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.