Sileo

I am spending another lazy Saturday, sipping coffee, crocheting, and hanging out with my wonderful husband. Again, I find myself gazing out our living room windows and I have made a wonderful discovery. A beautiful Robin is building her nest right outside of our window.

OK, I must admit that at first, I was struck by the irony of this. Sure we recently lost our son, and now I have to gaze out at a bird preparing a nest for her new babies. Not fair. This reminds me of another not fair animal moment. While Matt and I were on our trip to California, we stopped to see a geyser we read about in our travel guide. Well, this turned out to be quite the roadside attraction. Sure the geyser was cool but there were lots of other cheesy things set up - one being a petting zoo. In one fenced in area, a mother goat was nursing her baby goat and I found myself balling. You know your emotions are raw when a nursing goat brings you to tears - seriously a goat! I think the kids around the petting zoo thought I was a complete nut.

Anyway, back to my Robin. After I got through my initial moment of irony, I found myself drawn to this mother bird as she builds her nest. It is so amazing to watch her bring back scraps, twigs and strings and weave them together to make nest. Its stunning to watch her wind these items around in circles and pat them down with her feet. There is such beauty and love in the way that she builds this nest for her babies. One of the things I found most stunning about this whole process is how secure this nest is. Its a rather windy morning. All of the leaves and delicate branches of the tree are swaying about in the wind yet the nest - which is made of nothing more than scraps and twigs - stands firm. It doesn't sway at all. Matt mentioned something about a mother Robin's spit being like cement which holds the nest together so strongly. I have no idea if that is actually true, but I like the imagery of it!

Gods love is a lot like that. Man this world is just plain windy. We are constantly blown back and forth by the turbulent gusts of the struggles and hardships and pain of this life. Yet, God's love is immovable. He keeps telling me just rest in the nest of love and protection and hope that He has made for me. Yes, the world will still be turbulent, and unfortunately, we do not get a quick pass out of these troubles, but in Him, we are secure and will find rest.

This reminds me of the picture that Matt created to go over our bed. In large lime green text, is the word Sileo which is Latin for rest or quiet. Under that, is the verse that reminds me of God's amazing, immovable love:

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the Shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God in whom I trust."

-Psalm 91:1-2

Brown Trees

This year, spring has refreshed my heart in a new way. The new leaves and flowers that are blooming all around me feel like God's beautiful reminders that in a world that can be so dark and painful and sad, there is still beauty and joy. I love to sit on my couch and look out the window at all the fresh signs of life, and looking out these windows as the trees bud always makes me think of a funny story.

Matt and I moved to Chicago rather hastily. Matt was just graduating grad school for architecture, and he got a promising new job offer. There was one caveat. They needed us there in just over three weeks. We were in the process of looking to buy a place in Minneapolis. We had already been pre-approved, were analyzing our finances and dreaming of all the personal touches you could put on a place of your own - like painting and drilling things into a wall. (We had been so trained in college about not nailing or drilling things into the wall, that this seemed oddly appealing). The prospect of having to rent again in Chicago seemed dreary. So we decided to head to Chicago for a weekend and meet with a realtor to see if it would be possible to choose a place and close on it in just three weeks.

After looking at just over a million places in 2 days, we fell in love with a small condo in Edgewater. We put in an offer, and just three weeks later we closed. When we looked at our place, it was just before the leaves came out on the trees. We loved all of the giant trees on our street and we couldn't wait for the beauty of the green canopy of leaves that was sure to follow.

Well, I came up a few days early to interview at my new job and do a walk through of the condo and I came across a startling realization. Our trees were brown! I remember calling Matt and asking him how we could possibly have just bought a place with the only brown trees on our street!

Life can be like that. We expect certain things. Like you would expect green leaves on a tree in spring, you expect life to fall into a certain pattern - like that old nursery rhyme..first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. The first two parts of that worked for me so where is my baby in the baby carriage. Twice now, once through an early miscarriage and then through the loss of Isaiah, this dream has been shattered before my eyes. The carriage that we borrowed from a friend still stands empty.

I still struggle with the meaning of all this. Why me? Does God really care? How in the world can He allow me and so many other beautiful women I know to go through such tragic loss. God still hasn't given me an explanation and I don't think I will ever get answers to all my questions, but over and over, God keeps showing me how much He does care. Lately, He has been giving me glimpses of how He prepared my heart and my faith to walk through this valley and He has shown me how He continues to walk through it with me and hopes to lead me out. I will never understand why Isaiah can't be here with me and there are a lot of other things about life and my past that I will never understand, but I am leaning on this verse:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways, acknowledge Him and He will direct your path. -Proverbs 3:5

our holy joy

why did YOU make us to feel so deeply? why did YOU form us to love so strongly and despair so thoroughly? we miss our son more than words, everything inside us aches: our insides collapse and our minds spin. the only truth we can piece together is that we are in YOUR image and YOUR likeness. If we--fallen and sinful creatures--ache this much, how much more do YOU, our HOLY JOY, ache for us?

our tears moisten, YOUR tears flood.

since losing isaiah, david crowder's rendition of "how HE loves" captures the hope found in JESUS, our holy joy:

how HE loves*

HE is jealous for me, LOVES like a hurricane, i am a tree,

bending beneath the weight of HIS wind and mercy.

when all of a sudden, i am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,

and I realize just how beautiful YOU are,

and how great YOUR affections are for me.

how HE loves us oh,

how HE loves us,

how HE loves us all

HE loves us,

oh how HE loves us,

oh how HE loves us,

oh how HE loves.

and we are HIS portion and HE is our prize,

drawn to redemption by the grace in HIS eyes,

if HIS grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.

and heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss,

and my heart turns violently inside of my chest,

i don’t have time to maintain these regrets,

when i think about, the way that

HE loves us,

oh how HE loves us,

oh how HE loves us,

oh how HE loves.

yeah, HE loves us,

oh how HE loves us,

oh how HE loves us,

oh how HE loves.

*lyrics by john mark mcmillian, performed (best!) by david crowder band

March for Isaiah (march for babies)

The agony of golgotha. The anticipation at the tomb . The glory of the Easter resurrection.

The drama of the past week traces GOD's great rescue plan. JESUS defeats the shameful cross, bears the weight of sin, ransoms the cold grave, and boldly offers new life. After weathering darkness and an all-consuming spiritual winter, all we can do now is glow in Easter truth. This year's early spring weather came just as Easter dawned and has blessed the barren Chicago soil with verdant chutes, buds, and blossoms. New life. Everywhere.

To celebrate our Easter joy and the hope of new life, we are participating in the March for Babies at 9am on Saturday, April 25 along the Chicago lakefront. We are marching 6.2 miles in memory of our beautiful son Isaiah and to help support the thousands of babies that are born too soon, too small and often very sick. The march for babies is affiliated with the march of dimes. The goal of this organization is to fund research and support programs that help babies begin healthy lives. If you're interested in sponsoring our walk, please visit our webpage at http://www.marchforbabies.org/LEGamache

Happy Easter.

Old Jeans, New Me

Today I reached a wonderful milestone - I fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans. They are a bit snug, but I'm in! I know that seams like a rather shallow milestone considering all that has happened but there is something so healing about fitting into my old clothes. I treasured all of the changes that my body took on during my pregnancy with Isaiah. I was not a woman that feared gaining a few healthy pounds, but in the wake of his loss, the physical reminder was so hard to bear. And on top of that physical reminder, it just took a toll on my self esteem. I have felt utterly shattered emotionally and then to feel unattractive physically just added insult to injury.

Its just amazing how fitting into old jeans can lift my spirits. I am finding that lots of little things have been lifting my spirits lately and that is a welcome change. The sunshine on my face, the beautiful flowers that are blooming throughout the neighborhood, sweet conversations with amazing friends, and spending lazy afternoons with my husband has brought me little glimpses of joy that I have missed in the last two months.

I still long to hold Isaiah in my arms more than words can express, but I treasure the fact that I can embrace this longing while still experiencing moments of joy. I know that each day and sometimes each moment will be different and at times this joy will be hard to find, so I want to treasure the moments of joy that I have.

So while I slide into my old jeans, I feel like a new me. A me that has experienced unthinkable tragedy yet has learned to celebrate the little joys of life.

Weeping my last for a night, but joy comes with the morning. - Psalm 30:5

So Loved

This week has been one of the best yet hardest weeks for me since Isaiah passed away. It feels so strange to say it was the best and yet the worst at the same time, but I am learning to accept this roller coaster of emotions as life now.

Tuesday was my due date. It was just a date that most likely Isaiah wouldn't have been born on yet we looked forward to that date for so many months, so it had deep significance to us. I dreaded this day as I knew the tears and emotions it would bring - which it did, but it also brought one of the most touching surprises.

I received an email from a dear friend, Jen, on Monday night. I know Jen from my high school days of laughing our way through French class, but time and distance drew us apart in the last 10 years. We both went to college, met amazing husbands and started "real life" - she in Seattle and I in Chicago. Thanks to Facebook (that's right I still use Facebook and I'm proud of it!), Jen and I have been able to stay in contact over the years, and when she learned about Isaiah, she and the amazing women in her Bible study showered me in prayer and sent me sweet encouraging messages. These sweet women became my Seattle Prayer Brigade.

On the eve of my due date, I opened my email to the most touching surprise. Since she knew how tough the day would be, Jen organized people to cover me in prayer for the full 24 hours. It gave me such peace to know that I was not trudging through this day on my own - godly men and women from around the country were holding me up in prayer, literally carrying me through the day.

A few women from my work signed up to pray for me and invited me to a mid-day prayer session. These women prayed for me, shared encouraging scriptures and thoughts with me and wept with me. It was such a sweet time.

We made it through that day - I wont deny that there were many tears, but it wasn't nearly as awful as I expected. My prayer brigade from Seattle and around the world supported us and loved on us so much and for that I am so thankful.

You all have been the tangible love of Christ to me, and as I celebrate this first holiday without my boy, I am reminded daily of how loved I am - by my husband, family, friends, people I have never met face-to-face, and ultimately God.

This Easter, I am choosing not to dwell on the lonely ache in my heart. I am choosing to dwell on this love and the amazing resurrection of Christ. Its because of His victory over the grave, I know my boy is looking his savior face-to-face on this glorious Easter morn.

One of the most commonly known verses of the Bible has had a new profound meaning to me this year:

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. - John 3:16

This is a God that is also well acquainted with losing a son, yet He loves us so much that was willing to sacrifice His son that we all might have eternal life with him

I am so loved!

Should have been your day...

My Sweet Isaiah,

Today is supposed to be your due date. I am so sad that instead of eagerly anticipating your arrival, I am still treading in the ocean of grief from your loss.

I want you to know how much you touched my life. In the days I was pregnant, you filled my life with so much joy and so much hope. I just couldn't wait to meet you. I still remember at your 20 week ultrasound, you hid your face, just like your daddy does for pictures. That made me laugh so hard. I knew you were going to be a lot like him and that's a wonderful thing. Your daddy is such an amazing man and he loves you and me more than we will ever know.

I am so sad that I had to say goodbye to you so soon. How I long to hold you and love on you and hear you cry, but even still in your passing you touched my life and the lives of so many around you. You have taught me to embrace life and to cherish relationships with your daddy, family, and the amazing friends in our life. You have taught me that my heart is capable of more love than I ever knew possible. And you have deepened our faith in God so much. My sweet boy, you left a powerful legacy!

I am so jealous that you got to meet Jesus face-to-face before me. I know heaven is so much more glorious than I could ever imagine, and I love that you are there. I love thinking that you are not sad there. Compassionate for us I am sure, but not sad. There are no tears in heaven. Isaiah, please pray for your mommy and daddy. We want to stay strong in our faith and honor the God that you see face-to-face so that one day we can join you in the fields of heaven.

So yes, today should have been your day. And you know what it still is - maybe not in the way I had hoped, but I am going to treasure the way you touched my heart and life. I am going to celebrate your little life!


I love you so very much!

Mom

Celebrate the Milestones

"Why are you so downcast O my soul?"

The Psalms struck a chord with me again today. I am having a hard day. I am not sure what specifically triggered my "funk," but I feel a bit like Eore and I swear, a little rain cloud seems to be following me around despite the beautiful sun in the sky. I know in general why I am sad. I am still grieving my boy and grief has a way of ebbing and flowing in our souls. In the past I have found that the toughest days seem to be particular markers - one month, 6 weeks, 1st day back to work, etc... but not today. Today I am just in a funk. I know there will be days like this. I just wish knowing about them would make them any easier.

I have had some great milestones in my week though. Its interesting how when tragedy strikes you, your world feels flipped upside down and you have to relearn how to do just about everything. I have learned that I will just have to accept that things that used to feel so familiar - like riding the train to work or sitting at my desk or being in a group setting - will feel so foreign and I have to give myself time and space to learn to feel comfortable again. I am actually learning to celebrate facing some of these. Who knew riding to work by myself on the el could feel like a milestone, but it did. I made it and survived, and I am going to celebrate it!

I survived my first visit back to the gym too. I know that doesn't sound like such a great feat, but I knew that was the one place where a lot of people don't know what happened. As, I feared a couple people came up to me and said, "Oh you had your baby! How is everything?" I rehearsed in my head what I was going to say in these situations but those rehearsals didn't really work. I basically mumbled something like, "Yes, I did have my baby but unfortunately he didn't make it." There is nothing like watching a person's face go from joyful excitement to awkward, tearful sympathy in a moment. Fortunately the gym was fairly slow at the time I went, so I didn't have to bear that conversation too many times. I know there will be more, but somehow getting through the first few makes me confident that I can make it.

Also, I had my first Wednesday off this week. This too doesn't sound like a huge milestone, but it marked the first day I am choosing to do something for myself and that's big for me. I had planned to work a flex schedule after the baby came, but obviously things didn't work out like I planned. In the end, I decided if I could take time of to be with my baby, I can also take time for me. I am taking off every other Wednesday. I know that's not a ton of time off, but its just enough to not add to my stress at work and give me a bit of a break and time to pursue friendships that formed in the wake of the loss of Isaiah. This past Wednesday, I was able to get together with a sweet high school friend and a neighbor and have some time to myself. That was a good day.

My favorite milestone of the week had to be laughing so hard I couldn't catch my breath when I was out with my friend Alissa on Friday. I can't even remember exactly what we were laughing about. That may have had something to do with the Margarita I had - boy an I am lightweight now! But I specifically remember laughing and when I have spent most of my days in sadness and tears lately, laughter is such a welcome gift. I am so thankful for my evening out with her. She has been such an amazing friend to me for years and has stuck so close to my side in this tough time. She truly is a gift to me!

These are just a few of the milestones I have had this week. So while today is hard, I don't want to lose sight of all of the blessings in my life right now. If Isaiah would want anything for me, it would not be to spend the rest of my days drowning in sorrow. He would want me to be thankful for each day and every blessing in my life. I want to honor my son and the legacy I know he wanted to leave, so in the midst of tough days, I choose to celebrate the milestones!

There's a box?

Matt and I recently discovered this amazing book, Drops like Stars, by Rob Bell. The book is his thoughts on suffering - I know this sounds quite depressing, but I am finding a lot of comfort and hope in the pages of this beautiful book.

In one part of the book he discusses the phrase, "Out of the Box." I don't know about you but through school and work and many areas of my life, I have always been encouraged to think "out of the box." I was taught that meant to think openly and creatively about issues, but in the book he makes an excellent point. Thinking "out of the box" implies that the box is still our reference.

That really hit me. In my desire for control, I like all of life's issues and experiences to fit into nice neat boxes that can easily be labeled. I am fine with thinking "out of the box" because that still means that the box is my point of reference.

But as Rob Bell points out in the book, there are some really tough moments in life that literally shatter our boxes.

Losing Isaiah shattered my box.

While I was pregnant with Isaiah, Matt and I made plans for our lives and our son. Everything seemed to fit neatly into organized boxes of future hopes and dreams and plans. The moment we found out our son no longer had a heartbeat, all those plans, all those neatly packaged boxes were shattered in a million pieces. To quote Rob bell, we had "no other option but to imagine a totally new tomorrow."

Life, void of the boxes, has been tough. I no longer have a point of reference, and I never know what to expect from one moment to the next, let alone one day to the next. Some moments I am actually doing pretty well - in fact, I haven't even cried yet today, but I never know when I will be slammed by the waves of intense grief and anxiety. I miss my boy and I miss knowing what the next five minutes will bring.

In a way, that's freeing though. I can't help but slow down and appreciate each moment because its too hard to imagine what the next moment will bring. Also, I now realize how easy it is to make "control" and "our neat little boxes" an idol. They become a point of reference for our lives on which its so easy to base our hopes and plans and desires. But the truth remains that there is only one constant in our lives that will bring true hope and peace, and that is GOD. He is one immovable point of reference I will joyfully set my eyes on.

Margaritas, Tears, and Tombstones

I survived my first week of work, and thankfully it was much better than I thought - save a few stupid comments. (A word to the wise: don't say, "Are you sure there isn't something wrong with you?" when trying to comfort a newly grieving mom.)

Thanks to all of you who were so supportive of me. I love how deeply you showed your concern for me and really wanted to know how I was doing. Honestly even the stupid comments have shown me how much you care. Your love and comforting words are like a balm to my soul.

I am so glad I went back to work on a Wednesday too. I have learned that grief is exhausting. Even though I didn't do much actual work this week between catching up with wonderfully supportive coworkers and cleaning out my inbox, I found myself completely drained of energy. Thankfully the weekend came quickly.

Unfortunately, I am still having a lot of trouble sleeping. Though, I was given a prescription for sleeping pills, I try not to take them every night. I tried to forgo them last night since I was confident that I had a weekend ahead to rest, but I ended up enduring a frustratingly sleepless night.

I found myself in quite a exhausted, depressed mood this morning. Thankfully Matt is so intuitive at figuring out just how to support me in these moments and he brewed a fresh pot of coffee, made me breakfast, and turned on some encouraging music. With a refreshed spirit, we spent a wonderfully lazy morning together, sipping coffee, talking and laughing together, and catching up via phone with his parents in MN.

We finally took showers and washed the breakfast dishes 1:00 and Matt had the great idea of going to our favorite Mexican restaurant for margaritas and quesadillas. We had such a great time, and though we spoke several times of Isaiah, we did not find ourselves filled with sadness. Rather we found ourselves reveling in God's goodness and talking about the amazing people he has recently bonded us with.

After lunch, and a quick visit to the bookstore, we headed home to work on the finishing touches of Isaiah's tombstone - what a surreal task. As we scoured the Internet to find the perfect verse or phrase for his epitaph, the tears flowed. Were we really spending our Saturday designing a grave marker for our son? Saturdays used to be such carefree days for us. What happened to those days? I suppose this is all part of our "new normal."

Which has me thinking...lately I have found a new home in the Psalms. I identify so well with David. One second he is praising God, the next he is wailing in despair, yet no matter what he trusts in the unfailing love of the LORD. It isn't lost on me that our sons middle name is David.