Home for Christmas

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and Zoe’s half birthday. The sweetness and sadness is so mingled together that I cannot separate one strand from the other. 

So much of the bustle surrounding Christmas is an effort to cultivate a feeling of cheerfulness. Even with our best efforts, this produces a superficially effective medicine that sustains us for a few hours or days. In our most honest moments though, we will be like little Cindy Lou Who, looking for something deeper and more meaningful. Those who are suffering at Christmas don’t have to clear away as much of the tinsel to realize that no amount of Christmas cheer can heal the hurts in the world and in our hearts.

At Christmas last year, we were overjoyed to be expecting Zoe. We knew that she was such a sweet gift, one that we did not earn or deserve. There were dreams of what Christmas 2016 would be like. But I am so homesick this year, and no plane, train or automobile can get me home for Christmas. However, that yearning which Bing Crosby expressed so memorably, “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams,” points me forward to a longing for my true home. Though I so deeply wish that her room and stocking were not empty, Zoe is the one who is actually home for Christmas this year.

Grief does not know that Christmas is supposed to be a "happy" time. Yet this year, it seems that I have been ushered into the holy mystery of the season. The waiting of Advent has been palpable. This is certainly not the sugar-sweet happiness of childhood Christmases. It is the deep longing for God to make everything right, and the confidence that he began that restoration when he put on flesh. God himself has descended into the mess of our reality as the Christ child. 

When in my soul I feel deep darkness and the sharp sting of death, in greater measure I know that a light has come. The promise to Israel, that "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone” (Isaiah 9:2) became a reality in the birth of Jesus. It becomes a reality in our hearts when we trust him. As the old hymn puts it, “Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born, if He’s not born in thee, thy soul is still forlorn.”

As I meditate upon the manger, I know that Christ is with me. He is Emmanuel, “God with us.” Because the Creator entered creation, I can trust that he is truly Emmanuel in every circumstance- with me in the trials, with me in the waiting, with me even in the face of death itself. 

HOPE has been carrying me through this season of sorrow and celebration. Not a hope that I will receive good things in life, or that life will be easy, or even that losing Zoe will be the worst thing to ever happen to me. The hope that I cling to is as certain as the rising of the sun. This hope is like a "memory of the future," as one author put it. 

If this season is only about having “a merry little Christmas,” then it feels like is nothing to celebrate this year. But if Christmas is more than that, if Christmas is about remembering what God has done on our behalf, how he has come near to us, then I can have this real hope. The hope that grief will one day be no more, the hope that every tear will be wiped away, the hope that death will meet its death. 

Because of the Bethlehem baby, I will see my baby again. Because Christ came not only to the cradle but to the cross, and was gloriously raised from the tomb, Zoe will one day be resurrected. That is Christmas hope worth celebrating.

Fleas

Last night as I was organizing some of Zoe’s things, I came across two cards. One was an invitation to a gender reveal party at our home, scheduled for March 26. The other was a prayer request card made by my precious church family for a prayer shower we had the week before Zoe was born.

The party invitation filled my heart with such sorrow. Our families live far away in Arkansas and we had been so excited to coordinate eight busy schedules for everyone to be here that weekend. And yet, two days before, we received the heartbreaking news. A weekend that was supposed to be saturated with pink cupcakes, balloons and streamers was filled with tears. My sweet Cody had to call them and let them know that there would be no celebration. Our child would die. 

And yet, somehow, there was such celebration over Zoe’s life. The prayer card reminded me of the deep joy that surrounded us during those months of her life. The darkness of her impending death encouraged us to make the most of every moment we had with her. 

On a weeks notice, our church family arranged a prayer shower for Zoe. Friends brought a card with a prayer or Scripture as their gifts. And what unbelievably precious gifts they have been.

During our time together at the prayer shower, ladies prayed nine specific requests over us. It was one of the most holy experiences of my life. I saw a company of saints surrounding us with misty eyes, all petitioning the Father on our behalf. I am crying right now as I think about it. What a sweet mercy. 

As I sat in the floor last night looking over those nine requests which had been prayed over us that June evening, I was filled with thankfulness. Each prayer had been faithfully answered. Maybe not in the ways I expected or wanted, but they were answered. Every aspect of Zoe’s life was perfect. Too short, but perfect. 

The day after Zoe was born, my mom, sisters-in-law and best friends sat together in the hospital to make a list of all of the ways God specifically answered our prayers. Tiny details that were taken care of with precision. It filled up three pages on a legal pad. There are even more things that I have thought of since that day. 

I like to think of this as my “flea list.” This name comes from a story of my favorite Christian sisters.

Corrie ten Boom and her sister Bettie were believers who suffered as prisoners in a concentration camp during the Holocaust. In one camp, their barracks were plagued with fleas. No guard would enter the infested room. 

The fleas were filthy, annoying, unpleasant and painful. However, Bettie prayed and thanked God for the fleas. They had been able to smuggle a Bible into the camp and thus their flea-filled room became a sanctuary. Even as her body was covered in bites, she recognized that it was because of these little creatures that they were able to keep the salve for their souls. She thanked God for the tiny things that worked together for good, even in the midst of her suffering.

No human in the world is excluded from suffering. We will suffer at the hands of others, as did the ten Booms. We will suffer because we live in a broken world, as Zoe did and as we do in her absence. And yet believers are commanded to give thanks in all circumstances in I Thessalonians 5:18. I don’t think that means we have to give thanks for the circumstances. We don’t have to thank God for the suffering which is wrought upon us. However, we are encouraged to be grateful in our circumstances. I am helped when I remember that Paul wrote “Rejoice in the Lord always!” (Philippians 4:7) from prison, not from the lap of luxury!

God doesn’t remove us from suffering, but he does give us “fleas” in the midst of them. No matter the circumstance, there are things, even the tiniest things, for which we may be thankful. Yes, my daughter died, but God has given me reasons myriad and mighty to thank him. Cultivating a grateful heart goes a long way towards the transformation of our souls.

I could fix my heart on what I don’t have today. I could melt under the reality that I’m not joyfully exhausted by my three month old little girl. But today, by the grace of God alone, I choose thankfulness. I choose to be thankful for the gift Zoe Karis was and continues to be. I am thankful for those who have been the presence of Christ to me and Cody during this season. Most of all, I am thankful that because of Jesus, I will see that sweet, sweet face again one day. That, my friends, is true HOPE…something for which I am eternally grateful.

Grief, Grace and the Grave

When I was in junior high, I memorized these words from my teen study Bible: “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I shall yet praise him, my savior and my God” (Psalm 42:5). I remember reading and re-reading the Psalm by lamplight in my grandparents home, allowing the truth to root deeply into my soul. I had no idea how many times the Spirit would bring those words to my mind over the last 15 years. 

In that verse, the psalmist first examines his soul, to see what is causing the pain. Then, he preaches to himself, making the conscious choice to praise in the midst of his despair. Pain and praise are not mutually exclusive. In fact, pain can lead to praise that is sincere and hopeful.

As I ruminate on these words today and ask my soul “Why are you downcast within me?” I know with certainty that my soul is downcast because my baby girl is gone. The pain is still so fresh and real. I know that everyone else’s worlds have continued to move forward, but it feels like I’m still frozen in grief. 

Whatever preconceived notions of deep grief that I may have held prior to March 24 at Zoe’s diagnosis have been shattered in the wake of her life and death. Grief is not only sadness or tears. Sometimes it is the inability to stand up and pour myself a glass of milk. Inability to concentrate. Listlessness. Frustration. The physical fatigue of heartbreak is staggering. I haven’t had the energy or desire to write over the last several weeks. It is a hard, long journey through the valley.

I told Cody yesterday that in some ways I miss the Hayden from last September. So much has happened in one short year. I feel like a different person, mostly in a good way. I have always felt very deeply, but feelings of joy and sorrow are even more magnified. I am grateful that I'm able to pray for people differently now. Miscarriage, fatal fetal diagnoses, and infant death have all become a part of who I am. Things that were once such distant heartaches are my reality. I don’t know how long it will hurt this much. Friends who have lost children tell me that it gets better. They say that the hole in your heart remains, but the raw edges will heal.

We’ve been working to chose the perfect headstone for Zoe. In some ways, it is cathartic for me to meticulously labor over the design. It feels like I’m doing something for my girl. I’m not getting to feed her or help her learn to roll over or take care of her here on earth. Picking out this piece of granite to mark her resurrection destination is a way that I am able to care for and honor her now. It gives some purpose to my disquieted soul.

There is no speedy recovery for grief. In many ways, I think we Westerners prefer physical pain because we have quantitative measures to assess healing. Soul healing is messy. We don’t respond to it very well. We want people to be better quickly instead of walking slowly through the sorrow. I think it is important to feel the pain and not attempt to pretend like I’m okay. Deep grief doesn't mean you don't love Jesus enough. However, when I spend too long thinking only of why my soul is downcast and disturbed within me, my soul has only moved through one important phase outlined by the psalmist. 

“Put your hope in God!” the psalmist exclaims to himself. A very important way that I put my hope in God is by remembering who he is. Continuing in consistent Bible reading has been so important for me. For the last 5 months, I’ve continued on my regular reading plan. I did not try to search out passages that would speak to me. Instead, I kept working through what I had already outlined to read. Seeing his character consistently revealed through the words of Scripture gives my soul strength to proclaim, “I shall yet praise him, my savior and my God!” 

A sweet friend sang "Great is Thy Faithfulness" at Zoe's memorial service. That was the hymn on my lips in the OR as she was born. We also sang it in the hospital room with family and friends. And the words are true! "Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not; As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be." He doesn't change. His character remains the same.

My praise is not circumstantial because his grace is not either. If we only praise God when things are good, then we really don’t worship the living God…we worship a god of our own happiness. Ultimately, even with a downcast soul, I have to decide if I believe Jesus is enough or not. Is he enough to sustain me in sorrow? Is he enough even though my sweet Zoe Karis died? Is he enough in the midst of broken hopes? 

Yes. HE. IS. ENOUGH. 

He was enough for me that day in March when Cody and I were told on speakerphone that she would die. He was was enough to sustain us each day during the remainder of pregnancy. He was enough the day she died. He is enough for today.

That decision- whether Jesus is enough- is what we all must decide. Will we really believe that what he has for us is better than what we would design for ourselves? Will we really believe that God will not abandon us? Will we believe he is enough for our broken hearts and downcast souls?

We will believe he is enough only when we look to the cross. We will see there a God who voluntarily gave up his son for us. Hope creeps into the darkness when we stoop to peek inside the empty tomb. With my eyes fixed on Christ, I am enabled to speak to my own soul, “Put your hope in God! I shall yet praise him, my savior and my God!” For he is enough.

Richwoods

It has simultaneously been the fastest and slowest month of my life. It is the rich grace of God that continues to sustain us each day. We are so grateful for all who continue to pray for us and support us. The road ahead is still long. As I picture the terrain that we have yet to travel, my mind’s eye envisions the road to Richwoods Cemetery, where we buried our baby girl four weeks ago today.

The trees droop heavily over that one lane road that leads to Richwoods. I don’t even think you can find it on GPS. The spot seems to be frozen in time and space. The thick woods form a sort of barrier around the cemetery that blocks out all sound, except for the trains that pass through every 20 minutes or so.

That Friday morning, we sat under the green tent upon the earth where Zoe’s beautiful little casket would be buried. We were honored to be surrounded by family and friends who came to share in the joy and sorrow of Zoe’s brief life. It was a strange flashback of sorts. It took me back to the day seven years ago when Cody and I were married. Our dear friend who preached her funeral service, also preached at our wedding. We stood before him to promise “for better or for worse.” And we sat before him that hot July morning as we experienced the “for worse” in our own reality.

While it is much more fun to wear the white dress of celebration than the black one of mourning, the community that surrounded us that day was just as rich. Actually, I think it was richer. Anyone can show up to smile and eat cake. It is true fellowship to stand alongside someone in tears as well.

Zoe was buried there under a beautiful old oak tree, between my grandparents and the plot where my parents will one day be buried. She is the sixth generation to be buried at Richwoods. She is five yards away from her great-great-great grandparents. The very first funeral I can remember was that of my great-grandmother Tucker. I never imagined that two decades later, my daughter would rest ten feet away from her. In the Old Testament, when people died they were “gathered to their ancestors.” I think that gathering was two-fold: a physical proximity of bodies and a promise of community in eternal life. We are so grateful that her little body is gathered to her ancestors at Richwoods.

I spent a lot of time in the months before Zoe was born pondering what it would be like to bury the daughter who was still alive in my womb. It is painful to remember how that felt. In recent days, I have mourned deeply that she is no longer here with us. She is okay, it is we who are left behind who are not. I have cried out, “Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck!” (Psalm 69) I can imagine myself in the waters of the ocean—far too deep to touch, no shore in sight, no boat or life jacket. In that moment when the water is up to my neck, I have two options. I can look down at how much of my body is submerged, and in so doing put my face underwater and drown. Or, I can thank God that the waters have come only to my neck and turn my face upward for air. When my face is turned heavenward, God sustains me. He gives me new hope.

Yes, it is a grave. The sorrow of burying your child cannot and should not be minimized. But with my face lifted to him in the midst of the deep waters, I can see that it is not only a burial place, it is a resurrection destination. When Christ returns, the ground will burst forth with new life as Zoe Karis and all who are dead in Christ, rise with glorified bodies. This truth is like one of those orange life jackets that keeps you afloat and forces your face towards the sun. 

Paul wrote of the resurrection of the dead in I Corinthians 15. Verses 42-44 read, “What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body.” Jesus is only one who has a glorified body now. But one blessed day, Zoe Karis’ broken little body will be raised as a new glorified one.

The grave couldn’t hold Jesus and that tiny casket won’t be able to hold Zoe when Christ returns. Her body was sown perishable on July 1, and one day it will be raised imperishable for eternity. 

The ground of Richwoods will spring forth with life, by the grace of God. The graveyard will become the terrain of resurrection, just as the garden tomb in Jerusalem became the womb of life imperishable. It is that ZOE by the KARIS of God for which we hope and wait.

Zoe's Birthday

My dining room table is covered with papers, cards and books. As I look across the table at the stack of extra programs from last week’s memorial service, I can hardly believe that it is Zoe’s name on the front.

Exactly three months after her fatal diagnosis, our sweet Zoe Karis was born and died. It was an unbelievably difficult three months, knowing that any day could be “the day.” 

Zoe was full of surprises her whole life…and her birth was no exception. My water broke on a walk around the neighborhood just before Cody and I were scheduled for dinner with friends. I couldn’t believe that it was really happening. I stood in the road and cried. My sweet husband coached me home and had us ready to leave for the hospital in less than five minutes. He stays so calm under pressure (unlike his wife). 

I don’t think any parent could ever be completely ready for what we knew was ahead of us. I kept saying, “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet!” Such sorrow and joy…knowing we were on our way to the hospital to hold our sweet Zoe for the first time…and last time.

We treasured the time we had with her in the hospital that night. As we have been doing since March, Cody read to her from the Jesus Storybook Bible. Our story for that night was Jesus’ resurrection. Our hearts were filled with such hope for Zoe as we remembered once again the truth of the resurrection. Furthermore, we were so comforted that God is not unfamiliar with our pain. He willingly gave over his son to death for us. Praise him.

At midnight, we told Zoe “Happy Birthday!” knowing she would be born to earth and to heaven on June 24. 

Zoe’s strong and beautiful heartbeat resonated in our room all night. I couldn’t sleep for listening to that sweet sound. I talked and sang to her all night long. I treasured every single minute with her safely inside me, knowing that each passing moment was one second closer to the time she would go to be with the Lord. It was surreal to feel her move and hear her heartbeat, knowing she was also going to die that day. 

After a few of my contractions caused Zoe some distress, our wise and wonderful medical team determined it was time for an emergency c-section. We had been memorizing Isaiah 43 for delivery day. “Fear not” kept resounding in my mind as everyone worked quickly around me. 

Zoe Karis was born at 5:12am. She was perfect. That time with Cody and Zoe are the most tender and cherished moments of my life. Though the medical team was working all around us, we were all alone. It was our little cocoon of tear-filled joy. In our eyes, her life was far too brief, but God knew her days before there were any. 

On June 22, the night before I went into labor, I read Cody a journal entry from December 22, 2015. I wrote, “Lord, you have ordained this baby’s every day, whether it be mere days in the womb or days piled into decades on earth. Help me to trust you, Lord Christ.” 

He has helped me. I know he will continue to help me, and all who mourn the brokenness of this world and long for the hope of heaven.

Cody and I have recited Philippians 4:4-7 to each other multiple times a day since March 24. On June 24, we truly rejoiced and experienced the peace of Christ in a whole new way. It was so very real, I think everyone who came into our room that day must have felt the Holy Spirit’s presence. I had waited and wondered what I would feel like on Zoe’s birthday. I am so grateful to say it was honestly the most joyful and peaceful day of my whole life. I knew that Zoe was present with the Lord, in no more pain, and that we would see her again. 

Our family came from Arkansas and our friends came from all over the country to be with us and meet Zoe Karis. She looked like a perfect little baby doll, with Cody’s cheeks, our blue eyes and my nose. Her skin was so soft. She had a such a sweet smell. She wore four pretty dresses made by women who minister through their gifts of sewing. We studied her and tried to memorize everything about her. She was beautiful. And so very loved. 

All too soon, goodbye came. Thanks be to God, because of Jesus, that goodbye was not final. It feels permanent right now, but it is not forever. When forever begins at Christ’s return, Zoe will be resurrected to eternal life in a glorified body and we will be with her in new creation with no more tears. We anchor our hope in this promise.

Tears are the reality for now. Our last 16 weeks have been filled with overwhelming sorrow. But, praise God, the joy that he gave us as a gift in Zoe Karis has outweighed the pain. She was a gift. I wouldn’t trade away the joy to skip the sorrow.

Cassie Whittemore Photography

Our precious Zoe Karis was born on Friday morning, June 24, at 5:12am. She had a strong heartbeat at delivery and is now present with Christ Jesus.

We miss her so much and we are so grateful for the time that we had with her. Please continue to keep us in your prayers as we grieve. I hope to write about Zoe's life with us in the days to come. We rest in the sure and certain hope of Christ...that she is with him now and he will raise her with a perfect glorified body at his return.

"But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words." I Thessalonians 4:12-18

The Wilderness

We all know what it is like to be very thirsty physically. Once on a flight home from Europe, I was seated in the very middle seat of the middle section. A couple of hours into the flight, I was so thirsty it felt like my throat was going to swell shut. The two sleeping people on each side of me deterred me from getting up to find a cup of water. I was miserable! When the flight attendant finally came by with a tray with cups of water, I think I asked for three. The cool water refreshed my parched throat. 

This season of life has been a desert. A dry wilderness. This is not an uncommon place for God’s people. After his baptism, Jesus spent 40 days in the desert. Moses led the people of Egypt through the wilderness for 40 years. The desert is a place where all of the perceived comforts of ordinary life have been removed. 

And in this dry place, I have been profoundly thirsty. Spiritually thirsty. And Jesus is so faithful to refresh my weary heart every single day. He has been the cool water to soothe my spirit. The words of Psalm 42:1 have never been more real for me: “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul longs for God, for the living God.” 

There really are streams of mercy running through this desert of suffering. 

Traveling through the valleys strip away all of our false notions of control and our own self security. Its not that my life is any more out of my own control now than before, I’m just keenly aware of it. 

With each passing day, I feel the heaviness even more deeply. I am profoundly sad...sad just right down into my bones. This is not how things are supposed to be. Death was never God's intention, which gives believers space to be deeply grieved. 

I will never be ready to say goodbye to Zoe Karis. Cody and I love her more and more every single day. We talk to her and sing to her and read to her. We are trying to fit a lifetime of memories into the remaining weeks (please Lord, let it be weeks!) of pregnancy.

Without question, I am praying for a miracle. I would love to go to the MFM on Monday and hear that Zoe’s sweet little body has been transformed! But my devotion to God is not based on whether or not he heals Zoe in my womb and if she lives. I would love nothing more than to watch my daughter grow up. But I do not place my hope in a physical, earthly healing. I have hope in the merciful God to whom Zoe belongs.

The wilderness forces us to rely on God. It gives us an opportunity, like no other time in life, to worship God not because of what he can do for us, but just because of who he is. If he is not worthy to be worshiped in the worst of times, he wouldn’t be a supreme being deserving veneration in the best of times either. He would only be a fickle figment of our own making. A god in our own image. 

Cody and I have had a ziplock bag hanging in our shower for a couple years with the first question from the New City Catechism posted in it. The card reads “What is our only hope in life and death? That we are not our own, but belong body and soul, both in life and death, to God and to our savior Jesus Christ.” 

Zoe does not belong to me and Cody. Her body and soul belong to God. The outcome of her life is not in our hands, it is in his hands. Really, we could all use that reminder. Even my life is not my own. Because of Jesus, I belong to God. 

I can really let myself go down a sad spiral if I only think about saying goodbye to Zoe. However, it is remembering these essential truths of the Gospel that refresh my soul and draw me out of the depths. I think that is really what Paul is talking about in Philippians 4:8-9. Not just thinking about “good” things, but meditating upon holy, weighty redemptive truths. That is what brings peace in the storm and water in the desert. 

Truth gives me comfort. I find peace when I remember that though sin has broken everything, even chromosomal composition, God took on flesh in the person of Christ Jesus. He really became human. Gregory of Nazianzus argued for the humanity of Jesus saying, that which is unassumed is unhealed. Basically that means that if Jesus was not completely human, he could not really save humans. I am so grateful that Jesus is fully human. He assumed flesh and chromosomes that he might heal even genetic abnormalities. 

These realities refresh my soul. I would rather be in the desert with God than in a mirage of oasis without him.

Sorrow and Hope

In the last two months, I have experienced all manner of emotions. We felt thankfulness for all of the love and care we have received from so many of you. One of my favorite parts of each day is checking the mail. Every card, call and message is so appreciated. I have been encouraged that many of you are praying for us.  I could never thank you enough. Gratitude abounds.

The most predominate emotion I’ve felt in the last two months is sorrow. I am sad. A deep kind of sad that goes right to my bones. Perhaps sometimes as Christians, we attempt to discount the validity of this emotion. Because we know the end of the story, we try to convince ourselves that sadness has no place in our lives. That just isn’t true. 

Tim Keller writes in his excellent book Walking with God through Pain and Suffering that Christians actually have greater room for sorrow because we know that brokenness was not a part of God’s original design and intention. 

Jesus gives us a real example of sorrow and grief in John 11. When he saw the pain of Mary, Martha and their friends at the death of Lazarus, he didn’t respond with platitudes. He was deeply moved in his spirit, distressed, and he wept. I am so grateful that I don’t serve some distant, unapproachable god. I follow Jesus-- God who weeps with his people.

I haven’t been angry. I have however prayed some very real prayers. I am so thankful for the Psalms, which are filled with laments. They are prayers of people in really distressing situations, calling out to the only one who can help. With whom would I be angry? The only one who has any control, the only one with whom I might be angry is God. But since the moment of her diagnosis, I’ve known that God is the only hope that I have. The words of Peter in John 6:68 have been frequent on my lips, “Lord, to whom else shall I go? You have the words of eternal life.” I cannot be angry at the God who has been so very present with us and the God who gives us real HOPE that Zoe will be healed. 

I know that God will heal Zoe. I would love for it to be in the next few weeks. That is certainly not a guarantee. However, it IS a guarantee that when Jesus returns, Zoe will be raised with a perfect, glorified body. She won’t just be floating around as a disembodied spirit on a cloud somewhere. She will have a real glorified body, just like Jesus received as he was raised from dead on Easter morning. 

What is sown perishable...her broken little body...will be raised imperishable...a glorified eternal body. 

It is my prayer that we will see glimpses of that glorification now. I hope that we get to see some healing in her little body in the present-- long bones, a normal ribcage, lung development, a healthy heart and brain.

Two weeks ago, we got to see Zoe on ultrasound for the first time since her diagnosis. Cody and I had so hoped to see some changes in her body, some miraculous differences. However, that is not what we saw. We saw a very sick little girl. It was such a mix of deep emotions as we watched her wiggle on the screen. She just has the sweetest little face. We could see her sticking out her tongue, blinking her eyes and moving her hands. What joy! 

Simultaneously, I felt hot tears running down my cheeks as I realized that her bones didn’t grow much at all over those six weeks. The reality of all it just sunk in a bit deeper into my soul. 

The days pass quickly and slowly at the same time. I meet each day with excitement that she is still with us, and with fear knowing that every new day is closer to the time we will say goodbye.

I just miss her so much already. I miss what we won’t have together. The other night we were walking and heard neighbor children playing in their backyard. The sweet sounds were like arrows in my heart, knowing that I won’t hear Zoe squeal as we blow bubbles or color with sidewalk chalk. No picking out adorable pink hair-bows or monogrammed clothes. No preschool choirs or high school graduation. I miss the dreams of what might have been.

It is surreal that Cody and I have talked about the type of wood we prefer for her casket instead of her crib. When the weight of that thought is heavy upon me, I remember that Jesus is not unfamiliar with wood. He hung upon the cross to defeat the power of death. I look to that old rugged cross and see Jesus’ victory for us in his suffering. All of my varying emotions find peace as I remember that in Christ Jesus, God displays his love for me. 

Zoe Karis will rise from that wooden casket with a glorified body to spend eternity with Jesus. This is the hope of the gospel. This is my hope. This is the reality that pierces the darkness in my soul with undeniable light and hope in the midst of sorrow. 

The Hedge

The hedge is beginning to bloom in our backyard. I am sure it has a fancy botanical name, but I just know it as hedge. To me, it is the scent of my hometown, the sweet perfume of a Southern springtime. I can’t get enough of that aroma,  I wish I could bottle it up and keep it all year. 

But hedge doesn’t last very long. After the first hard rain, the tiny pristine white blossoms turn brown and mat together. The scent evaporates and the plant dons basic green leaves until fall. The fragrant blooms are gone even more quickly than they came.

Too often we miss the fragrance of the hedge because we just think it will be there next year, or we are too busy or stressed to pause and enjoy it at all.

Right now the hedge is blooming, and right now my Zoe girl is alive. I want to savor every second that I can of this season, because I know it will be gone in a flash. Sometimes the hours can seem painful and long, but I want to soak up this time I have with my daughter. Five weeks have already passed in a blur since her diagnosis.

The last couple of weeks have been filled with a lot of waiting. The anguish of waiting for a phone call can be just excruciating. For the last two weeks, I woke up with knots in my stomach waiting for my phone to ring. Zoe’s diagnosis is perplexing. It actually makes me feel better that the doctors are a bit puzzled about it all as well. It is just one in a million (actually I think the odds work out to 1/3,000,000) that Zoe has this particular combination of conditions. We are thankful to God that Cody and I are not both genetic carriers of her conditions, as we once thought during the last couple of weeks.

Now that we know more, and in some ways actually understand less, I have some peace. The uncertainty of it all gives me renewed hope. Physicians can’t wrap their minds around all that is happening, they can’t explain it. 

And yet I know the One who DOES know and DOES understand and IS in control. I look to the cross and remember that he is for me and I am constantly reminded in Scripture and by his Spirit that he is with me. For and with. Two tiny words that communicate such truth about the beauty of the Gospel of Jesus. 

In an odd way, I think it really is a special blessing to be staring death in the face with her. Everything else in life has been quickly sorted into proper perspective. Zoe is teaching me to cherish each moment of life, because the next is not promised. And in all reality, none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. All too often, we carry on believing that we, and the ones we love, will live to a ripe old age on this earth. It is just not promised to any of us, no matter how young or old. 

And yet this life is only the beginning. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once preached these words about life on earth, “All that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up.” Zoe’s prologue may be short, but the story into which she will live when the curtain rises will have no end.

All flesh is grass,

   and all its beauty is like the flower of the field.

The grass withers, the flower fades

    when the breath of the Lord blows on it;

    surely the people are grass.

The grass withers, the flower fades,

    but the word of our God will stand forever.

(Isaiah 40:6b-8)

Manna for today

Yesterday we got to hear Zoe’s heartbeat. There is no sweeter sound in the world to me. As memory of that strong drumming echoes in my ears, it seems like there must be some giant mistake happening here. Surely her great heartbeat means she’s okay? How can it be that I can hear her heartbeat and feel her move...and she’s going to die?

It’s all so hard to process.

Nothing is normal. It’s hard to find the energy to eat or talk or work. My memory is normally pretty precise, but I cannot recall even simple things. In the weeks since Zoe’s diagnosis, Cody and I have just been taking one day at a time. I don’t even know that there are good days and bad days. It’s more like a good hour or a hard hour. Zoe is all I can handle.

Unfortunately, I do think there is a certain selfish tendency to try to protect ourselves from what is ahead, to limit love because of the looming loss. We pray that God would continue to expand our capacity to truly love her as she deserves to be loved. To love her with abandon, as a perfect gift from God. To love her fully, despite the deeper pain we may feel when she leaves us.

When I begin thinking about the days ahead, the weeks and months ahead, I get overwhelmed. My Nanny called that “borrowing worry.” Ultimately, the future is frightening because I am often imagining a future without the grace of God.

When the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness, they received manna from heaven each morning (Exodus 16). They couldn’t save it up for the future. If they tried to hoard some away, it became rancid. The same is true with the grace of God. His mercy and peace is sufficient for the day, not for some imagined future time.

So in the present, I want to focus on being a good momma to Zoe. We want to cherish the time that we do have with her. She is alive right now, and we want to celebrate her! I can truly say that I am grateful God chose me and Cody to be her parents. I don’t want another baby. I wouldn’t trade her for a healthy child. I love my Zoe Karis just as she is. I am grateful to God to have the joy of giving her life right now, grateful for the privilege to carry her in my womb. Zoe is an eternal soul, worthy of whatever life and dignity we can provide to her.

That doesn't mean we aren't trembling. The prophet Habakkuk got a glimpse into his future and was terrified by it. He wrote, “My body trembles; my lips quiver at the sound; rottenness enters into my bones; my legs tremble beneath me.” And by the grace of God he was able to say, “Yet I will quietly wait for the day of trouble.” (Habakkuk 3:16) Now of course he was waiting for destruction to fall on his enemies and we await something much different. Nevertheless, what is ahead is daunting. We choose to wait on God’s peace and provision for each moment in spite of the fear.

One such rhythm of peace each evening is reading the Jesus Storybook Bible together. We’ve been all through the Old Testament, and tonight we will finally get to Jesus. Last night Cody excitedly said, “It’s almost time to introduce you to Jesus, Zoe!”

What a blessing and joy it is to read these stories to Zoe Karis, certain that she really is going to know Jesus. She will be with him. And one day, we will be too. His dwelling place will be with man. He will be our God and we shall be his people.

And he will wipe away all the tears from all the faces.

Thanatos to Zoe 3.25.16

That first night was especially hard. Each time I woke up, I had to remember all over again that it was real, that my baby was “not compatible with life.” I wanted so badly to escape to a sweet dream, but the nightmare of reality kept me awake. At 5:30am when Cody woke up, I was so thankful to not be alone anymore.

We met with the specialist, Dr. G, at 7am for a consultation and amniocentesis. He asked us if we had any questions. We shook our heads no, still in disbelief. Cody asked if he had any ideas of diagnosis. The doctor rattled off a long word I couldn’t understand. I didn’t ask for clarification though, partly from shock and party because I saw the tech in the corner write it down on a post-it note.

Cody asked if it might be anything else. The doctor plainly said no.

He explained that this rare condition happens at conception in the very first cell, and imprints on each one thereafter. This causes bones not to develop properly throughout the body, not just the limbs. This condition is fatal ultimately because the tiny ribcage does not allow lungs to develop or breathing to be successful upon birth. I’m not sure I was breathing either as the specialist described this.

We left the office in a daze. On the drive home, I remembered the post-it note the tech had given me with our daughter’s diagnosis on it. I pulled it out of my purse and stared at it in disbelief. Written on that brightly colored square of paper were the words thanatophoric dysplasia. I felt an iron clamp come around my lungs as I gasped to Cody, “thanatos!”

One gift of a seminary education from Beeson is learning Biblical languages. I immediately recognized thanatos as the Greek word meaning death. Our daughter’s diagnosis included the word death. Even though we had been told she would die, seeing that word in a language I knew was more than I could bear.

Cody dropped me off at home and left for work. I sat alone under the weight of thanatos until my parents arrived. I cried. I prayed. I listened to Shane & Shane sing me the Psalms. I sat and stared out the window and wondered how the world was still going on as mine seemed to be standing still.

Sometime during that day, the Holy Spirit began stirring my soul. Though death--thanatos-- may be her diagnosis, though it may be what awaits her in this broken, sin-riddled world...it is life and wholeness that awaits her in Jesus. Thanatos may be her diagnosis, but her destiny in Christ is LIFE.

In light of this truth, we have named her Zoe Karis.  Zoe is Greek for life and Karis is Greek for grace. She truly is a gift from the Lord. A gift of life by grace. Every time we say her name, it is an act of hope. It is an act of victory over death. It is a proclaimation that Jesus conquered the grave for her, and for us.

That Friday, Good Friday, had a renewed meaning. It is not just that Jesus came to die on the cross to atone for my sins, but that he came to restore everything which sin has broken...even genetic abnormalities.

Oh friends, I hope you know that peace. The kind of peace that can say through the tears, “I do NOT understand why this is happening, but still I trust you, Father.” The pain is still very very real, but I am certain that Cody and I have experienced Christ's peace because many of you are praying for us. Please continue to pray for peace...that we might trust the WHO even when we don’t understand the WHY.

The beginning 3.24.16

I don't know where to start Zoe's story, so I suppose the beginning is best. 

My husband Cody and I have been married almost 7 years. We moved to Birmingham in 2011 for graduate school at Samford. I currently serve in student ministry and work with an initiative to strengthen Biblical preaching. Cody is completing a residency in hospital administration. We stay busy :) 

Just before Christmas, Cody and I were surprised and excited to find out that I was pregnant. We had lost our first baby in the fall, and in many ways were still so heartbroken over the loss. We were grateful to God for this new life because we knew it was from HIM. (If you’ve experienced miscarriage, love someone who has, or just want to know how to minister to others well, I highly recommend Jessalyn Hutto’s book, An Inheritance of Tears. It is gospel-centered salve for the heart.)

Because of our miscarriage, I remember saying of the new pregnancy, "I know every day is a gift and not a guarantee!" I didn't know just how true that would be.

Early pregnancy went well; each time I was sick, I praised God because I thought that was a sign everything was okay. I was never so glad to feel miserable! We waited until I was 14 weeks to announce to the world that we were expecting, because we wanted to be sure all was well.

All of our family lives in Arkansas (woo pig!) and every schedule happened to work out for both sides of our families to come in for Easter weekend this year. We were so excited! I asked my wonderful doctor if I could have my 20 week ultrasound appointment a week early so that we might be able to have a gender reveal party with our family over the weekend. She kindly agreed, and I went to Pinterest for party plans!

The day of our ultrasound, Maundy Thursday, Cody and I were so excited that we could hardly stand it. As we sat in the waiting room, Cody prayed a sweet prayer and finished with the words, "Prepare us for whatever we may hear today." The Spirit was so kind in getting us ready for a storm we never saw coming.

With anxious joy, we walked into the ultrasound room. The sweet tech waved her wand over my belly and our sweet baby came onto the screen. The drumming of the heartbeat sounded strong and to us, everything looked just perfect. We watched in awe as our baby danced on the screen, while the tech took many different measurements. It is absolutely amazing to me that through the gift of technology, we can have a tiny window into the secret place, to see the life God is knitting together (Psalm 139:13-16). We were given a strip of photos from our time and happily floated out of the room to visit with the doctor.

I think my blood pressure was 101/63 or something while we waited for Dr. B; I could not have been more relaxed. She walked in the room and made some small talk which I don't really recall. Then she said something that I think I will hear for the rest of my life:

"I have some concerns."

In that moment, I could not have been more confused if someone had told me that I sprouted a lion's mane. She went on to say something about the bones measuring short and that she didn't know what it meant and she had already called a specialist and they were waiting on us downstairs right now. 

She ushered us out the back of the office (always a bad sign) and kindly rode the elevator down with us to the Maternal Fetal Medicine doctor's office. I kept repeating to Cody, "What is happening?" When we walked in the MFM office, the receptionist said "You must be Hayden." I felt a horrible sinking in my stomach at that moment and tears began welling up in my eyes. There was just something about her already knowing my name that communicated the gravity of the present situation.

Even in that moment, God was near. As I watched my sweet baby on another ultrasound screen, I prayed that the God who can make dry bones live (Ezekiel 37) would make short bones grow. 

It was a provision of God that the specialist would see us so quickly and consult with us while he was out of town. We met with him over the phone after he reviewed the images. He was very kind and asked what we knew. I said "We know that the bones are measuring short." He replied, "Ohh...there are many things wrong with your baby."

As he continued talking, I could only process bits of information...brain defect, heart defect, spine defect, not compatible with life. I felt dizzy and tears began streaming down my face. All I could say was Jesus. No other words, no other prayer, no other questions...just Jesus. 

We were left alone in the room for some time and I sobbed. Wailed may even be a better word. Our sweet tech came back in shared some encouragement with us about the nearness and goodness of God. It was a holy moment. We asked if she knew the gender of our baby...the thrill of surprise was too far gone. She told us we had been given a little girl. Cody somehow held his composure and scheduled a procedure for the next morning which we hoped would provide some answers.

We walked out of the office in a daze. I don't even remember getting to my car. It honestly felt like I was in a dream- a terrible dream that wouldn't end and I couldn't wake up. Cody and I walked in our house and collapsed on the couch in a heap of tears. After a little bit, we called my parents who were on their way to Birmingham for the weekend. We didn't want them to feel any pressure to come in light of the circumstances. They didn't hesitate. Cody's parents, who planned to leave the next morning, responded the same. God was so good to already have our parents coming during the time we would need them most.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night. I know that Cody read Matthew 26:36-46, a passage recording Jesus' time praying in Gethsemane. So much of that text resonated with our hearts. We felt such deep sorrow (v. 38) and prayed that this cup might pass us, but ultimately for God's will to be done (v. 39, 42). This year, we sat under the weight of Maundy Thursday in a new way. 

Simultaneously, the peace of God was so evident. I texted my brother and sister-in-law that night, “Broken hearts but we know that God is still good and this doesn’t take him by surprise. God even knows the deep pain of watching his own son die. Thankful we have a God who feels our deepest pain.” 

Praise God. Because Jesus lived, our God knows our pain. Because Jesus died, her death will be not be the final word. Because Jesus rose, she will rise. 

Soli deo Gloria.