william . . .
kate . . .
annie . . .
and eliza . . .
Call me crazy, but I think there is some resemblance between my four babies.
Do you agree?
Could they be any sweeter?
You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve never been great at introductions. I realize I haven’t properly introduced Miss Eliza to the blog world. Sure, you read her birth story, but since then, it’s been a little quiet around here. I mean, quiet on the blog. Not so quiet in our actual, real life house. 🙂
So this is Eliza. We are officially head-over-heels-in-love with her. She is the most sweetest thing.
She is smothered in kisses from Kate every. moment. of. the. day.
And William walked in the door after school today, walked straight to her and said, “How’s my Little Lady?”
She is quite content and squishy. She loves to be snuggled right under my chin. She does pretty well in her basket, too, but especially likes it when she has a fist around each of my fingers. She makes little squeaks, but for the most part is pretty quiet. Unless the big blue snot sucker comes close to her. Then she screams her lungs out.
She made her debut at church on Sunday and did great. I’ve never had to worry about my babies crying in church. The sound of their Daddy’s voice is so familiar that they just settle right in. Isn’t that sweet?
And her name? Of course there’s a story. We’ve always used family names for our kiddos. But since Eliza’s our fourth, we were a little worried that we’d run out of good ones. I mean, there’s a limit to what we’ll use. For example: My Grandpa’s name was Harold. Uh, no thanks. And Peter’s Grandma? Her full Dutch name was Peternella Theodora. I’m not even joking.
Anyway, Eliza is a form of Elizabeth, which was a way, way, way distant relative of mine who had a daughter Sarah. We don’t know much about her, but we liked using her name and tweaking it into something that was a little different. Grace is after my Grandma and also happened to be what Peter was preaching about the Sunday before and after she was born. The story of our family has much grace wrapped up in it and it just seemed right to make that her middle name.
So friends, meet Miss Eliza Grace.
Aren’t introductions fun?
Share this:
Peter and I have been saving up for a new camera. October is “Pastor Appreciation Month” and our very generous church allowed us to add a good bit of money to our fund. Yay! Peter found a great deal on Craigslist. A quick phone call to the Seller later, we agreed to drive 45 minutes to meet them on Friday night.
And then, Friday night turned into date night when our best babysitter, Sarah, called and said she was home from college and wanted to watch the kids for us. Score! Peter and I don’t get out much alone and we were quite excited. The camera was a great deal, so we ended up buying it right then and there. We went to Chili’s and then to Borders. We relished a night out alone. We love having conversations without interruptions. We also love sitting in the car in complete quiet.
However, I got this weird feeling as I flipped through magazines at Borders. Was I having contractions? I said nothing to Peter, but noticed that they weren’t going away. On the drive home, I casually kept an eye on the clock, not saying anything to Peter. It was odd. I had just scheduled our c-section with the Hospital for November 2.
About that time, I looked out the car window and noticed this:
A full moon.
I broke down and told Peter.
Every five minutes I was timing a contraction, about a minute long.
We sat in the hospital parking lot for awhile, pondering what to do.
I finally caved and we walked up to the Birthing Center to have them check me out.
The nurse’s eyes got wide when she checked me.
I was dilated to four centimeters.
And my contractions were coming every 2 minutes.
Dr. Allen called the team and announced that we were having a baby that night.
What?!
And all we had was our new camera.
No clothes, phone charger, or toothbrushes.
Just a fancy camera we didn’t know how to use.
An hour or so later, we put it to good use.
While the Anesthesiologists checked the baseball scores and I felt that oh-so-odd pulling sensation, a little cry pierced the air and Eliza Grace was born. October 22, 2010. 10:51 p.m.
We cried.
And we took pictures.
Most of all, we felt God’s blessing on us as we held her and kissed her sweet cheeks, fully realizing that the last time we held a baby girl, we had ushered her into the presence of Jesus.
“Our hearts ache, but we always have joy.”
2 Corinthians 6:10
P.S. We “Aunted” Sarah. After all, she ended up spending the night at our house, sleeping in our bed between William and Kate. What a way to spend Fall Break! We couldn’t have done it without her! I don’t think she minded that her babysitting turned into a little more than she had bargained for.
P.S. 2. Eliza weighed 7 pounds, 7 ounces and was 19 1/2 inches long.
P.S. 3. The camera takes pretty good pictures, huh? Don’t worry, we have plenty of dark, blurry ones. We didn’t have a lot of time to look at the manual. And, it turns out, you don’t need as much as you think when you check into the hospital.
Share this:
We just passed an important milestone in our house.
September 22 we celebrated one year since Annie went to Heaven.
Celebrated? I’m not sure that’s the word I would use. But when I told William and Kate, William immediately replied, “Oh we should have a party! And we should sing her song!”
There have been many days when my tears have been for my kids and the grief they’ve had to experience so early in their lives. But as we travel on this journey, my thinking has changed. I need to learn from them. So often, they’ve got it right when my grief is all jumbled and irrational. How I praise God for those days when a comment or hug from them sets me back on the right path.
I wrote about “Perspective” a few weeks ago and how Jesus has slowly been changing me. And as this milestone approached, God gently gave me yet another new perspective. He changed my thoughts from the dreaded approach of a year . . . to thankfulness that He brought us through the first year. Though it’s a bit grainy, I remember those first months of desperateness– wondering how in the world I would live this life I’d been handed, without my little girly. Those days still come, but don’t you see? Jesus has been faithful! I made it! And now, NOW, I am one year closer to heaven!
My relationship with Jesus has become such a precious, precious part of my life in these past months. Over and over a verse has leapt off the pages of my Bible, bringing me a peace that I never knew existed a year ago. I’m not a super-Christian by any means, but the fruit of my time with Jesus over this past year has been my lifeline.
Will I elaborate? Why, yes I will. 🙂 Here are a few of my lifelines from the past year:
You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
Psalm 56:8
This may be my life verse for this chapter of my life. What a comfort to know that Jesus has made a collection of my tears! When I feel alone and overcome by my grief, I am not alone. And as I’ve pondered this verse, I have to wonder– why does God collect them? Does He use them to cultivate something in my life? Will I see those tears someday? What a deep relief to me to know that my tears matter to Jesus.
Our hearts ache, but we always have joy.
2 Corinthians 6:10
We went to a viewing for the father of one of our good friends this week. William was a crying mess all the way there because we wouldn’t tie his shoes RIGHT NOW, but pulled out of his funk just in time for Kate to be a hyper mess while we were there. I questioned our wisdom in bringing them with us, until I watched them go up to the casket, unafraid and, dare I say, joyful? They touched his skin, declaring it not to feel right, because he had his new skin. Our family lives with one foot in Heaven.
My heart physically aches for Annie. I feel so sad, much of the time. But one of Jesus’ great paradoxes is the ability to have joy in the midst of it. . . to know that I can be content in His hands. It doesn’t make sense. But it is possible. Joy gives me confidence that I can face whatever comes my way. Joy makes me content in the loving hands of my Father. It is a supernatural gift of the Holy Spirit.
He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain.
All these things are gone forever.
Revelation 21:4
I’ll never forget looking at this verse years ago and realizing the progression. Not only will there be no more death, there won’t even be sorrow. And not only will there be no more sorrow, there won’t even be crying. Furthermore, there won’t even be such a thing as pain. All of them– gone. It’s inconceivable to me. Nancy Guthrie says in her “One Year Book of Hope”, “‘No more’ encapsulates some of heaven’s sweetest gifts.” I’d never thought of it that way, but I love it. No more.
You will grieve, but your grief will suddenly turn to wonderful joy when you see me again.
You have sorrow now, but I will see you again; then you will rejoice,
and no one can rob you of that joy.
John 16:20, 22
Joy takes work. Grief takes work. So many days over the last year I’m not proud of– days when my prayers are simply, “I’m tired of being brave” and “Please, Lord, help my kids not to remember the kind of Mom I was today”. My joy gets robbed so easily and it’s hard work to get it back. But someday, I will rejoice! I will see Jesus and He will restore my full joy.
My life is an example to many, because You have been my strength and protection.
Psalm 71:7
Somehow, some way, God has used our family to be a light for Him. Somehow, Annie’s short little life has brought others closer to Him. It isn’t because we are better-than-average. It isn’t because Peter is a Pastor. It is because Christ has been our strength. I often feel so insufficient to this life He has called me to. THAT, my friends, is when His power turns up in my life. So many tell me they could never live the reality I live each day. But when He calls you to something you know is impossible for you, watch Him work. Watch Him use you. He will give you gifts beyond yourself.
It’s been a year. A year of sorrow, yet there is hope. A year of grief, and yet there is joy.
And so we celebrate.
Thank you, Jesus.
P.S. Peter and I spoke together on our reflections over this past year. You can listen to it here.
Share this:
I’m a planner.
I like to have things ready, well ahead of time.
So I knew that the time was approaching when I’d have to go through the sweet baby clothes to get them ready for our new girl.
It’s a task that brought me so much joy in the weeks leading up to Annie’s birth. I remember getting all of Kate’s clothes out and thinking about how little she was and how sweet she looked in all of them.
This time, it’s a little different.
Annie’s clothes still hang in the closet. They still take up residence in the dresser.
I haven’t had the strength to put them away.
Clothes she wore when she was so sick and I was praying harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life.
There’s still a basket in my closet . . . the last load of her laundry.
Clothes that faintly smell of her skin, that bring back memories too hard to put real words to.
I know they’re only physical reminders of her. Her soul is with Jesus, which is the most important thing.
But I loved that little body. I loved knowing her tickle spots and rubbing lotion on her little knees. I loved finding little bits of rice cereal in the pudgy folds of her neck. I loved knowing what outfits would bring out the blue in her eyes and seeing her hair poke out all over after I gave her a bath, wrapped tightly in the towel that says, “I love Daddy”.
But it’s time.
Time to take out her clothes and replace them with her newborn clothes for her sister.
Can I just pause to say that God is so good? He is. He IS.
He has turned the dread of this job to joy. It’s unexplainable.
Oh, it’s still difficult to touch, feel and remember.
But it’s one of the few physical links that this babe will have in common with her sister.
There will be no pictures together.
They will never touch skin.
They will never giggle together in the room they would have shared with Kate.
But they have clothes.
And someday when I’m showing this New One pictures, I can say, “Annie wore this, just like you did. You would’ve been the best of friends.”
Share this:
As I write, Kate and William are sitting side by side on the floor. Kate has a pen and is circling hidden pictures. William is looking at his Waldo book. Soon they’ll trade. Next, William will say he’s going to color. And Kate will agree. They’re best buddies, never far from one another’s side.
Every day at naptime, Kate asks if she can sleep with William. I say No, and remind them of the times I’ve said yes. It never ends well. Quite a few times, she’ll sneak in there anyway.
So their response wasn’t a surprise when we told them we were having another baby. “We’ve been praying for this,” they said, like they’d been expecting it. I marvel at their intuition and the truths that come from their little lips.
. . . . . . .
I was four months along when we told them in the Doctor’s office. We were going to wait until later, but my doctor happened to be delivering a baby at my appointment time. I ended up waiting for awhile, while Peter kept the kids entertained in the car (we thought it was only going to take a few minutes). Finally they wandered in to check on me. William got this look of recognition on his face and I said, “Do you remember why you’ve come here before?” He immediately associated it with when I was pregnant with Annie. “Are we going to have another baby!?” he asked. And so we told them.
As time wore on, they became impatient and a little unruly, so Peter eventually decided to take them to the grocery store until I was done.
Twenty minutes later my Doctor arrived and began the routine heartbeat check. She couldn’t pick it up.
So she brought in an old ultrasound machine. It was silent.
The next thing I knew, she was hugging me, telling me she was sorry. My brain struggled to sort out what she was trying to tell me. My thoughts went wild. We had JUST told the kids, moments before. How could I break their hearts again!? Out loud I just kept repeating, “Jesus has brought me through more than I imagined I could go through. He will be faithful to me still.” In my heart, I prayed Jesus would give me the strength to believe the words I had just uttered.
I felt so alone.
The Ultrasound Tech happened to be in that day and was able to squeeze me in between her appointments. Immediately, she picked up a normal and healthy heartbeat. The baby had been tucked down low, making it hard to hear a heartbeat.
It sounds great, she said.
But I was left with emotions too deep to put words to. After burying a daughter, the reality of death . . . well, it’s a reality that I deal with each day. And for those few minutes of uncertainty, I wasn’t sure how I was going to deal with it again.
. . . . . . . . .
I don’t know if I can fully explain it, but losing Annie has made me aware every moment of the day that I am not immune to tragedy. Just because we’ve gone through it once doesn’t mean we’re “safe” now. In fact, it seems hard to believe that we could actually give birth to a normal, healthy baby that lives a full life. Or that something else equally horrible will someday happen to any number of people I love dearly. Grief doesn’t have a quota that can be filled.
And so, it goes without saying that this baby is different than all the rest. This pregnancy is different than all the rest. Each moment of my life is different than all the rest.
The month after that appointment was difficult. I was starting to show and had to “make the announcement” to everyone. People have been so kind, so excited for us. But, honestly, it was quite hard. Harder than I’ve anticipated. My apologies to you if you’ve been one of the people who’ve shown sincere excitement and have felt brushed off by me. It hasn’t been my intention. I’m just sorting out how to feel this time around.
As I feel this baby kick stronger and stronger, I know that God has a plan. He has promised to never leave us and as I cling to Him each moment, I realize just how frail I am. My strength is His. And He is faithful.
And so we find ourselves on this journey of welcoming another sweet girly into our family in just three months. She is perfectly healthy and beautiful according the the ultrasound. I’ve reminded myself over and over that there was really nothing wrong that day they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Nevertheless, we take nothing for granted.
Yesterday I received an impromptu hug from Kate. “I’m SO GLAD we’re having another baby!” she said. William quickly agreed as he whispered a secret message to my belly. I can’t fully explain how this decision to bring another life into the world is just . . . just right . . . for our family.
A wise friend told me, “You don’t move on, but you do move forward.” Annie will always be the pause in our family. We’ll always be aware that she is missing, no matter how many months and years go by. There are many days when our grief is raw and overwhelming. This sweet girl will never, ever be a replacement to Annie. We realize that we will not be magically “healed” with her arrival. But we are choosing to move forward, to not become stuck in this process of grief.
Grow, baby girl, grow. We can’t wait to experience the renewed joy you will bring to us.
“Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You’re not in the driver’s seat– I am. Don’t run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how.”
Luke 9:23-24 (The Message)
Share this:
Adorable chubby thighs.
Three sweet kids learning how to play together.
A crazy uncle causing many belly laughs.
Constant reminders of “Do not smother your sister!”
Doing the sit . . . lean . . . plop.
An outtake family photo. Now a treasure.
Oh the bliss of innocent joy that would soon turn to sorrow.
This week in Nancy Guthrie’s “One Year Book of Hope“, I pondered this as I read:
To run from suffering is to refuse to see God’s hand at work in the midst of it. To run from suffering is to reject the lessons God has for you in it . . .
While Jesus tells us not to run from suffering, he suggests we do more than simply endure it. He admonishes us to embrace it . . . To embrace suffering is to enjoy God’s presence in your life even when you are filled with questions for him.
To embrace suffering is to enter into a deeper relationship with God that you could not have enjoyed without experiencing penetrating pain. The suffering not only makes you crave such a relationship, it gives you the capacity to savor it. Ultimately, to embrace suffering is to allow your now broken heart to be more easily rebroken by the things that break the heart of God. (p. 210)
If you are suffering according to God’s will, keep on doing what is right, and trust yourself to the God who made you, for He will never fail you. 1 Peter 4:19
Share this:
So I got a phone call the other day. The voice on the other end frantically yelled,
“I’M CHASING SHEEP!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed the closest quilt and ran out the back door. I mean, isn’t that what anyone would do after they receive a phone call like that?
Of course, it may help you to know that we have been enjoying the company of thirteen sheep in the vacant baseball diamond behind our house.
It also may help to know that Peter was the one calling me.
But what do a few details matter when there are sheep to chase?
Apparently, our neighbor Shirley was hanging clothes out on her line when she spied the sheep. She quickly called the church, thoroughly confusing Peter’s secretary who thought it was code for someone dying.
Together she and Peter returned four of the six sheep back to the baseball diamond.
Did I mention that Shirley is 83 years old? She has more energy than I do.
And then I burst on the scene. Six months pregnant. Waving a quilt. I was lots of help. (In my defense, I grabbed the quilt so I would appear bigger than I actually am, therefore intimidating the sheep. I thought it would keep the sheep from going on the road. I thought I had a method to my madness . . . it didn’t work.)
Down the road they went, faster than any of us could run. The obvious solution? The Moped.
When the Farmer arrived to help, poor guy, he was greeted by a pregnant lady with a quilt, and 83 year old and a Pastor on his moped.
Just take a moment to ponder that scene. It’s okay if you laugh.
What I didn’t realize is that sheep just want someone to follow. They’re not interested in running. They just want to be back in their normal surroundings, with their buddies. That bit of information would have made things much simpler.
The Farmer tried to get us all straightened out. But in the end, it was Hank who saved the day. He decided it would be worth a shock to go past his underground fence and ran out to meet the runaways. I was standing at the gate, ready to open it at the right time when I heard the Farmer yell, “Sarah, call Hank!”
So I did. And you should’ve seen the Hero Hank trot right into the baseball field, with the sheep dutifully following him.
Just another day at the Ranch baseball-diamond-turned-sheep-pasture. I’d make such a good farmer. Along with my Moped Pastor, Spitfire Neighbor . . . and Hank.
Share this:
Today, our ancient window air conditioner is trying to cool down our house.
The weeds in my garden are bigger than the vegetables.
Hank is always panting.
The kids’ rooms are hot and stuffy because they refuse to sleep with the windows open.
But in my heart, it’s just Spring.
My soul is slowly thawing, coming out of the coma that it’s been in for the past eight months.
“Since Jesus went through everything you’re going through and more, learn to think like Him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you’ll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want.” 1 Peter 4:1-2 (The Message)
I find myself humming the old Beatles Song . . . Do you recognize it?
Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it’s all right
Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it’s all right
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it’s all right
It’s all right
Jesus is refining me through our suffering. There are many, many hard days. But look! The Sun is coming out! I feel it in my bones and, oh, it feels so good.
Share this:
In October, a few weeks after Annie’s funeral, we took a trip. We borrowed a “Big Rig” and drove a big circle through the Eastern half of the U.S. Our kids still talk about the trip frequently and we are so thankful that many memories of that time in our lives were happy for the kids.
We had the most bizarre experience when we arrived home. Peter wrote about it soon after it happened, but I’ve been pondering it a bit.
Hank, you know Hank, spent the two weeks we were away at the kennel. In a road weary decision, we decided to pick him up in the Big Rig, so that we wouldn’t have to venture out again once we arrived home. He was so excited to see us . . . we were so excited to see him.
Imagine our surprise when we arrived home, walked into our screened-in porch and found a note that said, “I’m on a walk. Love, Hank”. We looked around to find a dog bed and other obvious signs that a dog had been spending time there.
And then, our neighbor Annette came into view, leading a dog, that looked just like Hank. It was kind of like when you think you see a movie star: “Is that Hank?” “I don’t know. It looks like him, but nah, I don’t think so.”
Somehow someone had told her that we needed someone to watch Hank for the second week of our vacation. Eager to help out, she had dutifully been feeding/walking/taking care of “Hank-but-not-Hank” for a full week. Apparently, this dog had run away and just happened to be wandering around the neighborhood at the time she was told her help was needed.
So we were standing in the middle of the yard with two dogs . . . Real Hank, obviously very upset with this other dog who had so wrongly taken up residence in his domain, and Hank-but-not-Hank who was as happy as a clam by the spoiling he had received.
We stood there discussing what we should do, all of us in hilarious shock, when Peter said, “Well, maybe we should look at his collar.” And there, clear as day, was his name and phone number of his owners.
You’ll never believe his name.
Hank.
Which explains why he was so obedient and came when called.
When his owner came to pick him up, clearly overjoyed, her words stung me a little. “Oh, we thought we’d lost him forever. My boys have been taking it so hard.”
And I couldn’t help but look at William and Kate swinging in the backyard and think, “But he’s just your dog. They’ve lost their sister.” Have you ever wanted to remind God of just how unfair He can be? But then you realize that without Him to cling to, you’d never be able to take another step?
I look back at that story and I think of John the Baptist. The one who prepared the way for Jesus.
Now this was John’s testimony when the Jews of Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him who he was. He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, ‘I am not the Christ . . . but among you stands one you do not know. He is the one who comes after me, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.’
John 1:19, 20, 26b-27
Time after time John the Baptist is shown pointing others away from him and toward Christ. His whole life was dedicated to ushering in Jesus, the Messiah.
Yet, not long after Jesus began His ministry, John found himself in jail, sending his disciples to ask Jesus,
“Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?” (Matthew 11:3)
Because we all have in our head what we expect Jesus to be for us, don’t we? We find it easy to trust Him when things are going the way we’ve planned it out. We don’t mind doing hard work for His kingdom when we have a clear direction and purpose that allows our life to stay on its own happy course.
It’s like we know we’re walking Hank and feeding Hank and we’re happy to do it . . . and then we find out it’s not really Hank. And when we see the REAL Hank, we realize that the two dogs don’t really even look the same. All of a sudden, we see that we’ve been following our expectations more than we’ve been following Jesus.
And we find ourselves asking God if He’s really sure that He has the plan figured out. I mean, what’s fair about one little boy praying and finding his dog . . . and a brother and sister praying and losing their sweet baby?
Every day I’m learning more and more that God’s economy is not like the world’s economy. In the center of this upside down thinking is where we feel the most at peace.
I found this in Beth Moore’s book John that I read last summer (page 95).
“We stand on the edge of our cliff-like emotions looking into the deep cavern of our grief, and we’re sure that the jump will kill us. Yet for those of us who entrust our feeble selves to our faithful Creator, in ways I can neither explain nor describe, it doesn’t. When death of some kind comes and we are willing to take it to the cross, to remain nearby, and to suffer its grief, we will also experience the resurrection.
We say, ‘But part of me has died with it.’ And indeed it has. Hear the words of Christ echo from the grave: ‘I assure you: Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains itself. But if it dies, it produces a large crop’ (John 12:24). As a child bearing the name of Christ, if a part of you has died, in time it was meant to produce many seeds. “
The prayer for my life is that I would strive to follow the REAL Jesus and not my feeble expectations. Because the Hank-but-not-Hank was a nice enough dog, but a million times over, I’ll take the real Hank.