New grace

Lord willing, we are just days away from meeting sweet Zoe’s little brother. My head is swirling like our washing machine, which is currently filled with blankets and burp cloths for our little boy. I can’t believe that we are about to welcome another child into our family. A child whom we hope we will get to bring home from the hospital with us. 

The last few months as we have anticipated his birth have been filled with their own challenges. Once you have had a child die, everything feels very different. Because I’d had a miscarriage before Zoe, I already knew what a gift it was to be pregnant. But every single moment of this pregnancy has just been a treasure that I don’t take for granted. Every kick. Every sleepless night. Every bout of nausea. It all reminds me of God’s grace towards us in this new child. Grace is unmerited favor, we do nothing to earn it or deserve it. Rhett Benjamin is an undeserved gift from God, just as Zoe was. 

It has not been easy though. Every day has also been a battle between fear and faith. The fear that he would also be sick with Zoe’s terrible disease, or that something else might happen to him could have just paralyzed me. I honestly could have just drowned in those thoughts and allowed myself to experience zero joy during this season of pregnancy. I have continually had to turn my eyes back to the cross, to remember that even if Rhett were to be taken from me also, it would not change the character of God. He is good. No matter our circumstance, he remains the same. He is immutable, even when my emotions are chaotic.

Rhett’s life also brings new griefs about Zoe. I am so sad that she is not here to welcome her little brother. So sad that my parents won’t be bringing her up to the hospital to sit in the bed with me and gingerly pat his head for the first time. Heartbroken that every picture next week (and always) will be missing her beautiful face. When I imagine what Rhett will look like, I wonder if his blue eyes, perfect lips or little hands will look like Zoe. These are new “big sister sorrows” that I had no idea would exist when she died a year and a half ago. But now I think with every new season of life, there will be different things that we will miss about her.

We hold all of our sorrows in tension with hope: both for this life and for life eternal. It can be frightening to hope for things in the present, to believe that something might go well this side of heaven. And yet somehow hope makes us more tender…acknowledging our vulnerability and lack of control over whatever suffering might come our way in life. It can be just as daring to embrace hope as it is to embrace suffering. 

Cody and I pray that when Rhett is born, we will be able to experience the heights of joy because we know the depths of sorrow, not in spite of it. Joy really is richer and deeper for those who do not cower away from sorrow and suffering. To exist fully, they must exist together. That is what brings real richness to our own hearts and to relationships. 

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep,” Paul wrote in Romans 12:15. This beautiful juxtaposition of believers meeting one another where they are in suffering or celebration has never been more clear to me than it was a month ago at our church. We were given a wonderful shower for Rhett in the same room where we had received and wept with friends after Zoe’s memorial service. It made the space even more holy to me, remembering that this is how believers are to share in one another’s lives…weeping and rejoicing, rejoicing and weeping.

Similarly, the week before Zoe was born, some of our friends were married in our sanctuary. It was a truly beautiful wedding, and they closed with the modern hymn by King’s Kaleidoscope, “All Glory be to Christ.” Two weeks later, we sang that same song in that same sanctuary. Not at a wedding, but at my baby’s memorial service. It is a song of that reminds us our lives…the weeping and rejoicing… are temporary, but the glory of God is eternal. We praise him in the seasons of sorrow and the seasons of celebration, not necessarily because we feel like it, but because he is worthy.

“All glory be to Christ our king!

All glory be to Christ!

His rule and reign we'll ever sing

All glory be to Christ!” (Link to song here)

Celebrating

What a year. On Saturday, we celebrated Zoe’s first birthday. It was not what I’d envisioned when I found out that I was pregnant with her. Definitely not the kind of first birthday that Pinterest portrays. Not a day filled with smash cakes and giggles. 

It was a day heavy with anticipation. As the day approached, memories became increasingly vivid and fresh once again. My anguish mirrored the heaviness in my heart from last June, when I knew that each day which passed pushed us closer to Zoe’s final day. 

However, when I woke up on Saturday, crippling sorrow did not overwhelm me. Instead, God mercifully granted his peace and presence. It was the same sort of strange peace that we felt on June 24, 2016. 

We spent the morning at Zoe’s grave, preaching to ourselves the promise of the resurrection. Being in that place is so holy for us. It is the last place we saw our daughter on this earth, and the place from which she will arise when Christ appears again. Zoe’s headstone is a little sermon in stone. It reminds us that she and we are “waiting in hope for the glorious resurrection,” a carefully chosen epitaph.

Without the hope of the resurrection, we are “people most to be pitied, but Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (I Cor. 15:19b-20). This hope of the resurrection is far more radical than the prevailing popular view of heaven. We won’t just float away on a cloud, instead Christians are promised a bodily resurrection! Just like the resurrection that gave life on Easter morning to Jesus’ dead body! 

Death will one day die. The earth will give birth to the saints of the ages! Once again, it is TRUTH that draws me out of darkness! 

It is in light of this marvelous news that we can be of good courage in the face of death and the grave. One day, the words of I Corinthians 15:54-55 will be true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” For now, the sting remains. But it will not always be so! Thus, we live in the tension. We know the pain of the present and the glory of the future. We eat cake and cry.

God used Zoe Karis to teach us that every gift is from his hand. We worship the Giver, not the gift. When we get that relationship backwards, focusing solely on the gift, we will be lost in white-knuckled misery. I want to learn to hold everything with an open hand, giving thanks to the One who both gives and takes away. 

We have been given a new gift from God; a baby boy whom we hope to meet in November. We are so thankful to the Father for this new little life. The journey of a new pregnancy has not been easy. God is expanding our hearts to love our new baby, but our son does not diminish the pain of our daughter’s death. No child can ever take the place or fill the hole that Zoe left in our hearts. He is his own person, a unique and wonderful gift from God all his own. 

Because of his big sister’s disease, he has been carefully monitored. Several weeks ago, when we could clearly see his long legs kicking and his well formed spine arching and moving on ultrasound, we were filled with such joy that he seems healthy. And yet, simultaneously, we were filled with such deep sadness that Zoe did not have the same strong and long bones. A healthy baby would be a welcomed and wonderful gift, but we know from experience that an unhealthy child is no less a gift. Zoe Karis was our sweetest and most sanctifying gift from God. What an honor it is to be her parents. 

We praise God for sustaining us one whole year without Zoe. We celebrate her life, give thanks for her baby brother, and await the great and glorious day when we will all be together in the presence of our Redeemer and King.

365 days

It has been a year since we first received the news that Zoe was sick. For 365 days, God has strengthened and sustained us.

There have been many days when I've looked down at my supply of strength and thought "this won't last me through tomorrow, I can't make it any further." And yet each new morning, there has been enough grace for that day.

I feel like the widow of Zarephath from I Kings 17. She only had a handful of flour and a little oil, just enough to make one last meal for herself and her son. But God was gracious to her, and each morning she found another handful of flour, another spoonful of oil. "The jar of flour was not spent, neither did the jug of oil become empty, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah" (I Kings 17:16).

Each morning for the last 365 mornings, God has given me the "flour and oil" necessary to make it through whatever trial, phone call, test result, sorrow, or grievous task was ahead. There really is a great peace which settles into your heart when you cease from striving for control over your own life.

We've done a lot of reflecting over the past couple of days. Cody's been working on a video of Zoe's life and he shared a preview with me last night. As we watched ourselves read to her, take her on walks and to concerts, and introduce her to loved ones, we were amazed at the joy on our faces...joy that came from the strength that Christ himself provided.

I recall those first tender days with clarity. Learning she was sick. The amniocentesis. Weeping. The excruciating wait for phone calls. The confusing and conflicting information about her diagnosis. Feeling her bounce around inside of me as I imagined the dress we'd bury her in.

I remember all of the confusion in those months. No one could figure out what was wrong with Zoe. It was only after we received her autopsy that we learned that Zoe was not afflicted with the more common type of skeletal dysplasia which we once thought. She had a extremely rare (literally 1/1,000,000) condition called Osteogenesis Imperfecta type II. There are other variations of OI with which people live, but Type II is always fatal.

Those three months were terrible and wonderful. I'd never felt so alive...as I looked into the face of death without hopelessness. With deep deep sadness, absolutely. But not hopeless fear. The truth of Scripture enlivened our weary spirits. In II Corinthians 5:6, Paul writes that "we are of good courage" because of the reality of life beyond this life. Resurrection. When resurrection reality pulses through your days, earthly fears are greatly dimmed.

On the morning of March 24, 2016, before the ultrasound when we received the news, I wrote "Father would you prepare our hearts to trust you, no matter what we might find. Help me to believe that you are always good, your character never changes." The very next morning, I wrote "This does not change your character." And one year later, I can wholeheartedly say that God most certainly has not changed. But he sure has changed me.

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.