It's a BOY! And Psalm 27:13

Like most new moms who want to record at least some memory’s of their children’s births, I have been met with an ongoing dilemma: take a nap (since BOTH boys are sleeping), or write.  So today, I sacrifice my nap and cross my fingers that Samuel sleeps longer than 3 hour intervals tonight.

Before time has a chance to blur my memory, I feel a hurried obligation to say just.how.relieved I am that Samuel is here: in our arms, breathing, crying, sleeping, eating. Just days before Thomas’s due date on March 8^th   of this year, days after I found out I was pregnant again, our doctor told us that I was exhibiting all the signs of a miscarriage, including what appeared to be, via ultrasound, an empty sac. We were given three options: allow the miscarriage to occur on its own, schedule a D&C, or go home and take a prescription drug that would induce the miscarriage. We chose option number one, and we returned one week later for a final ultrasound. As the ultrasound tech proclaimed the words I had prepared myself not to hear (“Well, there’s a heartbeat…”), the Lord was even then forming Samuel in my womb, and we realized that the Lord had placed a hedge of protection around him, shielding him from both the doctors and from our own near decision to do what we thought most people would do in our position. Nine months later, here he is!!

This was difficult enough as an isolated event, but to happen just five months after losing our second son seemed unbearable. Everything about this pregnancy seemed so precarious. And so the pregnancy continued, as did my level of anxiety. I could not begin to count how many times I created my own ending to this story: I constantly prepared myself to be told we had lost another child. But it never happened. We (really, it was just me) approached every ultrasound and every fetal heartbeat check with disproportionate fear, but each time we were met with an active, healthy heartbeat. My days were spent in a (near) obsessive preoccupation with feeling Samuel’s movements: it was a roller coaster of ups and downs, relief each time I felt a kick and worry if he didn’t move when I wanted him to.  Proverbs 16:9 has never been more meaningful: “The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.”

Since the day we lost Thomas, I prayed desperately for the day when we could leave the hospital with a child, when the memories surrounding his death could be redeemed in new life. I envisioned the day that the doctor who delivered Thomas would deliver another child of ours, with joy as an ending (this wish came true!). I also wished that our nurse that night would one day hold our living child, and we could replace tears with laughter (this wish also came true!). 

When Samuel was born on October 22^nd, we looked on him with wonder, amazed that God would see fit to allow us to steward this soul that nearly wasn’t to be (humanly speaking, of course). In his birth, the Lord restored our joy and revealed to us that His ways are not our ways. I hope I can always remember the glorious relief I felt the minute we met Samuel and heard his strong cries. Although he is no safer out of my womb than in it, my fears of losing another child to stillbirth were over. And as time passes and life returns to normal (being pregnant for a collective 16 months over a 19 month period made our lives pretty whacky), I continue to pray that the Lord would reveal Himself to us in new ways. If the Lord’s refining me was a test (and it was), I failed over and over again. So many times. As I look at Samuel’s sweet face, I can’t help but seek the Lord’s forgiveness for my unbelief, and pray that He will give me a clearer vision of what it looks like to live out the unknown with strength and trust in His will. Over and over again, I decided what this pregnancy would look like, and over and over again, God said, "Not so fast."

Sheldon Van Auken was a contemporary of C.S. Lewis who lost his wife to cancer and was converted as a result of his friendship with Lewis. His memoir is called A Severe Mercy, and I can’t get the title out of my head. It is such a fitting description of our last year—last November 14^th we mourned (and continue to mourn) the loss of our Thomas. Our boys will always know they had another brother who got to meet Jesus, and we will speak of him as he is: one of our three children that we love and look forward to meeting one day. This November 14^th, we will remember with soberness that day that everything changed, and we will rejoice that God has given us Samuel, our little miracle.

 

 

Our doctor holding Samuel

Regina, our nurse from November 14th of last year, holding Samuel

 

The best family picture we could get

 

A Life Well Lived

About 3 weeks ago, I finished N.D. Wilson's new book Death by Living.

Ouch: "The truth is that a life well lived is always lived on a rising scale of difficulty."

You mean life doesn't just get easier for those who are Christ's people, by virtue of the fact that we are His? You mean the Lord doesn't always make life easy for us because He loves us? You mean it's going to get harder than this?

I was struck by so much of what Wilson says in his book, and obviously a lot of it was read through the lens of the "Cranford Family, Years 2012-2013."

Here's another one:
    "Why do we die? Because we lived. You cannot stop yourself from aging, which is to say that you cannot sub out of this extremely rough, full-contact (no pads) game. You cannot throw a diva fit backstage in this production and force the understudy to take your place. You are in every scene. You are on the field for every play. And you go into the next one and the next one carrying the baggage and the wounds and the weariness of the last one and the last one and the last one."

I'm confident I'm not the only one who has, at one time or another, desperately wished that someone else could live a certain experience for me--could take the script from my hands and sub in for me, just for a scene. But Christ has not called us to that, and that is a difficult reality to accept. This is my life, and I have to live every second of it. I am accountable for the way I live it, even (and especially) the difficult seconds. Every last miserable, terrifying, painful, traumatic second.

In these last 32 weeks, God has stretched us, challenged us, and entrusted our family with a lot of unknowns about this little one that is due to arrive on November 9th. We are still left in the unknown (aren't we always?) but there seems to be a light at the end of this tunnel, and it appears to be getting brighter. I have begun NST's twice weekly, and we have *Lord willing* only one more appointment at MFM. Baby C is in the 70th percentile for weight, and all indications of pre-term labor seem to have diminished. We continue to ask for your prayers as neither of us feel like we can really breathe sighs of relief until we get the privilege of holding this little blessing in our arms. In these last few weeks, I vacillate from panic to excitement and back again. Our prayers are much the same as they were two or three weeks ago, give or take a few:

• That the baby would grow safely to term in Anna’s womb;
• That the Lord would strengthen us against worry;
• That the baby would continue to move frequently (words cannot express the peace we feel when this little one wiggles around);
• That the Lord would care for Anna during her appointments through:
• Allowing the doctors to find a heartbeat quickly (we discovered we had lost Thomas during a Doppler scan, so these are never easy); 
• That the Lord would prepare our hearts to be parents to another child

In our "meanwhile," Eli has started a two day preschool/Mother's Morning Out program, I am teaching one day a week at Greyfriars, and we are slowly... and I mean slowly... extracting baby items from closets, the attic, the garage, etc. Life is busy, but God has been good to us. Thank you, friends, for your continued prayers on our behalf!

An update!

Weeks ago, Michael sent out an update to our church family after appointments at both the regular OB and the specialists at Maternal Fetal Medicine. Instead of trying to improve his update, I'll post it here. Nothing has changed since the email was sent out, except that baby is two weeks bigger than he/she was then--we'll take it!

 We truly do have much to be thankful for, and as our little one's arrival gets closer and closer, we are getting excited to find out whether Eli will have a brother or a sister, and to welcome this little one in our family with gratitude and joy.

Hello Everyone,

 

Thank you all so much for your ongoing prayers and support for Anna and our baby.  Please allow me to take a moment to update you on where we stand today…

 

God, in His mercy, has seen fit to see us through several weeks of uncertainty.  Anna is now 28 (now I am 30) weeks pregnant and both she and the baby are doing great.  The medication that Anna has been on for the past month and a half seems to be working magnificently, and with each passing day the light at the end of the tunnel gets a little bit brighter.  We had the unanticipated opportunity to go to the beach last week.  After receiving conflicting recommendations from several different doctors, we finally received the green light provided that Anna took it easy and that we knew the location of the closest hospital should something happen.

 

We went to both of Anna’s doctors this past Monday- regular and high risk OBs.  We received much encouraging news that day, and two pieces of information stick out in our minds.  First, Anna was told that she does not have gestational diabetes.  After failing her first glucose test, we were both thinking, “figures!”  But the Lord was merciful, and we now have one less thing to worry about.  The second piece of encouraging news came from our least favorite physician at Maternal Fetal Medicine (high-risk OB ).  Upon walking in the door, he sat down and said, “28 weeks…if your baby is born now it has a 99% chance of survival.”  While we want this little one to “bake in the oven” as long as possible, this statistic- after so many that were negative- was music to our ears.

 

We still have a little while to go, so we ask that you all continue to keep us in your prayers.  Specifically, these are the requests that are dearest to our hearts:

 

• That the baby would grow safely to term in Anna’s womb;
• That the Lord would strengthen us against worry;
• That the baby would continue to move frequently (words cannot express the peace we feel when this little one wiggles around);
• That we would be able to go to the doctor as infrequently as possible (Maternal Fetal Medicine is not a fun place to be);
• That the Lord would care for Anna during her appointments through:
  • Allowing the doctors to find a heartbeat quickly (we discovered we had lost Thomas during a Doppler scan, so these are never easy);
  • Allowing the ultrasounds at MFM to yield positive news of the baby’s development (this baby has been measured from head to toe far too many timesJ)
• That the Lord would prepare our hearts to be parents to another child

And now what?

If I didn't believe the power of prayer, or in God's ability to use the prayers of the saints to accomplish His will, I probably wouldn't post this update. It's human nature (or is it just me?) to choose isolation in the midst of difficulty--it seems easy. Safe. 

In this case, it's because we covet your prayers... and because there's nothing else we can do.

I'm currently 24 weeks pregnant, having gotten just a few days of seeming rest at finally reaching and saying goodbye to the dreaded 23 week mark (the week we lost Thomas). For me, despite that there was no magic behind that milestone, it felt huge.

Yesterday at our check ups (at both my regular OB and the specialists at MFM), we were told that my risk of pre-term labor is elevated. My doctors advised us to get the steroid injections which would help our little one develop in the *worst case scenario* that I go into labor early. While most of these doctors seem confident I will carry baby to term, they didn't want to take any chances. I am taking progesterone and continuing to be monitored in the event that labor begins prematurely.  If it sounds terribly unclear to you, then we're on the same page.

So here we are, in a state (much like the rest of the pregnancy to date) of perpetual limbo, unsure of what each day will hold. I have been given no instructions about strict bed rest, just a reminder to be reasonable in my daily activities.

And here we are, again being pruned by the One who is both the Gardener and the Great Physician.

Here we are, again being refined by the One who asks us, "Do you trust Me?"

Here we are, again being tested by our Shepherd who asks us to rest in Him beside the still waters.

As I've said before, I don't know how to do this right. What does it look like to be a Godly woman in a situation like this? I know that it begins with meditating on God's character, being comforted by His words and not the unpredictable words of the doctors.

I know that it begins with open hands to the Lord, painfully acknowledging that these are His children, and we are mere stewards of them.

But it's just so hard. And exhausting. And so here we are, asking for your prayers:
~ That God would protect our little one in the womb
~That I would carry this baby to term
~That the Lord would guard me from worry and allow me (us) to honor Him, even in this trial
~That God would help us to manage Eli in the midst of a lot of so many unknowns
~That God would strengthen Michael as he manages our household, our son, and me. What a task.

Thank you, friends, especially those who trust in our sovereign God, for petitioning Him on our behalf. The Lord has been gracious to place a Godly community of men and women around us, and we are so grateful for the confidence each of you have in the Lord.

The Land of the Living, and Psalm 27:13

As Father's Day came and went yesterday, Michael and I once again felt the void of the obvious: what we had envisioned our Father's Day to look like 8 months ago looked quite different than our reality. But then again, don't lots of people's Father's Days look different than they thought? His ways are not our ways. Ouch. While Thomas's loss still feels fresh in our minds in so many ways, God is continually revealing His purposes to us in the midst of it all.

One particular mercy that God has granted to us is the blessing of another life: a life that has thrown us for loop after loop and can only be a testimony of God's careful involvement in our lives. We thought that on Father's Day, Michael would be the father of two, Thomas and Eli. Instead, he is the father of Thomas, Eli, and baby #3, due on November 9th.

Without "oversharing" (an annoying and all-too-common problem in the blogging world), I will add that I'm not sure anything will be as difficult as this: carrying another child and living under the weight of fear that God will *sovereignly* allow us to experience that grief again. Any woman who has a clue what could happen in her pregnancy will agree that your mind can venture into some dark places if you let it, especially in a situation where it's pretty much out of your control. I laugh when I remember how blissful and carefree my pregnancy was pre-November 14th, 2012. Bad things happen to pregnant women all the time, but not me.

Boy, do I wish I had some quick and easy tips on how to do this well. I don't. And a lot of days, I don't do this well. I do a shoddy job of appearing composed, trusting, and hopeful. But like the Psalmist, I pray that the Word of God will be written on my heart, nearby and always ready to be used for my edification and for my comfort. I pray that God would consider my feeble frame and equip me to fight the ongoing battle of fear and anxiety. What we thought was a miscarriage 16 weeks ago is now a thriving, active baby (whose gender will remain a surprise) with an incredible story to tell. God has been gracious to us, and Michael reminds me often, when my thoughts drift onto shaky ground, to have a heart of thanks for what He has allowed in our lives, both good and bad.

So selfishly, we covet your prayers--whoever you are! We pray for a healthy baby, most of all. If you need to lengthen your prayer list, we'd be happy to add our names. I am confident that God uses the prayers of His saints as a means to accomplish His end. While we don't know the end of THIS story, we do know the Author and trust in His unfailing care for His children, even this child whose every breath is ordained by a sovereign God.

2013 Walk for Life

Back in high school, I participated in the Crisis Pregnancy Center's Walk for Life with a few friends. It was a fun experience, and I've said every since that I was going to participate again. Never have.

But this year, I'm resolved. It won't take long to figure out why. I have always been intensely pro-life, and Michael and I support the Crisis Pregnancy Center as they try to redeem the lives of unborn children. Up until this year, it's been a cause I've supported "from afar," if you will. But after we lost Thomas, it became intensely personal. People actually abort children at 23 weeks,and justify it? Doctors consent to that?! So many women who long for a child experience infertility, miscarriage, or stillbirth--all tragedies that these women have no control over. The two scenarios horrify me--one mother who has to bury her unborn child unexpectedly and one mother who just wants to "fix a mistake." What a dark, pagan phenomenon of aborting a baby (at any stage) when there's a woman out there who would long to be mommy to that child.

All that being said, Michael, Eli, and I are walking on June 1 in downtown Concord. Our goal is $500--I have no idea if that's feasible but here goes nothing! It will be a fun day to show our support for a ministry that must exist if we want cultural reformation. Here is our page where you can donate online-- $10, $15, or $100. Or more. Whatever. It all goes to a vital ministry severely underfunded and desperate for anything you'd be willing to give. Or you can walk with us! We'd love to see you there.

The Weight of Affliction

Have you read the story of Job? Probably. We all know how the Lord allowed Satan to bring Job great adversity, from his painful physical afflictions to the loss of all of his children and possessions. That’s about as bad as it gets.

In the end, after the Lord responds to Job’s lamentations by declaring, “Shall the one who contends with the Almighty correct Him? (40:2), Job says poignantly: “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You” (42:5).

Almost six months ago, this verse hit home. Actually, a lot of verses hit home, mostly the ones about trials, affliction, grief, and sadness. It was a dark period in our previously sheltered, rosy home. On November 14^th, we found out that we had lost our little boy, Thomas Kirk, at 23 weeks gestation. After not feeling any movement for a day or so, I chose to drop by the doctor’s office to check the heartbeat. It’s difficult to reflect on that moment when our world shattered and the waves of grief rolled in as the ultrasound tech just said, “I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.” I sobbed violently as Michael held me and Eli, who had no idea what else to do but cry because mommy was crying.

Less than 12 hours later, and sparing the details which no woman should have to endure, we met our little Thomas, born sleeping at just over 2 pounds and 12 inches long. He was perfect in every way, and we wept over him as we processed the reality that we would never know him in this life. He was spared the very grief we were experiencing in those moments and in the days and months that would follow. Sweetly, Michael reminded me that Thomas had fulfilled the days on earth that God had ordained for him—and he’s reminded me of that every day since.

As we walked the halls of the hospital to go home, I kept my head down, painfully aware that we were empty handed. We had to say goodbye to Thomas and to all the memories we had created for our life as a family of four. Eli would never share his bunk bed with Thomas. We would not have the experience of raising two boys so close together in age. Thomas would never know his cousin Cate, born just 10 days later. While we ached for what wouldn’t be, both Michael and I were thankful for God’s protection over me during the delivery, for our incredible nurses and doctor who cared for us, and MOST OF ALL, for the strong assurance that Thomas was in the arms of his Savior for all eternity. What a glorious thought!

In the days and weeks that followed, we have never felt the community of Christ more strongly than we did then. Meals, flowers, and cards poured in—all of which I will never forget. We cried over and over again each time sweet notes arrived in the mail, written by so many different people, some of whom we weren’t aware even knew about our loss. I have kept every letter as a reminder of how many people took the time to minister to us. We clung to one another and to the promises of Christ that He would “heal the brokenhearted” and “bind up our wounds” (Psalm 147:3).

Like Job, I began to understand how little I knew of God’s sovereign love (and I choose those words intentionally) before we lost Thomas. The Lord had spared Michael and me from affliction of any kind. Chronic back pain was the most debilitating trial I had ever experienced. But this. This was the stuff of nightmares. Why? We had no medical explanation for Thomas’s death. We had no option but to trust that the Lord had reasons that we could only see through a looking glass, darkly. And in the weeks that would follow, we drew close to the beautiful reality that we serve a Savior who was acquainted with grief, who experienced sorrow beyond our own when He sacrificed His only Son on our behalf.

Our grief was real, intense, and by no means sinless. I wish I could say that everything fell together with perfect clarity and that I humbly and meekly accepted Thomas’s death the way Christ submitted to His own death on the cross. But I fell. Over and over again. And still do, if I let my thoughts drift. But the words of Scripture have been a constant companion, and by them I am continually being transformed.

Because this has been an intensely personal and sometimes lonely journey, I haven’t felt “up to” sharing with people. Hence the delay in updating the blog. But since we lost Thomas, I know of at least five other women whose dreams were shattered in the same way ours were (through stillbirth), and I grieve for each of them in a way I never could have before. This is a journey that we are still on, and as others join us (whether through experiencing a similar loss or knowing someone who has), I want to grab their hands, cry with them, and commit to praying for them in the very specific ways I needed prayer, especially in the days right after we lost Thomas.

 A Facebook friend posted this status back in December, and I was so struck by it that I recorded it in my journal, and hope you will soak it up as I did, with gratitude that we serve the Most Holy who willingly went to the cross for sinners:

“The incarnation means that for whatever reason God chose to let us fall into a condition of being limited, to suffer, to be subject to sorrows and death—He has nonetheless had the honesty and the courage to take His own medicine... He himself has gone through the whole of human experience—from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair, and death...He was born in poverty and...suffered infinite pain—all for us—and thought it well worth his while.—Dorothy Sayers

The picture below is an ornament sent to us by one of the nurses that cared for us that night. Those are Thomas's sweet footprints--we look forward to adorning our Christmas tree with this precious keepsake next Christmas.