Telling Stories

I've been trying to figure out what to write about for a while now. I suppose I have been waiting for something to happen or someone to inspire me. Today, my daydreaming brought me to the realization that I don't need something additional to happen to me in order to be inspired, the magic is already all around me. My muse is my neighbor that I saw wearing a mardi gras hat all through mardi gras season; it's the lady at the crosswalk with pain deep in her eyes, but a beaming smile on her face; it's my grandmothers, my mother, my sisters, my aunts, my friends. It's every woman that has a story.

Today, if you didn't know, is International Women's Day, a day meant to celebrate and commemorate the movement for women's rights. I know a lot of people just roll their eyes at a day like this. I've seen the posts about how things are virtually equal now, and how women should just really stop complaining so much, and in a lot of ways I agree (hold on, don't stop reading just yet!) I agree that things have improved since the start of the women's movements. I admit that I, for the most part, had the same opportunities as my male peers. I also am keenly aware of the areas that were not the same. My male peers were never shouted at on a street by a man plenty old enough to be their father. They weren't asked to take their top off by total strangers like I was at 15 years old, walking home from the store. They were never questioned about being on their menstrual cycle for rejecting sexual advances. They typically don't get silenced in meetings, especially not by a woman (gasp!) As a rule men are listened to more, admired more, forgiven more and almost always have the upper hand in a round of double standard.

I'm also aware my experiences are my own, and many women have it far worse. It's hard to sit and imagine the women around the world in cultures so foreign from my own that are oppressed and not even thought of-Women who aren't allowed to do things by law. Women who truly are second class citizens, forgotten by a world fascinated by shiny things. It is for these women that we must stand together and fight for equality. It's for the beaten bodies, the humiliated souls, the broken spirits, the fearful heart that we must look on one another with love and kindness, and with a righteous anger so zealous it can produce change. YES we disagree with each other on a lot of issues, but I think if we would take the time to listen to stories of the women around us, if we could put on their glasses for a moment to see this incredible world from their eyes, maybe we could understand each other a lot more. We must stand by each other to affect change and we must #beboldforchange  I want to tell their stories. Over the next however long this project lasts, my goal will be to tell the stories of women who maybe never had a voice....or women who had a voice, but just weren't being heard....or maybe women who want their voice to be heard by as many people and as many ways as possible. I want to tell the stories even if they are uncomfortable. Many stories might not be happy ones, but they deserve to be heard too, without judgement. I'm excited about my next adventure. I hope it might have an impact, even just one person.

Unexpected Arrows

Life.

Life is in constant state of change. That's one of the things you can most rely on. Change. And change is going to make you...to make me uncomfortable. We must become uncomfortable to change- to grow. Some change we know is coming. This is the change we are probably most ok with. Because we know that it's coming, we prepare for it, we come to terms with it in our minds. We often times even welcome it! Finally getting through puberty, for example. Welcomed with wide open arms flailing like a mad man that just reached the finish line of his marathon. Other change, the unexpected kind - the kick-you-in-your-gut-and-now-you're-bleeding-internally kind - that isn't so welcome, yet it comes all the same. For me, most recently, that has been healing and dealing with the death of my two babies. This has been like a EF5 that ripped through my life so suddenly and then my husband and I were left to pick up all the pieces of our life that had been wizard of ozzed all over. And toto we definitely are NOT in kansas. This change has been extraordinarily difficult, with painful arrows being shot at me at all times. A memory trigger could happen at any given time. Like just now, for example.

There I was, just minding my own beezwax, going through my day getting ready to walk out the door to go hand out my business cards to local businesses when lo and behold I get an e-mail. Not just any e-mail. An e-mail I THOUGHT I had successfully unsubscribed from because of its content. It was an e-mail from Enfamil. Fortunately my phone previews my e-mails for me and gives me just enough information to know what the e-mail is about! It was about how my first baby was almost 6 months old and how his or her nutrition needs were evolving. 6 months....is that right?! wow, yeah, that's about right. 6 months. I immediately envisioned my living room full of toys and a big fat baby girl crawling across the floor. 6 months.

FOOMP 

arrow. straight to the heart.

Life is so strange. One day you can be going along just fine. Healing. Getting better. Feeling good and excited about the future. And just like that a memory arrow can shoot right through you and make you crumble like the last piece of jenga.

So what's the point? The point is change is inevitable. Pain and being uncomfortable is guaranteed. And it is ok to not be ok. It's just not ok to stay there. We MUST continue to change. We must grow. We must, eventually, pick up all the pieces of the jenga puzzle. The point is there is hope. Marvelous hope. Hope that will whisk your breath away and leave you speechless and longing for more. Hope that will be a beacon of light in your life. Hope that will reach down and gently help you along. Hope that will sustain.

Because you WILL be ok.

The Box

There's a memory box that sits in a virtually empty room. The room used to be filled with storage boxes, a futon and two dog kennels that really made the room smell quite stale. Worse than stale actually. Ok, it stank. Early of last year my man and I got the thrilling news we were expecting. Soon that room was no longer just a room. We had plans for that room. We had dreams for that room. We pictured it being painted blue or pink, or maybe just yellow. A crib would go on the right wall and a chair in the opposite corner. I posted online magazine articles to Pintrest. We went dream shopping at Babies-R-Us.

Now the room is empty. Virtually empty. To be fair there are things in there. The futon is still there. The closet is still filled with storage. There is a bookshelf. And on the bookshelf sits a box of memories. Memories that should have overflowed from that room. Memories that should have permeated the rest of my life. Memories that only got the chance to form for a couple of months. Memories that now sit in a box.

Don't get me wrong. They flood my head every single day. Nothing I do can get them out. Not that I want them out. I don't. Not ever. But they can be exhausting. I haven't visited the box in a while. I didn't even visit the box when the due date came. I wanted to. My parents got me a cute yellow and green onesie set. It was complete with little hats. One was white and had tiny frogs all over it. But you see...I didn't want to just visit the box with the empty onesie. I want to hold my baby wearing the tiny froggy onesie. But I can't.

I miss my baby. It's especially hard these days. I wake up in the morning and my house is silent. Silence is deafening. Oh, what I would give to wake up to a screaming new born. Oh what I would give to be sleep deprived from a crying baby and not from crying for my lost baby. Oh what I would give.

But all I have is my box.

A Letter To My Unborn Child On Your Due Date October, 7, 2015

A Letter To My Unborn Child:

My dearest, sweetest baby,

Today my heart aches with a profoundly deep pain. It hurts worse than it normally does. See today is your due date. Today is the day your father and I were supposed to see you with our own eyes. Today was meant to be a day of celebration and joy. But it's not.

I still remember the moment I found out about you. Oh, how I instantly loved you! I remember going for walks with my hand lightly resting on my belly as I talked to you. I wondered how you would look. Would you have my wild hair and your father's hazel eyes? You would definitely be tall and probably have blonde hair. I told you how much I love you. I loved you fiercely. I loved you from a place I had been preparing for years and didn't even really realize it. Even though you completely surprised me, I instantly become a mom. You were a part of this family. We instantly fantasized about what you would look like. We made plans for how we needed to do Thanksgiving and Christmas. Every day I was filled to the brim with joy. I couldn't contain it!

The moment I heard your heartbeat...that was the moment. To see you jumping around in my womb made me beam with pride. I heard your little heart beating so strong inside of me. Our hearts were beating together. Even then my body was nourishing you. It was the most beautiful symphony I have ever heard in my entire life. No two instruments on the face of this planet could ever replicate the music that rang through my soul and echoed into my life that day.

But the song was a short one. For reasons I imagine I'll never know, the song stopped, and the Conductor took you home. I remember that day too. The day I rushed to the emergency room desperate to have someone reassure me I was just fine. I was frantic as the truth sank deep into the pit of my gut. I knew I was losing you, and I couldn't do anything. I hated myself for that. I hated my body for failing you. I blamed myself. I was sure I had done something. I realize that's probably not the truth, but it was hard to tell my head that. But don't worry, your daddy took very good care of me. He was perfect.

You, dear child, were loved. You were held every single moment of your life. You never knew cold or loneliness. You never were afraid. You never got your heart broken. You never knew how cruel the world can be. And the first person you saw when you opened your tiny little eyes was the face of Jesus. And I have to believe He smiled at you, picked you up and cradled you softly in His arms. I may not get to meet you today like I thought I was supposed to, so I hope against all hope that He is holding you until I get to.

I love you with all of my broken heart,

Your mother

Miscarriage and Motherhood

I remember a book I used to read when I was a kid. I think it was a little bird that fell out of its nest, and walked around searching for its mother. "Are you my mother?" it would ask. After twenty years or so, I think I relate more to this book now than I did before. Only my question is slightly different.  - "Am I a mother?"

The hardest part of this journey has been, aside from the general feelings associated with loss, understanding whether or not I am still a mother. Many of you probably instantly jump to tell me yes, of course I am. The answer is much harder for me to process, however. I do not have stick figure drawings on my fridge. Toys aren't haphazardly strewn across my living room, embarrassing me when company comes over. I don't ever have to find a babysitter in order to go out and have date night. The most jolting of all for me right now is that the room we intended to be a nursery is still empty, except for a futon and pile of laundry I never seem to get folded. There's no crib, no little clothes, no nightlight, no small toys. Nothing. All I have is a box filled with the very few memories of my two babies. It sits on a shelf in an empty room. Some days I visit it when my heart is particularly broken and my arms simply aching for someone to hold. But to a stranger, my house and my life show no clues that I am a mother. 

What if someone asks me if I have any children? What should I say? I know the answer they're looking for. The question isn't,  "how many times have you been pregnant?" Most of the time I answer none. That feels like a lie, though. I have two children, I just lost them both. But people don't like to feel uncomfortable. Loss, grief, tragedy. It's uncomfortable. 

That little book that is meant for children causes a great emotion to sweep over me. Because for me, the nest is my womb and is now empty because I lost my little baby. And now I am faced with trying to reconcile whether or not I am a mother even with an empty womb and empty arms. How do I convince myself I am a mother with nothing to show for it? I never stayed up all night with a screaming baby. I never kissed skinned knees. I never bought birthday cakes. I never cried on the first day of kindergarten. I never even knew if my baby was a boy or a girl. Am I a mother? 

This battle is particularly difficult for me. All i have to show are memories. Maybe that's why I am fiercely protective of these memories. 

Am I a mother?

Miscarriage

I have debated with myself about whether or not to even post this. I've always believed that social media is not a place to air your dirty laundry. But somehow writing, and sharing these thoughts helps me process. It helps me grieve. 

Pregnancy loss changes you. It dulls you. It dulls your highs. It dulls your happiness. Because nothing compares to the loss of your child, and no happiness compares to the life you expected with your baby. There simply are no words in any language spoken in this galaxy or the next to describe the emptiness a woman feels after losing her child. Once you know that you are carrying a growing being in you, life changes. Once you hear that precious heart beating so strong, the world becomes a brighter place. I was happier, it was a euphoric feeling. I saw every baby any place I went and beamed with pride knowing that would be me soon. The amount of love I felt, so instantly, was overwhelming. It seemed impossible to feel so much for someone I had not even truly met yet. Oh, but I knew my child. I already somehow knew my baby. I dreamed of the beautiful moments we would experience. I shared secrets with my baby of everything I was dreaming. My fiancé and I dreamed of how the nursery would be. Everyone thought it was going to be a sweet baby girl. We were both already proud parents. We saw hopes and dreams growing within me. We kept track of every development. 

Then the unthinkable happened. 

That horrible feeling of drowning. Pain so deep, it takes your breath away. Pain isn’t even the right word to describe it. It is an emptiness, a hurt deep within your gut. Grief is different for every person. But pregnancy loss is also different from other losses. I don’t mean to take away from other losses, but I lost a part of me. I lost a physical part of me. A part of me that I was deeply connected to, that I was connected to on a level I cannot comprehend. To many it was simply a pregnancy loss. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that I should be grateful because now I know I can get pregnant and that I can always have another baby. What you fail to see is that I wanted THAT pregnancy. I wanted THAT baby. Yes, I will want every baby, but the presence of one does not redeem or account for the loss of this other. I l lost my baby. Sometimes I don’t know what else to say. I miss my baby. How do you get over the loss of your child? 

And then there’s the guilt I feel.

Guilt because I feel it is my fault my baby is dead. Guilt because I can’t support my fiancé during his grief. Guilt because I just can’t seem to “get it together” and get on with life. Guilt because I know sometimes I forget that my fiancé also lost his baby. Guilt because my fiancé is grieving differently than I am, and I feel like such a burden. Guilt that I can’t be who he needs to me to be, and that I don’t know if I ever will. Guilt that I am a mother with nothing to show for it, and the world will never truly view me as a mother. 

Things cannot go back to the way they were, and I don’t want them to. To do so would disrespect the memory of my child. Yes I will learn to live with this hole inside of me, but things will never be the same. A marathon runner who loses his legs will never run the same, even if he learns to run again, it will not be the same. I am changed forever now. I wasn’t even sure of who I was to begin with, now I am completely changed. 

strawberry tea

WOW! what a day! Today was so great. Let me start from the very beginning so I don't miss anything. This morning was the kids club and it really was great. The theme this week for the club is...ready for this?? The Olympics! I know. Very clever. We split the leaders up into teams: red, white, blue (think england colors not US.) The team with the most balls (aka points) in their bag at the end of the three days gets a prize. I'm on the white team and I'm very excited. We have a great team =)

We began the morning with a warm up. Yes, jogging, push-ups, lunges, the whole nine yards. I was not prepared for this. It was hilarious. The man leading the games is Jonny, he is one of the sons of our host home. We had a blast doing that. The story was next and it was about Gideon. Matt, our host dad, told the story about how Gideon trusted God and hid their torches under pots, smashed the pots, blew their horns and then watched the camp destroy itself. At the end of the story he tied it in by saying that Jesus is the light of world and He shines through all and we should too. Their craft was a mini olympic torch.

We ate lunch and then went for Strawberry Tea with the senior adults. They were precious! They had several craft stations set up. I learned to cross stitch, knit and I even painted! It actually turned out quite nice. A few of us ladies sang for them as well. It was a lot of fun, but more than that, God moved and spoke through the music. Rachel and I gave our testimonies. I spoke of how I was saved at a young age, but never matured spiritually and ran from God for a long time until He finally completely broke me and drew me right back to Him. I realized what a joy it was to live fully IN Christ and be in the center of His will. And that His will was for me to go wherever He sent me to preach the news of the Gospel. That there is nothing we can do to be saved, to be with God and get into heaven. It is the mercy and grace of the Lord, who died on the cross for our sins that picks us up out of the nasty, grimy sin we're in and sets us on solid rock, the Rock of Ages, our cornerstone. Rachel spoke of how she thought she was saved for a long time and realized on Good Friday that she was not IN Christ, and had to change that. So she surrendered to Him and all her burdens were lifted and she was saved, and now she has a burden to tell all about God. Several ladies came up to us afterward and thanked us for our testimonies. One lady commented to me about one of the songs we sang. "It is Well" was played at her son's funeral. He was diagnosed with lukemia at 18 and died at 19. She said the nurses always asked him why he was always smiling and he said it was because he knew God and knew where he was going when he died so he couldn't help but smile. When he died they played that song. Afterwards the ladies she worked with wanted to know why she wasn't wearing grey or black since she lost her son. She said she hadn't lost him, she knew exactly where he was and that it was because of God that she could trust and remain joyful. This story brought me to tears. She smiled the whole time she was telling it too because it was her testimony of God's faithfulness and sovereignty.

After Strawberry Tea we went to Betty's to eat, and then went to have a girls night of nails and chocolate fondue while the guys had their sport night with the men in the community. Apparently it went really well. Thank you for your prayers and thanks to God for the men He brought! There were about 30 or 40 from what I was told, which is great! I'll know more about that tomorrow.

I have a few prayer requests that are on my heart. First I ask that you continue to pray for the rest of this week. Pray for the speakers as they present the Gospel to children. Pray for the leaders as we interact with the kids. Pray for the kids too as they hear and see and learn. I also ask that you pray for one family in particular. I don't want to name names, but there's a family at the church with a child that has some anger and behavioral issues. She will be fine one minute, and the next a switch will just flip and she will be in a fit of anger. It isn't just a temper tantrum either. Pray for this child. Also please pray for the parents, particularly the mom. I can tell it's quite stressful and hurtful. When I saw it today, my heart ached for her. I could see the hurt in her eyes and it grabbed me. The last thing I want you to pray for is souls to be saved. Pray specifically for that. May God pierce the hearts of the people. Pray for salvation!!!

This is such a beautiful country. The people are so polite. It's not just being nice either. They are kind and love of God just radiates through them. I feel so at home. Don't worry I'm coming back...at least for a little while. Please don't underestimate the power of prayer, and please be faithful in praying for us. God is answering these prayers!

Till next blog!