Together

 May we always believe in the impossible. May we embrace every little sparkle of life.

But what happens when we lack that sparkle of life. What about the times when belief eludes you. What happens when you stumble over what is behind you. What about the times when you cannot balance holding on with letting go. What happens when the loudest sound you hear is the sound of letting go, and the noise is so deafening that it pulsates pain in every part of you.

Far be it from me to not believe, but it is true. I have cursed God. Damn You! Damn this life! Damn this mountain of regret and pain. Damn the very breathe I take. The breath that my son was denied. Damn you for breathing life into those undeserving.

Because you see, this demon of sadness came long before I lost Nathan. I have been plagued by pain from very early on. Nathan’s passing was a catalyst to seek and find something that I never knew existed. Living a life in a constant state of pain, is much like death. Every single moment of every single day.

Suicide is the 10^th leading cause of death in the US. Each year 44,965 American die by suicide. It makes me wonder how many of them have lost a child? I would guess, it is an alarming number, and I would bet that a great many of these have previous trauma on top of that.  For parents the death of their child defies the natural order of life events. It challenges our basic existential expectations. It certainly did for me. It is a dark place that sometimes a person cannot come out of.

Therefore, for this, I am illuminating my own truth.

Many years ago, long before Nathan, and long before I became the woman I am today, there was a lost, young, girl in hiding. There was a dark demon that whispered lies into my mind. There was un-diagnosed depression, and mania filled episodes. The atmosphere was thick in desperation. This was in a space and time before the state of a person’s mental health was openly discussed in family settings. Through no fault of my family, it was overlooked and untreated. It manifested over time and became a darkness I could not escape. Those whispered lies led me to a serious attempt on ending my life.

 I survived, and over the decades that followed, I pushed it further and further down. Only a select few knew of my moment of desperation. I didn’t speak about it. I didn’t seek resolution. I pushed it further and further into a space of bewilderment and shame.  I pretended to move forward. I existed in a space of secrecy and survival. On the outside you would never know that every day I wanted to fade away. You would never know that this believer did not believe. You would never know that every time I walked into a room, the air was sucked out. You would never know that I walked in a perpetual state of shadows. You would never know that I believed in God but despised him at the same time. You would never know that I was plagued by nightmares, and restlessness.

And then Nathan died. And in that moment when his heartbeat ceased, I whispered a threat to God.

“You had better be real to me. You had better show up right now. You had better save me from this because I do not want to breathe again. If not, I will never believe in you or anything again. This time I will not live.”

This is the genuine conversation I had with God at that moment, and I have not fully shared it before. I have only shared it on pieces. But I feel that it is time. I feel that someone reading this needs this transparency. I need this transparency every day.

Through the shadows light appeared. I did not have an audible experience with God that day. But a supernatural experience did occur. A blanket of peace covered me from my head to my toes. It was a peace that saved my life.

Many of you tell me how brave I am. How much I inspire you to keep going. You say the most amazing and affirming things. But I need you to know that anything powerful you see in me does not come from me at all. It comes from that blanket of peace. It comes from my surrender. It comes from empty hands held high. It comes from finally being honest about my weakness. It comes from a moment when every part of who I was died. I have met the devil. I have met God. I know which craved my death. I know which craved my life. I know what is real because I have met both.

I still struggle with darkness and depression every moment of every day. The demon still whispers in my ear and now with a more urgent persistence. It presses the weight of the loss of my son into my heart and is unrelenting. I carry this weight every single moment of every day. I still cry and scream at God. But he never screams back, and this is what saves me.

Today I fight back.  I seek wise counsel. I seek professional help. I do not live in shame because I choose medication and therapy. I live with a bold transparency now that was not possible before Nathan passed.  I measure time differently now. Everything is Pre and Post Nathan. Post Nathan is not without struggle, but it is possible. 

I have lived a lifetime in the almost 7 years since Nathan's passing. However, I have finally lived. 

It is possible for you too. You can feel healing in your bones. You can overcome and not have to fake it any longer. You can live abundantly, even in the struggle. If you cannot find your way, come find me. We can stumble together. We are not meant to carry mountains. We are meant to climb them, and we can climb them together.  

The River

Mother’s Day is always a difficult day. There is always a subtle ache just beyond my peace. I think about what Nathan would be making me in school to celebrate the Holiday. I think about what He and Daddy would cook me for Mother’s Day breakfast. I think about all the moments that could have been.  But honestly, I don’t think about Him any more or less on any given day. The ache is the same no matter what day it is, but Mother’s Day can hold a particular sting for me.

 I have been blessed by adoption on my journey. Through it, I have been able to bring a child home and experience all of the little moments I dreamed for. My heart overflows with gratitude that I have been blessed with such a miracle. I sometimes feel guilty that I ache at all. I have been beyond blessed and provided for on my grief journey. How dare I complain when so many others are not as fortunate? But then I remember that unrest is the human condition and quite normal. It does not negate my gratitude, and I should not feel guilty for my moments of grief. The LORD understands, forgives, and restores.

On Mother’s day and Father’s day , I often think about parent’s that have to choose to let their children go. This always makes me reflect on how fortunate I am. I did not have to choose. The decision was made for me by the LORD. I could focus on that fact and begrudge Him. However, I choose to see it as mercy. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have to choose to let go of your child. Parents have to make this heartbreaking decision every day. They have to watch their children suffer. I was spared this anguish, and the mercy of that is not lost on me. I lift these parents up every day. I pray that they be comforted and covered in peace with their decisions. Why was I spared, and they are not? I will never understand this, but perhaps it is so I can minister to them.

I wonder a lot about parents over the ages. So many have lost children. So many have had to let them go. One story that resonated over the years is Moses’s Mother, Jochebed. She set Him afloat to preserve His life. Many are familiar with the story of Moses. Here is my take on His Mother's courage and strength.

    1. The reigning Pharaoh, at the time, was determined to stamp out the threat of the Hebrew people; and issued his command to the Hebrew midwives, that they should destroy all the newborn sons of the Hebrews.

      2.    Moses, was born during this time, and was hid  for three months by his parents.

This means that Moses and his parents bonded for three months. His Mother nursed Him, sang to Him, and cuddled him for 3 months. The cry, and giggles of a healthy child would have betrayed his whereabouts, and the day arrived when she could hide him no longer. So after probably much anguish, and prayer she set him afloat on a carefully made vessel. When the water was calm, the little vessel might ride safely, but any flood or even rise of the water might float it to the mid‐current, and carry Him off course, and into danger.

Can you imagine? The fear during the time of hiding Him? Then deciding to set him afloat? No matter how big Jochebed’s faith was, she had to have fear and doubt. She was entrusting Her son to the safety of a physically unseen God.

     3.  The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe in the river, and her maidens walked along by the river side. Probably some movement of the child, or some cry, may have drawn her attention to the vessel. She decides to take the child as her own.

     4. Moses’s sister Miriam had been watching, and then said to Pharaoh's daughter,

 “Shall I go and call a nurse for you from the Hebrew women that she may nurse the child for you?” 

Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Go ahead.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother.”

I imagine Moses’s Mother, Jochebed, was at home in anguish. Undoubtedly sick with worry.

Beside herself. Wondering if she had done the right thing. Questioning her Faith. And then here comes her daughter summoning her to the Pharaoh’s daughter. She probably approaches seeing her holding her baby. She probably had to restrain herself from reaching for Him. Because to do so would be the final proclamation that He was, in fact, a Hebrew male, and feared He would be slaughtered.

5.  Then Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child away and nurse him for me and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed him.  The child grew, and she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son. And she named him Moses, and said, “Because I drew him out of the water.”

This is the part that really sticks with me. Back then a baby was nursed anywhere from 3-5 years of age. The lack of nourishment in foods made nursing crucial to infant and toddler survival.

So Jochebed, continued to raise her son for at least 3-5 more years. She continued to care for him, teach him, comfort him, and all that exists in the journey of motherhood. All the while knowing that she had to again let him go. If she denied the Pharaoh’s daughter her son, then He would have been slaughtered. He would have at that point simply remained a Hebrew Male. And his very existence was forbidden.

Can you imagine all the years of caring for Him, knowing that their time together was limited?  She rocked him and nursed him over the years, knowing that one day they would be separated.

Jochebed, to me, must have been a Mother of extreme faith. It is the only explanation for her strength.

Can you imagine the day she held his little hand, and took him back to Pharaoh’s daughter? I imagine she bathed him, and sweetly whispered in his ear, all the things she prayed He would remember. Would he remember being called a different name by his birth parents? (seeing as they did not name Him Moses) Would He remember her face? Would He always know how much she cherished him, from the very beginning? As she hands him over, I stop and wonder, did she hesitate. Was she crying? Was Moses afraid? Was she allowed to comfort him? Can you imagine the pain in this second transaction? To let him go not once, but twice?

When I read this story I am filled with so many questions about Jochebed.   I am overwhelmed by her strength and resolve. As a mother I cannot fathom what it took to travel this particular journey. At the end of her life, I wonder if she was at peace with her decision so many years prior. I wonder if she had peace beyond understanding.

Perspective can change through the years. Since Nathan’s passing, when I feel torn between gratitude and grumbling, I turn to this particular Bible story. I look at the grey areas of it, and find reflection.  I always walk away in awe.

To choose, to let your child go, does not diminish parenthood. If anything it makes the light of parenthood shine brighter. Whether it be physical or metaphorical, all parents of lost children must at some point let go. That is not to forget. We never move on. We always hold on to them in our hearts. But we let go of the physical. We let go of the tangible. We hold on to the spirit. We hold on to the song that their lives played in our hearts. Letting go, makes breathing possible. Letting go does not make us less of a parent. Letting go, comes from a place of faith. Letting go simply liberates our hearts. Sometimes the faith is big. Sometimes it is as small as a mustard seed.

Some of us are spared the choice, and others are forced to make it?  Perhaps it is so we may all come together and see from different sides of the river. Each angle of the ripple is viewed differently.  But when we minister to one another, all waters of the journey, reflect the same love and peace. 

It Is Well - Bethel Music (lyric video)

Through it all

I have endured nightmares for as long as I can remember. I have been attacked in the night for countless years. Through therapy and years of self- reflection, I have come to believe these nightmares are the result of trauma. Trauma at an early age that has followed me and plagued my dreams. Sleep is so difficult for me, but strangely enough only at night.  During the day, I can nap like a boss. There is something about the cover of night that brings about a restlessness that is difficult to overcome.

Often, I wake up in physical discomfort. My body seemingly fights the battle raging while I “sleep”.  Early this morning I woke in a sheen of sweat. My head was pounding, my hands and toes were clenched, my back was seizing, my legs and arms cramping.  My breathing erratic; as if all the air was seemingly sucked from the room.  But “grander earth has quaked before”.

This is nothing new to me; and become something even my husband has learned to comfort me through. It is simply a reality. I am blessed to have a love that seems to know just what to do. He effortlessly rubs my body, retrieves cold water, and is even learning what essential oils to bring me. He often does not speak a word.  Over the years, it has transformed into a silent dance between us.

After Nathan passed away this dance between us became more frequent. The intensity of the nightmares increased. The physical reaction, sharp and agonizing. But we soldier on. I know what you are thinking; “My God Sam!”. Yes, my God indeed. I do not endure this because I am strong. I am not a champion, nor a martyr. I consider this nothing compared to what others endure. Many of them endure while awake. This evil attacks them during waking hours.  I consider myself blessed through it all. This “bravery” does not come from within myself. It is a spiritual gift, only achieved through God.

I have also come to believe that my nightmares are a form of a spiritual attack.

Not all of my friends, loved ones, and readers are believers. You come from all walks and faiths. However, I must proclaim what I know is true. I believe in God, and subsequently, in the Devil. I know they exist because I have met them both.

 I have met with Christ in indescribable ways. The best I have been able to articulate, is His presence the night I learned of Nathan’s passing. He washed over me and covered me in a “peace blanket” of sorts. It was a supernatural experience for me. God revealed himself to me in a way that was beyond real.  He made himself physically tangible to me. I know it was Him because He is who I cried out to. I have cried out to Him countless times before, and He has come. But this particular time, He knew I needed evidence of His protection. He knew the warfare for my mind had begun, and he showed Himself in a big way.  Remembering the realness of God in this moment, is breathtaking. It is a moment that stayed with me for many, many days. It still covers me today. While the supernatural element has faded, the physical calm is ever present. I really do feel His holy spirit. It speaks to my heart without a single audible note.

Warfare of the mind is a devil in and of itself. The Devil does not appear to us with scarlett skin, and horns, but I promise you that He does indeed breath fire. He breathes it into our minds. He attacks us with a raging heat of despair. I have met the Devil. I met Him at an early age. He has been relentless in His pursuit. He has poked and prodded my mind; urging me to reconsider my faith. He has dug his proverbial talons into the flesh of my ankle, as I clawed to the top of the pit. Simply put, He is as real as you and I. He does not come to us with smoke and mirrors as there is no magical element to His existence.  He reaches into our minds because that is where we are most vulnerable. He is not a cartoon on the shoulders of society, but He does indeed whisper into our ears. He whispers a darkness more powerful than that of any physical presence. Suicide, acts of violence, hatred in its darkest of forms, is His thumbprint. And so, because He has failed to sway my faith, He attacks me while I sleep.

However, He does not have power over me. My body even know this; as it fights for me during the night. The fight is temporary even though it comes over and over and over. Eventually my body relaxes. Eventually there is reprieve. It is temporary even though He is relentless in his advances. My mind is similar to a glass of water. He attacks the glass at every angle, but He cannot penetrate. My glass mind is shaken, even tipped over at times. But not an ounce of water escapes. He has power, but is powerless all at the same time.  My faith, my God, is impenetrable. Not because of myself mind you, but because I am not my own. I am a child of God. You cannot defeat that, no matter how much you shake me. You can crack my glass, but it will not leak.  I cannot be separated from God. You would think he would have learned that by now.  This must be why He attacks me at night; because He is a clueless, coward underneath it all.

 I believe that is why I was gifted the ability to write. From an early age, I have been able to speak on paper; words that otherwise would be suppressed. What my mouth cannot utter seems to flow effortlessly onto the page. I praise God for this gift. It has no doubt been my saving grace. It is how I fight back. I write these words, and I share them with you, and you hopefully share them with others. Hopefully the raw, honesty impacts you in a way that gives you strength to fight when you are attacked.

I believe that the transparency of my inner struggles are not for nothing. My struggles and nightmares do not have power over me. God uses them to plant seeds in the lives of others. When I say “If it helps at least one person, then it is worth it”, I am sincere. If my words give even one of you the courage to fight, then I am grateful. Because, you see, they are not my words. My glass is not my own. My water does not spill because it is not my water. I find this refreshing. I am not in control, but that does not mean I do not have the power to impact lives.

Your story, your pain, your loss, can be used for great things. There can be life after pain. There is a life worth living. Losing a child is by far the most agonizing trauma of my life. There is never a moment my heart does not ache for my boy. However, the ache is temporary. One day I will be reunited. One day I will see that through it all, God had a purpose. I believe when my day comes, God will reveal all the lives changed by sharing Nathan and the journey with you. I believe because I have seen. I have seen without the human eye. I have seen through a shaken glass, that has never, ever, failed to be full. Through it all.  

Memory Box Milestone

Intertwining the here and there can be difficult. You are not alone. Hang in there and always Bel;ve friends.

Angel Dash 2016

Happy 5th Birthday Nathan. We miss you so very much. Today we celebrated your life. Mommy and Daddy tried not to be sad and focus on how lucky we are to have had even a short time with you. You are still such a miracle to us. Never a day goes by that we do not think of you, and thank the LORD for such an amazing gift. We love you to the moon and back, and back again.


https://youtu.be/X4eAz65MYYI

Samara Brennan - Book interview - Good Grief When Grief Meets Grace

Happy Birthday Beautiful Boy

Today we celebrate Four Years of Nathan’s Birth in Glory. It is a strange celebration. A strange, painful, and yet all at the same time peaceful day. After Nathan’s passing we had a Remembrance Ceremony instead of a Dedication. I love the wording in the ceremony….

”We, James and Samara Brennan, in memory of our son Nathan Dean Brennan and Having full faith that Nathan resides with our Lord Jesus Christ, commit ourselves to the continued service of the Lord, with the knowledge that we to will one day be with our Savior and with our son Nathan”

We stood before our friends and family and we declared that we would continue to serve the LORD. Four years later… We are firm in our faith. We are strong in our marriage. We are lifted up daily by an extraordinary support group of friends and family. We have not come this far alone. We do not take for granted those that have traveled this journey with us. We are grateful for the accountability. We are humbled in serving the LORD. Serving a faithful God is a reward in and of itself. In serving Him, we have been blessed with true peace beyond understanding. This peace has carried us through, and it is most precious to us.

My grateful heart does not mean my days are without the ache. I just acknowledge the ache. I wake with it, I breathe it in. The ache never leaves me. The best way to describe it is a balloon that floats above me. It is tethered to me by an almost invisible string. Some days it is quite high above me. Some days it is hovering right at my shoulders. It floats up. It floats down. But I am never unaware of its presence.

Each morning is a choice. I choose to take shallow breaths, until I can breathe deeper. I choose to praise the LORD. I choose life, because Christ fills me with purpose and strength. I am very weak on my own. There is no earthly reason why I have come this far. The peace in my heart is unexplainable. It is a gift. It is God’s Grace. I believe it is because, through it all, I believe. I believe in the miracle of God himself, and all that implies. I believe in His power in my life.

I do not understand the why of it all. I cannot say that I am grateful for Nathan’s passing. However, I will say I am grateful for the undeniable presence and revelation of God, through Nathan's passing. I have a clarity, a perspective, a self- awareness, that I did not have before. My entire world changed. I changed. My heart changed. My faith changed. A new day had come. Through Nathan’s life, God revealed Himself to me in a way I cannot deny. I believed before, but it was through clouded expectations. So many times my faith was conditional, situational even. I believed, I sincerely confessed Him as LORD. But I did not know Him. Like a distant relative of my salvation.

The past four years I have been undergoing a marvelous transformation. It is producing a peculiar acceptance. Today on Nathan’s Birthday I close my eyes and I know. I know He is safe. I know that the first face He saw was Christ’s. I know that I will be reunited one day. I know, without a doubt that the LORD is forever faithful. He is working in my waiting. I am grateful for Nathan’s life. I am grateful for each breath we took together. I am even grateful for the breaths I take without Him. I am grateful even in the valley. Because you see, although Nathan and I share the earthly tether, and subsequent ache of loss. We also share an anchor. The anchor of Christ cannot be destroyed.

Lord,
I thank you for Nathan’s life. I thank you for knowing Him before time. I thank you for holding Him even beyond time. You are wisdom unimagined. Thank you for transforming me. Thank you for meeting me where I am. Thank you for endless grace. Thank you for your promises. Thank you for a new day.

Decisions, Decisions

Miriam Webster’s Dictionary defines FAILURE as

1) Omission of occurrence or performance; specifically: a failing to perform a duty or expected action
2) A state of inability to perform a normal function: an abrupt cessation of normal functioning
3) A fracturing or giving way under stress: falling short: Deficiency
4) One who has failed


For the longest time after Nathan’s death I felt I was a failure in the biggest sense of the word. Actually, it began even before that during my many years of infertility. I felt defective. While my womb was to be closed, other women conceived seemingly without effort. Reproducing is the one thing women are supposed to be able to do right? It is our bodies design right? Why didn’t mine cooperate? Why was I consistently failing at this? What was wrong with me? Fix me Jesus! After many years I came to peace with it, and accepted that my purpose must just be on another path. I accepted that my step daughter was to be my only child, and poured into her instead of living with sadness.
So imagine after all those years, the joy to have conceived Nathan. Imagine feeling defective no longer. Imagine finding your most desperate prayer answered. Imagine the grace, the gift of it all. And then Nathan was gone, and I felt like a failure all over again. My body had failed me in the most devastating of ways. My body had an “abrupt cessation of normal functioning”. Giving birth to a live, healthy child was a specific function I just could not perform. Even still I was never resentful at God. Rather only at myself. I poured all my anger, disappointment, emptiness, inward and blamed myself secretly. When others said that it wasn’t my fault I nodded, even agreed aloud, but on the inside I wanted to rip my defective womb from my body. It is a private anguish I haven’t truly written about until now. The definition of failure intersected my situation seemingly at every turn…except for the last example.

One who has failed.

Failure seemed to be the result of an action or series of them. The act of falling short; the act of giving way; the state of inability was not something I controlled or acted in. The failure; the lack of a live birth was not something my body and I discussed. There was no negative action on my part, only a negative result. I was living the result of a cataclysmic event. This tragic event did not box me into the label of a failure. I did that to myself. I labeled myself a person who has failed. I am a logical person, but illogically attacked myself. In the medical community, our loss is considered an “unexplained fetal demise”. It sounds harsh but that is simply the way science explains the unexplainable. They give it a label. But they didn’t give it the label of Failure. Nowhere on any of our paperwork will you see “Mother is at fault” or “Mother is an epic failure for not producing a healthy child”. Even science does not blame me. So I had to stop blaming myself.
In a few weeks it will be three years, and it took me the better part of it, to fully understand that I am not a failure. This was a secret burden that only a few knew I carried. Saying it out loud was the ultimate attack on myself. Admitting I felt this way was a huge part of our decision to try again or not. I had to face this darkness before I could really move forward. It seemed to be the biggest mountain. The feeling of failure was all around me. If I decided to not try for another pregnancy was I failing? Would this make me a quitter? Was I failing to fully trust God, and allow my fear of another loss to decide for me?

The decision to “try again” or not to “try again”, after the loss of a child requires a lot of prayer. For me, it was early on that I felt I did not have the desire to try again. Especially with the feeling of failure hanging over my head. The doom of it had to be processed and healed from before a final decision could be made. To me moving forward with incomplete healing would be a disservice to myself and also James, and that would actually be the failure.

Nathan was a miracle in our minds and the most perfect pregnancy imaginable. I enjoyed every part of my pregnancy, and have wonderful memories of my experience. There wasn’t a single part of pregnancy I felt I had missed, and up until the last moments, I could not have imagined anything better. I did not expect to become pregnant, so when it happened it was the best from the get-go. Even though Nathan was stillborn, I don’t feel jilted necessarily. I dreamed of being pregnant, and got to live that dream. Pregnancy was not a rainbow I felt I needed to chase any longer. Even though Nathan is not here now, I cannot say a single bad thing about the pregnancy aspect. After much healing I could whole heartedly say I had not failed, and I quit blaming myself and my body for Nathan. Because of my step-daughter, I had experienced being a Mother. So for me, it was not as if loosing Nathan left me childless. Even though Arlene was grown when Nathan passed, I still experienced raising her from a very young age, and did not feel as empty as I could have. I believe this may be the core to why “trying” for another baby just was no longer a passionate desire. I had a sense of parental fulfillment.
James was on the fence about it, but he was completely supportive, and allowed me the time to process my feelings. We decided to give it a year, and while I still did not feel the need to carry another child, I could see that James would like to give it a go. Through some excellent therapy I had defeated the failure demon. I wasn’t necessarily against trying again, just not passionate about it either. So we decided to stop birth control and see what happened. We gave it about 4 months or so, and then one day it just hit me. I just looked at him and said…You know, I’m Ok, You’re Ok, and We’re OK, can that be enough? We have survived this. We have this awesome marriage, ministry, and life together, why not just let it be? And so we did. Not because of failure just because of peace. It hit us both at the same time, and we just knew.

Pregnancy was officially off the table for us. It was a relief, a weight was suddenly lifted. Pregnancy was not the missing piece to our particular puzzle. For some it is, and for some it isn’t. Some people feel complete peace and also the desire to conceive again. Some people do not, and either choice is individual, and acceptable. When you know… you know, and for us, we knew. We have peace about Nathan’s passing, even though it sucks, and we don’t understand it. But we believe than God is what makes us whole. Even Nathan isn’t the missing piece to our happiness. He is joy to us, a blessing we cherish, our butterball miracle, our gift from God, but He Himself is not what makes us complete. God does that. God is in control here. In the end, God can allow us to conceive even with prevention, if He so chooses. I am not saying that James and I are the sole deciders. I say with complete absence of arrogance, we simply decided to not pursue it, and be at peace.

Peace is a gift. It is a gift that comes from pure and perfect Grace. I don’t claim to understand it, but I did choose to grab it when it was offered to me. To move forward, to carry this loss, you have to decide to grab hold of peace. Grabbing hold of it leads you to acceptance. Acceptance is the opposite of failure. It simply means raising your hearts to the LORD and saying here I am…I don’t get it…but I am here…and I believe. And he will make himself real to you. It is a realness that cannot, and will not, ever fail.