Lying on the couch, waiting for the ambulance...I had never hated living in the country more than I did at that moment. It seemed like it took them an eternity to get to our house. Our small town of Sheridan doesn't have their own ambulatory service, we use the county. But we do have a small group of first responders. These people arrive before the ambulance and attempt to provide help.
When they arrived, they looked at me and immediately asked how far along I was. I responded, "34 weeks and 5 days". They were surprised. They had been told I was 12 weeks along. They tried to calm me down...put an oxygen mask on me. But I just couldn't take it. Here these people were...trying to help me and all I could think was "get out of my way! I've got to go! Where's the ambulance?!?"
One of the ladies asked me, "Ma'am, is there a reason you won't leave the oxygen mask on?" And totally out of character, I snapped back.."because I'm not an idiot! I don't need oxygen! I need to go!"
I laid there on the couch, looking at a large photo of Max that hangs next to the fireplace. As I stared at his picture, the same lady commented, "It'll be okay. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." With tears in my eyes, I just shook my head and told her she didn't understand. I'm a pretty calm, patient person. But at that moment, if I hadn't feared harming my baby, I would have probably punched her in the nose.
Once the ambulance finally arrived I felt some relief. I knew we would be getting help soon. The paramedic on the ambulance crew was great. But again, it seemed like it took forever before we actually left the house. He had to check all my vital signs, check my bleeding and start an IV. Patiently, I prayed....God's will be done. Everything was completely out of my control at this point.
Aaron rode in the front of the ambulance and we flew down the highway towards Eagle Lake, lights flashing, sirens blaring. In the back of the ambulance, the paramedic asked me if I would mind taking my shirt off. I thought it was a funny question. There I am, sitting with no pants or panties on, holding a bloody towel between my legs and he was kind enough to think I had an ounce of shame left in me. When in reality, I would have marched naked through the streets if it had meant helping Madden survive.
I was surprised how quickly we actually arrived at the hospital. We must have been going really fast. As we pulled in, there were people waiting to help us. And I was so thankful...I saw a familiar face. The on-call doctor was a family friend. He knew us. He knew our story. And I knew he would do everything he possibly could to save our son.
They wheeled us back to the labor and delivery room. And I couldn't help but think..."this was the place that I did not want to be." I chose to change doctors and to deliver Madden in Victoria because I didn't want to be in this room...the room where I delivered and first held Max. But there I was...in the same exact room, in the exact same bed.
I just kept telling them they needed to get the baby out. All of the staff was calm. They checked for the baby's heartbeat. And they immediately found it. His heart was beating strong. There were no signs of distress. The doctor knew I was bleeding a lot, but he had seen similar bleeding before, and the baby sounded good. He called for an ultrasound technician and left the room to call my doctor. And at that moment, I had hope. And I found myself thinking once again..."maybe, just maybe."
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Call 911!
Today, I woke up with Madden on my mind. I always think of him and Max....pretty much constantly. But this morning, my heart was focused on Madden, and in my first waking moments I replayed January 12th over and over in my head. It was a horrible day...and I just want to warn you, if you are squeamish about blood or pregnancy related discussion, you may want to skip this post.
But up until that day, there were zero complications with my pregnancy. Due to Max's heart condition, I was considered high risk, but there were absolutely no problems to speak of. We had more ultrasounds performed than usual, specifically focusing on Madden's heart...particularly the thickness of the walls. A fetal echo cardiogram was performed on Monday, January 7th. Everything looked perfect. We were assured his heart looked great and everything appeared perfect.
That week I went home and prepared Madden's room. His due date was six weeks away and I finally began to let myself hope. Friday night, Maryn had a couple friends spend the night. I figured I'd spend a little extra time making each child happy before their new brother entered the world and consumed most of my time. The girls played great together. I took them home around lunchtime on Saturday...and everything was still normal.
After getting home, I started to feel a little sick. My belly hurt a little, I felt really tired...but it didn't seem like anything other than regular pregnancy discomfort. I soaked in the bathtub and watched my belly move back and forth. Madden...his usual self, kicking away.
My parents came to get the three kids. They planned on having them spend the night and giving Aaron and I a little time to relax together. As soon as they left, I laid down on the couch to rest...still not feeling well. And I have to say, it crossed my mind..."maybe I should call the doctor, maybe I should go get checked out."
The kids had been gone maybe ten, or fifteen minutes before our world was shattered once again. Aaron and I were on the couch together. Him...watching TV, and me...just trying to get comfortable, when I felt a sudden gush of fluid. Immediately I knew it was not normal, but I thought maybe my water had broken. But when I reached down and saw my hand, I knew it was blood and I knew it was bad. I didn't have to say a word. Somehow, Aaron instinctively took his eyes off the TV and looked at my hand in the air and jumped off the couch.
I began to panic. I got up and ran to the bathroom. I took off my pants and blood gushed out, all over the bathroom floor. I sat on the toilet, and it just wouldn't stop. It was more blood than I could have ever imagined...and I don't even have the words to describe to you just how much it was.
I knew right away that my placenta had abrupted. And what's worse is that I knew my child couldn't survive without the oxygen provided by it. I moved to the bathroom floor, sitting in a pile of blood, and I hoped. Maybe I've dilated. Maybe his head is low. Maybe I can deliver him right here...right now. I checked myself, but I could feel nothing.
Immediately I began yelling to Aaron...."He's dead! He's dying! He's not getting oxygen...I'm going to lose the baby!" And I remember Aaron just asking, "what do I do?" And this time, it was me telling him..."Call 911! We have to go. We need help!"
I also remember Aaron calling out to Max. It really caught me off guard. He yelled out for Max in heaven to help us...to talk to God and help his baby brother survive. And I just sat there...crying and praying and screaming...once again. Aaron called his parents to come help. They live right down the road and were there in minutes. But there was nothing they could do either. I grabbed a towel, put it between my legs, laid on the couch and waited. Waited for the ambulance....waited for my baby...waited for an answer to my prayers.
"Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." -Matthew 6:8
"We always find that those who walked closest to Christ were those who had to bear the greatest trials." -St. Theresa of Avila
But up until that day, there were zero complications with my pregnancy. Due to Max's heart condition, I was considered high risk, but there were absolutely no problems to speak of. We had more ultrasounds performed than usual, specifically focusing on Madden's heart...particularly the thickness of the walls. A fetal echo cardiogram was performed on Monday, January 7th. Everything looked perfect. We were assured his heart looked great and everything appeared perfect.
That week I went home and prepared Madden's room. His due date was six weeks away and I finally began to let myself hope. Friday night, Maryn had a couple friends spend the night. I figured I'd spend a little extra time making each child happy before their new brother entered the world and consumed most of my time. The girls played great together. I took them home around lunchtime on Saturday...and everything was still normal.
After getting home, I started to feel a little sick. My belly hurt a little, I felt really tired...but it didn't seem like anything other than regular pregnancy discomfort. I soaked in the bathtub and watched my belly move back and forth. Madden...his usual self, kicking away.
My parents came to get the three kids. They planned on having them spend the night and giving Aaron and I a little time to relax together. As soon as they left, I laid down on the couch to rest...still not feeling well. And I have to say, it crossed my mind..."maybe I should call the doctor, maybe I should go get checked out."
The kids had been gone maybe ten, or fifteen minutes before our world was shattered once again. Aaron and I were on the couch together. Him...watching TV, and me...just trying to get comfortable, when I felt a sudden gush of fluid. Immediately I knew it was not normal, but I thought maybe my water had broken. But when I reached down and saw my hand, I knew it was blood and I knew it was bad. I didn't have to say a word. Somehow, Aaron instinctively took his eyes off the TV and looked at my hand in the air and jumped off the couch.
I began to panic. I got up and ran to the bathroom. I took off my pants and blood gushed out, all over the bathroom floor. I sat on the toilet, and it just wouldn't stop. It was more blood than I could have ever imagined...and I don't even have the words to describe to you just how much it was.
I knew right away that my placenta had abrupted. And what's worse is that I knew my child couldn't survive without the oxygen provided by it. I moved to the bathroom floor, sitting in a pile of blood, and I hoped. Maybe I've dilated. Maybe his head is low. Maybe I can deliver him right here...right now. I checked myself, but I could feel nothing.
Immediately I began yelling to Aaron...."He's dead! He's dying! He's not getting oxygen...I'm going to lose the baby!" And I remember Aaron just asking, "what do I do?" And this time, it was me telling him..."Call 911! We have to go. We need help!"
I also remember Aaron calling out to Max. It really caught me off guard. He yelled out for Max in heaven to help us...to talk to God and help his baby brother survive. And I just sat there...crying and praying and screaming...once again. Aaron called his parents to come help. They live right down the road and were there in minutes. But there was nothing they could do either. I grabbed a towel, put it between my legs, laid on the couch and waited. Waited for the ambulance....waited for my baby...waited for an answer to my prayers.
"Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." -Matthew 6:8
"We always find that those who walked closest to Christ were those who had to bear the greatest trials." -St. Theresa of Avila
Thursday, April 18, 2013
One day...
Madden was due to be born in February. While I was excited to meet him, hold him and kiss him, I was content being pregnant and in no hurry to go into labor. I just knew that this little boy was sent to help our family heal...it was the only thing that made sense to me. I looked forward to mending my broken heart, but was also hesitant to let go of the heartache of losing Max. I knew that Madden wouldn't replace Max, but I was afraid that I would start my new life with a new baby and my memories of Max would fade.
As I mentioned before, it took me months before I could buy anything for Madden, and months before I could enter the bedroom that would soon be his. I loved this baby. I loved every kick and punch he could throw at me. He was so very active, even kicking Aaron in the back as we slept one night.
But it was difficult to prepare for his birth, while still clinging to every detail of Max's death. But ready or not, his due date was approaching fast, and I had no choice but to begin preparations for his arrival. So I bought a few clothes, sewed a few burp cloths, purchased new bedding, a new car seat and splurged on a nice diaper bag. Slowly, I began to look forward to the birth of this child, this miracle. But, there was still his room to deal with.
It was Max's old room. Max actually rarely slept in his room, but it was all of his stuff...all of his belongings. I wanted it to feel like a different room, in a different house. So I decided to rip out the carpet and replace it with laminate wood flooring. My in laws and I laid it ourselves, one plank at a time. And once it was completed, it did feel different. I no longer dreaded entering the room. Once again, I could sit in this small bedroom and work without feeling sick to my stomach. I was able to begin removing Max's items without bursting into tears. We received a cedar chest from my husband's grandmother. I placed Max's personal belongings inside, and began to make room for Madden's. The second week in January, I finally completed his room.
We had our house for sell for nearly two years...before Max was even born. After losing Madden, we decided to take it off the market. To our surprise, two weeks ago, someone contacted our realtor. They were interested in our home. They came one Sunday and viewed our property, and the following Sunday we had a signed contract. So now we are moving, and its very bittersweet.
I have my memories of Max here. This is where I was pregnant with Madden. I know that the boys won't stay behind as we leave. I'm positive they'll travel with us wherever we go. But I am afraid of losing memories.
However, I am looking forward to starting over. In our new home, wherever that may be, I won't have a room that's off limits for everyone. I won't have a bedroom that has to remain closed. I won't look at the kitchen sink and remember happy bath time, or my closet and remember Max sleeping peacefully in his bassinet. I can pack up all of my children's belongings, instead of just packing up the belongings of the child I lost. I can leave this house...the house where my placenta abrupted, resulting in the loss of Madden. I have the opportunity to let go of pain once again, but the real question is 'do I want to?'.
What I want really doesn't matter. I want my family to be complete. I want to hold my babies once again. I want us all to be together. I want to feel normal. I want to feel whole. I want to rewind time...I want to fast forward time. I want to scream, cry...disappear.
No...none of it matters. Regardless of what I want, time will tick on one second at a time. I just have to live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day....and trust in God's plan. I believe one day I will feel whole, normal and complete. On that day my soul will separate from my body and I will be exactly where I belong...where I am meant to be. One day....
"My soul longs for your salvation; I put my hope in your word. My eyes long to see your promise. When will you comfort me?" Psalm 119: 81-82
"Let nothing trouble you, let nothing make you afraid. All things pass away. God never changes. Patience obtains everything. God alone is enough." -St. Teresa of Avila
As I mentioned before, it took me months before I could buy anything for Madden, and months before I could enter the bedroom that would soon be his. I loved this baby. I loved every kick and punch he could throw at me. He was so very active, even kicking Aaron in the back as we slept one night.
But it was difficult to prepare for his birth, while still clinging to every detail of Max's death. But ready or not, his due date was approaching fast, and I had no choice but to begin preparations for his arrival. So I bought a few clothes, sewed a few burp cloths, purchased new bedding, a new car seat and splurged on a nice diaper bag. Slowly, I began to look forward to the birth of this child, this miracle. But, there was still his room to deal with.
It was Max's old room. Max actually rarely slept in his room, but it was all of his stuff...all of his belongings. I wanted it to feel like a different room, in a different house. So I decided to rip out the carpet and replace it with laminate wood flooring. My in laws and I laid it ourselves, one plank at a time. And once it was completed, it did feel different. I no longer dreaded entering the room. Once again, I could sit in this small bedroom and work without feeling sick to my stomach. I was able to begin removing Max's items without bursting into tears. We received a cedar chest from my husband's grandmother. I placed Max's personal belongings inside, and began to make room for Madden's. The second week in January, I finally completed his room.
We had our house for sell for nearly two years...before Max was even born. After losing Madden, we decided to take it off the market. To our surprise, two weeks ago, someone contacted our realtor. They were interested in our home. They came one Sunday and viewed our property, and the following Sunday we had a signed contract. So now we are moving, and its very bittersweet.
I have my memories of Max here. This is where I was pregnant with Madden. I know that the boys won't stay behind as we leave. I'm positive they'll travel with us wherever we go. But I am afraid of losing memories.
However, I am looking forward to starting over. In our new home, wherever that may be, I won't have a room that's off limits for everyone. I won't have a bedroom that has to remain closed. I won't look at the kitchen sink and remember happy bath time, or my closet and remember Max sleeping peacefully in his bassinet. I can pack up all of my children's belongings, instead of just packing up the belongings of the child I lost. I can leave this house...the house where my placenta abrupted, resulting in the loss of Madden. I have the opportunity to let go of pain once again, but the real question is 'do I want to?'.
What I want really doesn't matter. I want my family to be complete. I want to hold my babies once again. I want us all to be together. I want to feel normal. I want to feel whole. I want to rewind time...I want to fast forward time. I want to scream, cry...disappear.
No...none of it matters. Regardless of what I want, time will tick on one second at a time. I just have to live minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day....and trust in God's plan. I believe one day I will feel whole, normal and complete. On that day my soul will separate from my body and I will be exactly where I belong...where I am meant to be. One day....
"My soul longs for your salvation; I put my hope in your word. My eyes long to see your promise. When will you comfort me?" Psalm 119: 81-82
"Let nothing trouble you, let nothing make you afraid. All things pass away. God never changes. Patience obtains everything. God alone is enough." -St. Teresa of Avila
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
He has risen...
Easter has already come and gone. And it really wasn't easy for me to stay strong through the Easter holiday. It was our first attempt at going to a family gathering since we lost Max. The kids enjoyed it. The company was pleasant. But I was just so very uncomfortable, and I am sure some of our family members were too. I don't know if I'll ever feel normal again, but I know I need to take steps in the direction of normalcy. My kids deserve that. My husband deserves that...and so do I.
On the bright side, I have to say that Easter had more meaning to me this year than ever before. No matter what you think of Jesus, you have to admit that he changed the world. Some people believe He was just an eccentric magician. History tells us that He was crucified, but the thing that people debate was His resurrection.
I choose to believe that His crucifixion alone wouldn't have started the movement that has resulted in Christianity as we know it today. He was crucified as an attempt to silence Him. But the result was the exact opposite. His apostles were scared during His prosecution, and all but John hid during His crucifixion. They were scared. They denied Him. But after His death, something changed. They grew bold. They became fearless. And all of them, except John, were martyred for their cause. They died proclaiming that Jesus was the Son of God.
What changed from Jesus' crucifixion to their own deaths? They believed. They saw Him...and they believed. They knew He had risen. The Holy Spirit came down on them and they began to work miracles in His name and Jesus' church was formed. With His guidance, twelve men started the Christian religion. Twelve men gathered billions of followers that would believe for generations. He wasn't a magician...He was God. In my eyes, that's really the only explanation.
I am so thankful for his resurrection. Because He conquered death...I have no reason to fear it. I look at the cross and I realize that I am not alone. While God allows my suffering, He also allowed the suffering of His own son. Jesus asked the Father to "let this cup pass", but God allowed it. He doesn't even exempt Himself from excruciating pain...why would He exempt me? I don't know why some people are chosen to suffer...or maybe it's completely random. I don't know...but I know I'm not alone.
In every Catholic Church in the world, you can find a crucifix. You will see a replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross. And until recently I never even knew that other religions disapproved of the crucifixes in our churches. Someone recently said..."Jesus isn't on the cross anymore. He has risen. Why leave him up there?" Well, when we look to the crucifix, we see more than punishment, more than pain. It's not the nails and the blood we focus on, but the love. It is a perfect way to show love. Jesus taught us how to love when he took the nails on the cross...completely denying himself, trusting in God and doing what was best for others. I look at the cross, and I wonder, could I have done this? And I think...yes. I could take the pain, the punishment, the humiliation. For my children, I could do anything. But could I offer one of my children? Could I offer one of them to help save many others...without a doubt, no. No, I couldn't choose to give any of my children back to God, even if it meant saving my others.
Today, I am thankful that God makes decisions with with his divine mind, instead of like a small minded human.
"Father, he said, 'if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine." - Luke 22:42
"If ever we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed; you cannot drink grapes. Grapes become wine only when they have been squeezed. I wonder what kind of finger and thumb God has been using to squeeze you, and you have been like a marble and escaped?" -Oswald Chambers
 |
| Max in his Easter shirt last year. |
I choose to believe that His crucifixion alone wouldn't have started the movement that has resulted in Christianity as we know it today. He was crucified as an attempt to silence Him. But the result was the exact opposite. His apostles were scared during His prosecution, and all but John hid during His crucifixion. They were scared. They denied Him. But after His death, something changed. They grew bold. They became fearless. And all of them, except John, were martyred for their cause. They died proclaiming that Jesus was the Son of God.
What changed from Jesus' crucifixion to their own deaths? They believed. They saw Him...and they believed. They knew He had risen. The Holy Spirit came down on them and they began to work miracles in His name and Jesus' church was formed. With His guidance, twelve men started the Christian religion. Twelve men gathered billions of followers that would believe for generations. He wasn't a magician...He was God. In my eyes, that's really the only explanation.
I am so thankful for his resurrection. Because He conquered death...I have no reason to fear it. I look at the cross and I realize that I am not alone. While God allows my suffering, He also allowed the suffering of His own son. Jesus asked the Father to "let this cup pass", but God allowed it. He doesn't even exempt Himself from excruciating pain...why would He exempt me? I don't know why some people are chosen to suffer...or maybe it's completely random. I don't know...but I know I'm not alone.
In every Catholic Church in the world, you can find a crucifix. You will see a replica of the crucified Jesus hanging on the cross. And until recently I never even knew that other religions disapproved of the crucifixes in our churches. Someone recently said..."Jesus isn't on the cross anymore. He has risen. Why leave him up there?" Well, when we look to the crucifix, we see more than punishment, more than pain. It's not the nails and the blood we focus on, but the love. It is a perfect way to show love. Jesus taught us how to love when he took the nails on the cross...completely denying himself, trusting in God and doing what was best for others. I look at the cross, and I wonder, could I have done this? And I think...yes. I could take the pain, the punishment, the humiliation. For my children, I could do anything. But could I offer one of my children? Could I offer one of them to help save many others...without a doubt, no. No, I couldn't choose to give any of my children back to God, even if it meant saving my others.
Today, I am thankful that God makes decisions with with his divine mind, instead of like a small minded human.
"Father, he said, 'if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Nevertheless, let your will be done, not mine." - Luke 22:42
"If ever we are going to be made into wine, we will have to be crushed; you cannot drink grapes. Grapes become wine only when they have been squeezed. I wonder what kind of finger and thumb God has been using to squeeze you, and you have been like a marble and escaped?" -Oswald Chambers
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Free!!
Some of the best advice I ever got was from a woman who lost her son almost seventeen years ago. She wrote me a very kind, thoughtful letter and she spoke of grief. Her experience has taught her that everyone grieves differently. People will expect you to act a certain way, but you won't be able to please everyone, you have to do what works for you...whatever helps you survive.
Several people have suggested I speak with Michele, the mother of the two girls our community lost last week. And I want to speak with her. I want to hold her, cry with her, scream with her. But I know that there is nothing I can say to take away her pain. I can't say that it's going to get easier, because I don't know that it will. I am only ten months into my grief journey, and in that ten months I have lost a second son. I've heard it gets easier, but I don't feel that yet.
The only thing I know for sure, is her grief is her own. She will grieve differently than I do. Some cry, some laugh. Some want to be alone, others want to be surrounded by people. Some will quit their job while others will immerse themselves in work. Some will run to their church and some will run away. There is no wrong way to grieve the loss of a child.
Most importantly, she will grieve differently than her husband does. When we first lost Max, everyone felt inclined to tell Aaron and I about the divorce statistics associated with the loss of a child. I imagine divorce rates go up even higher when you've lost two children. And I can understand why people split up after tragedy. You feel your own pain so intensely, and it hurts to look at your spouse and see their pain as well. One spouse may blame the other, and forgiveness is hard to give when it comes to your children.
The divorce stats don't mean a whole lot to me, but the best information I received was that Aaron and I would grieve differently. He may not understand why I behave the way I do, and I may not understand him. But we are both grieving and trying to cope.
Aaron would have people over here every night if he could. He's social. Me...not so much. When he feels the need to be around people, I ask him to go to the neighbors, but sometimes he'll invite people over here. And on more than one occassion, I have stayed in my room while he entertained company. It's always family, so I don't feel like I am being too rude. I expect them to understand.
To tell you the truth, I'm at a point where I don't really care. If you don't understand why I want to be alone, oh well. If your feelings get hurt because I won't look at your baby, I'm sorry. I love you, I love your baby...but it hurts me, and I'm just trying to keep it together. It actually feels good to be in this place. I'm free. I'm free to feel how I feel. I don't care what people think. I don't care what people say. I no longer search for approval...I am free.
Yesterday, at the end of the funeral mass, the priest prayed that we all have a desire to be with Jesus in heaven. And I thought, "yes!". That's what I have. That's what Michelle and Ray will have. We are free! Free from fear of the devil. Free from fear of death. This is why Jesus came, to make us free. And I am FREE!!! Are you?
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free" -Luke 4:18
"Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape." -C.S. Lewis
Funeral Services in Hallettsville (Please continue to pray for this family)
Several people have suggested I speak with Michele, the mother of the two girls our community lost last week. And I want to speak with her. I want to hold her, cry with her, scream with her. But I know that there is nothing I can say to take away her pain. I can't say that it's going to get easier, because I don't know that it will. I am only ten months into my grief journey, and in that ten months I have lost a second son. I've heard it gets easier, but I don't feel that yet.
 |
| Maryn and her dear friend Julie. |
Most importantly, she will grieve differently than her husband does. When we first lost Max, everyone felt inclined to tell Aaron and I about the divorce statistics associated with the loss of a child. I imagine divorce rates go up even higher when you've lost two children. And I can understand why people split up after tragedy. You feel your own pain so intensely, and it hurts to look at your spouse and see their pain as well. One spouse may blame the other, and forgiveness is hard to give when it comes to your children.
The divorce stats don't mean a whole lot to me, but the best information I received was that Aaron and I would grieve differently. He may not understand why I behave the way I do, and I may not understand him. But we are both grieving and trying to cope.
Aaron would have people over here every night if he could. He's social. Me...not so much. When he feels the need to be around people, I ask him to go to the neighbors, but sometimes he'll invite people over here. And on more than one occassion, I have stayed in my room while he entertained company. It's always family, so I don't feel like I am being too rude. I expect them to understand.
Yesterday, at the end of the funeral mass, the priest prayed that we all have a desire to be with Jesus in heaven. And I thought, "yes!". That's what I have. That's what Michelle and Ray will have. We are free! Free from fear of the devil. Free from fear of death. This is why Jesus came, to make us free. And I am FREE!!! Are you?
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free" -Luke 4:18
"Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape." -C.S. Lewis
Funeral Services in Hallettsville (Please continue to pray for this family)
Friday, March 22, 2013
Choosing to Believe
Everyday I have to make a choice...a choice to love, a choice to trust, a choice to believe in God. Frequently I am reminded just how fragile life really is, and my questions return. In the midst of tragedy, children have questions, but I think it's much easier for them.
Yesterday I reminded my children that although someone's body is dead...their soul lives on. And they just looked at me and Maryn replied, "Mom, why are you telling me this again? I know all of that." And she really does. She has that childlike faith that we are all called to have. She doesn't have to make the choice daily...it is something that she just knows - just as she knows that she is in the first grade. It's a fact to her.
I have to make the choice. I have to believe in God because its the only way any of this life makes any sense to me. I have to acknowledge that I don't have all the answers...and that as long as I am on this Earth, I will never know 'why?'.
I've heard people say "trust in God. He will take care of you." While this is true, we need to be open to the fact that he may not take care of us the way that we see fit. I think of the black plague. In the 1300's, millions of people were killed by this awful disease. Millions! Where was God at this time? He was there. He saw it all. Once again, He allowed it to happen. We don't know why. We don't understand it. We just know we live in a broken world, and bad things happen every day. I have to choose to trust in God, because He is the only one that understands the big picture.
In his "Catholicism" series, Father Robert Barron references a popular painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" by Georges Seurat. The artist created this painting using a long paintbrush. And instead of strokes, he used dots...many, many, many dots. From a distance, they appear unified and create a beautiful picture. But up close, you just see plain, ugly dots. That's where we are in life. We are one dot of many. We don't understand how our pain and suffering works with others, but God does. He is the artist. He sits back and sees how beautifully all of our stories fit together. We just have to trust Him.
I know that when I pray, when I turn off the TV, walk away from my phone and sit in the silence...that's when I feel peace. Some would say I'm just being naive, but this peace is what's helping me make it through the day. Something happens to me when I pray. Questions are answered, doubts are squashed.
So many people confuse doubt with unbelief. They are not the same. There is an open-minded uncertainty of doubt, while unbelief is closed-minded certainty. God won't honor doubt, and doubt is serious. But doubt can lead to deepened faith as easily as it can break down to unbelief.
I believe that prayer is magical. In prayer, something happens that makes me certain that there is an after life. Something happens that makes me know that I am more than just flesh and bones. I am a soul. There's more to this life than I know. My human understanding is so limited.
Yesterday I prayed so hard...cried so hard, screamed and demanded that Max and Madden show themselves to me. I needed proof. Proof they were near. Proof there was a God. I didn't see them, I didn't receive any type of sign. But after throwing my tantrum, I felt it...peace. I can't really explain it, but I know my desire for "proof" was gone. I often beg for something supernatural to take place...a vision, a voice, a mystical presence. But who knows how I would actually handle that? God does, and I know, God will give me what I need.
"For I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand. For this also I believe: that unless I believe, I will not understand." -Saint Anselm
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding" -Proverbs 3:5
Yesterday I reminded my children that although someone's body is dead...their soul lives on. And they just looked at me and Maryn replied, "Mom, why are you telling me this again? I know all of that." And she really does. She has that childlike faith that we are all called to have. She doesn't have to make the choice daily...it is something that she just knows - just as she knows that she is in the first grade. It's a fact to her.
I have to make the choice. I have to believe in God because its the only way any of this life makes any sense to me. I have to acknowledge that I don't have all the answers...and that as long as I am on this Earth, I will never know 'why?'.
I've heard people say "trust in God. He will take care of you." While this is true, we need to be open to the fact that he may not take care of us the way that we see fit. I think of the black plague. In the 1300's, millions of people were killed by this awful disease. Millions! Where was God at this time? He was there. He saw it all. Once again, He allowed it to happen. We don't know why. We don't understand it. We just know we live in a broken world, and bad things happen every day. I have to choose to trust in God, because He is the only one that understands the big picture.
In his "Catholicism" series, Father Robert Barron references a popular painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" by Georges Seurat. The artist created this painting using a long paintbrush. And instead of strokes, he used dots...many, many, many dots. From a distance, they appear unified and create a beautiful picture. But up close, you just see plain, ugly dots. That's where we are in life. We are one dot of many. We don't understand how our pain and suffering works with others, but God does. He is the artist. He sits back and sees how beautifully all of our stories fit together. We just have to trust Him.
I know that when I pray, when I turn off the TV, walk away from my phone and sit in the silence...that's when I feel peace. Some would say I'm just being naive, but this peace is what's helping me make it through the day. Something happens to me when I pray. Questions are answered, doubts are squashed.
So many people confuse doubt with unbelief. They are not the same. There is an open-minded uncertainty of doubt, while unbelief is closed-minded certainty. God won't honor doubt, and doubt is serious. But doubt can lead to deepened faith as easily as it can break down to unbelief.
I believe that prayer is magical. In prayer, something happens that makes me certain that there is an after life. Something happens that makes me know that I am more than just flesh and bones. I am a soul. There's more to this life than I know. My human understanding is so limited.
Yesterday I prayed so hard...cried so hard, screamed and demanded that Max and Madden show themselves to me. I needed proof. Proof they were near. Proof there was a God. I didn't see them, I didn't receive any type of sign. But after throwing my tantrum, I felt it...peace. I can't really explain it, but I know my desire for "proof" was gone. I often beg for something supernatural to take place...a vision, a voice, a mystical presence. But who knows how I would actually handle that? God does, and I know, God will give me what I need.
"For I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand. For this also I believe: that unless I believe, I will not understand." -Saint Anselm
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding" -Proverbs 3:5
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Prayers Please
Uggghhh...I am so mad! I am so sick. I need to throw up...really. Today, one of Maryn's best friends died from her injuries sustained in a car accident on her way to school this morning. And I just got a phone call from the school that her sister, a third grader in Morgan's class, just passed from her injuries. Will this grief ever stop?
As soon as I found out, I dropped to the ground...screamed, cried, begged for this all to be a dream. Everyday I pray for any parents who will lose a child that particular day, because I know it happens every day...all over the world. But why? Why to these good people...so close to home?
My kids saw the accident on their way to school, but didn't realize who was involved. Aaron brought my kids home from school after hearing the news. I hugged them each, as tight as I could. I spoke to Maryn, and told her the good thing is her friend is in heaven. She replied, "well it's not good for me." What could I say, but "I know, it's not good for me either."
I am so upset right now. I have learned that the people in the midst of the most unimaginable circumstances manage somehow to cope. They will muddle their way through one day at a time. It's the people on the outside, looking in that question God and get angry. That's where I am right now...angry.
I so badly wish I could take their pain away, absorb it into mine. I know without a doubt, there are no words that you can say to make them feel better. They don't want to hear about "God's will", "God needing another angel" or "everything happening for a reason". Please don't tell them you know how they feel...because even I sit here and can't imagine what they are going through.
These two small girls, their lives and their deaths, greatly effect our small Catholic School. And their poor mother who survived the car accident...I'm sure she is wishing for death. Part of me is tempted to pray for that for her. I wish there was something I could do, something I could say. But experience tells me that there is not. The only thing I know to do is pray. Pray for their parents, their siblings, their grandparents. Pray for their friends, their classmates, their cousins. As angry as I am right now, it is still the only thing I know to do. And I still truly believe in the power of prayer...even though I don't understand it. So today I write to ask you to pray with me. Please raise this family up in prayer along with Sacred Heart Catholic School. Take a moment, speak to God, lift them up in prayer.
I'm sorry I can't end this on a more uplifting note and I don't have any words of wisdom...just begging for prayers from each of you. Thank you!
Robyn
As soon as I found out, I dropped to the ground...screamed, cried, begged for this all to be a dream. Everyday I pray for any parents who will lose a child that particular day, because I know it happens every day...all over the world. But why? Why to these good people...so close to home?
My kids saw the accident on their way to school, but didn't realize who was involved. Aaron brought my kids home from school after hearing the news. I hugged them each, as tight as I could. I spoke to Maryn, and told her the good thing is her friend is in heaven. She replied, "well it's not good for me." What could I say, but "I know, it's not good for me either."
I am so upset right now. I have learned that the people in the midst of the most unimaginable circumstances manage somehow to cope. They will muddle their way through one day at a time. It's the people on the outside, looking in that question God and get angry. That's where I am right now...angry.
I so badly wish I could take their pain away, absorb it into mine. I know without a doubt, there are no words that you can say to make them feel better. They don't want to hear about "God's will", "God needing another angel" or "everything happening for a reason". Please don't tell them you know how they feel...because even I sit here and can't imagine what they are going through.
These two small girls, their lives and their deaths, greatly effect our small Catholic School. And their poor mother who survived the car accident...I'm sure she is wishing for death. Part of me is tempted to pray for that for her. I wish there was something I could do, something I could say. But experience tells me that there is not. The only thing I know to do is pray. Pray for their parents, their siblings, their grandparents. Pray for their friends, their classmates, their cousins. As angry as I am right now, it is still the only thing I know to do. And I still truly believe in the power of prayer...even though I don't understand it. So today I write to ask you to pray with me. Please raise this family up in prayer along with Sacred Heart Catholic School. Take a moment, speak to God, lift them up in prayer.
I'm sorry I can't end this on a more uplifting note and I don't have any words of wisdom...just begging for prayers from each of you. Thank you!
Robyn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)