Pictures and Pearls

Today is the 28th. This day of the month will always be in my mind and heart. Eventually I will come upon a month that the 28th doesn't cause me pain, but for now I am very mindful of this date and its significance.

Two months have passed. Two months of good days and bad. Two months of tears and smiles. Two months of processing and grieving and moving forward. Two months of sharing. Two months of roller-coaster emotions. Two months of remembering. None of it I would change.

Some of what I have learned these past few months is refreshing and some of it is painful, but all of it is good. This past week in my devotional book, I've been studying death. This may seem like a heavy topic, but I'm going to try to lighten it up a bit.

Death is scary. There, I said it. Most people try so hard to fight it, delay it, ignore it...but you can't. And only One person overcame it. And whoever knows that One person, knows the truth about death. It's not scary at all. It's something to celebrate. Ecclesiastes 7:1 says, "The day of death is better than the day of birth." The day we are born, we enter a painful, sinful, sad, depraved world. But the day we die, those who are in Christ enter a beautiful, love-filled, pain-free place full of the glory of Christ. Not just for a time...but forever. What better reason to celebrate?

Everyone knows where shadows come from. They are the blocking of light. Psalm 23 talks about the 'valley of the shadow of death.' When we're in that place of shadows, and can't see the light, it doesn't mean the light isn't there or that it's no longer shining. When we find ourselves in the shadows, it's there we find Christ beside us, chasing the fear away. Fear of the unknown. Fear of judgement. Fear of pain for you or those left behind after death. Whatever the fear is, He is there comforting us, reminding us that the sun is still there and it's still shining. When we know Christ, that 'valley' becomes a peaceful place of comfort. It's here we are most aware of God's presence.

But who wants to celebrate a loss? Not me! Not in my head, I don't. I don't want to go back to that moment when the doctor told us about Carina's diagnosis. I don't want to remember the countless tears I've cried. Who wants to do that? But in my heart, I know better. I know that the celebration is not in the pain of losing her. The celebration is in the joy of knowing her future. Death is not the end of the story. It's a continuation for many. A beginning for Carina.

On July 4, we watched a beautiful fireworks display and I remembered that the last time I watched the fireworks was when I was pregnant with Autumn. It made me, of course, think of Carina and how I wished she could see the beautiful colors lighting the sky. Then as quickly as I had those thoughts, in my mind's eye I could see Carina sitting on Jesus' lap watching the same display we were, her eyes shining with excitement. I pray that I never let myself dwell on missing her. Of course I miss her, I'm not saying I don't. That will never change. But I don't want to dwell on "the missing." I don't ever want to wish she was here with me. Not really. I miss her. And of course I wish things were different. But I don't really. You see, she's never known anything but love. Never known pain. Never known sadness. Never known loss. She's only ever known love. Why would I want to wish otherwise for her? I would never want her to experience sadness or pain, and she would if she were here. So I can't allow myself to wish she were here. I miss her. Everyday I miss her. But everyday my heart remembers how much better she's got it where she is. How lucky she is!

So who wants to celebrate death? Not me. So I don't consider it 'death' that I am celebrating. We will always remember Carina on the 28th of May. And for some time I will remember her on the 28th of the month. But I celebrate it as her "Heaven Day." Not a birth day. Not a death day. Heaven day.

Happy Heaven Day, Carina!

Being Used

I read something interesting yesterday. It was the story of when Mary went to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth told her she (Mary) was blessed among women. That she was so amazing because she believed what God told her. The next verses are what has come to be known as Mary's Song. Mary says, "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior..." "...For the Mighty One has done great things for me--holy is His name." She was full of hope for the future. She was also full of joy for being chosen to be used by God in such a way.

Later on in the story, Mary and Joseph take Jesus to the temple to be blessed. A man, Simeon, took Jesus and blessed him. He also prophesied saying Jesus would be rejected by many, but there would also be those who believed in him. I imagine he looked deep into Mary's eyes and added, "And a sword will pierce your own soul too." I'm sure Mary didn't know what he meant by that at the time, but I'm sure she remembered the old man's words echoing through her heart as she watched her son dying on the cross. As the Roman soldier pierced Jesus' side with a sword to ensure He was dead, did her soul feel pierced as well? I know it did. That pain was a 'soul pain.' A pain that can be used.
Finding out about Carina's diagnosis, choosing to continue our pregnancy, carrying her as long as we could, and losing her, have all been stages of 'soul pain' for me. A pain that can be used.

One of the first things I wanted to do after Carina was born was get back to church. Being able to worship with my church family. Worship is funny. It doesn't require that we understand or approve of what God is currently doing in our lives. It only requires a heart that has a desire to trust God. And worshiping through pain is some of the sweetest to His ears.

People have noticed this about me. I don't promote myself or my situation, but nearly everyone knows and they are watching me. Some from a distance, some close up, but I know they're all watching. I know they're curious, but I also know they're questioning how they would handle things if it were them. They are pushed, in their own lives, to demand more of themselves in their own spiritual walk. I am being used. My pain is being used. It's not being wasted. This 'soul pain' is helping others get closer to God. It's been so humbling to hear how my words and the testimony of my life has been touching people's lives.

I've been asked by many if I'm going to do something with this blog. Put it in book form or manuscript form...to get Carina's story out there for others who could benefit from hearing it. I can only answer as Mary did. My soul magnifies the Lord. He has done great things for me. Holy is His name. I'm thankful I was chosen to be used. I don't want this 'soul pain' to be wasted. Whatever that means for me and my story. He gets the glory.

Seven Times Seventy

It has been one month already. I can't decide if it's gone fast or slow. It's just gone.

I have been a few days behind on my reading and devotions, which have been marking the days for me. I missed the devotional for June 23...it was our original due date and I just tried to keep myself busy that day instead of dwelling on anything that would bring me pain.

Unfortunately the pain found me.

I was browsing a famous social networking site and came across something that made me laugh. It was innocent, and it made me smile, and I was thankful for something that would bring light to my day. So I 'liked' it. Had I known the hurt that would inevitably cause me, I would have ignored my simple action and moved on to another site. But I didn't and it did. Someone got offended that I 'liked' this joke, (which wasn't off-colored, offensive, or anything...it was a funny comment someone else made that made me laugh), and then proceeded to spew poisonous darts at me regarding Carina, just to hurt me. But the two situations, this joke and Carina, had absolutely nothing to do with each other. This person simply wanted to hurt me. I think what made it hurt the most is that this came from someone I know very well. Someone who has crossed the line with me and my family before, but never this badly.

My first, "Gibbs-gut" reaction was that this person needed a good 'beat down.' My second reaction, realizing that I couldn't physically accomplish the first reaction, was to blast them all over the social networking site. My third reaction, however, won over....say nothing. Let others read what they said, and hear what they said, and tell them what hideous people they are for speaking such things. But they were smart and deleted the post before anyone else could see it.

Needless to say, I felt extremely wronged. I was shocked that it came from someone I know well. I was hurt. And I wanted them to feel and understand their mistake. All that day, Ken thought of a million things we could say. I thought of hurtful things I could do to this person so they would understand the pain they caused me. I was angry. And I had every right to be.

Then my brother reminded me that hurt people hurt people. I love my brother. He reminded me that anger is okay, and yes I had a right to be angry. I had done nothing wrong and yet I was the target for attack. Be angry and sin not. It's not fair.

A few days went by and I was listening to the radio. There is a song out called "Seven times Seventy." All about forgiveness. You know the passage...someone asks Jesus how many times should they forgive someone who's wronged them...Seven? And Jesus answers, "No...seventy times seven." Not that we should keep a tally and when people reach 490 they're toast....but that we should continually be forgiving others who wrong us. No matter what. This is very, very hard for me. Especially when my heart is so fragile right now. And I'll tell you something...6 months ago, I would have responded very differently.
Well, this song came on the radio. It's not a bad song, but it's never been one of my favorites. Probably because I struggle greatly with the concept. The singer was live on the radio singing the song and he sang it slower, with no instruments other than his guitar. It was beautiful and passionate. And I cried. I knew I had to forgive this person. I can't say I was ready to do it at that moment, however. This hurt was a giant hurt and it had punched a hole in my already broken heart.

That night I was catching up on my devotionals and the one I was supposed to read on June 23rd was all about being co-heirs with Christ. And as sons and daughters of God, we share in Christ's sufferings in order that we may also share in His glory. Belonging to God's Kingdom means being willing to suffer, not just as victims of our circumstances, but as one who chooses to endure persecution for the sake of the Kingdom. Now I know that type of persecution mainly refers to attacks on your claim to be a Christian, but I believe it can also mean spiritual persecution. Persecution where your integrity and witness are tested. You have the choice to retaliate, justified retaliation, or you can choose to let Christ shine through you and turn the other cheek. Obedience is not easy. But the reward is so great!

I am not this amazing person. I am human. Flawed. I struggle so much with forgiveness. Especially when I know that I know that I know that I'm right. But it's not about being right. It's about being like my Savior. I can't honestly say I'm over the need for judgement on this person, but I'm moving on. They're not getting one more second of my time. I know what matters and that's something they can't take away.

What Happens in St. Augustine Stays in St. Augustine...sort of

Let me begin by thanking everyone who prayed for us this past weekend. Our trip went well. We had a few times where things didn't go so well, but that's what makes for good memories. I have found that the stories we share that don't contain some kind of sarcasm, humor, or problem that needs solving, aren't really worth the re-telling.

We left for St. Augustine on Friday around 6pm. After dropping off Autumn at my parents house, saying our goodbyes, and giving last minute instruction for our potty trainee, we were off. The drive up wasn't bad, although I missed the exit for the 24-hour Starbucks, and we arrived at the beach resort my sister had booked for us around 10:15pm. I went in with my reservation paperwork and saw the line of about 4 other families waiting to check in. One of witch was a young couple with a daughter about Autumn's age running around. It pulled on my heartstrings a bit because I assumed Autumn would be doing the very same thing at 10:30 at night if we let her. It also was a painful reminder of why we were there.

I waited patiently for my turn, hoping I wouldn't have a problem checking in since my sister was the one who paid for the room. I looked around the lobby, noticing the door behind the front desk was hanging off its hinges and the frazzled, blond lady checking people in had something to say about everything. Suddenly, I heard a giant "SCREECH!" I looked around and saw a bird cage, floor to ceiling, with a parrot inside. I guess this is what makes for good beach decor...? Finally it was my turn. I stepped forward and told her my name, mentioning my sister was the one who paid for the room. She checked us in without a problem, gave me my room keys and I headed back to the car. We drove to the side of the hotel where she said our room should be and couldn't find it. Then we figured it was inside so we parked and got our bags. We found the room and let ourselves inside. As we turned on the light I took in our surroundings and noticed something on the floor. Upon further inspection, I noticed a lot of somethings on the floor. It had not been vacuumed at all. And it wasn't just paper or dirt....it was toenail clippings. I wouldn't even take off my shoes. I walked into the bathroom and saw a hair in the sink and the toilet had not been scrubbed. I came back into the room where Ken was already laying on the bed watching TV, waiting for my inspection to be over. I noticed the TV had duct tape holding it together. I walked over to the window where our "deluxe ocean view" should be and noticed the giant sand dune that blocked our "deluxe ocean view." I turned to Ken and said, "We're not telling Suzy about this." I didn't want to stay but the front desk was so busy and it was already 11pm by this time, so we stayed. We planned to get up early and look for somewhere else to stay.

They say everything looks better in the morning. This hotel was not one of those things. The sun simply emphasized its flaws. Ken was excited, however, because it looked like there was a surfing competition going on at the beach. He soon found out it was a kids competition, but he made a mental note to come back with a surf board the next time we were there. We packed our bags and vacated the room and drove to the nearby Publix for some breakfast. I ran in for some muffins and saw the Starbucks next door. Heaven! Ken had gone over to the Subway for breakfast so I walked down to meet him. We talked about what our plan for the day was and started calling around for another place to stay for the night. The first two places were booked but we got lucky with the third. A nice place not too far from where we were staying and very close to downtown St. Augustine. We drove over so I could inspect the room before we booked it, saw that it was a fine place to stay, and headed back to cancel at the other hotel.

On the way, I called my mom to check in and she asked how the hotel was. Ken laughed because he knew I couldn't go without telling her the truth. So I started to tell her about the door off its hinge in the lobby, the giant bird cage, and then mentioned the floor not being vacuumed and she said, "Wait a minute...let me get your sister." I winced and said, "She's there already??" Oh yes, she was there and ready to fight with the hotel people before I even mentioned the word 'toenail.' I told her we were on our way back to get a refund for the second night and possibly a discount on the first. She said if they give us a problem to let her know.

We arrived at the hotel and I went inside, ready to be nice but firm. I started to calmly explain that we weren't happy with the way our room was when we arrived the night before, would be checking out, and would like a refund on the second night and possibly a discount on the first. She cocked her head and asked what was wrong with the room. So I told her. I said the floor hadn't been vacuumed, the bathroom hadn't been cleaned, and before I could mention the holes in the comforter or the toenail clippings, she said, "Really? I'm really surprised that you would have that kind of complaint from that part of the hotel." My jaw dropped on the floor. THAT part of the hotel? I thought. So there are parts of the hotel that you rent out to actual human beings that you wouldn't be surprised to hear that this happened? I kept my mouth shut, however, and went on to say, "And there were also holes in the blankets on the bed." You would have thought I told her I found a rat or something. She freaked out. She said, "Oh my goodness! You need to write all of this down and I need to tell the housekeeping staff!" So I said okay and wrote everything down, even adding that with what they charge for the rooms, they should be able to buy a new TV instead of using duct tape. She discounted us $20 for the first night and refunded the entire amount for the second, not charging us a cancellation fee. We left happy and began our search for the perfect spot to place Carina's ashes.

Ken and I had talked about looking around the Lighthouse or the beach or maybe at the Fountain of Youth where we remembered there being a few spots that might work. Before we made it to any of those places, we drove by a little farmers market that was near the St. Augustine Amphitheater. We thought it was at the Anastasia State Park so we went in and checked it out. The theater gates were open so we went in and walked around. No one was there and it was so peaceful. There were two ledges near the front of the stage area that had a bunch of trees and they were blocked by railings about waist high. Both Ken and I thought this would be a great place for Carina. Beautiful, peaceful, and the occasional concert to enjoy. We still had places to check out so we didn't decide right away.

We left and walked all over downtown, asking different vendors and information people if there were any gardens nearby. No luck. We checked out the Catholic church with the giant cross (for those of you who know what I'm referring to) but that didn't feel right to us. We went to the lighthouse but they wouldn't even let us walk on the grounds without paying their fee to get in so we nixed that idea. We found some pretty oak trees gathered around near some water but that didn't feel right either. We both just kept going back to the Amphitheater. So we decided to head back there. We stopped by Publix and bought a beautiful orange-coral colored rose. I looked at the time and it was 4:08pm....the time of Carina's birth. We drove, a little nervously, back to the Amphitheater, not sure how we were going to do what we came to do. Should we say something? Should we stay quiet? Should we leave the rose or take it home as a remembrance? Neither of us had any clue. We walked hand in hand down to the front both thinking about how peaceful it felt. Her ashes were in a little black box. We set it down with the rose and took some pictures. Ken opened the box and dug a little hole in the mulch and dirt and poured Carina's ashes in. He covered them up and we took more pictures. He wanted some from the stage of the theater, so he walked away with the camera and his thoughts. I sat on the stage across from where we placed her. When Ken was out of earshot, I sang to her. "I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be." It's from the 'Love You Forever' book by Robert Munsch. Autumn and I read it many times while I was pregnant, and it just seemed appropriate to sing it one more time for Carina. As soon as I finished, I heard Ken take a few pictures of me sitting there, staring at the rose. I looked at him and we both smiled sadly. Soon we heard a saxophone begin to play, practicing for the blues festival that was starting nearby. Ken said how she already gets to hear music, took my hand and we sat there crying for a little while. Soon we got up and left, knowing we had found the right spot for her. It was sad and hard, but so healing.

I still have the black box and I took two petals from the rose. They're in the box of memories now. I'll pull them out, along with the pictures we took, and know that someday I'll be able to smell the orange-coral colored roses with my sweet girl as we sing praises to the One who brought us together.

Need vs. Want

I had a headache most of the day on Thursday. Probably from all the crying I did that morning.

Wednesday night I had realized that the funeral director had not brought back the beautiful little pink dress we bought for Carina that she wore at the hospital, nor the little yellow blanket my mother crocheted that she was wrapped in. I emailed him that night and asked about them, thinking he simply forgot to bring them. He called me first thing Thursday morning and told me that Carina had been cremated in them. I had to bite my lip so I wouldn't scream at him on the phone or burst out crying...I couldn't decide which to do at the moment. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I told him we had asked that those things be returned and he said he didn't get that message. It's very possible that he didn't. He wasn't the one to pick up Carina from the hospital. But I would have thought they would ask me about them...just to make sure. I don't really remember the rest of our conversation but I think he said something about how now those things are with her forever (like that was supposed to make it better). I remember even thanking him for calling. I felt numb. I hung up and couldn't stop the tears. Those things I wanted back so badly. They were my last link to her. My heart was breaking in a way it hadn't yet. A piece I didn't think I could ever get repaired. I called my mom and she let me cry. When I was done, she gently reminded me that I have so many other wonderful memories in the box and that it would be okay. I knew she was right. But my heart was still broken.

I was supposed to have a friend come over and visit about an hour after I got the phone call and I almost canceled. I'm so glad I didn't. She came over and we chit chatted for about an hour and then she asked the inevitable question, "How are you doing?" I smiled sadly and told her what had happened that morning. When I was done, through tears, I said (kind of flippantly), "Maybe God has some reason that I wasn't supposed to have those things." At that moment I didn't believe my own words. But I said them, hoping that by saying them out loud, I would believe them.
My friend started telling me about a section of verses she had been reading. About how God gives us what we need, not necessarily what we want. As she said that, I immediately felt in my heart that God didn't want me to have those things because I didn't need them. He knew I would use them to grieve the wrong way. He knew I would probably sit and breathe in her scent from the blanket until it disappeared. I would finger the bloodstains on her little pink dress until it faded or was washed away by my tears. It would be so easy for me to stay in that sad place if I had those items.
Another verse my sweet friend reminded me of is Proverbs 16:9. "In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps." My plan was just that...to sit and hold onto those things as long as I could. Just like I hold the heartbeat bear. The difference in those things is that the heartbeat bear reminds me of her life. I hear that strong beat and remember the happy memories. I remember life. The blanket and dress would only remind me of her death. That day. I want remember the day, but I don't need to stay there. He knew what I needed.

I had my own plans for that stuff. But the Lord lights the path I should take. My ways are not my own. So I give Him my broken hallelujah.

Ready or Not

On Friday, Ken and I will be heading up to St. Augustine, Florida. I have a final job to do as Carina's mother. Ken and I spent our 1-year anniversary in St. Augustine and it holds a special place in our hearts. It will soon hold a special place for another reason.

When we first found out about Carina's diagnosis, after the initial shock wore off and we realized we had to start making some plans, we decided to have her cremated. Then came the decision of what to do after that. I knew I didn't want to have her ashes sitting in some jar. (No offense to anyone who has done that, or wants to do that, it's just not something I wanted.) I also didn't want to put them just anywhere. Ken suggested the beach but I knew every time we would go to that beach, or passed by that beach, it would be a sad remembrance for me. I wanted to put her ashes somewhere that would be a purposeful place. Somewhere we could go and visit with a purpose. Somewhere close to our hearts. And so we decided on St. Augustine.

This weekend we will drive up and find the perfect spot. Some secluded, shady, flowery, beautiful place meant just for her. Maybe by the water because I know she would have loved the water just like her sister and Daddy. It's silly, I know, because she's not really going to be there. And no matter how beautiful a spot we find, it can never compare with the beauty of heaven. I know it's not really for her, but for me. I need to pretend. I need to pretend that part of her is still here. Just for awhile. I'm still not ready to let go.

The funeral director came by again today to drop off the death certificate and some little card that tells what date the cremation took place. I want to burn them both. But I'll keep them in the special box my brother made for all things Carina related because every little piece I have of her life, good and bad, is so precious. Have you ever played the "if there was a fire what's the one thing I would grab after everyone got out safely" game? Over the years my answer has changed. Today I would grab the box. I don't think I'll change my mind anymore. I need those memories. I don't ever want to forget what she looked like. What she smelled like. Her perfect feet. Her dark hair. I'm just not ready to let go.

As a Christian, grief looks different. I think I've said that before. Tears look the same but they come from a heart of hope instead of a heart of fear. You can't be comforted from someone who hasn't been there. That's why you can always turn to Jesus. He has been overwhelmed by grief. He has felt the pain of loss; felt like all the air is sucked away. He has felt it all and He gets it. Seeing Jesus as someone who has felt sorrows just like us is a confirmation that tears don't mean "lack of faith." They are actually a companion to authentic faith. Hebrews 5:8 says, "Although He was God's Son, He learned obedience through what He suffered."
Obedience is a continual process. It takes work. Commitment. Faith. Tears are a byproduct. I'm thankful for the opportunity to be obedient. To share my faith. To have the tears. But I'm not ready to let go yet.

777-JESUS

Kids are pretty amazing. And they often say amazing things.

My dad was saying nighttime prayers with my little sisters just a few days after Carina was born, and they suddenly said, "We need to make a phone call." Dad was a little taken back and asked who they wanted to call. Isie, who is 8, replied, "We need to call 777-JESUS. We need to speak with Him." My dad, at first, thought they were just being silly, but realized soon that they were completely serious. He asked why they felt they needed to call Him. They said, "We need to ask Him to let Carina come back and play with us." Dad let that thought sink in for a minute and then said, "Well you know, whenever we want to talk to Jesus, we don't have to use a phone. We can just talk to Him." They nodded and waited. "And I understand that you want to be able to play with Carina. But it wouldn't really be fair for us to ask her to come back." Of course they wanted to know why. Dad answered, "Because in heaven, she is completely whole and healthy. She'll never be sad. She'll never even cry. She gets to be with Jesus and she's so, so happy." My youngest sister, Livie, who is 6, had just recently had the stomach bug. My dad turned to her and said, "Livie, there is no throwing up in heaven." Her eyes got real big and she said, "Oh that's a great place."
Dad continued and said, "But you know what we can do...we can ask Jesus if Carina can show us all around when we get there. Because she's going to know all the cool places to see, and all the neat people to meet, and all the fun things to do! So we can ask Jesus for that."

They really seemed to understand and agreed that it would be better for Carina to stay where she was. Then Livie said, "Daddy, we'll get pretty old before we get to see her again, won't we?" And dad answered, "Yeah it probably will be awhile. But we can ask Jesus to help us while we wait."

It's so cool that they get that. If they didn't have a basic foundation of heaven and who Jesus is, Carina would be lost to them forever. Instead, they now have hope.

Yesterday was particularly hard for me. I heard from the funeral director and he told me that Carina's cremation was going to take place yesterday. I knew it would be this week, but I didn't know what day. Right before he called, I had been looking at some pictures of her. So most of the day after that, my emotions were on high alert. I read my bible and prayed. Took a shower (which is the best place to cry, by the way), and just let my heart miss her.

Later that night, Ken turned the radio on while I was getting Autumn ready for bed. The Steven Curtis Chapman song, Cinderella, came on. It's the song that played on the radio as soon as Ken and I got in the car after hearing Carina's diagnosis from our first ultrasound. I cry every time I hear it now. The song right after it was Strong Enough, by Matthew West. I had heard it many times before, but never really listened to the words. Have you done that? The words were a perfect reminder to me last night.
He sings, "You must think I'm strong to give me what I'm going through. Well forgive me if I'm wrong, but this looks like more than I can do on my own. I know I'm not strong enough to be everything that I'm supposed to be, I give up. I'm not strong enough. Hands of mercy won't you cover me, Lord right now I'm asking you to be strong enough. Well, maybe that's the point; to reach the point of giving up. 'Cause when I'm finally at rock bottom that's when I start looking up and reaching out. 'Cause I'm broken down to nothing but I'm still holding on to the one thing: You are God and You are strong when I am weak!"

Excuse me...I have to make a phone call.