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.