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.

Never Forsaken

for·sake
verb
to give up or leave (someone or something) entirely


Thank You LORD for never forsaking me..Never ever!

He Gives

Sometimes I need a reminder that my suffering is not for nothing. If I can remain obedient to God's direction, through trials, my misery can reveal things most glorious. Compared to eternity my pain is momentary in the great time frame.

That is not to downplay this pain. Suffering is valid, but it can bring peace and purpose. Sometimes, most times actually, I wonder Why, Why Why? But then I am reminded that Why not? I am no different from others who loose children. I am not promised a life without struggle. I am a fallen soul in a fallen world. The only thing that sets me apart is my faith in Christ. But that does not make me immune to tragedy. Actually because I follow Christ I am swimming upstream. Going against the grain will undoubtedly create confusion at times. We can think because we believe lightning cannot strike.
But we are not safe from affliction because we believe. We would be afflicted either way.

The enemy is against me from the start. But this is not why tragedy happens. I am not being punished. Nathan's death is not for punishment, that is just a lie the enemy would have me believe. Nathan would have passed regardless of if I followed Christ or not, it was God's plan for Him. For a greater purpose than I will ever understand this side of heaven. So often tragedy makes us turn from God, our faith, our promise. The enemy clouds our minds, and would have us believe that if God loved us He would prevent such things. But this is simply not the case. We do not believe because it will keep us "safe". We believe because He is TRUTH. We believe because He is worthy of our belief.

I am promised to be comforted. I am promised healing arms. I am promised the great promise of glory one day. In Glory I will be reunited. I am given Grace everyday and gifted with peace beyond all human understanding. However, I am not promised a life safe from harm. God does not fit in a box. We cannot consider him "safe" as far as our human definition. We cannot define safety as never hurting. That is just not possible. Just as children fall, and learn to get back up, so must we as adults. Safety is not avoiding the fall, but whom we can fall into. Christ relentlessly pursues us. We are not alone. This is what we are promised. He promises to never abandon us. He promises that nothing can seperate us. If I followed Christ only when life went smoothly, then I would never follow Him. If my worship is conditional then it is not really worship at all. I must praise in the dark times as well as in the illuminated ones. It doesn't make sense to me at all. How can I worship a God who takes from me?

I can because He gives. He gives more than I can describe. I can because the Creator of everything regards me. He knows my name, my steps, my hurts, and He gives. He gives, and gives, and gives.

Strange Puzzle

I haven’t written in such a long time. Sometimes I go through periods where I process but don’t share. Not that I am undergoing a deep spiritual awakening I don’t want to share, but more because sometimes the words just don’t materialize. Sometimes the things that are revealed to me, are so painful and profound that it takes me a while to process it, and all I can do is breath deep, and sit in it for a while. My words about Nathan and this journey are often not selected. I normally don’t choose what I write. They just seem to jump out at me, and recently the words haven’t formed. I wondered if this was because I have settled into my loss. Not to say that I am healed, over it, wise beyond my years. I think I have just settled into it. It’s either that or go insane. Insanity only looks good in movies.

It is a strange thing to settle into. It becomes part of your daily existence. Every day I wake up to thoughts of Nathan, and every night I fall asleep to thoughts of Him. There is never a moment his absence is not known to my heart. How on earth this loss, this absence, this torture has become endurable I will never understand. I can only attribute it to my relationship with Christ. Somehow he wraps this crap in peace (Note to self Copy write the Phrase “Wraps this Crap”) I don’t understand it at all, but I am grateful. It is a dull ache I carry, but not in vain. I genuinely carry it with pride. It is not as easy for others in my circle though. Some have told me that they feel that something was ripped from them, and they have not been able to live with the loss as easily. On the outside I guess it would appear that I am beyond it. “Wow she is so strong” they say, but not really. I am actually very weak, but lucky for me God is strong in my weakness. Satan still pokes and prods me on a daily basis, and would have me believe that somehow Nathan’s death is my fault. He attacks me during sleep, and I have night terrors about my hospital stay several times a week. Sometimes I even dream He is alive, and then is taken by death later. It is a vicious attack that I undergo daily. I struggle and struggle, and then I cry out the only name I have ever found to save me. I genuinely do not have the words to pray most times, and so I simply repeat the Name of Jesus over and over until the battle has subsided because I am finding that the battle is already won for me, I just have to fight because it is not yet over here on earth. Satan would have me fail, and fall into the darkness of depression. Depression is a real and terrible force that He intends to use to destroy me. In this battle I am confident He will always loose, but I do have to fight. I have to say everyday “You cannot have me, nor control me, You have no power here Sucka” (I like to address Him as Sucka because I feel it is the final kick in the wazoo)

I regard Nathan very openly, and with ease. I talk about him with a smile, and can even tell our story without crying most times. Actually I usually only tear up when others do. And it is not because of pain, but rather because I am so moved that He meant so very much too so many people. I can only attribute my progress again to my relationship with Christ. It is the only way I can explain how James and I have been able to move forward, and be at peace. We feel overwhelming ache, the kind that takes you to your knees. But somehow we are able to process it and use it to help others. Grief is such a strange beast, and when I hear that others are still in the beginning stages of their grief journey I ache for them. I want them to be where I am. I want them to feel the peace I feel.

It is so hard to see other people hurt. We all have to process this in our time, and in our own way. Grieving is one of the few things in life that is truly individualized. There is no specific set of steps to get better. The only tool I think we all have to start with is honesty. Being honest about your pain, your joy, your restlessness, your peace, is the key to healing in any traumatic event. In all post traumatic lives there is a moment when talking about it is just too painful, and then there is a moment when talking about it is something you desperately want to do. The road from one to another has no time frame. It can happen at different times for each person, and strangely enough you can bounce back and forth between the two. Like I said Grief is a strange beast, but it is not a beast you cannot stare down. It is BIG and SCARY, but it is possible to look it directly in the eyes and say “You will not destroy me”. Don’t misunderstand me; I know it is harder than it sounds. The only reason I am successful is because I have Faith, Family, and Friends that support me, and keep me strong. Those things along with therapy and the right medication have helped me not just cope but thrive. I think the key is being honest with the need for help, and then reaching for it. We cannot do this on our own. God provides what we need; we simply have to be willing to do the work.

Without a strong support system I would be lost. Without God’s grace I would be destroyed. Without having an open honest relationship with my Husband I would be in turmoil. My journey is not over, I will travel this road my entire life. It is not a road I would wish on anyone. But that doesn’t mean I have to travel it alone, and in vain. Nathan’s life counts. He was here, and He lives on in each person we touch with God’s peace. This crazy mess does not make sense, but it can be useful. We can use it to reach the hurting. We can show people that God is real, and cares. We can show people that infant and child loss is not a punishment. There can be life after loss. You can live and not just exist. You can thrive in the face of utter disappointment. The death of a child is not a failure, and subsequently neither are you. There is nothing we could have done to prevent Nathan’s passing. He lived the days he was meant to live here on Earth, and I am at peace with that. I may not be at peace with every part of it, but I am at peace with at least that. Sometimes if you can be at peace with just one piece of the puzzle, the rest comes together on its own.