The Zoe Karis Walker Endowed Fund for the Center for Women in Ministry at Beeson Divinity School

When Dr. Robert Smith Jr. preached from II Kings 13 at Zoe Karis’s memorial service, he showed how God used the dried bones of Elisha to revive a recently deceased man upon contact. He called it “grace beyond the grave.” The thought was that though someone might pass on from this life, God could still use them- even their bones- to make an impact.

Today, as Beeson Divinity School announced the Zoe Karis Walker Endowed Fund for the Center for Women in Ministry, I feel like I’m seeing such a beautiful picture of grace beyond the grave. How remarkable that our little evangelist might be honored and have a legacy in the equipping and resourcing for other women who are called to the work of ministry. 

You can read the story here and learn more about the Center for Women in Ministry here.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to those who love and remember our beloved daughter. 

FIVE!

 

Today is Zoe’s fifth birthday. FIVE. Five years since we met and held and said goodbye to our precious Zoe Karis. I can hardly believe that it has been five years since we entered that thin place where heaven and earth drew near and she slipped behind the veil. 

Five feels different than the birthdays we’ve experienced so far, like we’ve crossed a threshold of time. She would be a big girl. Maybe picking out a backpack and gearing up for Kindergarten. I think there will always be pangs of sorrow when I see other children her age and grieve that she is not here for those milestones.

The days leading up to her birthday are usually harder for me than the day itself. Today has been filled with joy and celebration of our sweet baby girl’s life. More than the flood of sorrow, today I have just been overwhelmed with gratitude that I get to be Zoe’s momma. What an unbelievable privilege and gift God gave me.

I’ve also swam in the pool of grace that is my memory of God’s care for us. As I usually do this time of year, I went back through my “Zoe boxes” and remembered all the ways that people cared for us while she was sick and after she died. I weep recalling the myriad ways in which our people were the tangible body of Christ to us. We felt so loved by God as his people fed and clothed and wept and prayed with us. 

Cody took the day off of work so that we could be together as a family and celebrate our girl today. We had blueberry cobbler for breakfast, as we do for all the birthdays in our family. Then we headed to Richwoods, the holy spot where she is buried. We brought water and brushes to scrub her headstone. Rhett loves to spray in the etched letters of his big sister’s name to flush them clean. We spread out a quilt and read from the Jesus Storybook Bible. We sang songs. We chose to be defiantly hopeful in a place that is presently dominated by death. 

In the earlier years after her death, the ground over her grave was slow to grant growth. It was dirt for about two years. And yet ever so slowly, grass began to grow again. Today, the ground was almost all grass. It hurts my heart in some ways, because it reminds me how long it has been since she’s been gone. But in another way—one which I prefer to dwell on—it gives me great hope. It reminds me that God brings life out of dead places. New growth from barren land. Joy in the place of brokenness. Beauty for ashes. 

If you find yourself dipping under the swirl of grief, I pray that you know this is true. There is excruciating emptiness in burying one whom you love. I felt as though my very heart had been buried with Zoe. But God does not leave things broken, including the hearts of his people, and he is at work touching all that is broken with the fullness of life. Grass growing over dirt is just a tiny glimpse of the restoration of all creation which we await in the New Heavens and Earth.

And so we eat cake today. We light a candle and sing “Happy Birthday” to a little girl who isn’t seated around the table. It feels clunky sometimes. And other years it has been incredibly heart wrenching to celebrate with any semblance of joy. But we do it anyways because we believe that the real celebration is coming one day. And it’s all because of Jesus.

As we prayed around the dinner table tonight, I thanked God and said “I can’t wait to see Zoe again!”— and Rhett added “and YOU!” What a powerful reminder from the mouth of my precious three year old boy. He wants to see Jesus!! The hope and wholeness offered at the restoration of all things is not because we will see our loved ones again, but that we will be with God himself. Jesus is the true prize of the life to come. The gift of being one day reunited with Zoe Karis makes me love Christ all the more. 

The main reason that I write today is for the momma or daddy who might come across this blog in their own very dark days. Cody and I searched and read blogs of bereaved parents as we grasped for companionship on a strange and terrifying road. We wanted to know that someone had walked the rocky way before and had survived. I don’t even know that I truly believed joy could be on the other side, but I wanted to read the stories of those who had managed to keep going. I tremble to think that one such parent might have found this blog. Dear friend, it is awful. Some times there are just no words for how harrowing it truly is. But I want you to know that by the grace of God alone, I stand. And by that same grace, Zoe Karis (and your child!) shall also literally stand again at the Great Resurrection. Keep reminding yourself of the truth. Preach it over and over and over to yourself every single day. May God be near to you in your suffering.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

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.