Three

Three years ago today, my husband asked me a very important question.

Only, he wasn't my husband then, he was just my boyfriend.

And he asked me to marry him.

We have had a crazy ride already and I can't even imagine the craziness of the rest of our lives.

There are only a handful of times I can say with certainty that God spoke to me - in a way that felt VERY real - and the decision to marry Todd was one of those times.

Happy 3 year anniversary of our engagement to my husband!

Looming

The day that would have been Lilia's due date is looming over me.

Truthfully, sometimes I try to pretend I don't know it's coming.

Because I don't know if I should feel relieved or sad or angry or happy or peaceful or calm.  I don't know if we should go away to remember her, or to release balloons or light a candle.  I don't know if we should sit near her memory tree or write her a letter.  I don't know if I should be moving on or still crying over her loss.

A long, long time ago I was with a few girls who were discussing someone they knew who was having difficulty getting pregnant.  I don't remember specifics to the conversation, but I remember the overarching theme was an inability to understand - understand why she couldn't get over it, or why she would feel hurt or upset when her friends were fortunate enough to get pregnant.  And in my youth and naivety, I am sure I nodded along, sharing their sentiments.

But I know now.  I know the pain of loss.  I know what it feels like to see your friends move on, to see their bellies grow, their babies being born.  I know what it's like to have that due date loom in front of you - to know that it should be your turn.  It should be your day to celebrate, to have the visitors, the balloons and freezer meals, the gifts of doll sized clothing.

And I know what it's like to wish for just one second to smell that newborn smell.  To wonder what your daughter would have looked like.  To get one glimpse into big blue eyes.  To buy her first dress, to kiss her face.  I know what it's like to wish to know what her personality would have been like.  Would she have been a great sleeper or a horrible one?  Would she have preferred mommy or daddy?  What would her first word have been - how would her first day of Kindergarten have gone?

The questions - they don't end.

I think most of us, as women, feel like mothers the minute we find out we are pregnant.  We immediately scour books and the internet for information.  We call our friends, our mothers, our sisters. We ask questions.  We change our eating habits.  We cut back on coffee.  We feel guilty for the medicine we take or the food we eat.  We WANT to protect our children, even before we hear a heartbeat.

For a lot of us, we become mothers immediately.

It's true that someone who loses a baby at 4 weeks won't experience the same things as someone who loses one at 16.   And the woman who loses a baby at 16 weeks won't experience the same thing as someone who loses a baby at 32 weeks, or 39 weeks, or a stillbirth, or losing a child to a terminal illness - but we do all share one thing in common.  Unimaginable pain over the loss of a child.  Of the dream of being a mother to THAT child.

Before we found out we had lost her, Todd & I had narrowed girl names down to 2 choices.  Ultimately we went with a totally different choice, for other reasons, but when I hear those names now, it's like a knife to my heart.  When I see little girls running around, blonde hair flying, I feel a longing for what should have been.  It is a grief I never, ever could have understood before I experienced it.

I still don't know why I am on this path.  I don't know why this happened to us.  I don't know how to make sense of it.  And truthfully, I probably never will.

But it has taught me a great deal of compassion for women who have gone through it.

Every night, when I pray, I ask God to let Lilia know we love her.  I ask Him to tell her that I will never forget her.  That I think about her all the time, and that she is the daughter I prayed for.  I ask Him to let her know I am grateful I was fortunate enough to carry her for 16 short, short weeks.  And while February 25th looms over my head, I trust that things will fall into place, that we will celebrate and remember her the best way possible.  And I trust that God will continue to do His work in me.  I know He loves me, and I know he weeps when I weep.

I imagine him passing along my prayers to my daughter.

It brings me great peace.

Flashback: How I went broke when I started to tithe.

Some of you may remember this post from a couple years ago (if you've been following my blog that long, you honestly deserve a medal...)

Today I'm bringing it back, in honor of our new series, The Challenge, where we are going to be challenged to give above and beyond our comfort levels.  I'd sort of forgotten about this experience until I was sitting in the auditorium this morning.  It was good for me to go back and re read it.

Yesterday morning, at Next Level Church, Todd talked to us about the importance of giving. He shared a fairly startling statistic about church goers and tithing, and how the national average of people who tithe regularly is somewhere around 9%.

This is a pretty low percentage, but yet – I get it. I totally understand how hard it is to part with money. It took me a long time to develop a real, genuine understanding of tithing and a desire to be obedient in doing it.

Years ago, I was sitting in a church, listening to the pastor give an amazing sermon on giving 10% and I was SOLD. I was a struggling single mother – living on the bare minimum. No TV, no car payment, no “fun” money…just rent, utilities, groceries and daycare. I literally had NO extra money to spare. But he incited a passion in me, and I just couldn’t WAIT to tithe and feel the love of God rain down upon me.

So off I went, writing those tithing checks every pay period, literally watching my bank account sink further and further into the red. Yep, I started bouncing checks. Overdraft fees accumulated. But I remembered the pastor’s sermon, I kept on giving, and I kept on overdrawing my bank account.

Let me remind you at this time in my life, I very literally had NO unnecessary expenses. There was nothing for me to move around or sacrifice so that I could tithe and breathe easier. And I’m sure you are waiting for me to end this story with an amazing account of how money appeared like magic in my bank account and I was able to pay the bills and life has been rainbows and lollipops ever since. But that’s not what happened.

I decided to email the pastor and explain my situation. I told him how much I’d been inspired, I told him how desperately I wanted to tithe, and I told him what serious hot water I was in because of it. He responded kindly, gave me some advice and hooked me up with a financial counselor with the church. Long story short, the church was able to help me get back on my feet. What did that experience teach me? I am ashamed to admit it didn’t teach me what it should have.

Honestly, I felt kind of mad. And a little miffed – I mean, I wasn’t expecting thousands of dollars to show up at my door…but I definitely wasn’t expecting to have to be referred to a financial counselor after digging myself into a hole by following God’s word. I was kind of turned off by the whole experience, and it was a long time before I felt ready to give again.

So there I was sitting in the auditorium yesterday listening to Todd talk about how important it is to give, and I realized that without that experience, I would not be where I am today. Even though I was scared to tithe for awhile, I still attended church frequently – built great relationships, furthered my journey in being a Christ follower, developed talents and gifts I never knew I had, and probably the greatest thing of all – ended up meeting the person who will become my husband in T minus 19 days. (Sidenote: HOLY COW that is coming fast!)

My blessings from giving were not an immediate, tangible thing. Neither a brand new car or a Publishers Clearing House check arrived at my house. I continued along as a struggling single mother. But when the church helped me crawl out of that hole, it set me down a path to where I am now and that is one of the most precious and intangible blessings one can ever receive. I now know Christ better than I did before that experience. It took a long time though – none of that happened overnight and I didn’t even RECOGNIZE the blessing that came from it until yesterday.

I am hoping many people will prayerfully consider The Challenge, and am looking forward to hearing the stories of those who do!

Be Still

Here's the thing.

I hate being sad.  Really, it interrupts my flow - the way things run day to day, the things I do, the people I see...it's an inconvenience.  And it's not my natural way to exist in the world - I am an optimist, hopeful, always wanting to see the best in circumstances and people.  I am generally a pretty happy person - easy going - and it takes a lot to get under my skin.

So the past 2 weeks have been hard for me for a multitude of reasons.  There have been many days I've wanted to jump back into life, moving forward, pretending that things are ok.  Pretending I'm fine, things are fine, life is fine.

But there is this overwhelming theme that is running through my head to "Be Still"

Be still.  Be still.  Be still.

It's not my thing, being still.  I am not one who enjoys being alone with my thoughts.  I prefer socialization to solitude.  But through this period of grieving, God is teaching me to be still.  To feel.  To process.  To be sad.  And that's ok - because as much as it hurts, I know it's healing me.

The day after my surgery, I met up with my sister at a Starbucks so she could drop Logan back off with me after spending the night with her family.  We were talking in the parking lot when my little niece looked me square in the eye and said with an absolute, pure sincerity, "Miranda, I am really sorry your baby died."

The words both stung me and soothed me all at once.

No one wants to be in a place in life where they HAVE to hear those words.  But you know, it was really the first time anyone had said that to me.  So blunt in its context, so pure in its intention, so beautiful in the way it soothed my heart.  Her words have stuck with me for the last 2 weeks and I find myself repeating them to myself.  "I'm really sorry your baby died"

I love the sincerity and honesty of children. A child only knows how to feel and to process emotions in the raw way they should be processed.  They don't try covering it up, burying it, pretending it didn't happen.  Children FEEL - they cry, they shout, they get angry.  They laugh, they feel joy, they smile.

And being still involves all those things - to just sit and to feel.  And to allow myself the freedom to do it.

My husband posted something on Facebook recently:

"Thank you" is the best thing you can say when praised and "I am so sorry" is the best thing you can say when talking to someone who is hurting.  

I think we have both learned a lot about death and grief through this experience.  I have always been one who would shy away from talking to people about sad things.  I wasn't sure how to phrase things or what to say.  I was worried I would upset them - but what I have learned is that a sincere, heartfelt "I am so sorry" has been the best thing I could ever hear.  This experience is teaching me how to have a genuine compassion for those who are struggling with sadness and adversity.  God has taught me to be still and to be simple.

Last night I was gchatting with my husband, who was in Oklahoma on business, and he asked me how I was feeling.  I told him fine, besides the cough but that I was feeling better.  And he said, "But how is your sadness?"  And we got talking a little bit about how I was feeling on that level - I told him how I sleep with the lights on when he's gone, because the darkness makes me sad and how I was anxious for the test results to come back so we know if the baby was a boy or a girl and can give him or her a name.  I said it was hard to move forward when I know any day we will get information that will set the grieving process back to the beginning again.  I told him that when I lie in bed, I just lay there thinking about the baby.

And he said, "You know the baby is deliriously happy right now, right?"

Isn't that a beautiful thought?  Here I am, at times, overcome and debilitated by sadness.  But the baby - our baby - is happy.  Deliriously so.  I hadn't been thinking of it that way.  Not really.  Sure I believe our child is with Jesus - but I was feeling so sorry for myself, and second guessing everything I've done over the past 5 months that I hadn't really stopped to think of how deliriously happy our baby is right now.  And while it doesn't take away the pain I feel, it helps me a lot to think of it that way.  And it brings a smile to my face to imagine it.

Lucky

I, Miranda, receive you Todd to be my wedded husband. I accept you as

a precious gift from God. I love you with a love only Christ himself could place

within my heart. I promise to give myself to you as Christ gave himself to the

church. I wish to have and to hold you from this day forward, for better for worse,

for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish as long as

we both shall live, according to God’s holy ordinance.

___________

I lived life as a single parent for 10 years before I met my husband.  

I learned to do pretty much everything for myself.  I raised my son alone.  I cooked, I cleaned, I packed his lunches.  I clothed him, I put him to bed, I helped him with his homework.  I took out the garbage, killed bugs, fixed broken appliances, hung pictures on the wall and at times - moved furniture by myself.  

I worked to support him.  At one point I worked a full time 9-5 job, then went to work waiting tables in a bar 3 nights a week.  I would get home at 4am, sleep for a few hours and then get up by 8 to pick up my son from my parents and drop him off at daycare while I went to my "real" job.  

I learned not to rely on anyone else.  I developed a tough exterior - one that didn't need anyone.  I could do it myself, thank you very much.  

This past week I have been a little shocked at how much I need my husband.  For the first time in our entire marriage I think I am realizing that I need him.  I know you are probably thinking, "Miranda, of course you need him - you married him and that's what marriage is about!"  And don't misunderstand me - I love my husband.  He can make me laugh like no one else.  He's the most intelligent person I've ever met, and sometimes it strikes me as funny that he likes to have conversations with little ol' me.  (Seriously, dude is brilliant.  He writes books!) 

But even though I love him and we chose each other to be with for the rest of our lives, I don't think I felt like I "needed" him.  I got married because I wanted to, not because I needed to.  

I dropped him off at the airport this morning as he travels out of town for work - which he does quite often - but this morning felt different.  This morning I felt like a piece of me got out of the car and boarded a plane.  

I couldn't have gotten through the past 2 weeks without him.  I needed him in a way I never realized - and even though we won't be struggling with loss and tragedy every day of our marriage, it has opened my eyes to the kind of relationship we can have.  The kind of relationship we should be working on every day.  One of vulnerability, one of raw honesty, one of sweet and compassionate love.  The past couple of weeks could have very easily brought out the worst in both of us.  Stress and tension have a way of doing that.  It has been amazing to see us come together and be stronger than ever, and I am so proud of his commitment to his family, to the church, to his job and to God.  He loves each one so passionately and fully and I don't think I've admired him more than I have this past week.

I am lucky he chose me.

No, seriously.  You know a single pastor is a hot commodity here in the South!  ;)

Thankful to be reminded of that this week.