What is parenting? Joyfully Grieving

I wrote this June 4 and never got around to posting it...

Growing up I always said I wanted 2 kids, a boy and a girl, just like my mom. I wanted a family just like ours. But as I got into college, I had some friends that came from larger families and wanted larger families for themselves and suddenly I started considering that 3 or more might be really cool. I wanted at least 2, but I was really open to more. I don’t know what God has for me, especially after having 2 but only getting to raise one. We’ve batted around many options, but none seem to be what God is wanting for us RIGHT NOW.

I think of all of this as I get up this morning, the last morning that I will wake up and give kisses to Micah as a 2 year old. I sat down with him and told him that today was June 4 and asked him if he knew what tomorrow was. He thought a minute and pressed his little cheek against his shoulder and pointed at me and took a guess “Your birthday?” I said, “No, that makes tomorrow June 5th” and he said “MY BIRTHDAY”. I teared up a little and asked “How many will you be tomorrow?” He told me today he was two but tomorrow he would be three while holding up his little fingers (he is still working on three). My heart melts and breaks at the same time. In the last 3 years I have many times described parenting as “joyful grieving”. I was surprised to find that I had feelings of grief that one stage is over at the same time I was joyful of a new milestone met. I knew I would always grieve Lydia’s loss, but I didn’t know I would grieve still for a normal, intelligent, living child.

So I sent Micah off to school with his daddy this morning, gave him hugs and kisses. He told me with his arms outstretched that he loves me “this much”. That’s the last time I will send a 2 year old off to school, or will it be? It’s the last time I will send two year old Micah to school, that’s for sure, but will I have another 2 year old to send off with daddy in the morning, I just don’t know. For now, I’m okay not knowing. I celebrate what God has given me and I wait with anticipation for what else He may have in store for me. Whether it be the 2 children I always thought I would raise together or something I haven’t even dreamed of yet.

So I move on to joyfully grieve the life of this incredible gift that God has given to me and Jonathon. My heart will joyfully grieve tonight as we give our little man a bath, read bedtime books, sing bedtime songs, give bedtime hugs and kisses, and tuck him into bed for the last time as a two year old and wake in the morning to a whole new adventure to joyfully grieve as we go. What a beautiful world we live in as parents! We have such a privilege to have moments of joy and moments of grief in the exact same moment.

Old Country Roads

The fog rolls in every year about this time. It’s been creeping in for a few weeks, but it’s heavy today. My baby would’ve turned five in a few short days. She would be learning to write, learning to read, making new friends, and giving night-night hugs and kisses. There would be bows and shoes and tangled hair. There would be dolls that wet and cry and Barbie clothes and shoes and play kitchens and tea parties. I think of her every day, more than once. I think of the many people we knew at that time that were all pregnant at the same time. I think of all those friendships we lost because play dates weren’t so fun when my baby couldn’t play. I think of all the friendships that could’ve been for me and Jonathon and for Lydia. It’s a constant emptiness in my life. It will always be there.

We told Micah that it was going to be Lydia’s birthday and his response was, “It’s my birthday first!” He hopes that Lydia’s birthday means that there will be cupcakes. We know his understanding of Lydia is limited but his obvious love for her is amazing. At this point he doesn’t understand eternity, so it’s our job to teach him. He loves to look at her picture! He says that Lydia is “my baby.” He posed for a picture while lovingly holding Lydia’s picture this afternoon with the biggest smile I have caught on camera in quite some time. It’s heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time.

We’ve been thinking a lot lately about how to talk to Micah about Lydia and what happened to her and why she is not with us. He is asking more and more questions. We have always talked about avoiding the statement “God took her” because it seems to imply that God is uncaring and takes people at His whim. We have decided to say something to the effect that “Lydia was hurt very badly. Jesus let her come live with him because the doctors couldn’t make her booboos go away. When Lydia went to live with Jesus, He was able to make her all better.” He is the Great Healer. With the Word of Faith or Prosperity movement containing the view that God brings good things if you are faithful to tithe your 10%, it becomes difficult to explain why bad things happen in spite of the faithfulness of the servant. But those “good” things are temporal and not eternal; there is no focus on the eternal within the Word of Faith or Prosperity movements. If I ascribed to such theology in this tragedy, I would be absolutely hopeless and lost. I am so thankful that there is hope because Jesus was dead, buried, and rose again three days later conquering death so that Lydia and those that love Him could have eternal life!

Christianity is eternal at the core. The term Christianity can be broad, so let me specify that I mean those who have a personal relationship with Jesus. Those who have asked Him to cleanse them of their sin and have accepted the greatest gift ever, the gift of eternal life. We wait in anticipation for the return of Jesus where He will take us to a place where there will be no more death or crying or pain. Bad things happen, even to the most faithful followers of Christ, sometimes even more so because of the faithful following of Christ. The road to follow is narrow and less traveled.

You know the old country roads, the unpaved gravel roads, they are less traveled and full of overhanging branches, brush growing over the path, pot holes, wild animals, snakes, and large obstacles. Sometimes the overgrowth of the brush on both sides of the path encroaches on the road making the road very narrow and the brush scrapes down the side of the car, taking a little paint with it. That is the road we walk with Jesus. We are called to “count it all joy when you face trials of many kinds.” Though that is especially hard to grasp, it is something that defines our lives. It is not by my own ability that I find joy in the trials, but I feel Jesus near. I feel his comfort and His love in the midst of the trial. My paint job is not as shiny and there is dust on the dash from my tires kicking up dust into the ventilation system, but I’m still pressing on. I move along slowly with my wounds and fight away the vines that entangle me at almost every move, but Jesus holds my hand and there is no turning back.

I have been thinking about our society and our view of death in general. We see death as bad and as an end. As Christians, we believe that death is only a beginning. This is what I want Micah to know first and foremost. He has nothing to lose on this earth that will not be replaced seven-fold in eternity. When the Lord calls me Home, I hope that Micah doesn’t shake his fist at Heaven in anger. I hope that he thanks God for the time we had together and waits in anticipation to see me again. It feels like Lydia is lost sometimes, but she’s not. She has been eternally healed and rests safely in the arms of Jesus. Though my journey is difficult, it is not without its rewards. I get to teach my son about eternity from the perspective of getting to meet his sister when he goes there. That fascinates him and gives him an excitement that I didn’t know until I was almost thirty years old. He gets to know that now and I’m so proud to share that with him. I know Jesus a little deeper because of Lydia. I pray differently because of Lydia. I look at life different because of Lydia. I’m glad that I have tasted suffering on earth because it makes the hope of heaven just a little sweeter. Come quickly Lord Jesus!

"A pleasure is not fully grown until it is remembered"

All mother's know that there is a life timeline that is always before or after she got pregnant and with which child. A few Sunday mornings ago we were eating breakfast and Jonathon and I were talking. I made a comment that the event was before I got pregnant with Lydia. We continued on talking a couple of sentences later we heard Micah's little voice say, "I wanna see Wydia." We pulled up a picture on Jonathon's cell phone and handed it to him. We expected that he would lose interest and start scrolling through the pictures like he loves to do. His hands looked so little holding the iPhone, but his words were so big. "Awwww, there she is, there's Wydia. She's a princess. Shhhh, she's sleeping (her eyes were closed in the picture). Be vewy quiet so we don't wake her." He stood the phone up next to him and talked for a few minutes about his sister. We then talked about how Lydia lives with Jesus. I read a book after Lydia died about how the children who had died were like unseen witnesses of the Gospel in their home. I think that "Wydia" may play that role on our home. But it is our job to give her memory the presence to do so. I am Lydia's mother and I mothered her from the moment of conception to her very last breath. I used to feel like I was robbed of the chance to raise her and take her with me through our lives together. I realized that morning that I still get that chance to watch her grow up through the eyes of my son. In a lot of ways the things that I feared the most, like moving on, don't seem so scary. Moving on meant that I would get further and further away from Lydia and forget more and more. But I'm finding that in moving on she still has a presence and an active role in our family. I guess we are finding C.S. Lewis's words to be so very true, "A pleasure is not fully grown until it is remembered." Tonight we stopped in the hallway to look at Lydia's picture. We talked for a minute about Lydia and how she's a baby princess (he's into the idea of prince and princesses lately). We talked about how she is his sister and that she lives with Jesus. Wrapping things up, I said, "say night-night". He said, "Night-night, Wydia, I wuv you." My heart smiled and my eyes cried a little. We choose to allow her to grow through our memory. We continue to love her as we move on taking our love for her with us every step of the way. Moving on doesn't seem so scary anymore.

Kitchen Aid

I’ve been quiet on this blog for quite some time, but I’ve been thinking about how to reintegrate it into my life and show that life goes on after tragedy; even though in the midst of tragedy, going/moving on is the greatest fear. Last night I was baking my husband’s 37th birthday cake. He was 32 when our world fell apart. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries always bring up the thoughts of what would’ve been. I was watching the ingredients mix together in the stainless steel bowl of my Kitchen Aid mixer and the flour and cocoa came rising out of the bowl making “snow” on the mixer and the countertop and I was remembering. It suddenly came to me that the kitchen Aid mixer was a baby gift. That’s right, a baby gift. We had come home from the hospital, baby-less (Lydia was still very sick and in Cook Children’s at this time), and my mom asked if I would like to see the gifts that friends and family had sent. My mom walked in with it and what seemed like a TON of other gifts and placed it on my dining table. It was a gift sent to me by my Granny when Lydia was born. She admitted it was perhaps a strange gift, but knew I had wanted one. I think she was thinking of birthday cakes and happy memories that would be made with this brand new mixer. I thought it was a great idea, maybe even more like a “push gift”, an idea that had been gaining popularity at the time. I was so excited to feel better and use it, but at that moment, I just wanted to know if Lydia was going to get better. I remember trying to force myself to be excited about all the lovely gifts that our parents had brought to us from family and friends, but the excitement was just not there. After the funeral and things settled down, the gifts given to Lydia went in her room and the door remained closed for a very long time. But one thing stayed out, the Kitchen Aid mixer. I made cakes every month for probably the first 6 months. I needed something to do since I didn’t have a baby to celebrate. I had the need to make something from nothing, to make a beautiful and delicious creation, to set aside time and remember. And honestly, there was also a little comfort in whatever sugary confection I created. It fueled a passion for baking and decorating. Me and Kitchen Aid are pretty tight nearly 5 years later. You can tell this mixer has seen its share of hard work; the motor tends to groan a little if I’m mixing something thick and heavy. The plastic knob that covers the metal bar that determines the speed is broken off, but it still works. I guess this mixer is a lot like me. I’ve done a lot of hard work walking with my grief. I groan a little when the load gets heavy and I’m missing a part of myself too. But there is one distinct difference, the part of me that is missing is now an eternal soul who lives with Jesus and I will be reunited with her again. The plastic knob from the Kitchen Aid is gone forever in the landfill in Fort Worth. There is hope for me, but none for the mixer. I’m remembering all of these things as I hear a little voice behind me saying, “Momma can I have a lick?” I’m jarred back to the present by the one thing that holds me on this side of heaven; another tiny soul that has been entrusted to me to raise to love the Lord with all his heart, soul, mind, and strength. This one I get to keep for a little longer than I did Lydia.

Holiday Season Opening

This week rolls out our second holiday season without our precious Lydia. I can’t believe that she would be big enough this year to eat Thanksgiving turkey, or maybe rather throw it across the room and laugh. Maybe mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese would be her favorite, they were always mine. She would be walking and talking some, she would've been 18 1/2 months old for Thanksgiving this year.

I think that this Christmas would’ve been the most fun of all the Christmas’ with her. She would've been 19 1/2 months by then. The purity of the joy of a child as they are able to open those first Christmas gifts is priceless. There is no disappointment at this age in not getting exactly what they asked of Santa Claus and there would be no sibling rivalry to distract from the joy of giving. There would simply be giant smiles and lots of hugs and kisses for the joy of Christmas morn. The wrapping paper would be the best gift of all in her eyes and I would want nothing else, but to see her smile.

I can envision us getting ready for the Christmas church service with Lydia in her floofy red and white Christmas dress. All lacy and frilly. Maybe even the kind with the jingle bells sewn to the petticoat, those always make me smile. Her frilly socks with the lace around the edges and black patent shoes. And a little red bow in her baby soft, fine hair. Everyone would stop us to say how adorable and beautiful she looked and she would know it because her daddy would always be doting on her so. This means that Christmas service will be hard to attend, because there will be a beautiful baby girl, about Lydia's age, dressed just as I envisioned, but that child will not fill the emptiness of my arms.

Instead, of all these hopes and dreams, there is an empty place at the table next to her 11 month old cousin, Cole. He'll never know the difference, he will get all the attention, but there is heartbreak for us adults knowing that he should have a playmate, other than Elwood and Delta, the dogs of the family. I’m sure Lydia and Cole would be all into things together and a handful to keep up with, but a joy all the same. The clamor of favorite toys making all their melodious noises will be missing once Cole is gone. The coos and giggles and clapping hands will also leave with him. Leaving the house still silent in comparison to the noise of a house with a child.

People wonder, do we have joy now. Of course we do. But there will always be a hole where Lydia would've been. Anyone who believes otherwise is sadly mistaken. Do we know that we will hold her again? Absolutely! But being certain of eternity doesn't take away the pain of this world, it just gives us a way to embrace it and move toward that day where there will be no more crying and no more tears. Even so, Lord, come quickly!

What Do You Say...

What do you say when a baby dies and someone says...
"At least you didn't bring it home."
What do you say when a baby is stillborn and someone says...
"At least it never lived."
What do you say when a mother of three says...
"Think of all the time you'll have."
What do you say when so many say...
"You can always have another."
What do you say when someone says...nothing?
What do you say when someone says..."I'm sorry."
You say, with grateful tears and warm embrace, "Thank you!"

We all need "Kleenex & candle" friends when we suffer loss. Compassionate companions who give us permission to cry and offer a Kleenex or their tears. When the darkness of discouragement comes they encircle us. Our heroes of hope light the way to brighter tomorrows and to the One who is truth and our eternal encouragement. And at the right season, we can pass on what we have received to others...a Kleenex and a candle.
Kathe Wunnenberg in Grieving the Child I Never Knew

Lord, please bring Jonathon and I "Kleenex and candle" friends who can continue to walk with us through the pain. Grant us the courage to forgive those who have said insensitive things in their well-meaning attempts to soothe our pain. Thank you to all of our friends who have cried with us or brought us light in the darkness. We couldn't have carried this burden without you!

Homegoing Memories

I hadn’t planned on posting this, but thought it might be a blessing to someone. I will give the disclaimer that even I can’t read this without crying again.

I had Good Morning America on the TV this morning (May 21, 2010) as I worked in the kitchen and I was flooded with memories.

A year ago today, Jonathon and I were cooped up in a room with a terrible view of a construction site at Cook Children’s waiting for Lydia to be with Jesus. These were the most agonizing hours of my life! Knowing that she was suffering in her earthly body brought me to my knees to pray that the Lord would take her quickly. The first time she stopped breathing long enough for me to believe that she was gone was early morning May 21. Jonathon had run out to the cafeteria to find us breakfast and I had Good Morning America on in the background. Lydia was lying peacefully on the bed while I picked up the room to make space for our families coming soon. She stopped breathing and her color went ashen. I waited for her to take another breath and she didn’t. I sat there rocking her envisioning her being greeted by the loved ones gone on before her. And just I started to sob, I laid her down to look at her and she gasped for air like a fish out of water. I had even called Jonathon and told him it was time and to come back quickly. The whole day was full of these moments. Holding our breath waiting to see if she would take another, watching her color fade, another gasping breath and she would be pretty and pink again. It was hard to believe that she was a sick as she was. She looked so perfect on the outside! She had a beautiful head of dark hair and dark eyes. Her little fists were clinched so tightly that her fingernails were bruised, a symptom of the hypoxia.

Those gasping breaths and the clinched fists visited me in my dreams for months.

I held her every moment I could. I cried when I had the tears to cry. I tried to comfort her, but knew that comfort was only going to come when Jesus took her home. I longed for a miracle and prayed for one, but prayed that if healing was not God’s will, that He would take her home quickly. We knew our chances of a miracle faded with every period of her not breathing. We had 24 hours of waiting. We agonized over her and our heart broke over and over knowing that she would never grow to say “Daddy” or “Mommy.” I had been holding her for at least two hours straight. My tailbone hurt and I finally had to get up and relieve myself. As I got up, she took one gasping breath and I kissed her little cheek and handed her to Jonathon. I held her for her last breath and Jonathon held her as her heart stopped.

The doctor came in and called a time of death, 4:25 pm May 21, 2009. Jonathon handed her back to me. Her body was still warm in my arms, but her color was gone. Our families came in the room and gathered around us and said goodbye. They left us there with Lydia, we had more papers to sign. I removed her monogrammed onesie from her body and folded everything neatly breathing in her scent. We picked up the diaper bag and left her there having no idea what funeral home would come and get her body.

I don’t remember much of the drive home or that evening.

Birthday and Mother's Day

I wrote this on Monday May 10, but just now getting it posted…

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been able to update my blog. I’ve not had anything nice to say, so I wasn’t saying anything at all. I’ve told a few people that had just started seeing in color again, but there’s a rain cloud hanging out again making everything gray.

This weekend was the beginning of a very difficult season for me and Jonathon. Friday was Lydia’s first birthday and yesterday was my second Mother’s Day. Neither Mother’s Day has been in any way “happy” for me. My first Mother’s Day I had been split open 4 days before in an emergency c-section and was barely moving. Also, I was half dead from an unidentified infection. Then that precious little one that made me Mommy was lying in the Neonatal ICU and was being kept alive only by ventilator and feeding tube. Later that day, they asked if they could transfer her to Cook Children’s. I’ll never forget rolling by wheelchair into the ICU room at Baylor on Mother’s Day and seeing my little girl with her hair sticking up because her hair curled just a little (I had to add the picture of our very own Baby Einstein). Oh, the love that rose up in me for that little bundle of joy! The lyric from “Because He Lives” often comes to mind during these memories, “How sweet to hold a newborn baby and feel the pride and joy she gives.” But at this point, I hadn’t been allowed to hold her since she quit breathing in my arms four days before. But I was still able to feel the pride and joy and utter fear of being a parent all in one instance. Women’s intuition, or God's still small voice, told me that this little one was not going to be long on this earth and that He would be calling her home sooner than I would’ve dreamed. My mother’s day gift was made by the nurses at Baylor NICU it was a little flower with Lydia’s precious footprint. They had to make hers bigger than all the others because she was the largest baby on the unit! Then I was given an incredible gift, the opportunity to be a mom for a brief moment, they offered to let me change her diaper. I had never felt so honored to do something in my life. I was also able to pump milk for the first time to feed my little bundle of joy. It wasn’t much, but Jonathon ran it down to the NICU like he was carrying the serum that would heal our baby girl. Then they asked us both to come down to the NICU to sign the papers for her to be transferred to Cook. I was handed a pink lovey to keep with me to give back to Lydia later because then it would carry my scent. I slept with it that night and left with it in my arms instead of my baby the next day when I was discharged from Baylor.

This year, I awoke on Mother’s Day with the emptiness in my heart that I have carried with me everyday for the last year. It’s not the same pain I woke up with last year, the pain in my abdomen that caused me to grimace every time I went to sit up or stand, but the emptiness in my heart is the same today as it was a year ago. Physically, I feel better now than I have in two years, but I think I will always carry this ache until I enter eternity.

Jonathon and I want to be able to have brothers and sisters for Lydia, but we are waiting on God’s timing, because we know that each child is born at the perfect time to serve the Lord. We know that Lydia was able to serve God just as He had planned in her short life and for that we are truly thankful. We were challenged this weekend to think of the ways that Lydia Grace’s life changed ours. First of all, she made us Mommy and Daddy. Second of all, she taught us the reality of the fragility of life and that God holds us all in the palm of His hand. Thirdly, she taught me the value of life on earth and the line between where medical treatment has gone too far and where medical treatment is a blessing from God. Lydia, thank you for making me a Mommy. Thank you, dearest Lord Jesus, for continuing to make all things new.

I found this poem online and thought that it was appropriate for what we are going through. It seems that the woman spoke of here was an adult, not a child, but I think it still fits.

"LYDIA IS GONE THIS MANY A YEAR"
Lydia is gone this many a year,
Yet when the lilacs stir,
In the old gardens far or near,
This house is full of her.

They climb the twisted chamber stair;
Her picture haunts the room;
On the carved shelf beneath it there,
They heap the purple bloom.

A ghost so long has Lydia been,
Her cloak upon the wall,
Broidered, and gilt, and faded green,
Seems not her cloak at all.

The book, the box on mantle laid,
The shells in a pale row,
Are those of some dim little maid,
A thousand years ago.

And yet the house is full of her;
She goes and comes again;
And longings thrill, and memories stir,
Like lilacs in the rain.

Out in their yards the neighbors walk,
Among the blossoms tall;
Of Anne, of Phyllis do they talk,
Of Lydia not at all.

Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935]

Standing on the Rock in the Midst of Shifting Sand

I paused today to think about my purpose in writing all of this. I feel like I’m all over the map with what to write, but my purpose is very clear. I longingly wish to give glory to God in a situation that many it hard to find Him and I long to encourage others in their moments of tragedy to turn toward God and not away. I have had people ask how I can give praise to God in a time like this. I have had people ask me how I can say that my Savior never fails me. I find it simple. Now is not the time to develop my theology of God and who He is. Now is the time to cling to what I have known always to be true. I look at Job, and maybe for the first time in my life I have understood him. Tested and tried, he continued to lean on God. He didn’t understand, but he trusted. That’s where I am. I have no understanding of my current circumstances, but I know that God is on the throne.

I talk to God differently these days. I talk to him more like a friend and my comforter. I talk to him asking him to make sure that Lydia knows things about her mom and dad. I don’t know if heaven works that way, but it gives me great comfort. I talk to him as if he were the nanny of my child. He is. He is there with Lydia, holding and comforting her. There is no pain in heaven and in that I find comfort. The greatest desire of a mother is to know that your child is being cared for in the best way. I think I’m a great mother, but I know that heaven is the only other place she would find better care than what I would be able to give her. I don’t know if she can see me and watch me, but I hope that if she can her eyes are shielded from my sin. I envisioned her the other day sitting at the throne of grace praising with all the angels. I cried. I cried harder than I had in a while. I longed to teach her to praise God, but she has better teachers than I would ever be.

All this doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt that she is not here. It does. Sometimes it hurts like it’s all new and sometimes I have peace that passes all understanding. The sorrow comes in waves. I cry to Jesus too. I tell him that I want to hold Lydia in my arms. I have even asked if I can have her back. She is there with him, but I want her here! I shook my fist at God as if I have the right to confront the almighty and told Him to give her back to me! God understand. He reaches out to comfort me in those moments, reminding me that in heaven there is no sorrow or pain. I know that Lydia is loved there much more than she could ever be love here, though that’s hard to swallow. It hurts. It hurts more than I ever knew I could hurt. I hate it. I ask, “why me?” I’m reminded of the man who built his house on sand and the other who built his house on the rock. As children we are taught to build our houses on the rock, not in the sand. I strive to build my house on the rock, though I find that sometimes the sand is there. I’m human and I can easily fall prey to the doubts of this world. I'm reminded of a Caedmon’s Call song that speaks to this story. “My faith is like shifting sand, changed by every wave. My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace.” The rock of my salvation, where I will build my house, is the grace of God. It is by His grace that I am able to build a firm foundation. “Waters rose as my doubts reigned. My sand-castle faith it slipped away. Found myself standing on your grace, it’d been there all the time.” (Caedmon’s Call)

Pregnancy: The last few weeks

The last few weeks leading up to the birth of Lydia are a blur to me. I felt like a whale! I had severe pre-eclampsia and the swelling was unbearable. I didn’t recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. I was on bedrest for five weeks before she was born due to the swelling. I couldn’t sit at my desk at work and I had carpal tunnel that prevented me from working on my computer or writing. I wasn’t on strict bedrest, fortunately, though I did very little in my time at home. I watched reruns of Beverly Hills 90210 and 7th Heaven and took a lot of naps. That was about the extent of my activity. Anything more than that was exhausting and painful. Standing for longer than a couple of minutes would send pain up and down my legs because of the swelling. Lydia’s measurements on the sonogram were more than two weeks ahead of her age. She was going to be a big girl. Then on top of that I had a lot of amniotic fluid. The weight of her and all of the amniotic fluid was alone enough to make me miserable.

But in spite of all the difficulties, we greatly anticipated her arrival. I loved the connection that she and I had, though it all seemed surreal. We loved to see her on the sonogram! I don’t think that we had a sonogram where Jonathon didn’t cry. It was so sweet to see him already enamored by the little girl inside of me. The sonographer told us that she was pretty and that she had hair! I was surprised she could tell from the sonogram. It was just the regular sonogram, not the 3D or 4D where you can see a lot of detail. I have to say that I was so relieved that she was pretty. Like most mothers, I had an extreme fear of having an ugly baby. I know everyone says that you never think that your baby is ugly, but I was so scared. Another thing that the sonographer pointed out was that she had big feet. She did. Just like her Daddy!

The doctor assured me that both Lydia and I were doing well, though I was under close observation. We were having a Non-Stress Test weekly and Lydia looked great on the monitor every time we went in! Her heart rate was keeping a solid baseline and she was remaining active in spite of her limited space. I loved that the nurse would set up the monitor for her heartbeat and then Lydia would turn away making the monitor all staticy. I loved feeling her move inside me. I think it was the only thing that kept me going. I was so miserable, but feeling her move and hearing her heartbeat made all the trouble fade into the background. The doctor did express concern that she might be too big for a vaginal delivery, but that we would try before we decided for a c-section.

It is these precious memories that I will hold onto. There was no indication that anything was wrong prior to her birth and we looked forward to getting to know her. I did have a lot of fear about knowing what to do to care for her. But at this point, I have no doubt that I will be able to know the needs of my child and meet them. I held my only child as she drew her last breath. I have no doubt that I can handle anything that parenting throws my way!

What's in a Name?

What to name our child was something that Jonathon and I consulted with God about for many weeks. We knew that God was knitting a child together in my womb and that He knew that child by name. We prayed asking God to reveal that name to us. We had some criteria for the name we wanted. We wanted something not on the top 100 name list from the last year! Really, that was our only criteria. With a last name like Mills, we needed something somewhat unique. The name we chose came to us from out of nowhere and we immediately knew it would be the name of our little girl, Lydia Grace. Lydia is a scriptural name; the name of a woman who was pivotal in the missionary journey of Paul. Lydia was known to be a follower of Yahweh, but had not yet met Jesus. Lydia was the first European convert. Not only was she the first, but all of her family believed and were baptized that day, indicating that she was a leader and respected in her home. During that missionary journey, her home housed Paul and the other apostles during their time in Philippi and the church later met in her home as well. Lydia was a businesswoman; she was the seller of purple cloth, the cloth of royalty. She was well known and respected in her community. We were honored to use the name of such a wonderful Christian woman for our little girl. We greatly anticipated her arrival!

The color purple will always have special significance to Jonathon and me. This spring purple is everywhere! When we went to Colorado, I noticed all the purple wildflowers. When I go shopping, I’m drawn to purple clothes. I noticed that the crepe myrtle in my front yard has purple blooms; I had never paid attention before! Purple was the scriptural Lydia’s color and we wanted that color to be special to our Lydia Grace. We wanted to make sure that she knew of the heritage of her name! Not only the heritage in the color purple, but in faith as well. We prayed for Lydia’s salvation and our friends prayed as well. One of the girls that Jonathon went to seminary with knitted a beautiful baby blanket for Lydia and said that with each stitch she prayed for Lydia to come to Christ. We looked forward to leading her to the Lord, taking her to church, going on mission trips, and praying with her. We prayed that we would hold her in an open hand for God to use and that her life would be used to lead other’s to Christ.

Little did we know that her time here on earth would be so short. Lydia lived only 14 days, but her life touched hundreds of people. People have expressed that they have come to a deeper relationship with God through Lydia’s story. We have yet to hear that someone has come to Christ through her story, but her story is still being told. I have read of little one’s who have died being unseen evangelists in a sense, leading their siblings to Christ. I pray that Lydia Grace’s story will be like that of the scriptural Lydia and that all of her house will be saved. We know that Lydia Grace is now in Heaven with Jesus. I hope that she has met the scriptural Lydia and knows the heritage of her name. Mom and Dad love her and miss her very much!

Colorado

I wrote this on the morning of June 10, 2009 and thought it would be a good start to this blog.

This is the first morning of my life that I have woken up in Colorado. Jonathon and I traveled here yesterday in search of some solitude after the worst tragedy of our lives. However, solitude was slow to present itself. We arrived at the Denver airport without a glitch, but then we got to the rental car counter only to find that they didn't have a car in the category/price range that we had reserved. We were faced with the decision to drive a minivan through the Rocky Mountains or upgrade for ten dollars a day. What a convenient way of getting people to spend more money! We felt gypped, but we upgraded for the handling ability in the mountains. Then we got in the SUV and a warning light was on indicating that the tire pressure was low. The "mechanic" aired up all four tires and sent us on our way. We drove out of the parking lot with an unsettled feeling in my stomach. We had an hour and a half drive to Estes Park where some friends of ours agreed to let us stay in their vacation home for free.
The drive was beautiful, even though the sky was overcast. The snowcapped mountains were barely visible. We didn't get lost on our journey and for that we were very thankful. We arrived at the condo only to find that we couldn't get in! The key we had was for the door but someone had locked the screen door and we didn't have that key. We were thankful for my iPhone and Jonathon's freakish memory of phone numbers.
We went to McDonald's for lunch and browsed a local shop while we waited for directions. It wasn't long before the owner of the home called us back and he had a lifeline from Alabama. His realtor still had a key to the home from when they bought it four years earlier! We were able to get into the condo and get settled. We went and bought some groceries and returned to the condo only to discover how late it was and were not interested in cooking at all. Jonathon left me to make the beds while he ran to get a pizza from the place we had just found. He returned, pulled into the garage and the front tire popped…literally. We sat down to eat, confused by all the mishaps of the day. We were thankful that the tire popped in the garage and not on the winding roads we had just traveled.
We found the number for the twenty-four hour roadside assistance and called only to find out that we would have to pay for the service! Jonathon wasn’t able to get very far with the people on the phone so I gave it a try. I yelled at the representative on the line because he kept talking over me. I was trying to explain to him that we didn’t have a lot of money because our daughter had just died and that we needed mercy in a situation that wasn’t managed very well by the company. He told me that they didn’t deal with emotion because they were running a business. I lost it! Fortunately, there was a supervisor on the line who was apparently as frustrated with the situation as I was. She very graciously said that she would have someone drive another car to us and change the tire. We were thankful that the tire popped in the garage and not on the winding roads we had just traveled. We were thankful for the manager who arranged for us to have the new car.
We waited for a while and realized that we should probably help by changing the tire. After all, the company was going above and beyond to correct their mistake of letting a defective car off the lot. We went out to the garage, found the owner’s manual and proceeded to change the tire. While Jonathon was jacking up the car, the jack broke sending the Jeep Commander crashing back to the garage floor. We were thankful that Jonathon was not under the car.
At this point we were very hopeless. We hoped that the car the man was bringing would have a jack. It did. We were thankful for the jack and thankful that the man who came with the car was gracious. He understood that we were just trying to help. We were thankful that he was willing to drive the new car to us in the dark in mountainous terrain, that he had another jack, and that the tire got changed safely. We even got the money back for the upgrade. So where do we go from here?
Hopefully, the trials have come to an end and we can be thankful for the worse tragedies that were avoided. However, we are still faced with the grief of the greatest tragedy of our lives. The death of our first born, Lydia Grace Mills, has brought darkness that we have never known as well as joy in the midst that we didn’t think was possible. So not we enter into some of the most beautiful of God’s creation for a time with the Creator Himself to grieve…