Blinded, blurred, borne

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on God;

he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, O people;
pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.
Selah
~ Psalm 62:5-8 ~

I sat with my Bible open but blinded by tears. On my knees in new ways, my heart broken into a million new and tiny pieces when my baby died a year ago...the baby who was such a miracle that first day. Cousin-twins for a second time running, my sister and I burgeoning with babes at the same time, living an eighth of a mile apart, sharing every joy and wave of nausea, the unpacking of the baby clothes and the stocking of the nursery in expectation. Dreams awakened, not by my own idle thoughts, but by the miracle of life itself within me. A year later, I still struggle with the intentional awakening of my desire, when He, in His omniscience, knew that desire would be burnt on the flames of loss in a few weeks time.

No guilt in life, no fear in death/This is the power of Christ in me/From life's first cry to final breath/Jesus commands my destiny. The darkest days of my grief quickly passed, like the fleeting breath that was a few weeks of pregnancy, a fleeting shadow remaining and new tears welling up when I hold my nephew, Robert, conceived that same week as my son, Theodore. One babe born in this world, one babe born in heaven and borne forever in my heart like a heavy stone. In looking intently at that pregnancy, I focused too much on a reflection, neglecting to turn my eyes upon the source of the glory, the miracle. I saw only the gift, and not the gift of  God. With words, I praised Him, but my heart was frozen and my eyes remained fixed on the promise of another child, not the promise of another child for eternity. In this lapse of eternal perspective, I forfeited the joy in large part. Promise blurred with tears, hope squelched by sorrow.

Not that it's easy to keep eternal perspective...as if just by recognizing my error, I can erase my grief, quell my tears, staunch the flow of anguished pleading words at the Throne when I pray. I believe God supports grief and is with us in grief. He grieves with us that this world is cursed because of human sin. But He has also lovingly, lavishly provided the solution to our problem: Grace. His own Son, sacrificed on the cross, so that death will never be the conqueror. 

And as He stands in victory/ Sin's curse has lost its grip on me/ For I am His and He is mine -/ Bought with the precious blood of Christ. Death for my babe, whose last recorded size, on the pathology report, was 2.45 centimeters long, has been swallowed up in the grave of Christ, when his disciples and the soldiers found an empty tomb. My tears are swallowed up in the gift of life eternal granted by the spilling of His holy blood. 

What heights of love, what depths of peace/ when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!/ My Comforter, my All in All/ here in the love of Christ I stand. For God, out of sorrow flows joy. And that is the gift offered us in the blood of His son. Believe this miracle happened as reported in the Gospels and other historical texts of the time, and for you as well, out of sorrow will flow joy. That is the power of the blood.

That is the promise of the Gospel. And that is the life I now live. I am redeemed. My unborn child is redeemed. And someday we will both be resurrected and reborn to a life of joy that will never end.

When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered,
I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before you.
Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
Those who are far from you will perish;
you destroy all who are unfaithful to you.
But as for me, it is good to be near God.
I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; 
I will tell of all your deeds.
~ Psalm 73:21-28 ~

........................................................................................
*Song lyrics excerpted from In Christ Alone, a modern hymn written in 2002 by Stuart Townend and Keith Getty. 


Post from the archives, written November 28, 2009. A few new words from the added experience and grief of a year without my son. New photos from churches in Minnesota - a yellow Methodist sanctuary at sunset in Rochester, and Native American Catholic space lit in morning in Naytahwaush, Minnesota.

Carving a name

I woke up to rain on a Saturday

it was a lullaby from the sky

but I felt like the clouds, heavy and gray

and I looked on your empty side

and cried

sometimes I think soon I'll forget you

The saddest thing I ever had to do

was to leave you

It was to leave you

The rain is falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.

~Woke Up to Rain, Sarabeth Geoghegan~

Amy made an impromptu birthday cake with sand and an old tuna can while I carved stone. A year ago, I began to realize the "miracle baby" inside me wasn't growing in the right place. It felt right today to carve his stone. A year already. And still my whole body longs to hold a baby...that baby. Smell him and love him.

I dulled three cold steel chisels on that piece of granite for you, Theodore. My arms ache. It feels good to have them ache for some other reason than missing you.

Tethered

Tether. Rope. Just a tool. Infinitely less treasured and considered than whatever precious cargo it anchors. It's frayed ends continue to go unnoticed unless they split far enough to break, let loose the treasure.

I never gave a thought to the thousands of tethers God formed inside me while I still slept inside my mother's womb. My frame was not hidden when You formed me in the secret place. One day in 2008, just after the birth of my son, a cascade of events started. Aaron and I pored over medical journals and came to the conclusion that we should at least try to be done having children. Sever the tether between ovaries and uterus. It was an odd decision to make, in the day of vasectomies. But that is what the two of us had peace with. So I went under surgeon's knife and closed a chapter in my mind, for my body.

In the twisted, burned ends of that tether was hope when cancer was named just one short month after the surgery. My cancer feeds on pregnancy hormones, and that surgery was a sigh of relief for both of us - at least that was taken care of already. Yet in that "secret place" more pain was planned: the very risk we prayed so steadfastly to push away came to be. The next baby my body fed and loved grew in a poor home, a small tube that was already scarred and severed, where life couldn't be brought to fruition.

That tether I once thought so little about now causes daily pain. In the tears I cry as milk comes in for a baby who will never be born, there is searing loss. In the ache deep in my belly where an ovary protests over it's now unwelcome home, there is burning and regret daily. It is one thing to believe in God's perfect design, and another to believe in His perfect plan. Where is His glory in undrunk milk, where is the servitude in the burnt offering of physical pain?

This decision - the cutting of my tethers, burning of the tubes that once carried babies to womb - has been fraught with regrets, uncertainty, bewilderment. It once felt so right, so God-given, the decision to stop having babies. In hindsight, the plan seems much less perfect. Where does cancer and death and longing fit with His plan?

There are a million answers in the sacred Book to this question. As the days pass, the trials pile on, and the pain grips, I am forced to see the one underlying theme to every answer He gives me: Grace. My grace is made perfect in your cancer, in your pain, in your loss. (II Corinthians 12:9) The Greek word for "grace" is used 155 times in the New Testament. He gives abundant grace - manifold, multi-faceted, multi-colored grace. (Ephesians 1 & 2, I Peter 4:10) Whatever the struggle, His grace is bigger. Whatever the pain, His grace can turn it to rejoicing. Whatever the loss, He will transform it to gain. I live constrained to the here and now, this fleeting moment that will be gone and forgotten in the blink of an eye: He exists in eternity, and sees it all, the rainbow of joy and blessing that is this anguished, wrung-out, failing, glorifying, succeeding, believing life I walk.

God uses suffering to display His grace. And what a benediction this is...what a benediction. God answered not by removing the pain, not by removing the trouble, but by increasing the grace which then increases our confidence in our salvation and in the presence of God and the goodness of God. It is these kinds of tests when we experience enduring grace that produce assurance. He gave relief - but relief not by removing the problem, but by pouring on the grace. It's amazing when someone has been told they have a terminal illness, or a loved one has a terminal illness. One who walks with the Lord finds a flood of grace, the likes of which they've never experienced before. As believers near the end of their life, an illness, you watch God just expand the grace until there's a certain joy and anticipation that overwhelms all the sense of loss. God wants to display His grace. He has a right to display His grace. He finds His glory in His grace. ~ John MacArthur's sermon, God's Purpose in Our Pain, transcript available here and well worth the read

Of all the tethers that have been cut, underestimated, disregarded, the thread that binds my soul to my body and spirit and it's desires is the one that needs attention. In the moments that come, the collective moments that will eventually sum up my life when it is done, I need to tear away at that tether until I am afloat on the ocean of Grace instead of banging against the boat of self. I waste so much time pondering purpose, while my body buffets against the boat. I need to close my eyes, grab the threads of that tether and cut loose...forgetting worry about how I will stay afloat on the sea He walked upon.

Emerging again from the shadow of the valley

Seven. I have four children here now, a constant source of joy. And three in heaven, just a dream and prayer when they went home to Jesus. After phone call after phone call yesterday, I finally found a doctor who shared my beliefs about stopping the beating heart of my own child. That doctor was able to reassure me that my baby had stopped developing weeks ago, and probably never had a beating heart at all. Which meant another on my rather short list of worst fears was coming true: I had a persistent ectopic pregnancy consisting only of placental tissue that my own body could not get rid of. Growing inside me and causing the 8-9 out of 10 pain I suffered for almost 24 hours.

The girls and I sat cross-legged on the front room floor as I explained to them that our baby - the miracle baby we were celebrating just weeks ago - is now dancing in heaven with Jesus, Grandma Fern and Caleb Glover (these are their childish reference points for heaven - the people they want to see most when they get there themselves). The anguish in Rosy's sobs was breaking my heart. Searching for a way to help her through this loss, we named the baby together: a boy name from our long list of unused boy names - Theodore, "gift from God", Teddy for short.

Drying our eyes, the children set out for our neighbors welcoming home, and I set out with my mom to the E.R. for the second time in 12 hours. There I was (thankfully!) medicated for pain and vomiting, and began to feel better and wonder if that stabbing pain was perhaps just a figment of my imagination in the long dark hours of the night at home. An ultrasound showed nothing that could be causing my pain, but an astute, cautious Christian obstetrical surgeon - head of the practice here - wanted to explore further with laporoscopic surgery. It was a hard choice, but the methotrexate medication wasn't a very good option for me, either...not with potentially still active cancer lying waiting in my neck. Methotrexate could be the key that unlocks the deadly potential of those currently stable cancerous nodules. So off to surgery I went at 4 p.m.

I don't know all the details yet, as they have blurred somewhat into the post-surgical fog of pain, vomiting, sedatives, and tears. I do know I had a large pregnancy with no living baby in my tube, and that my tube was literally poised for rupture and had already started bleeding. I probably escaped a massive, life-threatening hemorrhage by mere minutes or hours. I had that tube, along with a large section of the other one, removed and re-burned to prevent future pregnancies. Although there is still a one in a million chance that I could become pregnant again, we've done absolutely everything possible prevent it: for the sake of the four I have, it is so imperative that I avoid this type of complicaton in the future. My fertility - or lack thereof - is, as it always has been, completely within God's control. Having exercised my will and intellect to protect my body in the best way I know how, I am now prayerfully placing that aspect of my life again in my Savior's hands.

So tonight Teddy dances in heaven - or perhaps is cuddled in those Everlasting Arms? And I sit uncomfortably in a hospital bed, recovering from a painful day pre-surgery and a painful surgery. The two weeks ahead of our family are once again further complicated with Amelia's neurological status and increased care needs, and now lifting restrictions and pain on my part, as well as a hectic end to a very harried semester in school.

As usual, I am begging for your prayers!

My hope will always stand,
for You hold me in Your hand.
Lord, I'm amazed by You,
How You love me!
~ Amazed, Jared Anderson

Walking the balance beam

"Methotrexate is a chemotherapy drug that targets rapidly dividing cells. Which is all the placenta is, really."

Really?

Call me old-fashioned - I thought it was a divinely perfect organ for the nourishment of a tiny, helpless human being a few cells this side of oblivion, on it's way to all that loveliness we call baby. When I heard the obstetrician talk in this way about the baby growing inside me, something seriously snapped. I am struggling with anger, distrust, and sarcasm as I deal with our care providers in Eau Claire - from the midwives who hung me out to dry on the abortion issue, to the physicians who missed Amelia's encephalitis for weeks on end. It is such a struggle to balance acceptance, submission, a quiet spirit, humility, my belief in a cursed world and a loving Jesus...with advocacy, righteous anger, wrestling Truth out confusing circumstances. I desire to abandon the mindless thrashing and argument over things of the world that will not last, and focus the little energy I possess today on the things that really matter: for instance, the fact that many of the doctors, nurses, and midwives working with our family through this time of suffering and possibly death are not on their way to an eternal heaven. Instead of fighting to save the life of myself or this baby, I need to show them...through words of love and submission to a sovereign God who has placed this child in my body...that my body and my life is not the final battleground on which to waste the rest of my ammunition. My body, my soul...Amelia's body and soul...even this tiny unborn baby's body and soul...are destined for greater things, a more beautiful place.

The biggest question still swirling around in my head and heart today is how to convey these things without looking like the barefoot, pregnant, married-to-a-Christian-neanderthal, blindly submissive, irrational woman they seem to think I am. The truth is, I made a decision to get a tubal based on rational information. I have a loving, serving husband who occasionally puts in his two cents, but for the most part, is quiet, humble, supportive, passionately loving, and admirable in ways I didn't know a man could be admirable. I like shoes - especially sandals - and rarely go barefoot. And anyone who thinks I am blindly submissive should go out with my husband for a beer sometime and ask him about that. He might have "two cents" to put down on that topic!

Pray for me on all counts. That I might speak Jesus in a situation where I definitely feel more like spewing some hellfire! That I might portray an intelligent but commited Christian in this difficult circumstance. That what shines through is the fact that I love Christ...and most of all, that He loves me, unboundendly, unexpectedly, unpredictably, unreasonably, irrationally.

Life is, in many ways, just as we've always known it around the Thul household. I enjoyed some moments of reconnection with Caleb last night - reassurance that this aloof little boy loves me as much as ever, despite another long 10 day separation. A reminder that each of my children grew miraculously during these early weeks of pregnancy...without constant watching and worrying and clinical indications. This baby inside me now could do the same...if we hadn't had these early tests, we wouldn't even be worried right now! Isn't that strange??!!

Amelia is enjoying being home with her sisters. Her deficits are fading daily: she started running (in a jerky, wide-legged stance) this morning, quite out of the blue. Her crossed eyes are improving as the days go by, worse when she is tired but not nearly as frequent during well-rested periods of the day. Her lack of coordination is still quite apparent, especially when we do activities that involve those small-motor skills and depth perception. True to rural Wisconsin form, I couldn't get her in with PT/OT until Wednesday of this week (there is only one therapist for the tri-county area on any given day). By the time the therapists arrive, I suspect we may no longer need them!

I was encouraged this morning by Hebrews 7:25 in the Daily Bible, which reminded me of a beloved tune we used to sing at Urban Refuge: Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.

When I think about the Lord,
How He saved me, How He raised me
How He filled me, With the Holy Ghost
How He healed me, to the utter most
When I think about the Lord,
How He picked me up and turned me around
How He placed my feet, on solid ground

It makes me wanna shout
Hallelujah, Thank you Jesus
Lord You're worthy
Of all the Glory, and all the Honor
And all the praise
~Makes Me Wanna Shout

Finding comfort in numbers

It's pretty unexpected when the abortion debate lands solidly in your own lap after giving birth to four healthy children and having a tubal to prevent more. Just to clarify, Aaron and I chose the tubal sterilization surgery because I had such complications with Caleb's pregnancy. We felt further pregnancies may risk my life, and didn't feel that was a route God intended us to take at the time. However, any "mistakes" that might happen in the future would be gladly welcomed with much rejoicing! I know countless Christians who have made similar decisions about limiting family size...and wait, regardless, for another "mistake" to come their way.

So here is the "mistake". I still can't wrap my head around why God would allow a pregnancy, a miraculous one that defies medical logic, only to allow it also to be ectopic, and involve all these heartbreaking decisions for us. Especially in the midst of Amelia's medical crisis. I expect I won't really understand all of this until I sit at His feet in heaven. I finally found a few websites that compile some statistical evidence for a more conservative, non-abortive approach (see the Life in a Shoe blog); as well as cases of babies who survived tubal rupture and/or abdominal pregnancy (see RealChoice here and here).

As I ponder all things pre-birth, I feel thankful for the fortuitous winning of this book from a friend of a friend's blog; I also recently re-read Mark Driscoll's exposition on birth control at the behest of a friend's questions, and am comforted by the clarity of Scripture on the topic of unborn life:

Some will argue that there is a difference between a child in a mother’s womb and one outside, yet the early church saw both as equally living people and the taking of life in either state as equally murderous. Their convictions were based on Scripture, which uses the same word (brephos) for Elizabeth’s unborn child John the Baptizer in Luke 1:41, 44, as is used for the unborn baby Jesus in Mary’s womb in Luke 2:12, and also for the children brought to Jesus in Luke 18:15. Simply, in the divinely inspired pages of Scripture, God reveals to us that a child in the womb and a child singing and dancing around Jesus in worship are equally human beings who bear the image of God and thankfully Mary did not abort the “tissue” in her womb because He was God (see Charles H. H. Scobie, Ways of Our God: An Approach to Biblical Theology (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans, 834).