The Journey

I have never liked due dates. I always thought it was silly that we assigned one specific day for the baby to arrive. With each pregnancy I would work hard to forget the "day" and just think about the general time. But this time, when there is no longer a baby to expect, all I have left is her due date -today- January 4th.

It is hard to reflect on the last 5 months, filled with questions and grief with little comfort and no answers. A week after giving birth to Hope, we moved into our new house - and I hated it. The house that we had bought envisioning 4 kids filling the rooms. Everywhere I looked I saw the spaces I had visually marked out for the new baby. That corner where I might put the swing I finally had space for. The ridiculously huge master bedroom that would have been perfect for keeping my newborn close-by. The beautiful soaking tub I had looked forward to laboring in. I hated it all.

But as it does, life kept moving on. People stopped greeting me with a sympathetic look. School started, both for Justin and Annalia (and myself as we began homeschooling,) Justin was voted in unanimously as the pastor of our church. And we started using our house for all the entertaining and hosting opportunities that has also influenced our purchasing decision.

But as much as I tried, the grief just didn't seem to fade. And with the grief, lots of guilt. I mean, it isn't like mine is the worst story out there. Woman have suffered so much more, losing all their kids in one fatal accident, watching their only child suffer for months before dying, and on and on. Yet I was still so consumed.

And of course, the questions. Why did God give me a baby I didn't plan, only to take her away after I was finally excited? How do I pray in Faith again? And just what role does Faith play in the way God answers our prayers? Did I make a mistake - holding her, naming her? Maybe it would have been easier if I had never seen the person that I lost. The more I dwelt on the questions, the worse I felt.

Psalm 119:28-30 says, "I weep with grief; encourage me by your word. Keep me from lying to myself; give me the privilege of knowing your law. I have chosen to be faithful; I have determined to live by your laws.

We chose the name Hope because it means relying on something that we may not be able to see, or aren't feeling at that moment. There have been many moments these past few months that I have really let God know how I am feeling - and it wasn't pretty. It was easy to lie to myself. To say that God didn't care about me, that He didn't have a plan, and was mistaken if He thought I was strong enough to handle the multiple blows that had hit our family this summer.

But I have learned I can't focus on these things. I have to set my eyes on Jesus. I have to focus on the things I know. The Truth. "Truth soothes our fears, changes our feelings, and shapes our thoughts. The truth is what we need when the hurt is the deepest." It has been a journey, and I am not sure I see the end anywhere in sight. But I guess that is what Faith is for. As for the doubts, fears, and the lies I believe while wallowing in my grief - I guess that is what Grace is for.

"He shot His arrows deep into my heart. The thought of my suffering and hopelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The unfailing love of the Lord never ends! By His mercies we have been kept from complete destruction."

Lamentations 3:13, 19-22

Hope's Story

I have always shared the birth story of my babies, but I debated sharing this one. Not the typical labor and delivery excitement like with the first three. Do I really want to put my pain out there for the public to see? But you all have been so supportive, so comforting, I want you to know.

When we found out we were pregnant with number 4, I have to admit it took a while for me to be excited. Although I had always wanted 4 kids, we had decided that Xander would be our last biological child, and even took steps to insure that. But soon I noticed how I could smell everything. So I took a test - and cried.

However, in the weeks to come, we bonded. We were all excited to add another child to our family. We started thinking about names, wondering if it would be a boy or a girl, and really moved our house search into high gear. We put a contract on a house, got to hear the baby's

heartbeat a few times, my belly button popped, I felt the first movements, and we were getting excited.

A friend called to say she was training another nurse on the sonogram machine and they needed pregnant mommies to practice on, and would I like to come in. Of course - who passes up the chance to get a sneak peak at their growing little one. And being the 4th, I figured, "what the heck, let's invite the whole family." I would be 14 weeks, and I was pretty confident we would be able to see the sex of the baby, as I had found out with both Naomi and Xander even earlier. The training nurse started looking around, and practiced taking measurements. Pretty soon, she leaned over and said that they weren't seeing what they expect to see, and maybe I should go see my midwife. I wasn't too worried at first. People have always had trouble finding my babies' heartbeats, and I knew the statistics. Once you have heard the heartbeat, and are past 12 weeks, the chance of miscarriage goes way down. But after seeing my midwife, and then the obstetrician, we learned that we had a

baby girl, and that she had died - probably that day.

Devastated. Crushed. Words just can't describe as we now had to think about the next step. I had 3 options. I could wait for my body to pass the baby on it's own, I could have a D&C (Dilation and Curettage - a medical procedure where they would force my cervix open and scrap out my uterus) or be

induced. The idea of the baby coming while I was home alone with the 3 kids sounded like too much. And I just couldn't even imagine the thought of being put to sleep while the doctor dismembered my baby girl to remove her from my body. The midwives and doctors agreed that the safest option was an induction.

Sat, July 9th, we were supposed to be moving into our new house. Instead, we were at the hospital. Before starting anything, we asked for another sonogram. Even though we both knew the truth, we had to see that still, silent screen one last time. They gave me some medicine to start things, and then we sat around and waited. I had expected it to be painful, and I had expected it to be emotional, but I didn't expect it to remind me of all my other births. The intense back pain that started every other labor. The horrible side effects of the epidural I remember from Annalia's birth. The way I felt my water break, like with Xander. The intense desire to have her near me after she was born. But that is where the similarities end.

Instead of rushing to hold and nurse my newborn baby in joyful anticipation, they handed me a tiny, perfectly formed baby no bigger than my hand. Our hearts broke.

We did all the things new parents do. We counted her fingers and toes - perfect. We touched her face - she has my chin. We just sat there and stared at our daughter. We decided then to name her Hope. In Hebrew, qavah (hope) means more than just wishing something will happen. Rather it is a confident waiting in something you know to come. To expect it. It also means to bind together. So although this whole experience has been so difficult, we know that our hope is bound God, and that He is sovereign, and we can trust in that.

After a bit, there was nothing left to do but say goodbye. As we sat in our empty room, with our empty hearts, Justin read Isaiah 40 to me, reminding me that God has everything in control. I may not feel it now, but deep down, I do have that hope.

It has been interesting going through all this with a 4 1/2 year old in the house. Annalía has been very involved in this pregnancy from the beginning. Early on, she told me she had heard in a dream that it was a girl. When we told her that the baby had died, she was crushed. But, being 4, she verbalizes everything while she processes is. She reminded me that Jesus brought Lazarus back to life, even after he started to stink. When I told her God probably wouldn't put another baby in my belly, she reminded me of Hannah's prayer, and that Samuel means "God answers." When I heard her crying at night, I went in to hold her, and she tearfully confessed that now she wasn't going to get to hold this baby while standing up, (something I had promised her). She seems to be working through her grief a lot faster than me though. The tears and anger are gone and she talks about her little sister all the time. She brings me things to make me happy, and she reminds me that she will never forget her little sister, Hope.

I am so blessed to have such a wonderful family. Justin has been so wonderful as we have cried and grieved together. The kids have been such a comfort, as I am reminded that so many women go through this with no children at home to help heal their hearts. And I have been blessed with such supporting and and understanding friends. The outpouring of help and prayers has just been overwhelming.

And now it is time for me to keep going. It doesn't mean I am ok. It doesn't mean there is a moment that goes by that I don't think about her and hurt. It just means that we have hope - a longing expectation that Jesus is caring for our child, a joyful knowing that we will meet her in heaven, and a trust that we are bound together with God as He holds us, comforting us through this season of pain and sorrow.

Curlylocks

Curlylocks, Curlylocks,

Wilt thou be mine?

Thou shalt not wash dishes,

Nor yet feed the swine.

But sit in the parlor

And sew a fine seam,

And dine every day

Upon peaches and cream.

I am curious to hear what you think of this little nursery rhyme. I can picture my ultra-feminist friends bemoaning the idea that a woman's place is to sit pretty in her parlor and be doted upon by her hardworking husband. And although I have to admit that I had a bit of that reaction myself, ultimately this warms my heart. Here's why.

The other day at church, Mr. Stu whispered these sweet verses to my darling, curlylocked Naomi. Side-note of Mr. Stu. He is this inspirational, 98-year-old man who continues to live every day to the fullest. Always prepared with a profound thought or funny quip, it pains me to watch his lose of hearing keep him from the meaningful conversation I know he craves. One weekday, Mr. Stu stopped at the church to pickup his forgotten bible. He seemed a bit out of breath, so I asked him if everything was ok. He stopped to look at me, turned up his hearing aid and asked what I said. After repeating myself, he says, "Yeah, I'm fine. Well, I just got back from the gym, so I am a little winded."

Anyway, Mr. Stu has a special fondness for my Naomi. I believe her curly hair reminds him of his late wife. I don't know much about this woman, but I do know how much he loved her. How he is still proud of her beauty, that he was so lucky to have her. That he cared for her to the end, moving into the nursing home with her, even though he wasn't in need of the services.

We live in a time when woman's rights have come a long way, and don't get me wrong, I am thankful for the freedom I have to either choose a career, or not; a husband, or not; a traditional life or one packed with travel, adventure and danger. But there is something to be said about a mans desire to protect his wife, and a woman's desire to be cared for. Whether that manifests in the traditional "man=breadwinner, woman=homemaker," model, or in something a bit more radical, I want my girls to know that it is ok to have needs, to need people. And that I will love them dearly, whether their heart's desire is to scale the cliffs of Kilimanjaro or to sit in a parlor and sew a straight seam.

Lessons from "Little Women"

I didn't grow up with cable, so Christmas never included 24 hours straight of "The Christmas Story" or any other countless holiday movies. But it is certainly one aspect of Christmas that I enjoy now. So when I laid down one night and saw that Louisa May Alcott's "Little Women" was on, I was thrilled. I remember really liking the movie when I was younger, but I seemed to get so much more out of it this time. There were a few things that really struck me this time. I don't know if it is because I am getting old, or if it the phase of life I am in, but I wanted to share.

1- Simplicity - I loved all the Christmas decorations: the hand-tied garland that flanked every entryway, the bows tied from left-over red scraps. I am so often ashamed by my ridiculous amount of possessions, purchased for a ridiculous amount of money at some store, or from some garage sale. After watching the movie, I was inspired to make my own wreath. Something I have always wanted to do. It wasn't crazy hard, it didn't take forever, but it certainly took time. It took energy, and I ended up with something I was proud to put on my door. But what if I had to make everything I used? Every article of clothing that had to be cut and sewn? Every grain of wheat that had to be harvested, dried and ground? Would I think twice about my "needs"? Something as simple as chicken stock, bread, pasta, butter - what if I had to make these things everytime you wanted it? Perhaps I would be more cautious of the things I use.

2- Simple Food - The March family has fallen on hard times during the war, as has the whole community. On Christmas morning they lay a breakfast spread that each girl marvels at. The main delight? Bread with butter. Later, Joe is in New York and has meet Prof. Bear. At one point he hands her a gift - a simple orange. Later that night she writes by candlelight while eating her pealed orange. Would I be satisfied with a simple orange as my bedtime snack? I think about my options each night for a snack. The food in my fridge, freezer and pantry could probably feed my family for weeks, maybe months. I work hard to make simple, unprocessed foods for my family. Yet thinking about this made me realize just how far from "simple" I live.

3- Some things don't change - I never liked Amy, in the book or the movie. I still remember reading the book as a child, and throwing the book across the room when Amy marries Laurie. And I was so upset when she waisted a whole months rag money on limes. What a silly desire. But don't we all do that, buy into something simple that every one else wants? I do it. The "all natural" looking toys I like my children to have, trendy clothes, a well-designed home. These are my 26 limes that cost my family a whole months rag money.

4- I am old - I remember watching this movie when I was in highschool, and I was not satisfied at all when Joe ended up with Prof. Bear. Why? Because Laurie was a young, energetic character while Prof. Bear was old. What happened when I watched it this time? Somehow Prof Bear wasn't so old. He was charming, intelligent, and sophisticated. The movie certainly didn't change, it must be me. I must be getting old, because the ending was so much more satisfying this time.

I watched the movie with Annalia this time. I know it was silly, to think that she would enjoy it at her age. She didn't. She kept asking if we could watch "An American Tale" instead. I really hope I didn't ruin it for her. At the end, she said "I didn't like that movie." Probably had something to do with Joe (a boy's name) ending up with the old guy.

Moon Festival

Remember the beginning of the summer when I shared about our disastrous journey to the National Zoo in DC? (I'm not a true blogger, so I don't know how to link to past stories - sorry). I won't bore you with the details, but it involved a long drive, traffic, no parking, vomiting, and ultimately an early end to the day.

I have learned my lesson.

Last February my girls discovered NiHao KaiLan, a Nick Jr. show that is basically Dora The Explorer, but for Chinese culture. I hate to admit it, but I kind of like the show and its eastern, "think of the group" way of solving problems.

Anyway,

They learned about the Chinese Moon Festival, where you eat dinner under the full moon and eat moon cakes. So of course, me with my love for anything that has to do with a culture other than my own, decided to enlighten my children and make moon cakes with them. I got some pretty weird looks at the Asian market when I was asking for the ingredients. Apparently no one eats moon cakes in the winter - as the festival is in the fall. I guess it is kind of like looking for Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes in August.

So we waited - all summer - looking forward to the Moon Festival. Looking back, it is kind of silly. It isn't like there is some cool meaning behind the festival that we could focus on. Just another one of those "turning of the seasons" kind of holiday that is part of most cultures.

Silly or not, I planned an elaborate family outing to Chinatown in DC. And by elaborate, I mean we had no other plan than to just go downtown and eat at a Chinese restaurant. Yup, I drove to the metro, paid the parking and the train fare, dragged the double stroller and my baby in a sling through the DC Metro - just to eat at a Chinese Restaurant in Chinatown.

And it was totally worth it. Only you and I know that what we did wasn't a big deal. My girls had no clue. According to them, we had taken them to China itself, with roasted ducks hanging in the windows and signs written in unreadable (for us) Chinese characters. We went to the "Wok 'n' Roll" (corny, huh?) where the girls had bubble tea, dumplings and ramen. The servers were impressed with Annalia's Chinese words (Thank you KaiLan), and they were thrilled with Xander.

I love going places that are so influenced by another culture that the workers barely speak English. It makes you think you are getting the real thing, not just take-out General Tso's Chicken. I knew I was in one of those places when a waitress came up to me and offered to hold Xander while I ate. I can't even imagine that happening at a "Friday"s or "Chili"s. So I happily handed him off and devoured my Chow Mein. Justin just stared at me in shock.

After our yummie and uneventful meal, we packed the kids back up into the stroller and sling, and I handed the girls their mooncakes. (purchased, I learned that no one makes their own moon cakes). I had thought of taking them into a little store to buy a souvenir. You know, something else to make the trip all that way worth it. But they were ready to go home, and I didn't argue.

purposeful disappointment

Nobody wants their child to be spoiled, but it isn't always an easy thing to do. I look around our house, filled to capacity of things we think we "need". I only buy toys for the kids for birthdays and Christmas, yet there always seems to be more than we can handle.

Annalia has been looking forward to her birthday for quite a while now. I guess she is finally old enough to understand that it is a day all about her, she gets things she wants, and of course, she gets to request whatever cake she wants.

She made it very clear that she wanted 3 things. A little sewing machine, a pink pillow pet, and a pink cake with blue butterflies. So simple, so little. Yet I didn't want to start a precedence that would eventually lead to extravagant birthdays with lots of expensive gifts. I prepared her for the idea that she MAY not get everything she asked for. Lucky me, she was eventually ok with it. She told me all she wanted was the little sewing machine and she would make her own pillow pet. (Can you tell she is my child?)

Now, I knew that a little sewing machine was not the most practical gift. She is a little to young to REALLY use it. But it was all she talked about, all she wanted. Did I "give in" to this one desire, or purposefully disappoint her that she won't always get whats she wants? Well, like so many other things, I let circumstances decide for me. I happened to be in Joann's without the girls and saw that the little tiny sewing machines were on clearance, and only 1 was left.

So I got it.

And I didn't get the pillow pet - but I am not sure that should count, because I did let the grandparents know that was what she wanted. And, come on, what grandparent is going to pass up the opportunity to get the prized gift?

And of course I was going to make her a special cake - that is just what I do.

Then, the day before her birthday, I get mega-sick. Could barely get up, was in no shape to make a pink cake with blue butterflies. The next morning I was feeling a little better, but not even close to good. She was disappointed, but didn't really understand that there was no way I was going to be able to make her cake. On the way to church, I have a great idea. I will swing through Dunkin Donuts and get her a donut with pink frosting. She is thrilled, and all seems to be well. Until I get to the window and realize that I left my wallet at home.

So much for worrying about getting her everything she wanted. It seems I was able to disappoint her without even trying. And of course I felt so bad. Who wants to make their beautiful 4-year-old cry on her birthday?

All in all, it was a great day, and she loved (almost) every moment of it. You should see the way her face lit up when she opened the sewing machine, and then the PINK pillow pet. That girl was in high heaven. And to top it off, I had Justin pick up a dozen donuts as her "cake", and you would have had no idea that just hours earlier she was crying over the loss of her pink cake with blue butterflies.

A Green One

I recently made a batch of trail mix for the girls. Which, of course, included m&m's. And I fully expected the girls to eat that first (Come on - who wouldn't?) It was especially cute watching Naomi. She would pick up each piece of candy-coated chocolate and declare, "I found a red one!!" or "I found a blue one!!" It was as if each new discovery was another reason to celebrate.

Later, I was at the grocery store and Naomi was in the front seat - an uncommon occurrence, as she prefers to walk the isles with her big sister. I was mostly focusing on the grocery list, but every once in a while I would hear Naomi exclaim, "I found a green one!!" I didn't think much about it. I figured she was finding colors in the store and making a game of it. In fact, I was even a little proud of my cute little 2-year-old as she showed off her color skills.

Then I happened to look at her right before one of these little bursts of color excitement. She digs her finger into her nose, pulls out a nice, big boogie, and shouts - "I found a green one!!"