Life – Page 2 – Life After Thursday

a body never forgets

There hasn’t been a ton of time for blogging lately, mostly because I tend to blog on Thursdays when I am out of the house for a while sans children. As time has passed this year, it seems my Thursdays fill up pretty quickly…it turns out that coffee with a friend is actually relaxing when you aren’t chasing little ones! As of late, my Thursdays are booked with PT appointments to manage an old running injury from grad school. This is only the third time in 11 years it has reared its ugly head, but–wow–is it painful! It is actually an SI joint injury I managed to achieve during my ridiculously-obsessed-with-running years in the early 2000’s. It isn’t related to pregnancy, but the last two times I have had to go to PT I have been pregnant…the pregnant part only makes it worse. I’m hopeful that I’ll be back running and active in a couple of weeks, but it has made life interesting, considering I have a one-year-old that demands I carry her most places.

This injury is timely in light of one of our recent bible study questions, “How are you suffering the consequences of a former sin?” When I got to this question, I immediately thought of my body–both physical and mental. I could point out many things that I “carry” with me that have been a result of some form of sin–things that ail me either physically or in my own thinking and memories. I really hadn’t considered this injury as a result of sin before this week, but the reality is, it likely is. I got it at a time when I was glorifying myself and body over everything else. I obsessed over my weight and I planned everything around when and how I would work out. It is no wonder that an injury occurred. Yes, I have been able to manage it so well that I am unaware of it for the most part. I’ve reworked my running gait, changed my posture, changed my exercise habits, and have mostly been healed of the obsession–the root of the problem. But every few years it manages to resurface and keep me humble. I think without some of these ailments, I would forget how I have been dealt with mercifully–I would become self-reliant in an even bigger way. I need to be reminded that sins have consequences. Paul speaks of his own circumstance with a thorn in his flesh:

“Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 12:7b-9

As I further thought about the question from BSF, I reflected on Reece. I don’t believe our bodies ever truly heal here. I think of Reece’s body and how the biggest concern going into transplant was not all the germs that could come into his body, but rather what already lived there. All the Work-up Week testing that was done included a history of what he had already been exposed to, as it resided in his blood already. Even those tests had limits as to what they could tell us in regard to exposures. It demonstrates that not only do our bodies record our own sin (like my injury), but also they record the world’s sin (like the common viruses we acquire and build up immunities to). It’s pretty humbling. I don’t for a second think of Reece’s diagnosis as a result of his own sin. I think his MDS was a result of a fallen, imperfect world. In a child, I view it as more of the weight of the world’s sin, versus the result of things he chose for himself. But Reece’s life on earth became–as most of us will eventually become–a casualty of sin. Sin outweighs us, outnumbers us, outsmarts us…here; on our own. Some of us will have to deal with decades of it and others, like Reece, will endure a short, but powerful few years. At some point, our healing will have to come from our Maker. A sub-standard, human, bandaged effort–albeit sophisticated in many regards–will not be enough. But the reality is, until we are healed into Heaven, our bodies and minds do not forget what they have endured.

Likewise, our minds are subjected to ailments, including damage from what we have lived through; they also keep a record of hardships. We routinely refer to mental wounds as “baggage” or “issues”. Speaking of which, I was feeling pretty mentally damaged myself a few weeks back. I hit a low spot as I was overwhelmed with the pregnancy, our girls, and the reality of Reece. Terry and I had gone out on a lovely date night, but as dinner wore on, we inevitably started discussing Reece. At first, we talked about happy things. But then it turned to some of the memories from about a year ago and it ended the night on a somber note. I just kept thinking about our life and how we would manage it all. Like I said–I felt like damaged goods–unrecoverable. Thankfully, the sun rises and the sun sets and there is a new day on the horizon. As I have gotten a little distance, I realize that every time I look at the obvious hardships of losing Reece, it becomes completely defeating. Outside of God, the grave nature overwhelms me every single time. It’s only in the context of Eternity that my mind is freed, that I can feel hope in the larger purpose and encouragement in the ultimate healing that comes from knowing Christ and being forgiven of the mess of sin that devours our lives here. There is no remission in Heaven; it’s the only place we can truly declare ourselves cured.

In this context, I can understand why we don’t ever rid ourselves of our past while we are here. I need some reminders that I have messed up, that I continue to mess up, and that I’ll be messing up for the rest of my days. But instead of thinking about it in terms of “just bad luck” or “overuse” or “baggage”, I am reminded this week that my own ailments are part of a much larger picture for my life. They serve as reminders to myself, as lessons for myself and those around me, and as opportunities to examine my own self and how I conduct myself while I’m here. I can’t rely on myself to be perfect, because I’m a proven failure at it. I’ve got the bumps and bruises to show for it.

“If I’m thinking of the person I’m going to marry, I won’t be an easy target for seduction. Likewise, when I’ve meditated on Heaven, sin becomes terribly unappealing. Our high tolerance for sin testifies to our failure to prepare for Heaven. ‘Everyone who has this hope fixed on Him purifies himself, just as He is pure.’ (1 John 3:3, NASB).

~Randy Alcorn, “Heaven”

this child is loved

The evening that Reece passed away I remember saying to Terry that someone could storm in, hold us at gunpoint, and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash–I felt so numb to life. That numbness has gradually lessened over time. That intense period of being oblivious to sincere safety concerns was very short, thankfully. I then went through several months of feeling a loss of interest to make decisions that would somehow re-engage us in life activity. It has been a very slow process of taking on small things that start to integrate us back into normal circumstances and to begin trying to really “live” life. We are still working on this on many fronts. However, where I really struggled those first few months was in my willingness to take on anything further than that to which we had already committed. We had our girls, our home, and our current life at the time. I had no desire to even entertain the thought of doing more. My thoughts were solely about caring for the girls, figuring out what God’s ultimate calling was for me (which I accept may solely be taking care of my kids and husband), and completing it. I really spent most of the day with my head focused on Heaven and Reece and getting there in the minimum amount of time God would require. I could not fathom making decisions that would tie us here any longer or doing things that would tie us to this life any further. This may not make sense to you, but my thinking was to do the best I could with what we had chosen to take on and not entertain engaging in anything that might get us invested in life here any further. It sounds strange, but to me, it makes perfect sense in the context of what we’ve lived through. We’d witnessed so much–our innocence had been lost–and other than raising our girls, I wanted nothing further to keep me here. In the back of my mind, I know that God doesn’t work like that, but that was where I was at and I know that He understood it, perfectly.

Then, late last Fall, I happened to watch an interview of Barbara Bush on the TODAY Show. (Click here to view this clip.) Interviewed by her granddaughter, Jenna Bush Hager, the former First Lady discussed the passing of their second child–a daughter named Robin–from leukemia; she was three years old. I had no idea that George H. W. and Barbara Bush had lost a child and as the interview continued, she discussed some intimate details regarding watching her daughter pass away. What she described hit very close to home in our own experience of watching Reece pass away. Most people, including myself, do not discuss such details publicly and it was helpful to hear her talk about it. She spoke of how she and the former President still discuss their daughter and how they felt about losing her. She mentioned that now, as they are approaching the end of their lives on earth, they discuss her even more and how excited they are to see her again. As I listened, it occurred to me that they had several other children after Robin died. George Bush went on to work in many high level positions, including being the President of the USA. They raised five children (four having been born after Robin died), including one future US President. They figured out a way to hold it together, to heal, and to be active again in life. They took on new challenges. They didn’t stop having children, they didn’t let it cripple their plans in his career, they didn’t crumble as a family. Watching this interview helped me to realize that it would be okay, at some point, to take new things on in life.

A few months ago, I posted this picture on my Facebook profile page:

I stated that this is what my dream looks like–to hold Reece again. I’ve actually already lived and felt my dream. It has temporarily left me, but it will be realized again one day. In reality, it will be different from this, as you will notice, not all of our kids are part of this picture. My dream contains this scene, but it includes more people than what are pictured. Reece is only part of it–the entire picture is having my family reunited. In all likelihood, that could be close to 100 years from now, but I strongly believe it will happen. I have come to accept that I will never have a family photo with all of us together on Earth. We won’t ever feel “whole” here, as a family. Once I accepted that reality, I was able to better understand that we still had a strong desire of the heart to raise three kids together. We have wanted for quite some time to have the dynamic of three children in our home. This desire did not go away with Reece’s passing. Certainly, I thought we would raise Reece, Britta, and Scarlett together–I really wanted that. That will never happen for us. So, after careful consideration and definite prompting from the Lord, we opened our hearts to having another baby. One month later, I was pregnant.

Here we are, beginning our second trimester, feeling blessed, overwhelmed, and slightly confused as to how we exactly got here. We considered not sharing the news until later in the pregnancy, but this being my fourth baby, it is not as easy to hide my belly this time around! In all seriousness, I want to share that this isn’t some attempt to replace Reece or distract us from the process we are going through. This isn’t about trying to have another boy to somehow fill his absence. He is “The Boy” in our family. We are excited to have either gender and excited about the prospect of potentially having the family dynamic of three children in the house…even though we are having our fourth child. We went into this pregnancy with our eyes wide open to the entire spectrum of parenting–the wonderful and obvious blessings, the heart-wrenching moments, and the gems that can only be uncovered through trials and tribulations. In my opinion, it has been a much more difficult endeavor to entertain having another child–considering the understanding of what it is like to physically lose one–than it would have been to not have another baby at all. Ultimately, the blessing of loving a child–no matter how short a period we were blessed to have him with us–far exceeds the emptiness that would have been felt by not having him in the first place. This is true for all of our kids–born and unborn. So, we went back to the desire and calling of the heart and it was, indeed, to try to have another baby.

We talked at length with Reece’s doctors, after he passed away, about whether or not having another baby would be a negligent decision. They assured us it would not. There are only a few cases of siblings having childhood MDS. We know that anything can happen to any of our children, but we did not feel that Reece’s diagnosis should be a deterrent for having further children–at least from the perspective that we would be putting future children, knowingly, in harm’s way.

Here we are, pregnant again! We are excited and cautious; overjoyed and still fresh in grief. This is, indeed, a blessing. We have no expectations for a boy or girl–no hopes one way or the other. We hope for a healthy baby, but we know no matter what, this child is loved by us and three older siblings.

abraham

One thing that has been a struggle for me, really for most of my life, is prayer. Prayer is simply talking to God. I have always struggled to make it a priority. When this last year hit, while prayer was becoming a more regular thing in my life, it became a necessity. When Reece was in the hospital, I posted many, many prayer requests. There were so many needs, that I only posted what made sense for the general public to read. There were numerous times when I felt like I was scrambling to post all my requests–to cover all my bases with Reece–for prayer. There were many times I considered the phrase, “praying with great faith”. Was I doing this? Were my prayers faith-filled enough? Then things really began going awry and by the time Reece was admitted to Amplatz for his final stay, I gave up on writing our prayer requests. I realized that really no one had a clue other than God himself as to what was needed. Trying to ask God for specifics in regard to Reece seemed almost silly. And knowing that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us and prays for us when we don’t know what we need or what to pray for, I decided to rest on that and not try to add anything further. There were so many people praying–faithfully praying–how could God not be hearing us? I concluded that God was indeed hearing us and accepted that he was, in fact, saying “no” to many things. Eventually, I accepted that his plan was certainly to heal Reece, but not here on Earth.

A couple of months after Reece passed away, I attended a Christian women’s conference with a couple of friends. While I took many positive things away from attending, I witnessed a big emphasis on how when you pray with great faith and put your specific requests before God, he will heal. In light of what had just happened with Reece, the whole topic felt crummy. Many people were clapping and excited about healing stories that people shared and all I could do was sit in my chair and feel numb and hardened. How many stories have I read about this happening to other people? How many people highlighted their own stories at this conference? What about the people who get a “no” despite their great faith in God? Where are those stories? Does my “no” answer in regard to Reece mean I didn’t have enough faith in God or that I didn’t actually believe in my heart that he could do what I was asking? I know that isn’t the case; I believed that God could have turned the whole thing around in a heartbeat. But hearing countless stories about other people–their miracles and happy-endings–was like pouring salt in my wound. Certainly, I don’t wish harm for other people; I’m glad they got the answer they were looking for. But how do I make sense of our situation in light of our own faith-filled praying? If I really sit in this place for a long time, it’s easy to feel ripped-off, cheated, and wronged. And over the last several months, when I’ve found myself in these mental places, I’ve been gently reminded that the victim mentality only minimizes Reece’s life’s purpose and further destroys the joy in knowing him and the work God is doing through his life. While I feel God nudged my thinking in this way, it still has left me in a confusing place in regard to my prayers. Why bother lifting up my specific requests to God, if he has a plan and he knows what is going to happen? Why does it matter? And, for that matter, I am tired of hearing “no”. My question is not can he do it, but will he do it? I have greatly shied away from praying many specifics because of this and it has become its own wound, independent of other hurts in life.

We’ve been in the book of Genesis this year in Bible study and, more specifically, we have been studying the life of Abraham. This week, we read about God and his discussion with Abraham about Sodom and how he planned on destroying the city. Abraham had a relative (Lot) in the city and he was concerned about his well-being (in addition to other people in the city). Abraham humbly discusses with God his desire to have God spare the city if there is a small number of faith-filled people. Although Abraham never mentions Lot by name, God eventually promises to spare the city if there are 10 people of faith. You can read the full text from Genesis 18 here. What eventually ends up happening is that God destroys Sodom, but spares the life of Lot, his wife, and his two daughters. Even though Abraham did not specifically ask about saving Lot (at least as it is recorded in the Bible), God did honor Abraham’s concern for Lot, despite his destruction of Sodom.

As I was answering the questions from our study, two things about this conversation stood out to me in regard to Abraham and his relationship with God. First, God knew what his plan was and also what was on Abraham’s heart. God answered Abraham by sparing Lot in the midst of Sodom’s destruction. This is not what God and Abraham had discussed; 10 faith-filled people were not found in Sodom. Sodom was destroyed, yet Lot and some of his family were still saved. Second, what I took from this passage more than anything was the tolerance of his conversation with Abraham–how he knew Abraham’s request and how he knew the end result. He allowed Abraham to give several requests in a row and relayed information that gave Abraham an understanding about the situation and about God himself. What stands out to me, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, is God’s parental nature. He desired to have the conversation with Abraham for Abraham’s understanding. He spoke with him and discussed the desires of Abraham’s heart and also revealed part of his nature to Abraham. He showed concern, compassion, and approachability. And Abraham approached him with humility and respect. There is a lot packed into a couple of paragraphs of scripture!

After pondering this for while, it is the first time in a very long time that I feel like I’ve had some sort of healing around this issue or at least some direction on how to proceed in prayer. I have been able to separate the faith piece from the answer–at least in regard to a heart that genuinely is seeking Him. After all there is no algebraic equation for getting prayers answered the way in which we desire. If that was the case, I’d be a math wizard by now. I think that there are times when that is nearly implied–the more faith you have, the more God will answer your prayers with the answer you want. I know this is not the case and I don’t think I have been misguided on this in the past. What gives me great comfort and where I think some of my own healing lies is in the demonstration from this story that even though God knows the desires of our hearts, he still wants to discuss them with us. He still wants that relational piece. The discussion isn’t just about the request and the answer, but also about the teaching that lies within the process of asking. I think I’ve somewhat closed myself off to the details with God so I can lick my wounds and not give him an opportunity to say no to me. It feels like a door has been opened to begin those types of discussions with him again, which is a definite answer to prayer. Somewhere deep inside something feels slightly soldered back together and while it feels foreign, it’s probably the best place to start.

a new year

I’m glad to be blogging on a new site. This new site is still a work-in-progress in regard to its configuration, but I wanted to get it up and running, as to not lose my motivation. Truthfully, Like Olive Shoots has become, to me, similar to all of Reece’s things…sacred and somewhat untouchable. I want it preserved the way that it looked last year. I don’t want to add anything further to it or change things around. I’ve realized over the last month that I needed a different site if I wanted to keep writing. Tonight’s post will be a short one, to get the ball rolling.

We made it through Christmas and Terry and I looked at each other and said, “We have to do this again?” The whole season felt overwhelming and took quite a bit of energy to wade through without Reece. We actually had a nice, quiet holiday season (by design), but the holidays are exhausting even without the grief aspect and avoiding much of the season, as it turns out, takes a great deal of energy as well. The celebration piece of Christmas was low-key–we avoided malls, parties, baking, and most social situations. It is a season of perpetual merry-making and conversing. Small talk either requires we lie to people or bring them into the heaviness of the year…neither is enjoyable. We decided to not put ourselves or others in those types of conversations, at least for this year. While there is no way to know how I will feel years down the road, I get this feeling that right now–when the kids’ ages are still in the appropriate “order”, when Reece hasn’t been gone for very long–it will be easier than another 5, 10, 20 years down the road.

A year ago we were thinking that we would be vacationing someplace warm this January to celebrate a year of new blood for Reece. We were marching forward with little option of turning around or changing our minds on anything. We were beginning the process of grieving Reece; he was so different during his transplant. And while I’m sure this isn’t exactly the way that people want to start their year, as we approach anniversaries and the triggers of the time of year–the cold, the date, the approaching birthdays–it makes me want to crawl in a hole. I don’t think it would be wrong to do so. And I definitely don’t think there is a right or wrong way to feel in regard to grief over a child (or any loved one, for that matter). Anyway, I’m going to try my best to re-program my brain to avoid constantly comparing this year to last year. I’m not big on “anniversaries” and I could spend six months in perpetual anniversary-mode. We are charging forward into 2013. My Facebook status last January read, “2012, I’m not sure how I feel about you.” I guess my status for this year could be something like, “2013, at least you aren’t 2012.”