I have not written in a week because I have not wanted to dwell on the depressing and sometimes hopeless thoughts that have been my recent focus.  God's been working on me, though, and as my baby loss friend, Shenifa, put it, "I am starting to see spring." 

Instead of staying in my house and becoming a recluse, I have decided to do the opposite...to attack this sorrow head-on and to again submit to God and learn as much as He will teach me.  So, I started several different Bible studies/devotionals this past week, one of which is a ladies' Bible study on Tuesday nights.  It just so happens that the subject of the study is, quite possibly, the hardest topic we could tackle at this time in my life.  The topic: contentment.  Seriously, God??!!  You want me to learn to be content after losing my daughter??!!  Between studying contentment and working through A Year of Hope, I feel like I'm being clobbered over the head (spiritually speaking).  But, even so, I know that God's timing is perfect, and I am meant to be studying contentment and such a difficult time in my life.

On Tuesday night, in Bible study, Deanna said something that has really resonated with me.  She said that God has the power to either change the situation or change the person.  If I had my way, I would totally pick the situation...I would wish God to be a "fairy godmother" who would strike me with a wand, and POOF!  All the pain would disappear, AND I'd be pregnant again.  But, maybe that's not what He has in mind.  Maybe God wants me to change first.  I have already changed so much since losing Stella, but maybe He wants more.  Maybe He wants me to find total peace and contentment (yes, contentment!  grrrr) in Him again, no matter what.  No matter what type of pain I have to endure and no matter what the future holds for us. 

I find the words of Kerrie Roberts to be my heart's prayer right now:

"No Matter What"

"I’m running back to your promises one more time, Lord that’s all I can hold on to, I gotta say this has taken me by surprise, but nothing surprises you. Before a heartache can ever touch my life, it has to go through Your hands, and even though I, keep asking why, I keep asking why.

No matter what, I’m gonna love You, no matter what I’m gonna need You, I know that You can find a way to keep me from the pain but if not,if not, I’ll trust you, no matter what, no matter what.

When I’m stuck in this nothing-ness by myself, I’m just sitting in silence, there’s no way I can make it without Your help, I won't even try it. I know You have Your reasons for everything, so I will keep believing, whatever I might be feeling, God you are my hope, and you'll be my strength.

Anything I don’t have You can give it to me, but it’s ok if You don’t, I’m not here for those things, the touch of Your love is enough on its own, no matter what I still love You and I’m gonna need You."

I have spent this week in the darkest valley I have ever known.  There is really no way to describe how deeply I have felt the sadness of missing my Stella. I'm thankful for the strength of my God, for my husband, and for friends, because there were recent moments when driving in front of a tractor trailor in the opposing lane didn't seem like such a bad idea.

I've felt such extreme sorrow this week that I couldn't manage to do much more than pray.  For most of the week, even talking to well-meaning friends didn't help.  I have grown weary of listening to the same "consoling" phrases, so I just retreated within myself.   

I've had friends recommend books, sermons, and devotionals on sorrow and suffering, but I have to admit that I really only want advice and couseling from other women who have lost a child.  At the moment, I can't bear to hear from a man on the subject of suffering, no matter how faithful he is (no offense to the great men of the faith).    I've read several helpful books so far, including Angie Smith's I Will Carry You and Mary Beth Chapman's Choosing to See.  Since I've come to a bit of a standstill in my healing process, I decided to go searching again for another author who's been through something similar.  I came across Nancy Guthrie.

Nancy Guthrie is a woman of God who's life has been riddled with sorrow.  She lost two children to the same genetic disorder.  Since that point, she has written many books on the subjects of sorrow and hope.  I ordered two of her books on Amazon; they arrived yesterday. 

I have already begun reading Holding on to Hope.  It's awesome so far.  Everything she says has been resonating with me, and it's so good to know that I am not alone. 

In the second chapter (entitled Tears), she says that for almost the entire first year after her daughter's death, her answer to people asking "How are You?" was, "I'm deeply and profoundly sad."  EXACTLY.  That's how I feel.  I know it make people uncomfortable, but that's how I feel.  Nancy goes on to say that our culture is not at all comfortable with sadness. She says,

"Sadness is awkward.  It is unsettling.  It ebbs and flows and takes its own shape.  It beckons to be shared.  It comes out in tears, and we don't know what to do with those."

Nancy goes on to say what I've been trying to explain to people...not to be afraid to talk about Stella, not to be afraid to acknowledge her life, acknowledge her as my daughter, acknowledge the deep pain that I feel.  I want to talk about her.  I'm not afraid of crying.  I need to face this sorrow head-on.  I need my friends and family to face this sorrow with me and not pretend that it doesn't exist.    One of the best ways people can help me is to let me cry and let themselves cry.  Tears are healing to me, whether they be my own or someone else's.  Please, mourn my daughter's death with me.  I will be mourning not just today but for my lifetime.

There is a quote by an unknown author that says, "Being a mother is like taking your heart out of your chest and watching it walk around."  I believe in the truth of this statement.  Part of my heart is gone.  It's with my little Stella.  Nancy Guthrie compares losing her daugther, Hope, to having a limb amputated.  She says, "Even now, I can't say that I'm healed.  Part of my heart is no longer mine.  I gave it to Hope, and she took it with her, and I will forever feel that amputation." 

Ironically, my C-section scar started to bleed again a few weeks ago, and that was also when my heart began to again feel the raw sorrow of losing Stella.  I'm learning to live with an amputation.  I have moments of happiness, fun, and temporary relief (thank you to Megan, Tasha, Meredith, and Jennifer especially!), but my life right now is perpetual deep and profound sadness.  I long for more friends to understand this, not to be scared, and to share in my pain with me.  I'm deeply and profoundly sad...this is "How I'm Doing."

I have been so much like Ely these past few weeks.  I admit it; I'm being totally impatient.  I'm back to the spending half of each month with the dreaded two-week-wait.  Yippee. Hooray.  Can you sense the sarcasm?  This month was a dud.  All I can say is that I have to stop buying the cheapie internet early pregnancy tests.  They're worse than chocolate for me. If they're sitting around, you can be sure that I will take one. I just can't stay away.

I was so hoping that God would just be merciful and allow us to concieve quickly, but that has never happened for us.  Every time that I have hoped and begged and prayed for a baby, inevitably, we would not conceive that month.  I know God doesn't work like that, but I almost feel like I am cursing myself if I hope too much.  All I can do when these feelings rear their ugly head is hold tightly to the Word of God.

Matthew 7:9-11
 ⁹ “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? ¹⁰ Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? ¹¹ If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!

God, I don't want a stone, I want bread!  I long for a new little one to help ease this terrible pain.  I pray for you not to delay too long in giving us this gift.  So much do I want to hear Milo's sweet little boy voice excitedly proclaiming that he's going to have a new sibling. Please hear our cries, Lord.  We have not turned from our faith during this time of great sorrow.  We are choosing to delight in you.   Please honor our faith and give us the desires of our hearts. 

Sometimes it baffles me that God created women to bear children, and so many women I know want nothing more than to bear and raise children.  Why does God create us for a certain purpose and then deny us that purpose?  The only thing I can figure is that he wants us not to make an idol out of our children and to love Him more than we love the children we have or the children we long for.  He wants us to depend solely on Him and sit in His lap to be comforted. 

But God, can you truly understand what it is to carry a child you love more than life itself in your own body? 

Sometimes, I do wonder how God can understand this desire.  But, I know that God made women, and that as our Maker, he understands all aspects of us.  This is one of those areas I think I just have to understand that I don't completely understand.  I don't understand why God chooses to allow so many women to go through struggles with fertility and why other women can so easy get pregnant and not think twice about it.  I guess I just need to Proverbs 3:5-6.

God, it's so hard.  I am so fragile.  I don't understand.  Help me to lean not on my own understanding.

So, I wait.  I wait like my five-year-old son checking the time every few seconds.  I wait with ancipation.  I wait, undulating between having steadfast hope and utter pessimism.  And I plead.  I plead with God to please not let me go through this again.  To give me bread and not a stone, to give me the desires of my heart.

Psalm 130:6
"My soul waits for the Lord More than the watchmen for the morning; Indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning."

Fabulous faint magenta pink
so excited I could hardly speak
Two little lines, four beaming faces
over two long years of anxious waiting

Sweet baby girly frilly pink
filling the closest with special things
A heart sleeper picked by her big brother
He could hardly wait to keep buying others

Mountains of thin dull carnation pink
perinatologist receipts
Sixteen weeks of ultrasounds
barely surpassing four tiny pounds

Cotton candy bubblegum pink
Polka dots and ladybug trinkets
There for her when she comes home
an awful suspicion we'd arrive alone

The most beautiful shade of puffy fresh pink
the pink of her hands and the pink of her feet
Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes
golden blonde hair, small mommy-shaped nose

Curly feminine letters of bright hot pink
spelling out her name in permanent ink
Written on our hearts for all of our lives
a few more precious hours until she loses her fight

Gloomy pale serious satiny pink
lining her casket for no one to see
Mementos and memories are all that remain
of my sweet miracle girl with the most perfect name

I haven't written for several days now because honestly, I just haven't felt strong enough to write.  For my friends who have taken the time to read and comment on my blog, thank you!  I cannot even begin to tell  you what it means to me to feel heard and feel supported. 

For those of you I've upset by the intensity of the emotion with which I write, I am sorry.  I'm sorry if you don't feel like you can read what I'm going through without being upset or saddened, but this is my life right now.  I need to work through my emotions, and I'm writing in order to heal and to become closer to God at the same time.  Working through all these crazy feelings allows me to better deal with life and with people who don't know what to say or say the wrong things.  Please don't feel obligated to read what I'm writing.  I don't expect anyone to read my blog, but I find it very comforting and touching if you do.

Until a few days ago, I felt like I was really making some progress, really leaning on God in every moment, whether it be sad or joyous.  However, this weekend marked three months since we said goodbye to Stella.  I make a genuine effort to forget dates, but for those who have suffered loss, especially loss of a child I think, acknowledging and mourning these milestones seems inevitable.

 For some reason, the three month anniversary of her death has hit me much harder than two months.  Maybe it's because those watching me mourn have this unspoken "time limit" for me to be sad.  After that, life is supposed to return to normal.  I'm supposed to be normal.  I think I come across as "normal" most of the time.  I'm thankful for my life (it was so fun to play in the snow today!), and I laugh heartily often.  I try not to come across as a "gloomy gus."

Although I may seem normal, I still feel very much broken.  I feel very weak.  I don't like answering the question, "How are you?" because I can still only say "okay."  Someone asked me that yesterday in church, and I replied that "I was okay."  The person replied, "So you're doing good?"  No, I'm not good!  "No, I'm just okay," I repeated, frustrated and downhearted. 

Some days, I still just don't want to answer that question.  Some days, I don't want to listen to friends and acquaintances try to relate to me or offer some consolation that just makes the pain worse.  It's not that I don't appreciate their concern.  It's just that they don't understand.  And I don't expect them to.  I just wish they'd quit trying.  I'm very, truly sorry if I seem mean, but this has been a subject I need to get off my chest. 

Frankly, it really upsets me when friends compare their miscarriages to me losing our Stella.  I've had an early miscarriage, too.  It's upsetting and there's a sense of loss, but it's not the same.  I realize that if it's the only loss someone has experienced, they're trying to relate to me, but sometimes, I just wish they wouldn't.  I do feel badly when someone says they've had a miscarriage, especially if they have difficulty getting pregnant.  I've been down that road, and it's horrible.  Awful.  But to me, there's nothing as utterly horrific as having your own child die in your arms.  Nothing. 

My husband lost his mother to cancer when Ely was six months old, and it was incredibly awful and tragic.  Although I miss Linda and often wish she was here with us, I don't have the experience (praise the Lord) of losing my own mother.  A few weeks ago, on a rare and treasured lunch date, Mike shared with me that as painful as it was losing his mom, it didn't compare to losing our daughter.  He said that it just felt so cruel, so unnatural and against the order of life to lose our Stella. 

When I see other babies, especially babies of friends who don't think twice about whether or not I feel comfortable being around their babies, it still hurts.  I'm sorry that it does.  I wish I was always strong enough not to let sweet, round infant faces affect my emotions, but they do.  I will always long for my little Stella, and it's not my friends' babies that I want, it's my daughter I want.  Even if God blesses us with another baby (and I desperately hope He does), I will still always miss and long for my Stella. 

I wish I could sit in church and not be bothered by newborns and infants in every section of the santuary.  I pray constantly for strength, but I'm feeble.  And, I have to be gentle with myself.  There's only so much I can handle.  Some days, I can handle more, but some days, I can't handle much.  I'd very much like to go to church and not see babies just so I could focus solely on what I've gained and not what I've lost.  So I can go to meet Jesus and not be distracted by the constant nagging feeling of what's missing.  I feel like an awful person because I'd like to tell the parents in the service to please put their babies in the nursery.  I wouldn't want them not to come to church because they don't feel comfortable putting their babies in the nursery, but I also want to come to church without feeling like I'm in an emotional battle for the entire hour-and-a-half.  I'm sorry, friends.  I know time will help heal my wounds, and I wish I was stronger.  But, I'm not. 

I know this post is pretty random, but these past few days have leveled me a bit.  I've struggled with a lot and have come to realize how weak I am and how I wish I was stronger.  I realize anew that any strength I have comes from my God.  I don't feel very strong right now, but I know I can be stronger with His strength.

Psalm 119:28 NIV
My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.

Psalm 18:32-34 NIV
It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he enables me to stand on the heights. He trains my hands for battle; my arms can bend a bow of bronze.Isaiah 41:10 NIV
So do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 40:31 NIV
but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on the wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

Philippians 4:13 NIV
I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

When I'm experiencing grief at its worst - when my stomach bunches in knots and my lungs ache within my chest - and I'm in need of a song that truly expresses the reality of what I've been through, I often turn to "Held" by Natalie Grant. 

To say I love this song would be a little bit of an understatement.  I think there have been moments when this song upheld me and became what I sang back to God.  This song is so so heart-wrenching, yet so heartfelt, which is why it's perfect to listen to when I'm feeling like my heart is being ripped from my chest and at the same time feeling strongly the love and promises of God.

The line that "gets me" every time is this one:

"To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling"

Yes.  I agree.  Why God, Why?  I don't think any parent who has lost a child hasn't asked this question.  I ask this out of pain, but also out of shear honestly, not in anger or resentment.  What does He want from me?

I think of Job, who lost his children and much, much more.  I think of how he reacted and how the people in his life reacted.  In Job 2:9, his wife says to him, "“Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!”  Job's own wife did not encourage him to stay faithful to God in the midst of tragedy.

Job had a choice.  He could "Curse God and Die" or "Praise God and Live."  In Job 4, Job's friend, Eliphaz the Temanite, says to him,

⁴ Your words have supported those who stumbled;
   you have strengthened faltering knees.
⁵ But now trouble comes to you, and you are discouraged;
   it strikes you, and you are dismayed.
⁶ Should not your piety be your confidence
   and your blameless ways your hope?

As awful as it feels, I see an answer to "Why God, Why?"  Who else can better give God glory than a person who professes Him, then suffers something horrible, and still gives Him glory? 

Job's wife's response to his terrible loss was "Curse God and Die."  She didn't know God, so I guess this response is expected and unsurprising.  But if I who do know God have this reponse, it would be a direct affront to Him.  Satan was the one testing Job to see if he would still praise God.  If I don't glorify God in the midst of a trial, am I instead giving in to Satan? 

My heart says ""To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling."

But, I know what I choose as my response:  Praise God and Live!

And, in turn, His promises will be true for me. I have felt the strength and comfort of the Lord lifting me up in a way that I've never felt before.  Some days, I literally feel held up by those praying for me in Jesus name.  Thank you so much to all my friends out there who love the Lord and have been faithful to pray for us.

"This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive"

I'm so weepy tonight.  It's been awhile since I've cried, so I guess it's time. Driving home in dreary weather did wonders for my mood, too.

And I have a new favorite song that seems to bring on the tears. 

Light Up the Sky
The Afters

Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me
I, I, I can’t deny
Oh I can’t deny that You are right here with me
You’ve opened my eyes so I can see You all around me
Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me

When stars are hiding in the clouds
I don’t feel them shining
When I can’t see beyond my doubt
The silver lining
When I’ve almost reached the end
Like a flood You’re rushing in
Love is rushing in

When I look at the night sky, I think of my little star, my Stella, shining away in heaven.  I love seeing the stars; they bring a bittersweet comfort.  I really believe God gave us the stars as a reminder that there's hope after this life, a heavens far above us in space and understanding.  A beautiful place where my Stella feels only joy. 

Grandpa even registered a star in Stella's name for our Christmas present.  This was the perfect gift for us since Stella means extraordinary star.  Stella Rose Eber is officially a star now in every way possible!
(I'll have to post her star registry letter soon.)

Tonight, I can't see the stars through the clouds.  I don't know why, but it really upsets me.  I miss my little star so much tonight, and I miss the twinkling reminders that she is with her Creator.

It still upsets me when someone says that Stella's death was "God's Will."  I know what they mean, and technically, I guess it was God's will, but I don't like to think of God as being the one who caused her death.

I have struggled for much of my life with seeing God as a father who loves me unconditionally.  When I was younger, I tried to earn God's favor just like I tried to earn my dad's favor.  If I didn't do well enough, if I didn't perform, then I didn't deserve God's love.  In my mind, I deserved to be punished. 

I chuckle when I think about it now, but my mom used a fly swatter to discipline my sisters and I when we were little girls.  When I was younger in my faith, I used to picture God up in heaven with a big fly swatter ready to smack me down when I failed.  Sounds funny, huh? ;)  I'm sure I'm not the only one to have thought about God this way, though.

It has taken a lot of time, scripture, and prayer to work through this wrong view of God.  Sometimes, I still think God is out to get me, but usually, I am fully convinced that God loves me unconditionally and has my best interest in mind.  It is much easier to understand God's unconditional love now that I have children and want only the very best for them. 

My good friend Bethan (who lost her baby boy) reminded me soon after I lost Stella that her death was not a punishment from God.  Hearing it from someone else who had been through the horror of losing a child helped immensely.  Because I don't want to see God as cruel and heartless, I prefer not to think of Stella's death as God's will.  I know that theologically speaking, it was God's passive will, meaning He allowed it to happen (vs. caused it to happen), but I just don't want to phrase it this way.  It's hard enough for me to swallow the idea of my daughter's death being God's will; I can only imagine what someone without faith in God thinks.  Why would someone want to follow a God who wills for babies to die? 

The way I answer this is to think about my own children.  Do I sometimes let them experience something painful so they can learn, develop compassion for others, and become better people?  Yes.  It is excruciating to watch them be in pain?  Yes.  I think this is how God feels. 

I am learning more about the depth of God's love, and because in my own mind, saying Stella's death was "His Will" negates that, I would rather not think about it that way.

²⁸ And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who^[a] have been called according to his purpose. 

I've known Romans 8:28 by heart for as long as I can remember.  It's one of the verses that friends have quoted to me during hard times.  Honestly, though, it's not very consoling in the midst of heartache to hear "it's for your good,"  just like it's not comforting to hear that your tragedy "is God's will." 

But, for weeks now, Romans 8:28 has been one of the verses that has often popped into my mind.  As I repeatly recited it internally, I began to realize that this verse never specifies that all things work together for the good of the one who loves him, but for those who love him.  I began to see that maybe losing my daughter wasn't just meant for my good, but also for others' good. 

The section of scripture that starts with Romans 8:28 is called "More than Conquerors," and it ends with the verse "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,d neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."    Neato.

I can be more than a conqueror through Christ's strength, and through His strength, I can work through tragedy.   Good has already come from the tragedy of Stella's death, and good will continue to come from this tragedy, not only for me, but also for others who have been called according to his purpose.  I am meant to draw comfort from comforting others, both now and in the future.

Romans 8:28 now seems much more consoling than before. 

What do I say to Ely when his friend runs up to him excitely at church and announces that he's having a baby sister?  I am wrestling with my dear friend's pregnancy myself, so it's hard for me to encourage my son today. 

It's easy to question...

It's easy to question how two friends struggle with infertility for over two years; one is given a daughter with severe birth defects who passes away a few days after birth, and the other is given a perfectly healthy daughter.  This is the epitome of "life isn't fair."  This lesson is so much easier to accept when you're a child, and the "life isn't fair" lesson comes from your mom when your sister receives what you wanted for Christmas.  This is the type of "life isn't fair" that Ely should be learning, not mourning the loss of his sister while his friends celebrate the births of theirs. 

This "life isn't fair" lesson is the adult version. If only I could shelter my children from the world for awhile and keep them away from other new baby brothers and sisters so they wouldn't have to constantly be reminded of their sister's death.  If only I could find the right words to reach the inner recesses of a five-year-old's heart to convince him that God still cares about us, that He hasn't left us or forsaken us.

It's hard to trust...

It's hard to trust that God always knows what He's doing. It is hard to see God as God and trust His ways when all I have to go on is human logic.  It is hard to trust that God has great blessings in store for our family.

With empty arms and a broken heart, I fight to cling to the promises of God's Word instead of giving in to bitterness and resentment.  Never before has the "lean not on your own understanding" part of Proverbs 3:5-6 been so difficult.  Yet, it is exactly what I need to do.  I need to trust that His thoughts and His ways are beyond my comprehension.

Isaiah 55:89
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

God, I feel the limits of my humanity today
It's not possible for me to understand all your ways
Give me rest for my soul as I follow you
Help me to trust your purposes through the pain

For the past few months, God has been teaching me faster than I can write, and almost faster than I can process.  I heard Santus Real's "Whatever You're Doing" on the radio yesterday, and the words were just perfect to express what is going on inside of me right now. 

"Whatever You're doing inside of me
It feels like chaos but somehow there's peace
It's hard to surrender to what I can't see
but I'm giving in to something Heavenly"


2010 has been a whirlwhind, and although I have deemed it "the worst year of my life," I'm not sure I actually feel that way when I really think about it.  Maybe I should see 2010 as more of a pivotal year than the worst year.  It's been a year of pain, for sure, but also a year of growing and learning.  I'm experiencing the biggest spiritual growth spurt of my life.  In the past three months, it seems like I've grown at least ten years spiritually. 

In 2011, I am committing to record the lessons, struggles, and triumphs of my journey with God.  I am committing to take the time to consider His Words in new ways, to encourage others despite my own heartache, and to lean not on my own understanding. 

The day after our precious Stella passed away, I wrote that "God used the miracle of Stella's life to perform miracles in our lives.  We hope and pray that her short stay on earth performs miracles in other peoples' lives as well.  Nothing would honor the memory of Stella's  life more than to know that God has touched the hearts of all who know her story."  Almost three months later, I can't speak for anyone else, but God has been performing miracles in my life.  I have learned that His grace is sufficient, and I have learned what it means to choose to believe and follow.  This is Stella's Legacy: that our lives would be changed by her for His glory. 

I pray that 2011 will be characterized by the genuine on-my-knees prayer of, "What do you want from me, God?" rather than the shaking-of-my-fist yelling, "What DO you want from me, God?!"  I look forward to the answers, even though some of the answers might scare me.

 ⁵Trust in the LORD with all your heart
         And do not lean on your own understanding.
 ⁶In all your ways acknowledge Him,
         And He will make your paths straight

Proverbs 3: 5-6