Finding Faith in the Mess
I have some goals this summer. Like, get my kids to make themselves breakfast and tie their shoes. I want them to be able to man themselves for more than 2.5 seconds without Mama Camp Counselor calling the shots. I created three of you. Three …
Dear End of the School Year, You got me. Long gone are the days of a freezer filled with meals ready to bake. No longer are lunches packed perfectly the night before containing sweet little love notes to my boys. Clothes are not washed and …
I wanted to wrap-up my series on miscarriage by telling our complete story. It’s always helpful to get the whole story instead of just bits and pieces.
My husband and I were married for almost four years before we started trying to have a baby. Of course, I wanted babies earlier but my husband always has a plan and that plan typically means we take longer to do things than I’d like. We got pregnant fairly quickly with our first born. His pregnancy and delivery were text book. Everything was healthy and right on schedule.
We knew we wanted one more baby so we started trying again when Jackson was about 18 months old. In my mind, I wanted the kids about two years or so apart. Like my husband, I always had a plan. I thought I’d start having children when I was 24. I didn’t get married until I was 24 so there went that plan. Go figure. I had Jackson at 28 and was hoping to have the next baby by 30.
We got pregnant pretty quick. I went to the typical six week appointment only to find out the baby was there but not growing, progressing, nor was there a heart beat. It took me six weeks to heal from that miscarriage physically. It was gut-wrenching to say the least. I don’t think I have cried that many tears in my life. I knew with all my heart that Jackson was meant to be a sibling kid not an only child. And, at this point, I couldn’t provide that for him.
Three months later, we got pregnant again. I went to the six week appointment and there was our little jelly bean with a heart beat. At eight weeks, we saw our gummy bear and the heart beat was still strong. Ten weeks we saw growth and more strength. And then came week twelve. We walked into the office a little nervous and a little optimistic. We knew things weren’t good when we saw the screen. Our baby no longer looked like a cute little gummy bear. Instead, she looked more like a blob. The pregnancy was no longer viable.
My OB was proactive and wanted to do some testing to find out why I kept miscarrying given that I was healthy, hadn’t had any complications with Jackson, and had no family history. We found out that our baby girl had Downs. I remember feeling mad at God for not entrusting me with this sweet soul. Why wouldn’t he give me, my husband, and Jackson an opportunity to love her? I think that was more difficult than the miscarriage itself.
Because our last baby tested positive for Downs, Scott and I had to go through some genetic testing. We found out that we are not carriers of the gene. Rather, it was a random mutation. We decided to try one more time to get pregnant. I was terrified but knew in the depths of my soul we weren’t supposed to stop trying just yet.
One month after my second miscarriage, I got pregnant with Grady. We weren’t messing around this time. All was going great this time around until 12 weeks. I began having symptoms of miscarriage and could not believe it. Scott whisked me off to the ER. I thought for sure we had lost him. I remember when they took me to the sonogram room. They weren’t going to let Scott come in. After much begging a probing from the crazed pregnant lady, they let him in but told him he couldn’t ask any questions. I looked him square in the eye and told him to study that screen. We had been through enough sonograms at this time that I knew he could read what he saw. While we were waiting for the results, I told Scott that if we lost this baby, I was done. I could not do this again. Three (horrible) hours later, we found out Grady was happy and healthy. I had a placental tear that would heal on its own.
Grady’s pregnancy was eventful. I had the tear, he didn’t move much, and I was pretty much on edge waiting for something bad to happen. Unfortunately, given my history, it was difficult not to worry. Grady decided to make his grand appearance four weeks early on the day of his baby shower. He was happy and healthy and did not have to spend any time in the NICU (thank the Lord Almighty).
When Grady was three months old, I began to feel a little off. I just felt weird. I happened to have an extra pregnancy test and took one just in case. I honestly did not think I was pregnant but why not? Within seconds, that positive result popped up. I was in shock. Complete shock. And then I cried. How on earth can I have another kid when I am holding my infant? I remember taping the positive test to the bathroom mirror and wrote, “Oops, we did it again” on the mirror. Scott didn’t notice my sign for the longest time. Once he did, he was all excited. Me, on the other, hand, I hadn’t even accepted this truth.
Wyatt’s pregnancy was perfect. I was still nervous but I was so busy with a toddler and infant, I couldn’t freak myself out too much. Wyatt was also a wiggle worm so he kept me sane with all his kicks and jabs. I had him three weeks early because his heart rate was elevated. He came naturally and quickly. After I had him, I had some complications but my incredible OB took great care of me and got me back to health.
When Wyatt was almost one we could not believe we were pregnant again. Yes, we know how this happens. We honestly didn’t think it could or would happen again. I went to the typical six week appointment and while my little jelly bean was distinct on the screen, his or her heart beat wasn’t that strong. It was still early so we weren’t all that alarmed but, it was still concerning. I lost the baby at eight weeks. I was devastated once again.
I remember after healing from miscarriage number three my husband and I had the talk. We discussed whether or not we should have any more children. Given the fact that I was just pregnant, I had baby fever. Yes, even after all my heart ache, I still wanted more babies. My husband gave me three viable and credible reasons why we should be done. He persuaded me that day to be content with our three healthy boys.
There were so many moments where I was on my knees, face flat on the ground, crying my eyes out (you know, the type of cry where you have boogers and tears running down your face) to God begging and pleading with Him to take the pain away. There were moments when I felt hopeless and like I would never overcome this valley. But God. He was always right by my side. He was always there. He was in the room when we got the news. He was in the empty nursery when I couldn’t stop crying. He was in the delivery room when we met our miracles. He was there.
God is near you. He has not left your side. No matter what you are going through, He is there. Oftentimes, we wonder if God is so good, then why would He allow pain and anguish to happen. The only answer I have to this is that we live in a fallen and broken world. We just do. If we didn’t, there would be no hope for Heaven and no need for Christ. What I do know for certain is that I meet God deeply and fully in those dark moments. He becomes more real to me than ever when I am in the pit of despair. It is in these times that I truly find hope; hope in a Savior.
Because of God, we have hope in our hopeless moments. I don’t know why I had to lose three precious babies. But, I don’t need to know why to know Jesus. Our loss was not without purpose. I would not have had the opportunity to counsel and bring hope to countless women going through similar circumstances. I wouldn’t have the authority to say that Jesus is VERY real had I not gone through what felt like the pit of hell on earth if I hadn’t suffered and experienced Him meeting me in my distress. I wouldn’t have Grady or Wyatt. My husband and I may not be as close as we are had we not had to fully rely on one another to get through. And, I can guarantee you that I would not be writing in this capacity nor would there be a Messy Mingling had I not gone through my miscarriages all those years ago.
Faith and life, they are messy. The intersection of life and faith is a messy mingling but man, is it ever beautiful. It is in this intersect where beauty emerges from ashes; where hope rises. The moment faith and life collide is the moment Jesus is most powerful in your life. Don’t be afraid of the mess. Don’t think He is not in the mess. Don’t believe the lies that He created the mess and walked away. He is ever present in the mess. It is in the mess where I truly found Jesus. Just say His name. Even if those five letters are the only thing you can mutter. You will feel power in saying the name of Jesus.
I am praying for you. I may not know what you are going through, but I do know God is standing right beside you. He is wiping your tears and helping move you through your anguish. You never have to lose hope because He doesn’t lose hope. He is hope. Jesus has got you and He’s got mighty mighty plans for your life!
Love & Blessings,
Meg
FLASHBACK POST: …a continuation of my series on miscarriage. This entry is vulnerable, real, and raw. The dead of night is always the hardest when you are going through something tough. It is when you are completely alone in your feelings. I remember this night …
FLASHBACK POST: Lately, I have realized that I need to share what brought me into the blogging world: my story. My original blog (hello, MySpace) was a place where I recorded milestones and triumphs of our first born and our adventures in a new town. …
FLASHBACK FRIDAY: A Post on Motherhood to Celebrate All The Mamas Out There
Ten years ago my husband and I loaded everything we owned into a moving van. We strapped our 15-month old into his car seat and headed 3,000 miles east to plant new roots in the middle of the country. I had a deep longing to stay at home with our son and moving was the only way we could live this lifestyle. Everything I had known, most of my identity, was stripped away from me the moment we pulled out of the driveway. No longer was I a teacher. I had graduated from college so student-life was a thing of the past. My family and friends all stayed behind so I had to find a new village. The only part of me that remained was wife and mom. Two things I cherish(ed) but I wasn’t used to them being the only things that defined me. Transition. Change. It’s the hard stuff.
Flash-forward and I have been a stay-at-home mom and wife for ten years. I have found my identity in this role and gotten comfy. I dappled in photography and taught preschool for a split-second, but, the majority of who I am is found in wife and mom taking care of the home front. I like it. I don’t want to let go of it but I feel it slipping through my fingers like wet sand.
My boys are my entire world. I wake up every day and think of the things I need to do to care for them. As every mom knows, that list is long and seemingly endless. They always have needs. Always. But, I happily oblige these things because those boys are literally my whole life; my whole world. Yes, I am a daughter of the King first, wife second, and mama third. I get that and try my very best to live out that pyramid. I also know, that in this season, I am called to our home and the raising of these kids. However, something very peculiar is happening and it’s happening fast: they’re growing up. (Que the ugly cry)
I gave up myself so that my boys could have a good life. I chose to leave my identity behind so I could fully take on the role of mom. I am here for them most of the time. They have a need, there I am. Lately, however, these kiddos have desired a little freedom. Mind you, I do not do everything for them. I truly believe in teaching kids from a very early age how to care for themselves and be an active participant in the needs of the home and family. What I am referring to when it comes to freedom is the need to explore outside of my hovering. They want to ride their bikes with their friends around the neighborhood. They want to go down to the lake and explore without mom right behind them. My oldest wants to stay home instead of run errands. Mom is still needed but in a different capacity.
My whole life and my whole world is growing up entirely too fast. It is such a bittersweet experience. I absolutely LOVE sitting back and watching my boys become their own person outside of their dad and I. It’s like a glimpse into their future selves. My oldest is going to his first day of middle school on Monday and while I feel more sad about this than the day he entered kindergarten, there’s an excitement within me knowing I will get to witness my boy become a man in the next few years. What a privilege.
My boys will always need me. Their needs may change, but there will always be a need for their mama. What they need from me now is space: space to grow, space to be, space to make mistakes, space to be alone. It’s scary entering this new world. How do you let your whole world go? It’s like the first time your toddler tells you, “I do it.” On one hand, you are elated that you no longer have to buckle them into their car seat because they can do it and on the other hand you want to cry because they no longer need you in that capacity. I am there only their “I do its” usually refer to doing something completely outside of me.
Motherhood. It’s this black hole of so much love and indescribable emotion. You feel like your heart may explode because you love them so much. You want them to need you while at the same time, you just want to pee alone. Your parents and those older and wiser tell you it all goes so fast and you don’t believe them. And then one day you blink and the 15-month old that you buckled into his car seat before you gave your life away to be his mama became this incredible young man about to enter middle school. It’s a wicked game that time.
My whole life and my whole world are growing up at warp speed. I can’t slow time down. I wish I could but I can’t. All I can do is savor the moments; collect them in a jar in my heart and let them be. It’s truly a gift to witness these little guys grow. It’s been a wild ride. One I will never ever regret.
I am so thankful I gave myself up so I could be their mama. And just because they may grow to be taller than me doesn’t change who I am to them. I will always be their mama.
“Behold, children are a gift of the Lord, The fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one’s youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them” Psalm 127:3-5
Love & Blessings,
Meg
I am a recovering perfectionist. Weeellll, I can’t honestly say I’m recovered, but I am working on getting there. I did have to do about a bazillion things and get them all perfectly in order before I could sit down and write today. So there’s …
He was sitting at the counter, his dad beside him. It was early; before 7am. They were working through some last minute math homework. Never-mind the fact that he had ALL weekend to complete his assignment. Who am I kidding? I would have put off …
You know what I like? When I get on Facebook and one of those silly links becomes popular and my entire feed is filled with “What will you look like as a super model?” or “What will you look like in old age?” It’s a nice shift from the combative debates.
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
John 10:10
We are distracted. The “thief” (Satan) has come into our world and stolen our focus. We are so busy in-fighting that we have forgotten how to listen. We are hyper-focused on being right that we have lost sight on how to love. We are fighting an “or” fight when, in reality, it’s an unifying “and” fight.
Let me explain. When tragedy strikes our world, we come out with a vengeance. We are battle-ready with our swords (our words). We have one argument and that is the only one that matters. Are you pro-gun control? That’s your focus. Do you think we need to do more for mental health? Then this is your lane. There is no merging, no room for debate, no listening. One argument and one argument only.
Let me challenge us by saying, this is EXACTLY where Satan wants us. I know I just lost 95% of my readers by mentioning Satan, but bear with me. If Satan’s goal is to steal, kill, and destroy wouldn’t it behoove him to do this through tragedy? What better way to get to our souls than when we are trying to wrap our heads around innocent children being killed? He’s got his hook in us and he’s got it in deep.
“Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”
1 Peter 5:8
We are not each others’ enemies. Let me say this again, we are not each others’ enemies. It is time we link arms and fight the real fight against the real enemy: Satan.
This argument we are having is not an “or” argument. We need to stop saying: “Gun control OR mental health.” This is an “and” fight.
Gun Control AND Mental Health
God AND Family
School Safety AND Community Involvement
The Enemy would love nothing more than for us to continue to have the “OR” fight. When he keeps us in this space he wins because he keeps us divided and distracted. I know many of us are uncomfortable talking about the “Enemy” but it is time we do. It is time we name-it claim-it and start fighting the real battle: not against flesh and blood (people/each other) but against the powers beyond us.
” For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12
Let’s start having more “AND” conversations and less “OR” arguments.
Love & Blessings,
Meg
Anyone struggle in the parenting realm? I wish I had the hand-raising emoji. I have a feeling we would all be raising our hands. Like any mom, I struggle in all the things motherhood. Just name a day of the week and I can tell …