joy and peace (and all those other fruits I can't remember right now! :) ) no matter what situation we're in. And with God we can do things we can't even imagine.
That's what I want to remember whenever I feel that seed of bitterness sprouting again!
Here is the crew that lived at our house this past week. :) We had SO much fun with T's brother and his family. The kids went to skating lessons each morning, which they enjoyed. Otherwise we really just did a lot of hanging around together. Quite a bit of Wii playing, too, which is very, very fun for all ages.
This is a skirt I put together with scraps of fabric from my Christmas dresses. When I got it done it didn't turn out as cute as I thought it would. In fact, I think it looks like Christmas threw up on a skirt. :) But G still likes it, so I guess it's ok. I traced the pattern from a skirt H has , and that, at least came out well. So I have options for the future, when I probably won't mix as many different patterns together!
