tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43557205548659168782024-03-05T19:15:53.700-08:00Forget Me Not MinistriesProviding resources, support, and Biblical encouragement to women and their families struggling with fertility issues or grieving the loss of a baby born in any trimester, under any circumstanceKarenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-1127017104062272402016-03-08T09:54:00.000-08:002016-06-05T14:47:56.819-07:00Amazon Wish ListPlease click <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/WTPO70OH3ZSO/ref=cm_wl_huc_view" target="_blank">here</a> to find an Wish List of items we can always use in our comfort packages! The items can be shipped directly to us through Amazon, or dropped off at the church office at Palmcroft Baptist Church in Phoenix,<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/WTPO70OH3ZSO/ref=cm_wl_huc_view">http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/WTPO70OH3ZSO/ref=cm_wl_huc_view</a><br />
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<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-66439523410093802532015-12-08T15:37:00.001-08:002015-12-08T15:45:05.752-08:00Brody's Story<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;"><i>The following is a guest post from one of our newest volunteers, Maggy Brown.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">Today is December 8th – my expected due date. I
will not be rejoicing at the birth of my son however, because he was born
asleep into Heaven on July 27th, when I was 23 weeks pregnant. I have 3 living
daughters, and Brody is now my 4th angel baby. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">I’ve been blessed to carry 7
babies in my lifetime. I can’t tell you how excited we were to find out we had been
blessed with a boy. That all changed when at 11 weeks of pregnancy, I had a
major bleed and KNEW I had lost my baby. We called an ambulance, rushed to the
hospital, and cried our eyes out as the ER doc explained we had experienced a
miscarriage. They would do an ultrasound to determine if a d&c would be
necessary, so we waited, prayed and cried. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">I was wheeled back into the u/s
room, where the tech was very professional and said she would not be able to
give me details or answer any questions, she was almost too sterile about it. I
was dying on the inside, why didn’t she see that?! She flips on the machine,
and places the wand on my belly, and what appeared on the screen was a miracle:
it was my baby! There he was, his little heart beating away normally and it
almost looked like he was waving at me! I held my breath, afraid to ask the
tech, since she’d been so clear about not answering questions, but when she
turned to look at me, all I saw was raw emotion, she had tears streaming down
her face, and she told me my baby was alive and well. She took measurements and
hugged me and we all rejoiced in God’s hand in saving our baby. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">This situation
happened another 3 times over the course of the next 12 weeks; the last time it
did, Brody didn’t make it. They were unable to stop me from dilating and he was
delivered at 23 weeks. That night his early birth saved my own life. I coded
several times, and the doctors were frantic to stop my bleeding. I begged God
to save my baby, I made deals about how I would honor Him in any way that He
called me to, as long as He saved my boy. But instead of God answering that
plea, He saved my life instead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">I felt as Brody was being born, and the nurses
rushed out to get the doctor. I had to push several times, and then his little
lifeless body entered the world for the first time. Jason was able to cut the
cord and see his beautiful face as he was removed from the tight little sac he
was held in. He<span style="background: white;"> was absolutely breathtaking! That
moment was breathtaking, not just for my joy and unconditional love I felt for him,
but also because it was the most Divine moment I have ever experienced. The
presence of God's Angels and Holy Spirit was so strong, that no one spoke. No
one wanted to break that Holy silence. I also realized in that moment, that the
following hours would be the only moments I would ever have with Brody. But for
that tiny millisecond I had forgotten the horrifying truth and lived in that
moment of happiness of seeing my son for the first time. He was perfect. An
angel in human form. He weighed less than one pound, but I loved him beyond
measure. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">The days that followed were a
blur. People came and went. We had a memorial service to say goodbye and praise
God for welcoming Brody into Heaven. It was all very raw and emotional. Once
everything was done, family had gone home, I wasn’t sure what was next. I was
supposed to be 6 months pregnant with my baby boy, but all I had was an empty
belly and a broken heart. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">Over the last few months I have learned to put the
pieces of my life back together. I have been blessed by the Forget Me Not
Ministry ladies to be able to participate in something amazing, and honor my
son. I start classes in January to become a Certified Birth & Bereavement
Doula, my faith is stronger than ever, my relationship with my husband, my
family, and my kids has never been better….. but today, on December 8th, I
grieve for the baby I will never know in this life. I cry about all the
what-if’s and what his human life would have looked like, I will praise God for
sparing me, and make Him proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I will miss my baby
Brody until the day when I can hold him in Heaven. I’ll love you forever, Brody
William Brown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.0pt;">“…..Weeping may last for the
night, but JOY comes in the morning.” ~Psalm 30:5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-57362547946312718862015-11-28T19:42:00.002-08:002015-11-28T19:42:37.037-08:00Wanting to be a Dad: A Husband's Perspective on "The Wait"<div class="yiv0209367832MsoNormal" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1448768258906_2259" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; padding: 0px;">
The following is a guest entry from Brian Adams. </div>
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When my sister asked me to write this I was really excited. I really enjoy writing and thought this would be something that would be fun and therapeutic as it would allow me to get thoughts down that I haven’t really talked about. However, it was not so easy. I started and stopped multiple times. I procrastinated and put it off because, in all honesty, I didn’t want to go through the emotional exercise I knew this would be. Talking about infertility and the lack of success my wife and I have had in getting pregnant is not something I looked forward to doing. It’s a difficult topic to talk about because I feel it makes other people uncomfortable whenever we bring it up. Anyways, I hope this can be an encouragement to a few people in knowing they are not alone and there are other people going through what they are going through. Thank you in advance for taking the time to read this.</div>
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My wife LOVES kids, especially babies. Whenever she sees a baby she can’t help but swoon over the little one and ask the parents if she can hold him or her. When we were dating/engaged I knew she wanted kids and that all she wanted to do was be a mom. It was soon after we got married (the next day, actually) I realized that she wanted kids NOW. She didn’t want to wait a few months or years because, to her, she was ready to be a mom and wanted to start a family ASAP. I was a little more hesitant at first because our money and job situation weren’t concrete. After about a year of being married, we both decided we were ready. We were scared but so excited to have kids. We thought, like most people, it would happen soon. So we started to save money and plan out names for our kids. I can’t tell you how pumped we were to have start a family.</div>
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That was over 2 years ago and we still have not gotten pregnant.</div>
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The first few months when she would take a pregnancy test and it would be negative, I did my best to encourage her and try to comfort her as this was normal and it can take a while to get pregnant. As the months went on and on and we still weren’t pregnant, it got harder and harder to say, “Don’t worry, it will happen soon” because I felt like a liar. You can only say those words so often without feeling like a fraud. Besides, did I believe that it would happen? Was I saying those words because I was trying to convince myself?</div>
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I have experienced my share of heartache, but nothing compares to the pain of my wife in tears because she took another pregnancy test and it was negative. Because my wife wants to save me from the pain of that, sometimes she wouldn’t tell me she took a test and it was negative. Knowing she has had to go through that disappointment all by herself; that was a different sort of pain I wasn’t used to. I am supposed to protect her and be there for her and yet there was nothing I could do. I just had to watch her go through this every month.</div>
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The thing with infertility is that you become very aware of all the people who are pregnant. We love our friends and we love that God is blessing them with families of their own. But I could see the pain on my wife’s face, that little twinge of sadness, whenever she would find out a friend was pregnant. It’s not because she wasn’t happy for them or jealous, but it was a reminder that she wasn’t pregnant.</div>
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The first time I felt that pain was when I found out my sisters were pregnant. We had a big family photo-shoot and my sisters had a picture set up to announce to all of us that they were pregnant. Now, I LOVE being an uncle and I thank God for that every day. However, when we all found out they were pregnant, I felt my heart drop into my stomach. For me, it was the first time it really hit me how much I wanted a family and how much I was hurting that we had not yet gotten pregnant.</div>
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Most guys don’t talk about their desire to be a dad, probably because they have really crappy dads. However, I really want to be a dad and a big part of that is because of how much I love and admire my father. Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money. So, in addition to his teaching job and getting his Doctorate, he would deliver pizzas to help make ends meet. He did whatever was necessary for our family. As I got older, I played sports pretty much year round and he never missed a single game (I’m pretty sure he didn’t miss any of my sisters’ games either). It didn’t matter if it was 3 hours away on a Tuesday night, he would make the drive to watch me. Some of my best memories are the drives home after basketball practice or a game where we would talk. I have always wanted to be a dad, which is what makes this whole thing incredibly difficult.</div>
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I can’t speak for my wife, but I know she hesitates to talk about this with people because she doesn’t want them to feel like she is jealous or somehow doesn’t want to be around their kids. This is a difficult topic because how do you tell someone that you tear up when you get a baby shower invitation because you hope, beyond all hope, that you were the one having the baby shower?</div>
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How do you tell someone that, while you will pray them as they struggle raising their kids and are completely exhausted, you wish you were getting 2 hours of sleep each night because of your baby?</div>
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How do you tell someone that it feels like God has left you completely alone to struggle and that it sometimes feels like He is rubbing it in your face that you can’t get pregnant?</div>
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We have only begun the process of getting tests done to figure out why we aren’t able to get pregnant. Part of that has to do with the utter terror of being told we can’t have children for one reason or another. In all honesty, I’m not sure how I would respond to that. I would hope I would respond well, but I don’t know. It’s a terrifying process.</div>
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However, there is some hope in all of this. We have prayed and cried together more than I thought a young married couple would. We have both had to be strong for the other at different times and that has been an incredible experience to see how it strengthens our marriage. We have faith God will work this out, we really do, but it’s the waiting that’s the hardest part.</div>
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We have also been incredibly blessed by our friends and family who we have been able to talk about this with. They don’t offer advice, they just listen. They don’t tell us to “be thankful you get to enjoy sleep for a little while longer”, they pray with us and ask us how we are doing the next time we see them. We are very thankful God has put people like that in our lives.</div>
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If you are having difficulty with getting pregnant or have experienced loss, please reach out to someone. You are not alone and there are good people who will be there to help you. Don’t give up. </div>
Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-63104952196605452702015-05-07T22:09:00.002-07:002015-05-07T22:37:41.808-07:00I am Isobel's momI've shed more tears this week than I have in a while. I should clarify: more sad tears. The Lord knows that the tears of joy have been abundant these past few months. <br />
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(If you have been following my prior blogs and are confused, see here ;-) : <br />
<a href="http://brimhallfamilyjourney.blogspot.com/2014/11/here-we-go.html">http://brimhallfamilyjourney.blogspot.com/2014/11/here-we-go.html</a><br />
<a href="http://brimhallfamilyjourney.blogspot.com/2014/12/gods-promise-part-one.html">http://brimhallfamilyjourney.blogspot.com/2014/12/gods-promise-part-one.html</a><br />
<a href="http://brimhallfamilyjourney.blogspot.com/2015/03/gods-promise-part-two.html">http://brimhallfamilyjourney.blogspot.com/2015/03/gods-promise-part-two.html</a><br />
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But let me back up.<br />
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Two years ago tomorrow, I sat in a bed in the ER for nearly ten hours, physically laboring through my second miscarriage. I won't recount the exact chain of events or the countless moments of just deep deep sadness that defined that day and changed who I was. But I will say that it was a formative day and time during my grief journey to motherhood, and I still think on it with great pain and sadness. And though it wasn't the first baby that we'd lost, in many ways I feel that it triggered a turn of events that have defined me ever since. All of the time spent writing, sobbing, crafting, reading, praying, fighting, hoping, and ministering. The journey. the grief. Have been who I am for so long. <br />
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And so this week. The week that every newscast, every radio station, every commercial, every TV show, every store, and every greeting card company on the planet. Get together and remind us that it's the week of motherhood. It has knocked me down once again.<br />
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<i>And I wasn't expecting that.</i><br />
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Even right now as I listen to the sound of the crashing ocean waves on the monitor next to my bed, confirming that Isobel is sound asleep in her crib. <br />
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<i>I still wasn't expecting it.</i><br />
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This is my chance. This is the time. This is my turn. The year. When people will finally recognize me as a mother. Will see me with an actual live, perfect child in my arms. And know. That I am a mother. When I won't have to dread the clerk at the store who means well but doesn't know any better as she wishes me a Happy Mother's Day on my way out. Because it will be true. And I won't have to go to my car and cry and yell. I won't have to be sad.<br />
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But. <i>I am.</i><br />
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And after talking it out some tonight, I think there are a few things going on here. And this is me working those things out. <br />
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First. I have a child in my arms. A perfect beautiful, gorgeous child in my arms. But my other children are still missing. And as much as having a child in my arms affirms my status as a mother (or so they say), then not having my other children in my arms affirms my status as a <i>bereaved </i>mother. I'm most comfortable as a bereaved mother. I know how to do that. How to be that. See. I miss them. And I wish they were here. And as I've already begun to prepare the family's clothes for this special Sunday, I wonder what clothes I would have been ironing for them. <br />
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<i>Something is missing.</i><br />
<br />
And then there is Isobel. Our Isobel. My Isobel. Our rainbow after the storm. Our miraculous gift from above. <i>God's promise.</i> Dropped into our laps in the most unimaginable way. So unbelievably quickly. Boy do I <u>love</u> her. The highlight of my day is when I pick her up from grandma's after work and kiss her face until her cheeks are red. It's "scolding" her to put her tongue back in her face and quit licking back when her puppy licks her. It's seeing that tiny dimple on her left cheek when she smiles. It's hearing her giggle. And shedding oh so many tears when I pray over her at bedtime. And if all of this is true. Which it is. Then why do I keep referring to her as Izzie? Or my kid? Why don't I refer to her as my daughter? But mostly. <i>Why don't I feel like her mother?</i> I have never for even a single second intentionally held anything back from her. Even when it was terrifyingly possible that she could be taken from our home at any moment. I have tried and tried and tried to feel like her mother. To do and to be everything that a mother would.<br />
<br />
<i>But something is missing.</i><br />
<br />
I have been so defined by my grieving mother heart for so long. It's been a part of everything that I do to the point where it has become, I think, in many ways, who I am. All of me. All the time. And it's compounded as the years have gone on. And even now as I carry grief for Isobel's birth mom too. <i>Heavily.</i> And I will always grieve the loss of my children. I will always wonder who they would have been. I will always wonder what they would have looked like and what kind of personality or gifts they would have had. I will always keep the mementos we have of them up in our home and include them in our special holiday and family traditions. I will always talk about them and tell anyone and everyone what an important part of my life and my journey they have been. And I will always tell their sister of her siblings. Always. Until the day I see them again. <br />
<br />
And there it is.<br />
<br />
<i>It's time.</i> <br />
<br />
The truth is, my children that were born into heaven-- <i>are in heaven</i>. They are perfect, complete, and in eternity with Christ. They don't know sin, pain, or brokenness. And they have full knowledge of what lies ahead. And in that, are they not looking down and wondering why their mother is still so defined by their deaths? I think that given what they know, they would want me. Would want us. To <i>embrace</i> what's next. A new season. A new season of gladness and of joy. And it doesn't mean I have to forget them. Or minister less.<br />
<br />
<i>Go ahead, mom. Be Isobel's mother. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Be Isobel's mother.<br />
<br />
<i>Being a mother to Isobel is not a betrayal to them.</i><br />
<br />
I need to be Isobel's mother.<br />
<br />
I can be Isobel's mother.<br />
<br />
<i>I am Isobel's mother.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
And this reminds me. Of every time that I'm sending pictures to Izzie's tummy mommy and I double check that it's okay before I send one that has Jesse or me in it. And how every time. Without fail. She says to me-- "You know how I feel about that! I love seeing her with you guys, you are her parents!" <br />
<br />
<i>Go ahead. Be Isobel's mother.</i><br />
<br />
And so tomorrow. As we begin the start of a long weekend that will hold many bittersweet moments. Mothers. Bereaved mothers. Mother hearts. Loss. Sadness. Life. and Hope. I'm making a new plan. A plan to for once, be in the moment. This moment. Whether it's nursery painting. Or a family walk. Or date night. Or fussy time. Or diaper time. Or. Just time. Now. <i>Here.</i> <br />
<br />
As Isobel's mother.<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-8880603135915630552014-10-14T15:06:00.003-07:002014-10-14T15:09:19.588-07:00Why it Matters to Have a Day of RemembranceBreast Cancer Awareness.<br />
Down Syndrome Awareness.<br />
Domestic Abuse Awareness.<br />
Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness.<br />
<br />
The buttons and banners and articles pop up all over Facebook, all over everywhere really, and those are only for the month of October. We are almost bombarded with things to remember, things to be "aware" of, and it makes some people wonder, "Why is it so important to have a day, a week, or an entire month to raise awareness for a certain topic?" Or more specifically, why does it matter to have a month or even a day set aside for something like pregnancy loss? It won't change anything. Not one less baby will die because I changed my profile picture to a pink and blue ribbon or lit a candle in remembrance of the babies who have already died. So what's the point? Why all the fuss? Why is my Facebook being overrun with sad articles and tiny footprints?<br />
<br />
This is why.<br />
<br />
Go through your Facebook friends list. Run down in your head all the women you know and love. Now take one fourth of those women and say to yourself, "All of these women have lost babies, have had miscarriages, have had infants die early on, have delivered babies born still, have carried babies that died with either no explanation or one that just wasn't good enough."<br />
<br />
This is not a statistic I pulled out of thin air, this is reality. One in four women have dealt with some kind of pregnancy loss or early infant death. I actually went through my friends list tonight just to see if the statistic held true for me personally. Guess what? Not only did it hold true, my statistic was closer to <i>one in three.</i> One in three women who have a reason to be remembered today, October 15th, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. And that's only counting the women I know for a fact to have had pregnancy losses, I am positive there are more who just aren't as open about their experiences and have kept quiet about their pain. And to add to that, more than half of the women I counted on my list have had more than one loss, some more than two, some as many as five. How many babies is that? I lost count.<br />
<br />
So if that many women have dealt with this kind of pain, have experienced this kind of life altering occurrence, why, why, why is it not all over the place all the time? Why are there not talk shows interviewing Miscarriage Survivors every other day? Why are there not billboards declaring undying support for men and women who have lost children in this manner? Where are the walks and the marathons and the telethons raising support for burial costs for families of stillborn babies or counseling services for women experiencing post traumatic stress disorder or depression after their pregnancy loss? Why aren't ribbons in every grocery store checkout line and why aren't football players sporting a specific color with their cleats and their jerseys and their helmets showing their support for the women fighting to get up in the morning after losing a baby? One. In. Four. Women. Why?<br />
<br />
Years ago, there was no such thing as Breast Cancer Awareness. Years ago, breast cancer was considered a "women's problem" that was not to be discussed in polite conversation. It was talked about in whispered voices, usually only by women, and was not something the general public thought about or talked about or felt affected by. Sound familiar? It does to me, because that's where Pregnancy Loss Awareness is right about now. So what changed? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it had something to do with the fact that at some point, somebody woke up and realized that this was not just a women's health issue, this was an epidemic. This was everywhere you turned. Her mother, his sister, my grandmother...all of these women affected by the same thing. People looked up and said, "Hey, wait a second, I currently know four or five women fighting this battle right now. Why is no one talking about this? Something needs to be done! We need to support these women and their loved ones!"<br />
<br />
And so Breast Cancer Awareness was born. And at some point, <i>it exploded.</i> Save the Tatas. I Heart Boobies. Pink ribbons, pink shoelaces, pink cookie boxes, pink everything everywhere shouts "BREAST CANCER AWARENESS!!!" Turn on a football game this month. I dare you not to be bombarded with macho manly football players wearing pink <i>something</i>. And every time we see these pink reminders, we are reminded. There are women, everywhere, fighting like hell to stay alive after a shocking diagnosis they had no control over. Remember them. Support them. Don't make them fight their battles silently. Stand by them.<br />
<br />
This. This is what I want for the women fighting a silent battle after losing a baby. I am so proud of our country for how it has risen up to support women fighting breast cancer. But sometimes I wonder, where's the support for the hundreds of thousands of women affected by pregnancy loss? Why is this something most women still feel they must endure alone, quietly? Why is this still a topic whispered about mainly by women because men won't touch the subject with a ten foot pole? Why has my husband had one, maybe two friends even acknowledge his losses? Why do I have women quietly message me and tell me that they, too, experienced pregnancy loss twenty, thirty, fifty years ago but have never talked about it with anyone? Why is this subject so hush hush? Why was breast cancer once so hush hush? Because it is sad? Because it is uncomfortable to talk about? Why?<br />
<br />
I won't pretend to know the answer to that. I will only say that bringing awareness to these kinds of issues and topics takes time, and it takes voices. Lots of voices. Unfortunately, the voices of pregnancy loss are usually silenced in their grief. And if that doesn't do it, it usually only takes about one or two idiotic and insensitive remarks to make a woman vow to never talk openly about their experience again. And maybe two or three other women overheard or read those insensitive remarks and vowed to themselves to never talk openly about <i>their </i>experiences for fear of having someone say something like that to them. And then there is the common misconception that one shouldn't bring up such a painful topic for fear of reminding the person experiencing pregnancy loss of their pain. As if saying, "I was thinking of you and your sweet baby today, and I am so sad you are missing them," might somehow make that person go, "What!?! Thanks a lot! I had COMPLETELY forgotten about my baby until JUST NOW when you said that!"<br />
<br />
Let's do a little comparison shall we? Let's say a friend is diagnosed with breast cancer. She is currently being treated and starting on a hard road to recovery. What might one do? Well, one might change their profile picture to a pink ribbon. One might leave encouraging messages for the woman fighting this battle on her Facebook wall. One might offer their assistance in the form of meals, child care, or grocery shopping. One might send a card in the mail reiterating their love and support. One might offer to drive their friend to their doctor's appointments or even sit with them during chemo. One says, "I am praying for you! You will get through this, and I will be here by your side all the way!" One signs up to do a 5k in honor of their friend. One wears a pink ribbon on their work badge. One does anything and everything they can, because their friend is fighting a hard battle, and the least they can do is fight it with them.<br />
<br />
One does not say to themselves, "Well, I don't want to rub in their faces that I myself do not have breast cancer, so I will just not speak to them until they are cured." One does not say, "I don't want to remind them that they have breast cancer, so I will just pretend that they don't have it at all." One does not tell their friend, "Friend, this was just God's will. It is something you must accept and move on from." One certainly would not say to their other friends behind said friend's back, "That friend of ours. When is she going to get over this breast cancer thing? I mean, sure, it's sad, but isn't it time she move on with her life?" Or maybe this friend lost a breast to her battle with cancer. Would a friend say, "Oh, well, at least you have another breast. Be thankful for the breast you have."?<br />
<br />
Atrocious. Anyone with a friend such as this should immediately run in the other direction and never speak to that person again. Yet...things like this are said to grieving mothers every single day.<br />
<br />
"I don't want to rub in their face that I have never had a miscarriage. I can't relate to them. I will just avoid them."<br />
<br />
"I don't want to remind them of their loss, so I will just not mention the baby ever again as long as I live."<br />
<br />
"I know it's hard, but it's God's will. You must accept it and move on."<br />
<br />
"When is Suzy going to get over her miscarriage? It was months ago. I mean, sure, it's sad, but when will she move on?"<br />
<br />
"At least you have other children, Suzy. Be thankful for the ones you have."<br />
<br />
I myself have been the recipient of some of those gems, and know at least one woman who has been the recipient of all the others. It used to make me gawk in disbelief. I have come to accept it as ignorance. As not knowing any better. As the product of an environment where people don't discuss the issue, so no one knows what to do when their friend or loved one is faced with it.<br />
<br />
This. This is why it is important to have these "Awareness" months, or weeks, or days. It gives mothers like me permission to shout from the rooftops, "MY BABY DIED, AND I STILL STRUGGLE WITH THEIR LOSS." It opens the door for others who might not otherwise have the courage to talk about their loss to do so. It starts conversations. Conversations about how to support women and men experiencing pregnancy or infant loss. Conversations about what is not appropriate to do or say. Conversations about why these losses occur, how they affect the parents and the siblings and the grandparents. It shows women that <i>they are not alone</i> in their grief. That so many others have been through it and can relate to their pain. That what they are experiencing is not only normal, it is <i>okay.</i><br />
<br />
It is okay that I still miss Lily, over a year after she was buried. It is okay that I feel random moments of grief for the three babies I will never hold again in this lifetime. It is okay that I cry sometimes. It is okay that I laugh sometimes. It is okay that I grieve however I choose to grieve. It is okay that she did a balloon release today in honor of her baby and she only lit a candle in honor of her many lost little ones and I did nothing but write this blog. It's okay. Because we're in it together, and the only reason we know we're in it together is because we're open about our losses, and we are open about our support.<br />
<br />
Please, please understand my heart as you read this. I am not in any way saying, "Darn those breast cancer survivors, they get all the glory." As I said before, I am so, so proud of how our society has stepped up to support those women and love on them during their battle. I use them as a comparison because I think they were once in our shoes, fighting a battle silently, a battle no one felt comfortable talking about, a battle practically no one showed their support of. And look at them now. The entire world takes pride in standing up next to those women, in making sure they know <i>they are not alone.</i><br />
<br />
I don't wear a ribbon or have some badge of honor showing that I have been affected by pregnancy and infant loss, not one the general public recognizes, anyway. I wear a bracelet with Lily's name on it. I wear a necklace every minute of every day with three tokens for my three babies that are no longer here. But if there was some recognizable, universal badge showing support for the survivors of pregnancy and infant loss, you better believe I would proudly wear it every day.<br />
<br />
And maybe, if we keep working at it, someday there will be.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-6281230046078422672014-09-28T20:37:00.004-07:002014-09-28T20:37:40.597-07:00MotheringLast Wednesday night, I cried myself to sleep. <div>
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I don't know when I actually drifted off or when Jesse put the covers over me, or at what point the exhaustion finally took over and the tears subsided. All I know is that as I woke up in the morning clutching the blanket I had made for my second child, it was still damp from the night before. And as I stumbled around that morning, fumbling with my hair and clothes, squinting as I opened the blinds downstairs, I thought to myself---<i>now where did <u>that</u> come from??</i> </div>
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There was a time where this sort of evening and subsequent morning weren't out of the ordinary. But months have passed since our third loss of a child, and I hadn't been this out of it for a while. And as my "self psycho-analyzing" continued as I drove in silence to work, it hit me. </div>
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<i>I was missing my babies.</i></div>
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Let me back up just a little.</div>
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September 26, 2013 was the last time that we found out we were pregnant. I don't remember that morning or that day at all. But I remember that it was the last time we learned we were expecting a baby. I remember taking more tests as the days went on, watching the lines get darker and darker and I remember thinking : <i>maybe this time. </i>I remember taking walks at work with my closest friend as we cautiously talked about the news and I made very clear my intentions to wait to call the doctor. They could send me for every test under the sun, but it wouldn't change the outcome. All it would do was raise my anxiety level as I waited every couple of days for the phone to ring to find out what my levels were. No. <i>Not this time. </i> This time, we wait and see. And I remember the following weekend, deciding with Jesse that we were done living this way. That yes, we were terrified, but that we still had a reason to be joyful-- and we would be darned if we would let the enemy steal even just one more second of our joy. And so. We went out for a celebratory dinner. We smiled and we breathed and we even let ourselves revel. Just a little bit. And we left and went to Hobby Lobby to that first aisle of Christmas ornaments, to the section closest to the front of the store where two feet of wall were always devoted to pastel colored baby ornaments. And we chose a tiny elephant and we got back in the car and drove to my parents' house. And we clumsily told them that there was another baby and that we were afraid but we got an ornament for that baby and we wanted them to have it. And it may have been weird and early and kind of out of the blue, but we did it anyway. We wanted to do it, and we did it. </div>
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<i>We were taking back the joy.</i></div>
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And I remember the afternoon of October 7th, 2013, when I jumped up and down and screamed with tears running down my face in the locker room after work as my friend told me over the phone that they'd heard a heartbeat today. That after five of their babies being taken to heaven, that today, they heard a heartbeat. And I made her swear to bring a picture to that night's ministry meeting, and I thought to myself, <i>maybe it will all be okay after all. </i></div>
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And finally, I remember that evening, 5 minutes before I was to be out the door to a very important ministry meeting-- I remember calling my husband from the bathroom, screaming at him that it was happening again-- I remember when I realized, <i>we were losing this baby too</i>. And unfortunately I remember the ER doc who told me that up to five miscarriages was normal as he spoke to me as though I were a five year old. And I remember leaving hours later, empty, hurting, and confused. And I remember the few days after, waking up to the blinding anger that overtook me, as I lay in my dark bedroom, mindlessly watching Cake Boss reruns, not saying a word, but silently cursing this sentence that I couldn't seem to escape, and wondering why God hated me. I remember the second or third night when my friend came in the room, carrying a teddy bear, and as she took her shoes off, and just lie down next to me, not saying a word. And I remember when she left, some time later, kissing me on the forehead with tears in her eyes and telling me that she loved me. </div>
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There are bits and pieces but I don't remember much else. </div>
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And at some point, I stopped crying for my babies, and started crying because it seemed that I would never have a baby. What became the journey not to lose our babies, became a journey to even try to have a baby at all. And what I realized a few days ago as I was knocked down by a fresh wave of grief that seemed to pull me under the current out of nowhere was that in grieving the seeming loss of a dream to ever have children of my own had somehow pushed my grief of the loss of my children to the backseat. And I had been neglecting them. And as I lay in bed, last Wednesday night, and my thoughts drifted to my children who aren't here, <i>I got sad. </i>And I realized how much I <i>miss</i> them. And when I would normally be caught up in charting and calendars and medical treatments, instead, these past few days, I have been overcome with grief for my children. And that <i>hurts. </i> </div>
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And I realize that this will sound crazy to a lot of people. But I just don't care. I miss them and when they were first born, Gabriel, and then Nadia Larayne, and then Pearl-- I missed them then <i>but I also mothered them.</i> I thought about them. I planted flowers for them. I made things for them to put up in my home or hang on my Christmas tree. I held their stuffed animals and wondered what they would have been like. To some that might sounds completely nuts. But I just don't care. Every baby is born. And I don't need anyone else's understanding or permission to grieve them and to mother them for the children that they are. And I deeply believe that whether a baby is born at 5 weeks gestation or 35 weeks gestation there is an inherent desire and need for that mom to mother her child. Sometimes that means she needs to hold him and sing to him, dress him, read to him, and pray over him before she leaves him there at the hospital forever. And sometimes that means that every once in a while, she needs to pull out her one ultrasound picture, or the many sympathy cards that she received, or cuddle the blankets and stuffed animals that she was given as tokens of memorial. And sometimes that means that even years after they are gone, we need to stick up for them in conversation and to total strangers who devalue their lives and their brief existences with the words that they carelessly say. And we become defensive and we become passionate. Because those are our <i>children </i>you are talking about. These scenarios all look completely different. But I believe the deep down desire that a mother has to <i>be</i> a mother to her children even after they have died is God-given and never goes away. And for me, it's a need that I often overlook or maybe even distract myself from recognizing because even though mothering a child who has passed away<u> <i>allows me to function in the role of mother that God gave to me</i></u>, dang if it doesn't hurt like crazy. </div>
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And I didn't have a point or a theme to writing any of this tonight. I simply opened my laptop after an hour of going through my babies' things and started typing. And really, I'm writing this because it's a way for me to mother my children. To think about them, to remember what it was like when they were here and when they went to Heaven, and to let them and everyone else know that I have not forgotten about them. And this week or next I will probably take some time to do something for one or all of them. Make something for them, write something to them, wear some of my mommy jewelry for them, talk about them-- or write about them. </div>
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<i>This is just me, mothering my children. </i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-64698437941439753272014-08-17T19:07:00.003-07:002014-08-17T19:08:34.177-07:00Something NewAs I sit staring at the open Bible in front of me, focus blurring, mind wandering, I am suddenly aware of the remnants of hot glue stuck to the tips of my fingers. I begin rubbing my fingers together until the glue forms little balls that fall from my fingers onto the couch. And I think to myself-- when did my life get like this? How did all of this happen? And when? Because all of a sudden, I cannot remember a time before this one.<br />
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The hot-glue-fingers were just the tip of the iceberg. While it's not unusual for me to be covered in bits of glue, paint (that's still on my fingers from yesterday too actually...), glitter, bits of ribbon and paper, this time was a little different. See, the hot glue wasn't from a just any old project. It was from delicately and carefully trying to glue small sections of satin fabric into teeny tiny chipboard boxes. It was from trying to get the corners right, the sides even, and to avoid getting glue on the visible fabric. <i> I'd never made a teeny tiny baby casket before. This was my first time.</i><br />
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And as my thoughts are drawn back to those teeny tiny boxes sitting on my craft table upstairs, I can't help but continue to wonder how I got here. <br />
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<i>Sometimes the things I find myself doing seem so surreal.</i><br />
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Like last night (after making the teeny baby caskets but before I washed the hard boiled egg [I'll get to that in a few minutes] as I sat in the guest room, furiously scribbling as fast as I could, quickly filling 4 sheets of paper, not wanting to miss any detail, as I sat and listened on the phone to a woman til nearly 1 am as she was trying to process the delivery of her 24 week gestation stillborn son that had just happened less than a week ago. And as I listened to her talk about how perfect he was and about how she had just had to pick out his urn, I couldn't help but think over and over again how unqualified I am to be doing this. At any moment, I could say or do the wrong thing and add insult to the already deeply injured soul on the other end of the line. <br />
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And so as my mind had wandered to the boxes and this grieving mother who had asked for someone from the ministry to call her yesterday, I figure now is as good of a time as any to get one part of this week's homework for Bereavement Doula training out of the way. So I walk to the kitchen, retrieve the egg that my husband had hard boiled for me (I can cook but I can't boil eggs to save my life...), I ran my now glueless thumb over the smooth service, raised it 6 inches from the counter, and smashed it back down. I repeated this motion a few times as I rotated the egg, ensuring that every surface now bore countless cracks. And I looked at the now extremely fragile egg in my hand and considered that although it was meant to represent something entirely different, it sure looked like a pretty accurate representation for how my heart felt on this day. But I've never been one to turn in homework incomplete, so I grabbed a clean towel, gently laid the egg down on it, and filled a shallow dish with warm sudsy water. Ever so gently, I held the egg over the water and used a washcloth to squeeze the soapy water over it, careful to make sure that the excess ran through my fingers rather than pooling in the palm of my hand. That was how the instructions had said to do it. Once the egg was thoroughly washed, I laid it back on the towel and carried the dish back to the sink. I dumped out the suds and replaced it with clean water and went back over to where my little broken egg lay. I gently picked it up, noticing that small fragments of the shell were threatening to dislodge and fall off, held it over the dish, and again squeezed clean water over it. Once it was rinsed thoroughly, I laid it back down on the towel and left it there as I decided to leave the kitchen and go clean another room in the house. I needed a second to breathe and be distracted. This was my first time practicing the simulation of bathing an early gestation baby who was not alive. I'd never done it before. And I needed a second.<br />
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And as I sit here now, recalling these events of the past 24 hours, I am again struck with the thought-- I can't believe the things I find myself doing these days.<br />
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But I have no choice. Well, I do have a choice. But the next time that we get a call from a mom who has lost her 6 week gestation baby and has no where to put him, or hear of a precious young woman who feels that her only option is to carry the ashes of her baby around in her purse, we will have something to offer her. So that a woman who has given birth at 6 or 7 or 8 weeks doesn't have to feel that her only option is to flush the physical form of her baby down the toilet. I've been there. And so. They aren't much. But it's something. And I would rather offer something than nothing to a woman who has already lost so much. <br />
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I am completely and totally unqualified for this. For all of this. I often find myself at a loss for words and just plain scared about these situations in which I find myself. But something very interesting has happened in the midst of all of it. I can't put my finger on a specific moment when it happened. Or what the catalyst was. But something changed. I still find myself sad on some days and scared when faced with these stories of devastating and life-altering loss that find their way into my inbox. And my deferred hope remains still and causes a deep ache in my heart. But. I have something for the first time in a very very very long time. It's as though I have been furiously swimming, struggling to make it, and my head has finally broken the surface of this ocean of grief, and <i>I can suddenly breathe. </i> And the air. It feels. So. <i>Good</i>. And I may still be paddling my way through the ocean, waiting to hit dry land, but I can breathe. And. <i>I am okay.</i> And there is a part of me that has wondered in these past few weeks of new found peace what the next trigger would be that would plummet me straight back to the depths again. But as I had sat with my hands on my chin, searching through my Bible this morning, searching for answers, for comfort-- slightly reeling in the events of the morning that confirmed that yet another month had gone by and my rainbow was still not coming--waiting to feel that anchor of despair that would take me back to the ocean floor, waiting for the air to disappear and the anger to take its place--<i>and it never came</i>. And I sat. and I breathed. And I was okay. And now I know. this peace is not circumstantial. It isn't because I've learned the right balance of sitting with my grief and welcoming distraction. It isn't because the past few weeks have been a fluke. "a good streak." It's because in his great and infinite mercy, God has dumped a bucket load of peace on me. And I am going to sit. And breathe. <i>And let Him.</i><br />
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And there will still be hard days. And there will still be those triggers, lurking in the most unsuspecting of places and conversations. And I am still sad. And I am still desperately waiting on my rainbow to come. But. I am okay. And as I had run across this several months ago on Etsy:<br />
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and immediately thought that it means my rainbow will come, I wonder now if it means something entirely different. I am still a mother without a child. And I have trudged through the deep valleys of pain and despair that the Lord has allowed in my life. And my rainbow has not come. But. now I wonder. Maybe the something new to be born isn't a baby. Isn't my rainbow baby. Maybe the something new is me. This new girl. <i>Who I barely recognize. </i> Who spends her free time on the weekends reading about the transitional stage during labor, milk banks, NICUs, and who bathes eggs, calls hospitals and funeral homes, and practices taking plaster molds of her friend's baby's feet. Who is knee deep in a ministry to grieving women when she herself is still grieving and barely has it together most days. Who somehow manages to listen and counsel a woman about her stillborn son until 1 am. Who very suddenly wants to spend all of her spare time making teeny tiny baby caskets and gluing burlap to box lids. Who bares her soul and most intimate of moments on this grief journey with total strangers. This woman. This ministry. They are so far beyond me. Beyond my capabilities, beyond my strength, and beyond what I ever would have chosen for myself. <i>I didn't do any of this.</i> Which is how I know that something new is in the process of being born. I am. Totally inept. Totally unworthy. And totally undeserving of the blessing that comes from sharing in another's grief. But God has given them to me anyway. What a gift. <i>And a privilege.</i> And I can still breathe. So I think I'll stay here. Until such a time as the Lord leads me elsewhere.<br />
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Romans 12:15<br />
"Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn."<br />
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Matthew 5:4<br />
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."<br />
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Philippians 4:7 (NLT)<br />
"And then you will experience God's peace, which exceeds anything we can understand."<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-19932472598242276922014-08-02T19:51:00.000-07:002014-08-02T20:08:31.472-07:00Forget Me Not at Christmastime...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The staff at Forget Me Not is SO excited to officially launch our very first fundraiser! Many many many hours, blood, sweat, a few tears, and a whole lot of love have gone into preparing these beautiful, unique Christmas ornaments which have each been lovingly wrapped in a delicate keepsake box. Each ornament was handmade by a baby loss mama, and our hope is that it will hang on a Christmas tree every year in someone's home as a sweet reminder of the child who will always hold a special place in their family's heart, even if they are not there physically.</div>
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Not one ornament is exactly the same as another, and this was intentional. Each baby is unique, and each family grieves their loss uniquely, so we wanted these precious ornaments to reflect that. For those of you who have not experienced baby loss, Christmas can be an especially painful time of year for families who have. Thoughts of "what could have been" creep into our minds, and grief can sneak up on us in small moments such as hanging one less stocking than we should be and watching a child that would be about the same age as ours opening presents or dressed all fancy for Christmas. Because holidays can be difficult, it is especially important to reach out to those you love who are missing someone, and let them know you remember. One of my favorite things about Christmas is decorating my tree (and I know Becky would say the same!), and every time I pull out the ornaments I was given in remembrance of my babies, I smile. I cry, but I also smile. It is so important to me to represent them on our family tree, and I display them front and center.</div>
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Okay, now that I have tugged on your heartstrings a little bit, here are the details of "Forget Me Not at Christmastime"! Each ornament costs $20. Additional footprint charms can be added for $1 each to represent multiple losses if desired. Ornaments come in pink, blue, and yellow. Each ornament is beautifully and carefully giftwrapped in a keepsake box. You may pay in cash, through the Paypal button on the right side of this blog, or checks written out to Palmcroft Baptist Church with "Forget Me Not Ministries" in the tagline. You can place your order by contacting us through our Facebook page or by the emails listed below. Ornaments will be available for pick up at our "We Remember You" conference on October 11th, or on Sunday mornings at Palmcroft Baptist Church (must pre-arrange with Karen or Becky for day and time).</div>
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At this time, Becky and I simply do not have the time, resources, or funds to ship or deliver ornaments, but if you know that you'll be seeing one of us or one of our many volunteers, let us know and we can definitely figure out a way to get yours to you!</div>
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We have made 100 ornaments, and it is our goal to sell each one!!! For each ornament that is purchased, one Forget Me Not Box, long distance packet, or Snuggles for Siblings package will be funded. Your purchase will not only go to reaching out and encouraging, uplifting, and supporting a grieving family, it will also buy you a beautifully handcrafted Christmas ornament that you can hang on your own tree in remembrance of your child or grandchild, or can be given as a gift to a friend or loved one to tell them "I remember" at Christmastime.</div>
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We can't thank you enough for your ongoing support of this ministry. If you can't purchase an ornament at this time, we ask that you consider sharing our fundraiser with friends and family! Thank you so much for your prayers and encouragement!</div>
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To order you ornament, contact Becky at Becky.forgetmenot@gmail.com or Karen at Karen.forgetmenot@gmail.com.</div>
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<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-25945861908955773232014-07-28T17:55:00.000-07:002014-07-28T17:58:41.322-07:00What Eisley Taught Me About Trust (by Karen)<br />
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<i>This entry was originally written on my blog (ouradoptionfaithwalk.blogspot.com) shortly after we learned about Ember's fatal diagnosis. One big lesson God taught us all during that time...trust...</i><br />
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"Blessings"<br />
<i>Laura Story</i><br />
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We pray for blessings<br />
We pray for peace<br />
Comfort for families<br />
Protection while we sleep<br />
We pray for healing<br />
For prosperity<br />
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering<br />
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All the while you hear each spoken need<br />
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things<br />
Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops?<br />
What if your healing comes through tears?<br />
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near?<br />
What if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise?<br />
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We pray for wisdom<br />
Your voice to hear<br />
We cry in anger when we cannot feel you near<br />
We doubt your goodness<br />
We doubt your love<br />
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough<br />
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All the while You hear each desperate plea<br />
And long that we'd have faith to believe<br />
Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops?<br />
What if your healing comes through tears?<br />
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near?<br />
What if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise?<br />
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When friends betray us<br />
When darkness seems to win we know<br />
That pain reminds this heart<br />
That this is not, this is not our home<br />
What if my greatest disappointment, or the aching of this life<br />
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy?<br />
What if trials of this life<br />
The rain, the storms, the hardest night<br />
Are Your mercies in disguise?<br />
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I saw that song plastered all over Facebook months and months ago. I never clicked on it, just saw that people were "so touched by it". I don't know why I never clicked on it and listened to it. I just didn't.<br />
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I was at a friend's house awhile back and we were talking about old memories of Psalty the Song Book and his wonderful repertoire of children's music, and my friend was flabbergasted that I didn't have my kids listening to the very CD's (which were at that time cassette tapes) we all grew up on. She offered to burn me a copy (thanks Rachel!!!) but there was still some room left on the CD after Psalty. She told me she'd burn some Laura Story onto it, she was sure I knew her.<br />
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"No," I told her, "I don't think I've heard her."<br />
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"What!?!" she said. "How have you not heard her song 'Blessings'"? It's like written about you!!!"<br />
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Well alright then, I better listen to it! And I did. And she was right, I felt like it was written about me. (I realize I say that a lot, but you know what I mean) After our many losses, especially our experience with Lily, I often found myself wondering what in the H-E-double hockeysticks the Lord was doing. Did He not hear my prayers? My cries to keep my babies healthy and my pregnancies uneventful? Why, why, why did this keep happening? I often felt ignored by God. Like He simply wasn't listening to me, or didn't care, or both. In my heart of hearts, I knew the Truth, of course. But when you are in that much pain, you don't care for the truth much.<br />
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And then, once again, the Lord allows yet another unspeakable heartache to enter our lives. We have grown to care and love very much this woman and the baby girl she is carrying. That happens when you spend so much time in prayer for people. But once again, it is as if our prayers fell on deaf ears.<br />
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We SPECIFICALLY prayed for this baby's health. "Lord!!!" I cried. "WHY can't you just hear me just ONCE!!!???"<br />
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I have cried that so many times.<br />
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The other day Eisley asked me if I could dig out the Psalty CD. After we got it, we listened to that thing until I was literally dreaming in children's worship songs, so mommy decided to put it away for awhile, replacing it with Adele, which I realize isn't the most uplifting of music, but the change I needed after months of non-stop Psalty in the car (Yes, I do own an Ipod, but we only have one car dock, and Josh keeps it in his car for reasons I am now thinking I should debate...).<br />
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Anyways, I stopped for a moment to find the CD, and stuck it in. We listened and sang along, and it was just a Psaltastic time. Yesterday, I was in the car by myself, and the CD had moved along to the Laura Story song "Blessings" my friend had burned for me. I literally had to stop the car because I was just crying and crying over the realization that I, in fact, do not know everything, and God is not ignoring me, but He is aware of a heck of a lot more than I am. Who am I not to trust Him? I have to believe. I have to believe that there is a greater purpose in all of this, that He does hear me, that He does love me more than I can fathom, but He knows something that I don't.<br />
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Our greatest aspiration as Christians is to live for the life beyond this one. What if all that He is allowing into our lives, as painful as it is, is fulfilling a purpose that may not be apparent in this life, but will be in the next one? Which life do I want to live for, this one, in its blink of an eye, or the next one, which will last an eternity? As hard as it is to do, I definitely want the latter.<br />
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I was out shopping with Eisley today. She begged me, begged me, in her sweetest little Eisley voice, to take her shoe shopping for school. Even though it was totally past a time I like to leave the house and she was already in her pajamas, I just really couldn't think of a good reason to turn her down. It's summer, we are starting school soon, she slept really late this morning, and it would just make her entire day if I said yes, so I did.<br />
<br />
She has had her eye on a specific style of shoe ever since I broke down and let the kids start watching Nikelodeon (which I specifically did not allow up until this point because of the commercials and the direct effect they have on my children's begging). They are high topped Sketchers Twinkle Toes, and Eisley simply can't imagine herself starting at a new school without them, especially since I dropped the bomb on the Style Queen that she would be wearing one of six school uniform shirts in a bland variety of colors every single day of the first grade.<br />
<br />
So we ventured out on this little shoe shopping adventure hoping to find a cheap pair at Ross or something, but were totally unsuccessful. She was so, so disappointed. I looked at her sad little face and I just melted. It is not often she gets her heart set on things, but when she does, it is simply a travesty not to fulfill her wish. I had these sudden overwhelming feelings of sadness for her, not because of the stupid shoes, but because her greatest wish at this point in her life is to be a big sister. And try as I might, I just can't seem to make it happen.<br />
<br />
But I can buy shoes.<br />
<br />
So we continued, and we went to store after store and failed miserably at each one. WHERE ARE THE SHOES??? Why would you advertise something and then make it impossible for normal people to find?!? I was feeling like a failure as a mother. I felt so sad that I couldn't grant her this simple thing. I wanted so badly to give it to her. And then I had this thought...<br />
<br />
God loves me so much more than I love Eisley (which, I have to tell you, is an unfathomable amount, because I already love her an unfathomable amount, so, you do the math). When you love someone that much, you want to give them the desires of their hearts. You go out of your way to do it. You stay up past your bedtime and go to more stores than you'd like to admit. You spend more money than you probably should. You work extra hours, you spend the time and the effort, you do it. Because they want it, and you have the power to give it to them, and it won't do anyone any harm to grant them this tiny thing, so you do it. I wondered to myself, why? Why, if God loved me so much, wasn't He granting me the one thing I have been asking for these past two years? What was the hold up?<br />
<br />
As we walked out of the last store into the dark of the dead of the night, I told her we needed to give it a rest and try again tomorrow. Or try the internet. The internet will not fail us. She sighed. And then she told me she needed to go potty.<br />
<br />
Well, okay. We were in a parking lot, and she's six, so I figured her bladder could handle the five minute ride home.<br />
<br />
I was wrong.<br />
<br />
As I rushed home as fast as my conscience would allow on a very busy main road, she yelped at me from the back seat that I needed to hurry, hurry mommy, don't let me have an accident mommy!!!<br />
<br />
I finally made it to the stop light right before our house. I had to turn left, and as I said, it is a super busy road. I waited in the middle of the intersection for the clear space needed to turn left, but cars just kept coming. Eisley is literally crying in the backseat telling me to turn. I'm telling her I can't, it isn't clear yet! She screams that I have a green light and she is going to pee in her pants if I don't turn RIGHT THIS SECOND!!!<br />
<br />
"But I can't!!!!!!" I say.<br />
<br />
"BUT THE LIGHT IS GREEN MOMMY!!! TURN MOMMY!!!" Eisley cries.<br />
<br />
Now, I am an adult, with twelve plus years of driving experience. She is six. The extent of her traffic knowledge is "Green means go." To her, I was torturing her. All she wanted was to go potty, if she didn't get to a potty RIGHT NOW, the worst of the worst of the worst in the world of a six-year-old would become her reality. She would pee in her pants.<br />
<br />
But I knew, being the wise and highly intelligent adult that I am, that if I turned, we would crash into another car and die or be severely mangled. Does Eisley know that peeing her pants is nothing compared to being severely mangled? Yes. But she did not understand that these were mutually exclusive. To her, I was simply being mean. That, or I didn't understand the severity of the situation at hand.<br />
<br />
Remind you of any other situations you've been in?</div>
<div>
<br />
I realized, as we were sitting at this stop light, Eisley crying, me panicking, Laura Story singing about Blessings on the CD player, that this situation is not unlike what God must experience on a daily basis. Us humans whining about peeing our pants when He is only trying to protect us from being severely mangled in an automobile accident!!!<br />
<br />
This analogy might seem like a stretch to you, but it really hit home for me.<br />
<br />
He knows more than I do. He is listening to my first prayer, my greatest prayer, to honor Him with my life, to serve a greater purpose for Him, before my second prayer to have another child. I have to trust Him. I have to trust His love for me, even when what is happening makes no sense to me at all and seems almost cruel.<br />
<br />
Eisley thought I was being cruel. That I wasn't listening. That I didn't understand how very badly she needed to go potty. She was mad at me! To me, her pleading broke my heart. I hated seeing her like that! I could relate to what she was experiencing as I myself have been six and had a bladder the size of a walnut with a brother who would have teased me endlessly had I peed my pants. Her situation, through her eyes, was dire. I wished so much that she would just trust my love for her and the fact that I did understand her pain, but I had to make a different decision, <i>for her own good.</i> Even though it broke both of our hearts to do so.<br />
<br />
But I know better than her. I love her so much, that I would allow this awful, horrible, no good thing to happen to her, because I wanted to save her the pain of what would come had I turned left when she wanted me to.<br />
<br />
Josh and I struggle with the trial that God has allowed into our lives right now. We are so hurt that we are going to lose another baby girl that we have grown to love. We are so sad and especially heart broken for her mother. But if God were to sit me down and explain to me that He is allowing this because of this amazing reason and that amazing reason, that this person may come to Christ and that person may finally turn back to God and showing "Kim" this kind of unconditional love may cause this chain reaction and that chain reaction, I am sure I would understand. He loves us so much. He allowed something awful, in our eyes, to serve a purpose for Him. And I am pretty confident that one day He will have that conversation with me, and we will both cry, and I will thank Him for allowing what He did for the reasons that He had.<br />
<br />
Does that make it less painful right now? No. Honestly, no. <i>But it does make it worth it.</i><br />
<br />
Josh and I are determined to find and help create purpose from each tragedy the Lord allows into our lives. We will never, ever waste a sorrow. Ever. We will do everything we can to make the tears and the heartbreak and the utter brokenness of what is happening <i>worth it.</i> At this point, that means sharing with all of you what God is teaching us. I'm sure He is doing a lot of behind the scenes action that I'm unaware of, and that is comforting as well.<br />
<br />
We will not shield ourselves, our children, or any of you from the pain of what is happening, because we are fully confident that the Lord will create something totally awesome from it. We will continue to love this little girl and her mother. Even if it means another piece of our hearts is taken from us.<br />
<br />
My sweet cousin Lisa sent me <a href="http://vimeo.com/24355556">this video</a>, that so much better says what we are feeling about this whole situation. Please take a moment to watch it, and if you have two moments, listen to Laura Story's "Blessings".<br />
<br />
You won't regret it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/24355556">http://vimeo.com/24355556</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>"All of Me"</b><br />
<i>Matt Hammitt</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Afraid to love something that could break<br />
Could I move on if you were torn away?<br />
And I'm so close to what I can't control<br />
I can't give you half my heart and pray He makes you whole<br />
<br />
You're gonna have all of me, you're gonna have all of me<br />
Cause you're worth every fallen tear<br />
You're worth facing any fear<br />
You're gonna know all my love<br />
Even if it's not enough<br />
Enough to mend our broken hearts<br />
But giving you all of me is where I'll start<br />
<br />
I won't let sadness steal you from my arms<br />
I won't let pain keep you from my heart<br />
I'll trade the fear of all that I could lose<br />
For every moment I'll share with you<br />
<br />
You're gonna have all of me, you're gonna have all of me<br />
Cause you're worth every fallen tear<br />
You're worth facing any fear<br />
You're gonna know all my love<br />
Even if it's not enough<br />
Enough to mend our broken hearts<br />
But giving you all of me is where I'll start<br />
<br />
Heaven brought you to this moment<br />
It's too wonderful to speak<br />
You're worth all of me, you're worth all of me<br />
So let me recklessly love you even if I bleed<br />
You're worth all of me, you're worth all of me</div>
Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-85554440106296429472014-07-25T07:39:00.001-07:002014-07-25T08:46:25.503-07:00Grief - A Man's Perspective - By Josh Harrison<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Karen asked me to write something
from a man’s perspective for FMN this week.
I put it off for a couple reasons.
One reason is that it’s hard for me to write what I’m thinking
sometimes. Lucky for me I married Karen
and she can do any required writing for me now.
The other is that the topic is a difficult one to talk about. All week long I was thinking about what I
could write and I came up with a few things, sorry if they don’t fit together
perfectly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll
start by stating the obvious, pregnancy loss sucks. I wouldn’t wish any of it on my worst
enemy. For me each of our losses was
very different but they all were terrible.
Our first loss, Grace, was very difficult. We had Jake and Eisley and their pregnancy
went smoothly especially considering that they were twins. Looking back we didn’t realize how amazing it
was that everything went so smoothly with them.
Karen convinced me that we should have another kid so we gave it a
shot. At the time my biggest fear was
that we would have twins again. Karen
got pregnant quickly and we were very excited.
She went to the Dr. and like I said before, I was just hoping and
praying for one baby this time. The Dr. said that they couldn’t find the
heartbeat but that it was probably just too early. We were both shocked by the news but I wasn’t
too scared because I just figured that it was indeed just too early. We spent the next few days praying and
praying for the baby. I was convinced
that everything was going to be fine and that we would see a heartbeat. I can remember the next part very
vividly. Karen has some Dr. friends who
were able to do an ultrasound at night after I got home from work. Well there was no heartbeat again. This hit me very hard because I was convinced
that God was going to make everything ok and that we would see a heartbeat. The miscarriage was a lot more difficult for
me to handle than I had anticipated.
Karen was just so sad and there wasn’t anything I could do to ‘fix’ it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
It took us a while but we finally got to the
point where we wanted to try again. This
time we were much more aware of what could be the outcome if/when she got
pregnant. Well she got pregnant again
but things were different this time. We
were not very excited and we kinda kept our hearts guarded. We didn’t want to get too excited and
attached in case we had another miscarriage.
She had many appointments and each time we went in half expecting to
hear bad news, but everything was going smoothly. Once she made it to her second trimester we
started to let our guard down a bit and even get a little excited. We even told the kids and had an amazing
experience bringing them to an ultrasound where we found out that it was going
to be a girl. Eisley was soooooo excited
to have a little sister. Jake was a
little bummed but was still excited.
Shortly after Karen had another routine appointment that I almost didn’t
go to because she had so many and everything was looking good. Everything seemed the same at this
appointment, little did we know what was to come. We were talking about possible names in the
waiting room then they called us back and started going through the
routine. I always got a little nervous at
the beginning of the ultrasound until I could see or hear the heartbeat. Right away I could tell something was
wrong. The ultrasound tech said that she
couldn’t find the heartbeat and left to go get the Dr. I looked over at Karen and she had tears rolling
down the side of her face. I just sat
there in shock and stared at the screen with no heartbeat. I said to Karen that her name is Lily and she
nodded. I could go into great detail
about the next couple days but I’ll just touch on a few things that stick out
the most. I’ll never forget the stupid
fake fish tank in that room and when I see one like it now it makes me
sick. I’ll never forget the sad faces of
the nurses as we left that appointment.
I’ll never forget having to go pick up the kids from VBS and explain to
5 year olds under a tree at church that their baby sister didn’t have a
heartbeat anymore. I’ll never forget
having to call my mom to tell her and not being able to get the words out. I’ll never forget picking out stuffed animals
in the hospital for the kids to bring for Lily.
I’ll never forget the kids coming to visit Karen in the hospital and
feeling heartbroken for them. I’ll never
forget sitting in the dark room waiting for Lily to come and realizing that God
is in control of this terrible situation and somehow have some peace about
it. I’ll never forget seeing Lily’s
perfect face and her lips just like Jake’s.
I’ll never forget the 2 hours we spent with her holding her and singing
to her and reading the Bible to her. I’ll
never forget walking to the car and not going back up with our car seat for
Lily to go home in. I’ll never forget
seeing the nurse roll Karen out who was just broken. I’ll never forget going to the flower shop to
pick out some Lilies for my daughter’s funeral, and realizing this was the only
time I would get to buy her flowers. I’ll
never forget having to tell my sister who was on a mission trip that we lost
the baby. I’ll never forget sitting down
and writing what I was going to say at the funeral. I’ll never forget carrying her little casket
the size of a shoe box from the funeral home to the grave site. I’ll never forget seeing everyone put those
flowers I bought on her little casket. I’ll
never forget that I had to be strong for Karen and for Jake and Eisley even
though I was crushed. I’ll never forget
that I’ll see my sweet baby girl in heaven someday. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
A couple years have gone by since
we’ve lost Lily. Things didn’t really
get easier, but I guess you could say that we weren’t so sad as often. Even now a couple years out, there will be
moments that it feels just as bad. Like
a couple weeks ago I was playing with Jones and he was laughing and all of a
sudden it struck me that I never got to do that with Lily and I had a mini
breakdown when I was telling Karen about it as we drove by the cemetery where
she’s buried.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
A while after everything with Lily,
we tried one more time to have another baby.
Again, Karen got pregnant quickly.
This time we were very guarded and not excited because we were
scared. Well Karen had another
miscarriage. This one wasn’t as hard for
us to go through but it did lead us down the adoption road because it seemed
like God was trying to tell us something.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
I’ll try and make this long story
short. We went through the very long
adoption process and got picked by a birthmom.
She didn’t have any ultrasounds until real late in the pregnancy. At the ultrasound they told her that the baby
had some real issues and wouldn’t live long after she was born. We went down to the hospital not knowing what
to expect. Well the baby was born and
she looked perfect. But they did an ultrasound
on her brain and they found that she only had a brain stem and that her brain
didn’t develop. They said that she
wouldn’t live long and that she would need special medical care. We couldn’t put Jake and Eisley through
another sister dying. We prayed and
asked God to show us what to do. (Oh I
almost forgot this funny part) Somewhere
in the middle of all of this Karen found out that she was again with child-more
on that later. We spent a lot of time at
the hospital loving on Ember. One trip
to the hospital we went to Jack in the Box nearby. We sort of laughed at our crazy situation:
everything with Ember and the fact that Karen was pregnant again. We talked about how we have no control over
anything and that we just need to rely on God even though we have no clue what
His plan was. When we tried to head back
our car wouldn't start. We just laughed
and cried at how ridiculous things were going and walked back to the hospital. On the way back it was hot and clear skies
but we saw a rainbow and felt like that was God telling us that He’s right
there with us. The adoption agency found a lady who had
experience with the issues that Ember had.
We felt at peace about this lady taking care of Ember. Ember was adopted by an amazing family who
loved on her for the short time she was here on Earth. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Back to Karen being pregnant again. This definitely came as a surprise and we did
not expect to have a good outcome. We
were very guarded and not excited. Even
up to the moment when the doctors pulled Jonesy out I was convinced something
was going to go wrong. But God had a
different plan this time. Thank
God. The pregnancy went smoothly and
Jones was born perfectly healthy. And
now because of all that we went through we definitely appreciate and love Jones
that much more. We still hurt for our
losses but even less often. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Well that was way longer than I
expected. I guess I like talking about
my kids that aren’t here with us since I don’t get much chance to. Each of our losses was very different from
each other but they were all very painful.
My advice to guys when dealing with a loss themselves is to let your
wife know that you’re hurting too and that it is a big deal to you too. My advice to guys that have a friend who is
going through a loss is to talk to them about it. I know this type of stuff isn’t the normal
surface level sports talk that 90 percent of my chats are with guys, but just
mentioning something about their loss goes a long way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
For me, the only thing that got me
through the losses was knowing that I would get to see them again someday. And trusting that all of this ‘mess’ was part
of God’s plan. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
"<i>The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps</i>." -Proverbs 16:9<br />
<br />
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Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-19724750842163874632014-07-24T19:19:00.001-07:002014-07-24T19:19:29.487-07:00Grief. A Man's Perspective by Jesse Brimhall<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
I was asked to write a blog post for Forget-Me-Not from a man's perspective. I guess I should start with some of my credentials. I am a 31 year old father to three children that died before they were born. I am a horrible blogger, having come to the conclusion that whatever I have to say of value is usually intermittent and is usually much to short to warrant a blog of its own. Some of the most profound things I have ever said have been limited to 180 characters, and are lost in a jumble of social media materials that supposedly are now being logged for posterity in the Library of Congress. I guess my profundity is not lost. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>Two and a half years ago, my wife and I began trying to start our family. I guess you could summarize the experience in that it has not gone how we expected. We have lost three children to miscarriage, and we have lost a lot of hope along the way. This is not an easy way to go about life, just in case you weren't aware.</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>It has been an uphill battle. We have shared excitement with our friends when we have found the illusive blue line, and have shared grief with those that would accept it when we got bad news. The truth is, those who want to share in the grief seem to be smaller in number. Honestly, I think it stems from difficulty in knowing how to share grief. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>I lost my father a few years ago, and a list of things to say and not to say to someone in grief caught my attention. All of the things on the do-not-say list were said to me, and very few encouraging things were said. It was an isolating time for me. Good friends didn't know what to say, so they never wanted tot talk about my loss. Subjects were changed and my grief was ignored, and I became more and more introverted and isolated. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>Eventually, I came out of the depression I felt, but it was definitely a dark time for me. I later met and married my wife, and for some reason, still feel like my feelings about my father's death are mine to bare alone. She did help me a lot with it at the time. She was understanding and supportive, but the feelings sometimes return, and as a man, I feel like they have to be mine to deal with. Similarly, we seem to have been placed in a position in which our grief of the loss of our children is sometimes not easy to share. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>As a man, it's the pain of grief, of loss of a loved one as well as loss of a potential future, combined with the responsibility of taking care of my wife in her grief. The burden is heavy. Traditionally, it is the responsibility of the husband to be stoic and strong, to carry the burden if the family on his shoulders and to never show any sign of strain or fatigue. His role is to tirelessly lead, love and support his family. It's not easy. It's exhausting. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>A lot of people will tell you that the grieving process gets easier as time passes. A more accurate statement would be that grief is always hard, episodes just become less frequent. There are times that everything is fine for months, and then, instantly, something will set me off. For my wife, these triggers are much more common. Sometimes it comes in the form of seeing a pregnant friend, a cute infant, or even just a small situation in which having our kids nearby would have changed the entire experience.</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>I am not an expert at the grieving process. If I were to speak candidly, I'm pretty horrible at it. I am, like a lot of men, an emotional pacifist. I am pretty content, if not compelled, to ignore all feelings of grief as long as possible. It's when they resurface that things get messy, but only until I am able to sweep them under an emotional rug again. One of the most inappropriate things that I have ever heard was said to me by a volunteer social worker a couple hours before my dad died. It has been one of those profoundly horrible things that has probably mutilated my ability to grieve in a healthy matter ever since. I tell myself sometimes that it was a mostly innocent comment, but the ramifications have been ongoing for years, and I hear them now as I consider my position in my own family.</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>"It's a good thing you have those broad shoulders to carry your family through this."</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>It left me questioning, for years, when it would be ok for me to be carried. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>We named our children, and although we never got to meet them, I imagine their personalities based on those things I have seen in the children of friends of ours. Our oldest, our boy, is a spitfire. He is constantly into things he shouldn't be. He is like me, and is going to light our garage on fire with the welding torch before he has a driver's license. He climbs everything, harasses the dogs, shaves off his eyebrows before his first day of school, and is fiercely protective of his two sisters, who he also talks into snatching snacks out of the pantry for him.</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>The two little girls, are inseparable, despite having opposite personalities. They are adorable little troublemakers, getting out of all sorts of trouble with innocent smiles and innocent quips. All of the rest of the details are very private and guarded. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>There are days that I get lost in thoughts of them. There are also many more days that I can't. The pressures of work, supporting my wife, and just dealing with everyday life cause my grief to be delayed. They have caused my mind to be overwhelmed, at times, and empty at others. In a recent conversation with my wife, we talked about how I deal with the pain, the loss, and the frustration when she can't. My methods, as misguided as they are, have always been to seek solace in distraction. It's why I enjoy owning cars that require tinkering, I watch cartoons late at night when I should be sleeping, and it is probably why I have made a hobby out of having hobbies. It's one of those things that probably largely hereditary, but helps me connect with my father and my absent son. </div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>Teaching a grade-school aged son to rebuild a carburetor or change brake pads, or teaching a kindergartner how to slow dance at a father-daughter dance. These are the thoughts I have of my children. They are the happy experiences I wish I would have a chance at, but they are the things that I can think about while I absently fix up the car that would have taken my son and I years to finish, and I would have driven my daughter on her first date in.</div>
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This post is an expansion on the thoughts I had while drawing these sketches last week. Becky bought me an iPad for my birthday, and I had started messing around with a new drawing app, and I realized that I had something to say with it. My hope is to turn them into a small book for her some day. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-59323017891272790072014-07-14T21:45:00.000-07:002014-07-14T21:45:05.399-07:00"It's still a birthday"As I re-read my answers one more time and finally click the "submit" button, I think about how it feels as though more than a week has gone by. <br />
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One week and one day ago, I sat with my head in my hands, the glare of the laptop screen piercing through the darkness as my husband snored next to me. If he had been awake, he likely would have been wondering who in the world I was talking to.<br />
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"This is insane, I am the least qualified person on the planet to do this."<br />
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"I SERIOUSLY don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies either--for real."<br />
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<i>"But I don't WANT to."</i><br />
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And as I argued. <i>Wrestled.</i> With God as to why He had put this seemingly impossible thing in front of me, before my excuses were even mumbled, I knew that He wasn't asking me. He was telling me. He was telling me that He knew I was scared, that He knew that "all this baby stuff" really and truly freaked me out--and that He knew that there was no way to come out of this emotionally unscathed. And a wrestled a little more. And then a little more.<br />
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And as I tried to explain to my husband a little while later what had been brought to my attention (again--not that I told him about the other two times this had been placed in front of me), we talked and prayed about what to do. See, it was July 6th. And the next Stillbirthday Birth and Bereavement Doula Certification Class began on July 7th. And I sat and listened to my husbands thoughts on the matter I was genuinely surprised at how on-board he was. It isn't that his support took me by surprise, it was more the fact that I heard actual genuine excitement in his voice. Did he have reservations? Sure he did. There was the concern about how this would affect me as a person, as a currently grieving and broken-hearted loss momma. There was concern about whether or not I was in a place where I could handle reading and watching this type of material in my current state--not to mention the cost. But we prayed and decided that as we parted ways for the day, we would both continue to pray about it and see where God led us at the end of the day. And as I found myself a few hours later, sitting on the floor of our Sunday School classroom, re-organizing 100 FMN boxes, I thought more and more about what this would look like. And I had nothing but questions on my mind.<br />
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How is this going to feel?<br />
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What if I get halfway through the material and it's too much for me?<br />
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Am I really capable of even making it through the class?<br />
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If I even get through the class and I pass the exams, what then?<br />
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What in the world would I ever even use this for? <br />
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<i>Why me?</i><br />
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But every single question was met with the same response.<br />
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<i>"Come with Me."</i><br />
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And the more I thought and the more I talked it over with God, the more I knew He was inviting me to jump. To take a leap of faith, or whatever you want to call it. To follow Him on the next path of this journey. And to come and see what He had planned. What He had in store. <br />
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And so, a week ago Sunday, I talked with my husband one more time. And to my surprise. We were on the exact same page. Now I don't know about you, but I implicitly trust and respect my husband deeply. And if something doesn't smell right, doesn't line up, I know he will have the wisdom to discern that--and I will follow him wherever he leads our family, for that reason among others. And so I nervously texted Karen one more time to make sure she was doing this with me (please, like I could do something like this without her...!?), I punched in my debit card number. And as the welcome information from the head of Stillbirthday began to pour into my email, I blinked back tears as I considered how significant this was.<br />
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See, the thing about this certification, about Stillbirthday, is that the whole idea is to be equipped to walk through and support any mother in any birth outcome in any trimester. For close to two years, I have been surrounded by one birth outcome and one birth outcome only: <i>death.</i> This was a result of my own experiences and the experiences of the women that had crossed my path, but it was also a result of my own choice. I gravitated towards it. <i>It's all I know. </i> With the exception of one friend--one friend--I have chosen to not be involved in or participate in any other pregnancy outcome. Showers, gender reveals, announcements, even most of the meal set ups--I have run in the other direction. And so, one of the reasons that this decision is so very significant for me is that I am willingly choosing to be exposed to healthy pregnancies and birth outcomes, in the training material if nothing else. I could not, with words, describe to you how much of a stretch this is for me right now. <i><b> It's huge.</b></i><br />
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But there has not been a single day that the Lord has not confirmed that this decision was the one He had for me to make. First, there has been the incredible sense of community and support that I immediately began receiving from the other women in my class. They are kind. They are genuine. Many have suffered a great deal of loss. They are supportive. They speak the same language. <i>And they get it.</i> Then there has been the huge perspective change that has happened in my mind and in my heart. I had never previously considered that a woman might choose to quit talking about the baby she lost altogether, for fear that her choices in the matter would invite only ridicule and hatred rather than compassion and understanding. That she might just start saying that her ectopic pregnancy was a miscarriage because the thought of admitting that she induced a chemical abortion so that the baby growing in one of her tubes would not kill her was just too much to bear. <i>I never even would have thought about that, or how that might feel. </i> And then there was the new phrase I learned. "my baby was born through miscarriage." It took me an entire day to let that one sink in. And for any woman who has ever had a first term miscarriage, or two, or three, you will understand why. And the course content is no joke-- the videos, pictures, discussions, and reading materials-- and the "open book exams"? They should call them open-heart exams. Those questions cut <i>deep</i>. And then there was the live birth video that I watched. And I only made it halfway through and I felt a little nauseous when I turned it off. But I watched it. Voluntarily. There was also the other video that I only made it halfway through for the time being-- the 40 minute training on how a birth and bereavement doula might bathe/help the mother bathe a stillborn 16 week old baby. And as I watched it, <i>I wept for the women who have needed and will need to know how to do something like that. </i><br />
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And I have thought to myself more times in the last week, " I am so unqualified for this...That is the weirdest thing I have ever seen/heard...I had no idea that's what that meant...I never knew that...I never knew that....I never knew that...I could never ever do that." And I truly have never felt so inadequate. So freaked out. <i><b>And so in the right place.</b></i><br />
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So to those of you who might be looking at me and thinking, wow, are you really ready for this? Is this really something you are going to actually do? I don't have any answers for you. I will be the first to admit that I have zero clue why God is asking me to do this right now. But as a wise mentor reminded me last week, He would think nothing of moving heaven and earth, of taking me through all of this, for one person. <i> For one woman.</i> Who would need this kind of support, this kind of compassion, this kind of friendship and ministry, somewhere on down the road. He loves each person so much that He would think nothing of that. And I believe that is true. And until such a time as He chooses to let me in on what He has planned in all of this, <i>this is where I'll be. </i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-54548499076417300002014-06-30T21:27:00.001-07:002014-06-30T21:28:27.027-07:00The Discouraged PlaceYou will find no resolutions here.<br />
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No pretty explanations or metaphors tied with florid descriptions. </div>
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No revelations.</div>
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And no answers.</div>
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For months I have been in the sad place. Dealing with the compounded grief of 3 sequential losses of my 3 babies. Sad, angry, grieved, and quite honestly, still trying to get out of bed some days. </div>
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But over the last couple of weeks, I feel like my sad place has transformed into more of. well. of a discouraged place. The grief is still there, but it is overshadowed by the looming presence of the absence of hope. If that makes any sense at all. </div>
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It's a deep pervading sense that this season, this season of loss, struggle, and deferred dreams seems to be dragging on and on and on. And that despite the crystal ball that some people must be hiding in their back pockets, assuring me that everything will work out perfectly in the end, there is no end in sight. </div>
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And that as I sat in the doctor's office last week, trying to make it the first visit that my doctor didn't have to hand me a kleenex to dry my eyes (and failing miserably), and I listened to her explain that we needed to move on to the next step because the prior plan wasn't working and my body had evidently become immune to the drugs--I remember sitting there thinking...this is no longer just a baby loss journey. It's no longer about the fear of losing another one. Of getting the BFP and panicking that a 4th loss was in store. <i>It's the fear that I may never even get the chance to fear that again.</i> What was a struggle to keep a baby has now become a struggle to even just conceive a baby. </div>
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<b><i>What the heck.</i></b></div>
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Call it a step back, a slap in the face, a kick in the butt, a punch to the stomach, a wrench in the plans...call it whatever you want. It's downright discouraging. And I feel. so. hopeless. </div>
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And for the last couple of weeks, that's where I've been camped out. The discouraged place. And like the grief place, it's a lonely place. Isolating, cold, and full of a lot of darkness. </div>
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And as I consider the stories that have come across the desk of FMN over the last couple of weeks, the feelings of despair only compound.</div>
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First, there was the woman who was told at 20 weeks that her baby boy had a terminal disease. She and her husband made the courageous choice to carry him for as long as they could, and the next week he died in utero. Did I mention that her husband is also battling terminal cancer?</div>
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Then there was the momma from Texas who emailed us to ask for a box. For herself. She had just lost a baby girl at 14 weeks due to cystic hygroma. 4 years before that, she gave birth to a stillborn son at 24 weeks. And a year before that, she miscarried another at 8 weeks. Last we heard, she was planning the funeral for her little girl.</div>
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There was also the momma who was told that her baby boy had a terminal type of dwarfism and would not survive birth. He was born into heaven last week. </div>
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And finally the woman whose baby boy was also just diagnosed with cystic hygroma at 18 weeks gestation. He is alive but not expected to live much longer. </div>
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And as I sat tonight. And I read more in detail about some of these women and their stories, I wept. I wept for the dark days they face, the isolation they will experience, and the despair that they will feel. I wept that they would be leaving the hospital with empty arms. I wept for the children who were excited to have a new baby brother or baby sister. I wept for the husbands who will work so diligently to hold their families together that they will deny their own grief and begin to crumble under the weight as the dark days keep coming. </div>
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And I wept for myself. For my babies that I will never get to hold on this side of heaven. For the dream that feels a little more crushed every day. For the stab that I feel with every announcement, shower, meal delivery, and milestone that belongs to someone else. </div>
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<i>And I wept for the fact that I feel as though I have been drafted to head the saddest, most devastating committee on the planet. </i></div>
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<i>Afterall. I did not ask for this.</i></div>
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And as Karen and I were talking tonight, I said, it's too much. This is too much. Because here's the thing. </div>
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<i>It will never not be this way.</i></div>
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<i>There will always be momma's without babies. And momma's whose babies die. </i></div>
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And that is terrible. It's devastating. And it kind of makes me want to crawl into a hole, put my fingers in my ears, and hum as loud as I can to drown out the noise of this tragedy. </div>
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And these stories literally represent one week of FMN emails. <i>One week.</i> There are many many many others just like these with equally as heart-wrenching outcomes that we have heard over this past year.</div>
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Well. Thank God for Karen. I don't know that I have much to offer her, but she always shows up in those moments when I need her, as she did tonight when she reminded me that yes, it will always be like this. These stories will continue to happen. The tragedy is not going to end. But. </div>
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<i>These women could grieve alone. Or. We could come alongside them.</i></div>
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"Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted." Matthew 5:4</div>
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And so. Each will receive a box or a package from Forget-Me-Not. And it will not erase their pain. It will not make these days any easier. And it will not really fix anything. But. It might let them know that they aren't alone. </div>
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There are days like these where I feel like giving up. Where the burden is too heavy and the path is too dark. And for today, I won't. I won't because Karen is right. And these women need us. And we need them. And because quite frankly, as much as this ministry was designed to minister to other hurting mothers out there, it has proven to be a very necessary lifeline for me as well. </div>
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Like I said. No resolutions here tonight. Just a bit of jumbled thoughts and perhaps a deeper glimpse into the heart of a girl, a mother, who is hurting and wondering what will come next. But until then, I leave you with this.</div>
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There is another reason why I'm not going to quit today. Why I'm going to fight again tomorrow. Because I thought to myself, if Eisley can do it for another day, I can do it. </div>
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See, Eisley is Karen's 8 year old daughter. And a couple of months ago, Eisley came to her mom and said that she wanted to help with Forget Me Not. And she had an idea. That maybe she could do something to help the other kids out there. The kids who were excited to have a baby brother or sister, only to be told that there was no baby coming home from the hospital. See, Eisley remembers how that feels. She remembers how that feels because she felt that disappointment not one time, not two times, not three times, but four times. Four times, she learned that the new baby was not coming home as they planned. And so she, together with her twin brother Jake, decided to write a note to those kids. Telling them that they know how hard it is and how sad it feels. And they suggested that maybe we could give those cards to the kids that we hear about in Forget Me Not who learn that their baby brother or sister has died and won't be coming home after all. </div>
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In one short week, we will release the details of our new branch to the FMN ministry-- <i>Snuggles for Siblings.</i> Eisley and Jake have been hard at work and we will be sharing what they have come up with and how we will begin using it to reach out to the hurting siblings out there who are grieving the loss of their baby brother or sister. </div>
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And so tonight, I guess I say this. Eisley and Jake, I am so proud of you. You display more courage, strength and kindness than most of us adults. On days like today, where I feel like giving up, I am inspired and encouraged by you. And I am so glad that we have you to help us out because I know there are a lot of kids out there who need to know that they aren't alone and that someone cares about them. Keep up the good work. Welcome to the Forget Me Not team--I know that I will learn a lot from both of you. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-68753704919725042032014-06-25T22:20:00.001-07:002014-06-25T22:20:35.779-07:00Stillborn, but Born StillI heard a phrase once that stuck with me so much. "She was stillborn, but she was <i>still born.</i>"<br />
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What an incredible reminder.<br />
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Lily was stillborn. Born still. Born sleeping. But she was <i>born.</i> I have had the opportunity and blessing to give birth to three other children besides Lily, and trust me when I say, Lily was born. Perhaps the most heartbreaking part of having a stillborn baby is that their birth is forever overshadowed by their death. As mothers, we crave to tell the stories of our baby's arrival. We yearn to share the details of each contraction, each incredible moment, each tiny finger and each tiny toe. But when our babies die before they have had the chance to be born, we are forever robbed of the opportunity to tell our birth story, because no one wants to hear it.<br />
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I remember talking to someone once about epidurals. I mentioned that I did not get a good one when I had my twins, but I had an excellent one with Lily. The look on this person's face, the shock that I had mentioned one detail of my birth story with Lily, they thought I was insane. I could read it all over their face. What had previously been an easy going, light-hearted conversation about having babies halted immediately at the very mention of my stillbirth.<br />
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Here is what I would like the rest of the world to know: Yes, it was a stillbirth. But it was <i>still a birth.</i><br />
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Yes, Lily died. But Lily was also born. I went through what all mothers go through when they give birth to their babies. I felt each contraction and savored each measly ice chip. I endured forced contractions for hours and hours because I wanted to feel every single ounce of pain this birth brought me, because it helped distract me from the pain they do not have any drugs to numb. I had amazing nurses and an amazing husband who coached me through the hardest day of my entire life. I allowed those amazing nurses and that amazing husband to encourage me into getting an epidural so I could sleep after twenty hours of labor. I sat on the end of my bed and sobbed while the anesthesiologist told me it would only hurt for a second, because I knew that wasn't true. I finally slept, until I was awoken by Lily, who had already died but still needed to be born. And I pushed that tiny little girl into this world, and listened as the only cries we heard were my own. I watched the nurses wrap her in a blanket she was far too small for, and smiled when they told me she was perfect. I felt like a new mommy when they had to teach me how to hold a baby so small, and my husband and I marveled over the daughter I had just given birth to.<br />
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There is a movie called "Return To Zero" in which the father of a stillborn baby boy mentions the irony of how his son's tombstone would have his date of death before his date of birth. Who has ever heard of such a thing?<br />
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We have.<br />
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Our babies died before they were born. But they were born. Don't you see? Our babies didn't just die! THEY WERE BORN TOO!!!!<br />
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If I could help anyone on the outside of this isolating bubble to understand one thing, it would be that. Thank you for grieving with us over the death of our child. But please do not forget that our child was also born. We have a story to tell. Albeit a very sad one, but we cannot control that. Do not shy away from listening to our very special story. Do not trivialize our baby's birth simply because they happened to die first. If you get the sense that we want to share our story, our pictures, our life changing experience of giving birth to a baby, please do not shut us down. Encourage us, listen to us, validate us.<br />
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I had two very distinct, very different, and equally impacting interactions in the weeks that followed Lily's birth. The first one is not uncommon, and I imagine many mothers of babies born still have had very similar experiences. I was talking to a small group of mothers who were telling their birth stories, and like mothers do, we were sharing the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of having our babies. I talked about my twins, and had the absolute attention of everyone at that table. They asked questions, wanted me to elaborate, laughed at some parts and winced at others. And then I mentioned a small detail about my birth with Lily, something very unimportant like the food they allowed me to eat when I was in labor with her, and no one, not one person, knew what to say. As if the very mention of Lily's birth was totally against the rules and I had in one fell swoop ruined what had been a very interesting conversation. I wanted to say, "I'm sorry, I forgot I wasn't allowed to talk about the birth of my daughter because she had the audacity to die first." But I didn't. But one day, I just might.<br />
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The second one was not long after I had Lily. A friend was bringing us dinner, and while she was there, she noticed a small album on my coffee table that had Lily's name on it. She asked me, "Oh Karen, are those pictures of Lily's birth? Would you like to share those with me? I would love to see them."<br />
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This friend did so many things with that one interaction. She mentioned Lily's <i>birth</i> instead of referring only to her death. She noticed that I obviously cherished those photographs and memories because I very proudly displayed them where anyone could see them, and she took that as a cue to ask me to share. She gave me the opportunity to share my daughter with someone, and, as a mother, who wouldn't want that? She validated that Lily mattered, that her birth was significant, that she was worth sharing, and that I had every right to share her. She put whatever anxiety she may have had over looking at some very sad pictures aside and put my needs first.<br />
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A friend once reminded me that we must <i>educate others with grace.</i> I cannot expect people to know what to do or what to say about the birth and death of my daughter. But I can tell them. And I can show them grace when they fall short. So this is my attempt to educate with grace. If you take one thing away from reading this, please take away this:<br />
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The death of my daughter does not negate the birth of her. Her date of birth and her date of death were backwards, but they <i>were. </i>They happened. She died, yes, but she was also born. And that is something to be cherished.<br />
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If you ever want to see a mother, <i>any mother,</i> glow, ask her about her child. Compliment her on them. Use their name. Tell her she has such a special story and that her child is so blessed to have her as a mother, because no one would love them like she so obviously does. It doesn't matter if her child lived or died, because her child is still her child. When a child dies, our mothering of them does not. We continue to love them, to cherish their story, no matter how short it may be. Our memories of them do not disappear, and their existence is not erased simply because it has ceased here on earth.<br />
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We are still mothers. They were still born. We would be honored to share their story with you. And trust me when I say, you would be honored to hear it.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-63221136093606553092014-05-13T22:25:00.002-07:002014-06-26T20:19:05.553-07:00A Trigger Week<i>Mother's Day</i> --As I sit, staring at my phone, waiting for the text, I can't help but feel completely overwhelmed by the most conflicting cluster of of emotions I have ever experienced. Never have I walked a road that has married the most opposite of feelings of joy and sorrow. I pray and wait and picture the moment in my mind that will take place in the next few hours in which I will see my very closest friend as a mother for the very first time-- with her rainbow baby in her arms. After a year and a half of loss upon loss upon loss upon loss, upon loss, she is experiencing her miracle right this very moment. I don't think I have it in me to do this. And on today of all days. <i>But how could I miss it? </i><br />
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I pick this up now, 2 days later, as the very moment I was writing was interrupted by a text and a picture of a beautiful, newly born, baby girl. And so what started as a dream of what was to come is now a look in the rear view mirror of the events of the past couple of days. <br />
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And so, as we left to head to the hospital, I managed to hunt down one of the last Mother's Day balloons in the greater Phoenix area at the Safeway across the street. And as we walked into the waiting room on the 2nd floor we were met by mothers, siblings, cousin, uncle and aunt--wide-eyed and walking on the clouds that reside above the 9th, they said "look, look, over here! She's over here!". And as I approached the glass to the nursery (am I the only one that thinks it's a little bit like the zoo?? There are even signs that say don't bang on the glass!!), my eyes landed on 10 lbs and 3 oz of pure miracle. And the tears flowed as I recounted in my mind the journey that I'd watched this baby's mama walk, that led up to this moment. Moments that had been dark, sad, hopeless, and angry. Moments that had been wrought with death. And here. Right in front of my face. Was life. Squalling, wiggling, life. And as I sat several hours later, holding the bundle that I still couldn't quite believe was real, my heart felt as though it would burst. <i>I wanted one too. </i> But this one? This one was a gift. And as I sat with my counselor last night and tried to make sense of it all, I had an epiphery. (..Michael Scott, anyone? The Office? No? Ok, nevermind...) I realized that for the first time in two years-- <i>I wanted to be around a baby. </i> I found myself neglecting dinner time and my puppies to come back on night two for more--<i> because I wanted to be around this baby.</i> Because she made me smile. And though the sting to my heart was still there, the joy that came from holding her was unmistakable. <i>That has never happened before. </i>Babies remind me of what isn't. They remind me of the little ones that I will never get to hold in this life. And of the one that I so long to hold right now. But something about Charlotte is different. And what most probably don't realize is that Charlotte and my Pearl would have been just a few weeks a part. That my walk down the hall to see my sister friend and hold this baby should have been a waddle. And I have been afraid for months that it would just be too painful. That the loss of being pregnant, having our babies together, and watching our children grow up together would be too great. That I would feel the need to run. To stay away. But the past couple of nights, I have wanted nothing more than to sit with my friend and be near her little one. <i>Wow. </i><br />
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(friends don't take pictures of friends when they are in the hospital and fresh out of major surgery-- so wedding pic it is)</div>
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A lot happened last week. A lot. <i> It was a lot.</i> But this Mother's Day was precious. <i>It hurt.</i> But it was precious. <br />
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First, there was the comment that my husband made to me just before. "Guess what we have at work again? We have chocolate covered strawberries and I know they're your favorite. We have them for Mother's Day. And since you're a mother, I'm going to get you some." <br />
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<i>I will never be able to express the validation, love, and healing that transpired as a result of that sentiment.</i><br />
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Wednesday, my ministry counterpart, sister, and fellow-loss momma left a "basket of sunshine" on my doorstep. Full time mom, ministry co-founder, and full time PCH Child Life Specialist extraordinaire, somehow found time to find all things yellow at Target, put them in a yellow basket, and leave them on a doorstep with a card wishing me joy and sunshine in the midst of a week that was booby-trapped with loss triggers like non other. She even included one of the flowers from our FMN loss garden with the words "To Becky-- a mother"<br />
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On Thursday, as Jess and I grappled to find ways to remember our little Nadia on the anniversary of losing her, I was met with another gift on my doorstep. A clock with the words "Dear Sweet Nadia- We are counting the days until we can meet you in heaven. You are missed." Charlotte's mom left that for me. She knows the ache of pregnancy loss all too well, and she wanted me to know something. <i>That she remembered. </i><br />
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And so, my husband and I spent some precious time that night remembering our little one. Letting a balloon go, drinking champagne, eating a cupcake, and leaving some cash in a random formula can at the grocery store-- a small random act of kindness in her name. And as we asked just a few other folks to do the same, we smiled at the donations made to the ministry in her name and the bags of provisions that Karen's family decided to make and hand out to the less fortunate that they encountered through the week. (And I think that was the idea of her kiddos-- so excited to do something in the name of a little one in heaven with Jesus). And our hearts were sad. But they were full.<br />
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And the timeline gets a little fuzzy here, but the thoughts and gifts had not yet ended.<br />
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A friend, a momma who has been through the deepest and darkest of valleys that I will never understand--who has watched her newborn head into operating room after operating room after operating room over these past few months--who does not have the time, with 2 other little ones on top of caring for her very sick, very precious new heart baby--but somehow managed to leave the sweetest note and pot of flowers on my doorstep Saturday. <i> Just to encourage my heart. </i><br />
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And just before leaving for the hospital on Sunday, I was met with a set of cards and gifts from my husband. The gift was sweet necklace, picked out by my momma, letting me know that she loved me and that I am her sunshine. My momma who has now foregone celebration on 2 Mother's Day's because I have been too grieved to even acknowledge the holiday's existence. And yet, she thought of me. And went out of her way to make me feel loved. <i>Who is a pretty darn good example of what motherhood is all about. </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnlnnAKa0ciS7LXCTfNsIqIlAtoYz7NaKr-hWlSDywgngL17eG6oRlSM52vtWVIb_mI3wllnL3p29KkJd1UaAx_YPfiRtX-9U795mP0Gpbs6g2ABV0oeH7ZRS2bH2ruZ3aNTIk1zDeehs/s1600/IMG_20131221_113325.jpg" style="color: #1155cc; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEjjMuOAiMWqKPG7o1MNVWAVfONUdAy2RXYNU3741SRuxE8r1mfkQFCTENhSewMckeWtdHRr9i1Rvz40ZZDw1YRW6TlX-PIZFN3hQwCgMZBg14Veth_iSvk5_KFXkomDkTP3iE6FBRLRrdZgJlrXwlYcxW09hmKKwsKWqVjsyZLWAM5NgDLr7-Rs_KtZhOFuESxw_2tiFkdqFlf2Y8zVv259TiS5VbuD24fEmiE0fTerPEEyb_Ut6niglXfdbg7sfuhEfDx9RgKalJXVGyhqyG6ANqB9iVFfNy9Vt3XcmmfJ-5GvU5DqBSPJa5LWnmIPPLqBYMBDgPbY47jdE070kpZ5FnidvwwOU3EpezadmaEqzWn5lAcNOuQWhFp6cExxKAKHJoQXW6VS5l0OKvBaSUw-utfwWXdF=s0-d-e1-ft" width="320" /></a></div>
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And a card. From my husband. That I did not expect. And touched my heart more than I can really say. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcVm9kehMhhyphenhyphenhrE7rcxZLItdC0cDQ5pVxbtNRnuXAwTbq2Ozeil8BCkV7TDcPq7T8JUdaBzNfgSTjb1n1xdkrGjqwfkSZa0txxwmvzJTS4A74BO5ZYTMx7SdI1QF3JKCCCLvNuAbybXU/s1600/IMG_20140513_214510.jpg" style="color: #1155cc; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEjJjxeHYz5csncLEn9Vy6zE4aiInhLhiM_3ebRkymvZnGSEUExp5j5H_o5gO178HSZBq-oXR8o92ksIkXvXspGilfaGTiMCuCZgYLWAQnlbK6E60tbZpAmQLx_nMK9A3bNOm5cZ3kg0M5Y77VLwO49PnAqivh_iuwNI0ktxFPLQc_aIFaIIcAzH39-a5aaq0DfBFJn49z6Aa8-9nwRCBjMtZSPxirrlAHjlnunDqg5xWw0ldqHChOKiqvSRvW_el915pK6m9KsDMCsoTdncUsDYm_BiWP9P4w0mEPHOd6J8qK9ukROCsvPefWuCGYXsM87PmAv9AKLXaMRmgeo1ubivDoWH0vtHnlJrA3MaieLOIHYRtauzI9_BrMWps8FS3g_dlC1CJkBrpPwXI0YYCsNQCMFLtXfS=s0-d-e1-ft" width="320" /></a></div>
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And upon returning from the hospital, was met with yet another doorstep offering. (I know you're starting to think, What??? This is crazy! You aren't that special and there's a lot of hurting people out there, not just you. I know!! That's what I was thinking too!!) And as I opened the card and pulled the tissue from the gift bag, I found a bracelet. A bracelet with the initials and birthstones of all 3 of my babies. And a beautiful wooden keepsake box--and in it were 3 flowers and 3 monogrammed charms for my babies. From a fellow loss momma-- whom, in truth, I have never been exceptionally close with--who crafted the bracelet and each piece in the box <i>with her own hands.</i> Just for me. On Mother's Day. <i>Talk about lost for words...</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN88ig5GUduIFo6fp2Ry06GOLQO3TAotIO-59r3g6q31cT7EpG3IHUSO87omMDHzQ6_BfELQEzG0BOMqWk-PT2E27qlVCik3obiklFpiVHKxyOAi0eK9dPlbeBcgQDFh68ol6RjquURiY/s1600/IMG_20140513_214812.jpg" style="color: #1155cc; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEiXQcFLwcEGoE27_ncZV7UQNE3ZUrN3vF8tGNV0e-ZpLGRGH71Zci08OKP-2GJ3CO3-NojGnSZGsmsNPEXOMRLquOmc7C-gsJ7rJ0k_XomHN2ODNn2b6wT_Gkm-ES-TS21rHZGkng0PUhZgla7sWLwaSqAKZvU5rSYiTmmjJ9tQsg3b4blBtkYtdUYfjZ1gHSWDPLzaMETqN8kGaZN0y2oKprwz4UkweOlkMbrHb7W26ecJdKf0MCWDyZD2Z1suiGMMgPBObcKlH4nq62Iufk1SVZmLvz9uoo3nASDVQPXJ6MgwVQvnLdU3243HtaKVcahWVV3amopOiHqJG8aNOgYRd71pwor0vDmL3WAKS3upxhFxxV5T7VwztW0cRfGnY5LxlZZa8cUQ35XtNb1zIb3UkXmOzg22=s0-d-e1-ft" width="320" /></a></div>
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And finally. The last token came today. From my cousin who is really more of a sister than a distant relative. Who is very busy raising 3 little ones of her own and running her own stellar photography business. Who started the whole thing more than a year ago, with a Willow Tree piece titled "Remembrance". And today, she sent me the figure of a mother holding a child, titled "Mother's Embrace." <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqegrc-10wNpPBH9qC53M2UJdfHm-YgsfeTtorh-20oKeJrzda6VhuPzpr9FCBvWFzHdWFUmf-Z97Wo9xup17CnxPH7oPxtRfxOgAnRKUmCeZ9uSsbU22cvrlzzQoJl4duSx-oVXIR0LM/s1600/IMG_20140513_214627.jpg" style="color: #1155cc; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEg-PIvA7FOT1DvCSMlZBtm_-0iHibufHfMvacon94ZkiwmboKmCDS5laMEIJzX447POB9VlaFDEpAChv6YR_RzN0Yu3NJo_I0tQcrshKTvpt9HfCiEekF_ktyLSzJNs1O1OSV-wkzK75zWQ35UXH0nmSn-7P4QaI_-bPDSCyVXMjeEz-ghLrE-8UvqRTIFRTleAwTc4exhSqWEGme-TamwDgWO9_D5daIJ11PdU6qz0quf7pBry_eem2d3k8pfYXsEAEDKF8LTz7pC7IA19BkdTPet7XaDozRTUAnO9M17Ak7vkLq87TlBl7dn2JQuWf6F79A0PHChLzAxQBXiAhUsgACZkoQqMWPJ5Yejqzy5jWGVsnlBLlH5WtrI3Zyz_TCqgU5WMqkQiJTG3NTbOGaX0ixX55fsB=s0-d-e1-ft" width="320" /></a></div>
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And I never meant for this entry to sound like the staccato timeline that it does. I meant to take a moment and think. Really think. About what I have. Do I think it's as easy as "don't focus so much on what you don't have, think about what you do have!"? No. I don't. And please don't ever say that to a grieving mother. But do I think that I have been gifted with a great deal of over-the-top love and support to make it through this season? Yes. <i>I do.</i> I dread my next due date, just around the corner, because I know it's going to be a painful one. But people are showing up. And the body of Christ is doing its job. And some days, that gives me some hope to hold on to. <br />
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Those of you who have reached out to me? Have sent me messages, texts, and posted on my Facebook wall? Who fall in this timeline of precious events detailed here? And the ones who have been sending cards, gifts, and other sentiments along the way? (Did I mention that last week yet another friend, a different one, sent me a card and a gift because she didn't want me to be left out of the baby shower that would have included my Pearl??? Who even thinks of that kind of thing??!) You know who you are. All of you. And I'm not good at much but I'm pretty okay with words most of the time. But this time? I'm really at a loss. Because I know you are sweet, caring people. And I know that you have momma hearts. And I know that you love Jesus and love his people. But I never expected you to show up for me quite like this. You've shown up when I least deserve it--<i>and when I most need it.</i> I am thankful. And you challenge and inspire me to do something, to show up for someone else. To love, encourage, and walk with the sad, wounded, and faint of heart. <i>To not let your gifts and your sacrifice end here with me. </i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; vertical-align: top;">"26 </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad." 1 Cor 12</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">"9 </span>Let us not become weary in doing good,<span style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29198A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></span> for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." Gal 6</i><span style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29198B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></span></div>
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-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-41925011413754414332014-05-06T21:20:00.001-07:002014-05-06T21:29:54.090-07:00This is Why<i>lady: "so how are you doing?"</i><br />
<i>guy: "oh you know."</i><br />
<i>lady: " how is your wife doing?"</i><br />
<i>guy: "not very well. and I think it's only going to get harder as the due date approaches next week."</i><br />
<br />
My heart skips a beat at the conversation I'm overhearing from the two people walking to the cafeteria ahead of me. Who is this guy? Does his wife work here too? They obviously just lost a baby. And as the conversation goes on I have to talk myself down from interrupting. What are the chances that week 2 on the job in a brand new place with a bunch of people I don't know that I overhear a story about someone dealing with a recent loss? <br />
<br />
And as the days go by, I pass this guy in the office constantly but have no idea what his name is or how I could possibly connect with him. <br />
<br />
"Uh, excuse me sir. I know I'm a total stranger but I overheard you talking with your friend. I'm so sorry that you lost your baby."<br />
<br />
He would think I was crazy! So every time I saw him, I prayed for him and his wife. Hoping and asking God to somehow make our paths cross so that I could reach out to him. <br />
<br />
And then last week I get a text from the friend who got me the job. "Hey, Beck. I wanted to let you know that I ran into one of the trainers at work today after not seeing him for a few months. And I found out that he and his wife just lost a baby. Would you pray for him?"<br />
<br />
Well. I'm pretty sure I scared the tar out of the pups who were sleeping soundly at my feet when I shrieked and frantically called my friend. <br />
<br />
"I've been trying to find out who this guy is for weeks!!"<br />
<br />
And after a few moments chatting with her, I learned that he and his wife had just lot a full term baby boy a few weeks before. My heart broke and I asked her if she thought that it would be appropriate to offer him a box for his wife. <br />
<br />
We decided that would be okay and I tried unsuccessfully for a couple of days to nonchalantly cross his path in his training room when he didn't have a class. Finally yesterday, I left the box for my friend and asked her if she would be comfortable offering it to him if she saw him and it looked like an opportune time. She agreed. And this morning I was met with a text as I was getting ready for the day. <br />
<br />
"Michael would like to meet you and get an opportunity to thank you. He was very touched. And the baby's name is J*****." <br />
<br />
And so today I had the opportunity to meet and talk with a man, a husband, deeply concerned for his wife. I listened as he told me of their infertility journey to conceive their baby boy and the hurt in his eyes was evident as he tried to describe just how lost he was in trying to support his broken and grieving wife. I was deeply moved by his desire to love his wife in her darkest hour, even if it meant going to support groups together, something that was clearly out of his comfort zone. I listened as he opened up about how he doesn't know what she needs and yet he comes home every day, asks her if she took her daily walk, asks her how she's feeling, and then just lets her talk. And as he tried to explain his wife's grief-stricken state, I wished that I could somehow have met her and given her a hug. Broken mom heart to broken mom heart. And he thanked me for the box and I could tell that he was affected by the idea that someone else might care about his wife, their baby, and this devastating loss that was rocking their world. <br />
<br />
I don't know if or when he will choose to give her the box. It's not always the best thing for a hurting mom. And sometimes, she just needs more time. Time to get from the angry place to the hurting place to the healing place. But as I rode home today with a friend (I was met with a dead battery when I went to leave for work today and had to hitch a ride home -- oh and did I mention I dropped my dinner on the floor face down tonight too?!) and we talked about the sanctity and miracle of life, and of the joy and blessing that comes from ministering to others out of our own hurt (it was an intense 20 minutes!), I was reminded of the very reasons why the Lord allows these painful experiences in our lives. <br />
<br />
<i><span class="text 2Cor-1-3" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">2 Corinthians: 3 </span>All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span class="text 2Cor-1-4" id="en-NLT-28765" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="versenum" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">4 </span>He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">And I'll be honest. This is an emotional week for me. This week holds a significant anniversary date, Mother's Day, and the impending delivery of the miracle baby for my very closest friend. And quite frankly, I feel like I've been run over by an emotional MAC truck...that was thrown into reverse, drive, reverse, and then drive one more time, just for good measure. I'm tired. And I'm hurting. And I've had to resort back to the "one day at a time" mentality for the time being. Because thinking about tomorrow or how Thursday will feel, or Sunday, or meeting Charlotte for the first time (how I have WAITED and PRAYED for her!!!!), is just too overwhelming. And if I try to start thinking about these things now, I may just quit altogether. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">And so tonight as I consider all of these things and wonder why God continues to lead me through (what feels like) this never ending valley of uncertainty and heartache, I think about Michael and his wife and their beautiful boy. And I think to myself-- <i>This is why.</i> And I think about the box with the blue flower that I was privileged to give them, as a tool to let them know that someone else cares about them, hurts with them, and misses their baby boy with them. And in this moment I can actually see just the teeniest, tiniest sliver of the tapestry that is being woven from the tears and heartache of those of us who are comforted by our Savior and long to share that comfort with others. And although I'd be lying if I said that I don't pray for mercy, for this part of the pain to end soon, I can truthfully say that I am honored and genuinely thankful to be a part of it. </span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="text 2Cor-1-5" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-91369150490888280812014-04-14T20:45:00.000-07:002014-04-14T20:49:54.979-07:00Thank YouHave you ever said the words "thank you" and known that they didn't even come close to sufficiency? Have you ever been so overwhelmed by someone's kindness, generosity, and other-centeredness that you were at a loss for words as to how to respond? Have you ever experienced the compassion of another person, knowing that you would never fully be able to articulate your gratitude or repay them? <br />
<br />
Last week I took a risk. After a number of weeks away, we attended our Sunday School class.<br />
<br />
We weren't taking time away from the class because morning snacks were discontinued (be honest, it's one of the things you love most about Sunday morning!), because they weren't, or because we didn't want to see our friends, because we do. We were taking time off because quite frankly, the pain of attending was outweighing the benefits. Try as I might to redirect my thoughts, I was more focused on the many pregnant bellies and new babies than on any of the social interactions or on the the message from God's Word that was being taught. I wasn't sitting in my chair, rocking back and forth with my fingers in my ears and quietly humming to myself or anything (which doesn't mean the thought hadn't crossed my mind a time or two), but I was one hundred percent distracted and counting the seconds until the closing prayer during which I would gently tug my husband's elbow to indicate that I was ready to escape before more social interaction would be required. And at that point, I realized, as hard as it was for me to admit (it was extremely difficult), that <i>being in our Sunday School class was actually doing me more harm that good. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
[Enter major feelings of guilt here.] <br />
<br />
I felt bad. Really bad. And it took the love and counsel of 4 of my support mommas to give me permission to take a break from class. That if my husband agreed and we could find some alternative methods of worship and study, that taking a break wasn't the unpardonable sin that I had made it out to be in my mind. That it didn't have to be permanent and that for now, it just might be best.<br />
<br />
But a week ago Sunday, I had a flicker of bravery. One moment when I woke up at 8:30 where I thought that I would like to go to class instead of big church (sorry, old habits die hard--it will always be "big church"!). And an hour later, I found myself sitting in class, clasping my husband's hand and trying to focus on the message. And when that moment came where the "Amen" was uttered and everyone around us began chit-chatting, I grabbed my husband's elbow and made a beeline for the door. But before I could, I was intercepted by a friend-- a precious fellow loss momma-- who greeted me with a smile and a hug and asked me how I was. It wasn't the kind of "how are you?!" where the subtext is "I'm asking you how you are because it's a social nicety but I secretly hope you say you are great because I really have more important things to be doing". Far from it. It was the kind of "how are you?" with the subtext of "I haven't seen you in a while and you've been on my heart and I really want to know how you are doing because I genuinely care about you." In fact, she may have said that out loud. At any rate, her warmth, compassion, and kindness gave me the boldness to really tell her how I was doing. Before I could finish telling her about the newest encouraging story from the ministry, two more girls had walked up and joined the conversation. It wasn't one of those awkward situations where you could tell one of them wanted to ask the first girl something or had an agenda--on the contrary. They intently listened and asked thoughtful questions--because they genuinely cared. I was 5 feet from the door--<i>and this scenario happened two more times before I left. </i><br />
<br />
I sat in the car on the way home, fighting back tears. My husband instantly grabbed my knee and began asking what was wrong and who said something insensitive and am I okay....... and I could barely get out the words. "I just. I feel so <i>loved</i>."<br />
<br />
And it didn't end there. Last week, I got an email from one of the girls in our class, a friend, letting me know that she had knit fifty pair of baby booties for the boxes and would be bringing them to the party. What?! In all of her spare time as a grade school teacher (the job that NEVER ends!) she just whipped up 50 pair of the most adorable baby booties you have ever seen. What?! And then came the text from another friend from class who told me that she was so glad to have seen me there and to apologize that she didn't get a chance to chat with me because she had to teach a class 3rd hour. So in all of her spare time as a mom of two little ones, she took the time and felt the need to apologize to me because she didn't get a chance to come say hi face to face......what?! I was so touched by her kindness, by her thoughtfulness...<br />
<br />
I have known many of these girls for about 4 years now-- some of them longer--but I will be the first to admit that I have not gone very far out of my way to get to know them or really even to reach out to them. It's not even like I have been sowing this type of selfless behavior all over the gals in the group--at best, I have been polite from a distance. And right now? The way they are reaching out to me? The huge effort. The sheer compassion. Selflessness. Genuine kindness. This is where the "thank you" just simply doesn't suffice. And so. I want to take this opportunity to thank these girls. In my own simple, meager, insufficient way. To let them know that their compassion has touched me deeply. Has made the difference between feeling like I can never return to the class, and feeling like I'm actually wanted there, in spite of my grief and (at times) hardness. That even though many times, they probably have no idea what to say or how to make it better, that they are trying. And. That they love me. Just. <i>Wow.</i><br />
<br />
And I will leave you with the message that arrived in a card in my mailbox yesterday. From another classmate. From a very sweet, very precious sister. These are the actions that speak louder than words. That make me want to come back. And that show me a compassion so real, that it is now being used to help me heal.<br />
<br />
To these girls and the rest of you who have displayed similar actions with your cards, mementos, messages, and texts these past months: I'm sorry that I don't have better words to express my gratitude. I wish that you could just see my heart because I will never be able to explain it. I hope that when given the opportunity, I will show up for you the way that you have shown up for me. Thank you for loving me. And thank you for remembering my babies. These are the greatest things that you can do for my grieving momma heart. <br />
<br />
<i>"Dear Becky, I've been thinking a out you and praying for you a lot the last few days! I heard you threw the most gorgeous baby shower ever. I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I'm so challenged by the love, time, and energy you put into blessing your friend when it's a celebration of something you so desperately desire yourself. I'm really sad that we didn't get to celebrate your little one this last Sunday. There will forever be an unfillable hole in the nursery, in our class, at play dates. I'm sorry my little boys don't get to meet your babies and play with them. Please know they have not been forgotten and will forever be missed." </i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-86673784546105203222014-03-31T23:07:00.002-07:002014-03-31T23:16:14.788-07:00My glitter spaceI had a day yesterday.<br />
<br />
No. <i>I had a day yesterday.</i><br />
<br />
I didn't expect it to bother me very much-- in fact, I wasn't even sure that when the day actually arrived-- that it would really even end up on my radar. <br />
<br />
Boy, was I wrong. Radar, shmadar. Turns out, it was one of the first things on my mind when I got out of bed, and the last thing I thought of as I quietly sobbed myself to sleep. Grief has a funny way of making you think that you've reached that next level, the one where you don't care nearly as much, where you don't break down at every little trigger, where you think that maybe, finally, things have subsided and you can get back to whatever the new normal is. And then on a day like yesterday? Grief jumps out of nowhere like one of those creepy jack-in-the-box(es) and knocks you flat on your butt. I had one of those days yesterday.<br />
<br />
There was a celebration yesterday. A celebration of two precious and long-awaited little lives. When I say long-awaited, I mean that these little lives, these babies, did not come to their mommas without a lot of fear, frustration, heartache, grief, and loss. And I know this because these two mommas are very dear friends, whom I love. Very much. We have shared good times. And sad times. And hard times. They are my friends. <i>My sisters.</i> And I wanted to celebrate with them. I <i>really</i> wanted to celebrate with them. But I could not seem to move past/rise above/get over the thought in my mind that what was a double celebration should have been a triple celebration. That one of my little ones would have added to the reason to celebrate. That when I lost my little Pearl, yes, I lost the chance to be a part of that group of celebrated mommas yesterday, but I also lost the chance to have a kiddo grow up with my friends' kiddos. There are a lot of facets to this baby loss grief, but that is one that cuts deep. There is a special kind of hurt that happens when the visions of little girls and boys toddling around together, pulling on each others pigtails and dumping sand on each other's heads, crumbles into a million pieces. When it all falls apart. And there is no way to put it back together.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was, in lots of ways, a day that I would rather forget. And yet. Tonight when I was texting my husband while he was at work, I recounted yesterday as one of the best days I have had in a very. very. Long. time. In fact, I told him that it ranked in the top ten, in the 4 years that we've been married. <br />
<br />
Yesterday was tough. It was one of those milestones in this grief journey. The kind that knocks you back a step or two. But see, I married a really good guy. I married the kind of guy that can make it okay when absolutely nothing about the circumstance is okay. I married the kind of guy who is willing to use his FMLA time to stay home from work and care for you when you need it most. The kind of guy who takes you by the hand, kisses you on the cheek, and tells you that he knows that today sucks, but he isn't going to let you face it alone. The kind of guy who spends the rest of the day, tending to your every need--with a smile on his face and a grip of reassurance on your hand. Who decides that you need your own glitter space. And then builds you one, that same day. Oh, and while you're getting settled into your new glitter space? He decides to go grocery shopping and whip up ribs and cornbread for dinner, just in case you still needed an extra dose of comfort.<br />
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We all laugh at my constant obsession with all things glittered. But really and truly-- it is my outlet. I have always been one that can get lost for hours if all I have is a pair of scissors, some glue, paper, and glitter. I also write, and play with my puppies, and exercise, and cook-- but my strange little creative gene-- my glitter and paper and scissors--can get me through the longest and loneliest of days while my husband is at work and I'm desperate to find something that I enjoy as a mental vacation from the grief that threatens to pull me under on those especially dark days. <br />
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And so, when my husband decided to give me my very own space to cut, glue, glitter, and emboss to my heart's content? He met the deepest of my needs in a very tangible, practical way. He loved me. Selflessly. Practically. And when I walk by the study, and I see my new little space. My eyes well up with tears. Not at the ribbon or the perfectly organized glitter or the crazy cool sticker spinner that <i>we made together</i>. My eyes well up with tears because my husband has served me and loved me in such a way that I am overcome with an immense amount of respect for the ways in which he cares for me, and for a desire to return the favor and love him--selflessly--back. <br />
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My husband isn't my savior. He can't fix it all and he can't love me perfectly. But I do believe that God gave him to me as a gift. As an extension of Christ's love for me. And so when Jesse metaphorically wrapped the towel around his waist, bent down, and washed my dirty, broken, blistered feet yesterday--in an earthly way, he loved me as Christ loves me. And that is a powerful thing. That is a love that binds wounds. That heals. That brings joy in the midst of sorrow.<br />
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And so I guess this is my public announcement of respect for my husband. My shout out. My skywritten declaration that he is a wonderful husband whom God uses to love me and hold me together on days like yesterday. That I have the utmost respect and admiration for the Christ-like man that he is. And that I am so unbelievably grateful for his presence in my life--and as much as I would give just about anything to have my 3 babies here with me now--the loss of their precious little lives has brought Jesse and me to a new level of intimacy that I did not know was possible. We have been to the depths together--and an immense bond has been forged as a result. And I would not trade that for anything.<br />
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I love my friends. I can't wait to meet their little ones. And maybe someday, that dream of toddlers running around harassing each other can be realized. Some days, I'm brave enough to hope that it will. <br />
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And I adore this guy. And I am privileged and crazy blessed to call him my husband. <br />
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<b style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">Matthew 19:4-6</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;"> NIV </span><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">"Haven't you read," he replied, " that at the beginning the Creator made them male and female and said, " For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh" So they are no longer two but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate.</i><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;"> NIV </span><br />
<i style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">.</span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">Song of Songs 8:6-7</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;"> NIV </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.100000381469727px;">Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm, for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love, rivers cannot wash it away. If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-37196712480565525322014-03-14T14:09:00.000-07:002014-03-14T14:09:03.001-07:00Box Packing Party UpdateThis is just a super quick post to let everyone know where we are at with our upcoming event and to put out a quick request to let you know what we still need. We are really excited to finally be doing this and hope that you will consider being a part of it in some way!<br />
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We are down to about 17 days left before we are hoping to get together and pack as many boxes as we possibly can! The following list details our current needs:<br />
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<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" dir="ltr" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); font-family: arial, sans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; table-layout: fixed;"><colgroup><col width="184"></col><col width="159"></col></colgroup><tbody>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="background-color: #a4c2f4; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; direction: ltr; font-weight: bold; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">ITEM</td><td style="background-color: #a4c2f4; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; direction: ltr; font-weight: bold; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">NEED</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Boxes</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">0</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Burlap (6 in. width)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">40-50 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Lace (2-3 in. width)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">50 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Flower Centers (pearls or gems 1/4 in. diameter)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">207</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Cream Tissue</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">40 sheets</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Blue Tissue</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">41 sheets</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Pink Tissue</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">0</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">10 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Blue Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">5 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">10 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Thin Twine</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">18 rolls</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Tag Paper</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">25 sheets brown paper cardstock (paper bag type color, not chocolate brown)</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Kleenex (unopened travel packs in muted colors if possible)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">166</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Pens (new)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">159</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Seed Packets (any kind of flowers)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">161</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Copies of I'll Hold You in Heaven by Jack Hayford</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">193</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Booties **if you crochet and are interested, please send us a message!</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">as many as we can get</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Journals</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">166</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Candles (3 in. white or cream pillar, new)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">163</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
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<div>
Please let us know if you have something on this list that you would like to donate and we will make arrangements to collect it as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
Again, consider joining us on Sunday, March 30th at 1 pm at Palmcroft Baptist Church-- no craft skills required, if you show up, we will find a job for you! :-)<br />
<br />
Any questions, email us at any time--<br />
<br />
becky.forgetmenot@gmail.com<br />
karen.forgetmenot@gmail.com<br />
<br />
Thanks, all! :-) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-54526129969848174402014-02-25T20:02:00.001-08:002014-02-25T20:02:28.453-08:00You're invited...We are so excited to finally announce our first ever box packing party--and guess what, you are on the list of guests we would like to invite! What's a packing party?? I'm so glad you asked!!!<br />
<br />
Hold on. Sorry about that.<br />
<br />
Let me dial down the cheese factor (it's been a long day and I've just finished chasing my dog around the house with an empty paper towel roll for entertainment) and explain a little further what this is all about...:-)<br />
<br />
Last October we ordered our first set of 25 boxes that we planned to decorate and fill with a few comfort items in order to have them on hand to give out to the loss mommas that crossed our path. We weren't sure exactly what the need would be--and I'm sure you can understand the bittersweet feelings we have when we say that we are nearing the end of our second set of 25 boxes. It's bitter because they represent 50 precious lives that have been lost--but it's also sweet because we have been able to reach out and love 50 hurting mothers who now might feel just a little less alone in their grief.<br />
<br />
Why a packing party? There are a few reasons, least of which is that with 3-6 boxes going out each week, this is no longer a one man production--and I need to get some space in my guest room back! Just kidding--but in all seriousness, we just simply cannot keep up with the requests that are coming through each week and we really do want each and every one to be met. <br />
<br />
Many of you have expressed your love and support and "how can I help?!" attitude since the start of all of this, and we can't thank you enough. And you guessed it-- now is the time when we answer that "how can I help?" question with asking you to consider 1) helping us gather items for our box ministry and 2) coming to our packing party next month.<br />
<br />
Our goal is to come together on a Sunday afternoon next month and pack about 200 boxes. But we most definitely cannot do that without some help. If you would like to dig through your craft closet or stop at the dollar spot at Target or just help us spread the word by sharing this on your Facebook page or with your Sunday School class, we would be so appreciative. <br />
<br />
In order to have enough supplies to pack these boxes, we are in need of the following:<br />
<br />
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" dir="ltr" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: 1px solid #ccc; font-family: arial,sans,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; table-layout: fixed;"><colgroup><col width="184"></col><col width="159"></col></colgroup><tbody>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="background-color: #a4c2f4; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; direction: ltr; font-weight: bold; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">ITEM</td><td style="background-color: #a4c2f4; border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-top-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 1px; direction: ltr; font-weight: bold; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">NEED</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Boxes</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">0</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Burlap (6 in. width)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">40-50 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Lace (2-3 in. width)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">50 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Flower Centers (pearls or gems 1/4 in. diameter)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">207</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Cream Tissue</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">40</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Blue Tissue</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">41</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Pink Tissue</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">0</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">10 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Blue Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">5 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">10 yds</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Thin Twine</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">20 rolls</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Tag Paper</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">25 sheets brown paper cardstock (paper bag type color, not chocolate brown)</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Kleenex (unopened travel packs in muted colors if possible)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">182</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Pens (new)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">159</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Seed Packets (any kind of flowers)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">166</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Copies of I'll Hold You in Heaven by Jack Hayford</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">202</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Booties **if you crochet and are interested, please send us a message!</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">as many as we can get</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Journals</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">166</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 17px;"><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-left-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; direction: ltr; padding: 0px 3px; vertical-align: bottom;">Candles (3 in. white or cream pillar, new)</td><td style="border-bottom-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-right-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-right-style: solid; border-right-width: 1px; padding: 0px 3px; text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;">184</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We would like to very kindly ask you to remember as you are digging through your craft closet or those dollar bins that you keep in mind that these boxes are being given to women who are in a very deep valley of grief. As such, it would be best if we could gather journals that are muted in color and design, candles that are new, and pens that do not contain company logos for marketing. We want to be sensitive to their grief and come alongside of them in the most supportive way possible. <br />
<br />
If you have any questions at all about what we are looking for, please don't hesitate to send us a message! We are just so thankful that you are interested in helping with this cause that is so near and dear to our hearts. <br />
<br />
And finally-- our Box Packing Party has been scheduled for 1pm on Sunday, March 30th. We will meet at Palmcroft Church, 15825 N. 35th Ave, in building E Room 202. Please mark your calendar and join us if you are able-- no crafting skills are required and we will provide everything that you need to help us get these beautiful boxes packed and ready to go!<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for more updates :-)<br />
<br />
-Becky<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-52314468236430930962014-02-07T10:25:00.002-08:002014-02-07T12:36:20.142-08:00Another year gone by<i>"Do not regret growing older; it is a privilege denied to many." - unknown</i><br />
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As yet another birthday approaches and the feelings of gloom and the ache of what still is not settle in, I force myself to try to focus on this statement. But lately, I haven't been too successful.<br />
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There was the day a few weeks ago when I dragged my poor, sweet, patient husband to Hobby Lobby in search of these tiny baby feet shaped garden stones that someone else had shown me. I had decided the day before (after two solid days of not being able to get a grip on my emotions) that I desperately wanted to have somewhere that I could go, sit, and feel sad, angry, hopeless, hopeful, wistful-- and to remember. And so my husband had listened, as in between uncontrollable sobs I told him that I needed a place. A place for my babies. <br />
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"You want to plant some flowers, Beck? Get a bench maybe?"<br />
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"Yes -- sob sob sob-- I think-- sob sob sob-- that would be ---sob sob sob -- nice."<br />
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And so we now found ourselves scouring the aisles at Hobby Lobby, looking for the teeny tiny baby feet that I just couldn't imagine not having in my flower bed. After about 20 minutes, we came to the conclusion that while they may have been in the store at one time, they were definitely gone now. <br />
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And. True to form. You guessed it. I broke down in the middle of the Hobby Lobby aisle right in the midst of the garden gnomes and the Jesus music and everything. And as Jesse tried to offer suggestions of calling the Avondale store and looking online, something on the bottom shelf caught my eye. Jesse was probably mid sentence when without a word, I walked halfway down the aisle, knelt down, and began digging in the items on the bottom shelf. He calmly followed me and watched as I pulled out a small statue-- intended to look like 3 mushrooms growing out of the grass, but each was covered in tiny flowers-- pink, blue, and yellow. <br />
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And just as quickly as my tears had stopped, they started again. Unable to speak, my husband read my mind, as he often does, and said "You're crying because you like it?" I nodded. "because it's perfect?" I nodded again. "Okay well of course we are going to get it, but you have to carry it because it's covered in glitter." <br />
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Did I mention that I love this guy? <br />
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And so I've been working on my "spot for the babies" over the last couple weeks, and it's been cathartic and healing. Perhaps one day I will have a real garden in a quiet place in the backyard far away from the destruct-o-puppies that currently reign, but until then, it will do just fine. <br />
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As of late, something like this little incident has happened about every other day. There are always the new pregnancy announcements of dear friends and coworkers, the days where just the smallest thing reminds me of what has been lost, and the different anniversary dates that physically make my heart hurt. Call them triggers, call them whatever you want-- they can come any time, anywhere, and without warning. They do not discriminate against who I might be with or what my current responsibility or task might be. And they can, without fail,<br />
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<i>knock. me. down. </i><br />
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But as I am reminded that yet another year has passed by, another "1" added to my age, I can't help but to struggle to find the Hope in it all. <br />
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<i>Sometimes I wonder if all the happy endings are being used up on everyone else.</i><br />
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And as much as I know that that thought isn't a Biblical or Godly perspective, some days, it's just where I'm at.<br />
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This past December we found out some news, that while not a "deal-breaker" necessarily, has discouraged me greatly. As it turns out, we aren't just facing my unexplained predisposition to recurrent pregnancy loss, but also another factor related to fertility. To put it simply, I don't have as much time to have children as we originally thought. You might be thinking "but you can obviously get pregnant, right? So...does that really matter?" <br />
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From the few people that I've explained this to, the response that I've received more than once has been that exact sentiment. While I am logical enough to recognize that that response comes from a genuine place to encourage and offer hope-- "yes, but you can get pregnant, so everything is going to be fine! It's all going to be okay! Let's eat some ice cream now!"-- and can appreciate that, it actually kind of hurts. It makes me instantly feel invalidated and like my current grief journey, which includes a lot of fear about the future, isn't warranted or real. Yes, I can get pregnant. But up to this point, I can't have a baby. And to be quite honest, what I want is not to be pregnant. <i> I'm terrified to be pregnant.</i> I dread seeing those two pink lines because I know that that means. To me, two pink lines equal certain miscarriage. Is that entirely logical? Maybe not. But that's been my experience. 3 times, that's been my experience. What else am I supposed to go on? <i>I don't want to be pregnant. I want to have a baby. </i><br />
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And so, I will confess that while we are now seeing a specialist and taking some steps to treat this fertility factor, the inescapable sound that I hear in my mind is the relentless and pervading tick-tock, threatening to run out at any given moment, without warning, and before I've had my chance .................dramatic? Perhaps. And yet. Once again, some days. It's just where I'm at.<br />
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When I occasionally share my heart in this way, people have tried to offer their encouragement with "if it's meant to happen, it will" or "don't forget, God wants to give you the desires of your heart" or "don't worry, He doesn't give us more than we can handle."<br />
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I love each and every one of the people who have expressed these sentiments to me, but as I usually just nod and smile when they are offered in conversation, I'd like to take a brief moment here to express my thoughts on these statements.<br />
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First of all, absolutely none of this is about me or about Jesse. It's not even really about the babies that we grieve or the future that we might fear. It has always been and must always be about Christ's love for us and the ways in which His power can be evidenced in our lives. As for "He doesn't give us more than we can handle", it's a really nice sentiment that paints a picture of a loving God who doesn't want to see us hurting-- but it's really only half of the true picture. Nowhere in scripture does it say that He will not give us more in this life than we can handle. Nowhere. If we were not given more than we could handle in our own strength, then why in the world would we need a Saviour? We would be just fine without Him. And that's not how He created us-- <i>He created us to need Him.</i> And the passage that states "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart ( Ps. 37:4)"-- I really don't think that this is saying "if you want it, He'll give it to you" That isn't the God that I know. The God that I know, however, does have the power to change my heart to be more like His-- more selfless, compassionate, patient, kind-- and as I spend time with Him ("delighting" myself), my heart begins to be more like His, and thus, my desires will begin to mirror His. He never promised me a happily ever after. And he never promised me that even if what I wanted is a good thing (a new life a good thing!) and if I did everything that I was supposed to do in this life, that I would be rewarded with that thing that I want most. <i>He loves me too much for that.</i> See, these past couple of years have brought great sorrow to me and to my husband. We have been down down down to the depths of the deep dark pit. We have sat in the ER or the dr's office and time again had our hopes and our dreams crushed into smithereens right before our eyes. We most definitely have been given more than we can handle. Believe me-- <i><b>I cannot handle this. </b></i> Spend 24 hours living with me and you'll see. And without a doubt, the deepest desires of my momma heart remain unmet. <br />
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And yet.<br />
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In being given more than I can handle, I have realized and given into, my great need for Christ. Forget "leaning" on Him in all of this-much like my pudgy fluffy German Shepherd Elliotte in the middle of a long and tired walk, I have quit, too exhausted to take one more step, and laid down right in the middle of the road. Leaning on Him? No. <i> I am being straight up carried by Him at this point.</i> And while carried, I experience the healing of His love as He patiently binds my wounds and works to heal my broken heart. <br />
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As for my unmet desires-- perhaps He will choose to meet them in the way that we are hoping for, asking for, praying for. Or perhaps He won't. Because there is always the chance that in knowing what is best for Jesse and for me, in knowing what the ending that will bring Him the most honor will look like, that He will, instead, change my desire. That as I open myself up to letting Him make my heart look more like His, he will give me new desires, bigger and better than the ones I have now. Does that scare me? Uh. Yeah. I still want what I want. But I also have to trust His heart. He has proven Himself wayyyyyyyy too many times in my life for me to doubt Him now. <i><b>This is my God. And I know Him.</b></i><br />
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And so--it would seem fitting that my husband has announced that we are escaping to the Happiest Place on Earth next week in celebration of my big day. I have no doubt that there might be a certain stroller or a specific mother/child moment that I will witness in a giant park geared toward kiddos that will trigger a few tears. That will awaken yet another new desire in me-- to one day take my own kiddos to the Magic Kingdom-- and that that thought as sweet as it might be, might also be tinged with a little bit of pain. But I also plan to take some time in the midst of Indiana Jones, a Dole Whip, pictures with Mickey, a sudden free fall, and clinging to Jesse while in the Haunted Mansion (yes, I'm still terrified of it, okay?!) and reflect on these things that I do have--the promise of seeing my little ones again, the unconditional love of a Savior who loves me too much to give me everything that I want, to leave me how I am, or to leave me stranded and exhausted in the middle of the road and the crazy selfless love and kindness of a husband that I do not deserve. <br />
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31, I'm a little nervous and scared, but here I come. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-16156540684195535612014-01-26T19:44:00.002-08:002014-01-26T20:06:10.996-08:00We Remember You UpdateHello there! This is Karen, and I think this is like my second entry here! I don't often get to be the author on this blog (I need about 12 more hours in my day!!), so I am excited to be the one to update you on our very first We Remember You conference!<br />
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So much time, effort, thought, and love went into the planning of this event. We had such amazing support from volunteers who took on setting up, baking, decorating, and so much more. Becky, Rachel, and I cannot thank those people enough. We have felt so loved and so supported by your sacrifices to make this event a success! The decorations were beautiful, the food was delicious, the garden was precious, the crafts were amazing, the speakers were wonderful, and the women were blessed.<br />
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What a beautiful, beautiful day. I think pictures speak louder than words, so here are a few from the event...<br />
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We had a WONDERFUL turnout of about forty women, and each one had a unique and special story and reason for being there. I talked to women who were struggling to start their family, who had an abortion years ago, who lost one baby, two babies, five babies through miscarriage or stillbirth. There were women who's losses were four weeks ago and women who's losses were forty years ago. There were mothers, sisters, and friends of women who've struggled, who came simply to support them and learn more about how to love them through their grief. There were women of all ages and all walks of life, and it was truly an honor to be counted among them.</div>
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I personally was able to sit in on two workshops, and it was so amazing to listen to the stories, the encouragement, and the truth that was offered to these women from others who have walked the same road. I am so proud of each of the workshop facilitators who took such a huge risk at being vulnerable, real, and honest in sharing their stories and the lessons they've learned. I learned a lot myself!!!</div>
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Because each woman that attended has such a unique background and experience, I am sure that each woman walked away with something completely different. I can only speak to what I walked away with, and that is how incredibly strong we are, how incredibly special we are, to have been chosen to carry so much pain. Many times in my life, especially in the past couple of years, I have felt...almost cursed. As if I had been "pegged" by God, to be picked on and tested and asked to carry far more than I was capable of. I look at other people and wonder why they seem to have it so easy in this life. Why is it that some of us just seem to be "chosen" to be the Jobs of this world, and some of us seem to fly through life unscathed?</div>
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I have come to believe, though, that those of us who have been "chosen," have been plucked up by the hand of God himself, just as a beautiful flower you can't resist picking, and have been given the honor of experiencing a deeper and more intimate relationship with the Lord, because of the deep sorrow we have endured. As I sat among those women, I felt incredibly honored to be one of them, and I realized that I did not feel cursed, I felt chosen. I don't think a single one of us would have asked to be there, would have chosen this path for ourselves, but there we were. And we were together in our pain, together in our healing...just together. It was a pretty powerful thing.</div>
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There were a lot of wonderful things about this day, but I have to share with you the MOST wonderful thing, and that is that one of the women that came decided to accept Christ!!! That one decision, that one woman coming to the event and speaking with our mentors and deciding to accept the free gift of salvation and begin a relationship with Jesus, that makes all of it, and I do mean <i>all of it, </i>completely and totally worth it. </div>
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From the event, we have also been contacted by several people who either attended or heard about our event, and Becky and I are busy trying to follow up with each of them and are so excited to see where all of it leads!</div>
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Thank you so much for your prayers and support in these past several months as we have launched this ministry and planned this event. We cannot wait to see what God does with it all. Each of us within Forget Me Not feel very strongly that God has big plans for this ministry! We hope you will continue to follow us along this journey and see where it takes us!!!</div>
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<br />Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372544720396649429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-70312377313071937922014-01-11T21:19:00.001-08:002014-02-18T20:11:15.982-08:00...Someone Doesn't Want this Event to Happen...I walked down the driveway feeling encouraged. Hopeful. Like this could all really happen. And yet. And yet her final words to us were still ringing in the back of my mind.<br />
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<i>"If you are going to do this, then you better be ready. Because this is from the Lord and it will be used in huge ways if He continues to bless it. And there is someone who will not want that to happen. So be ready. Because the enemy will do everything he can to stop you. Be ready."</i><br />
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And that was July 11, 2013. Nearly 8 months ago. <i><b>And this week, her warning rang true.</b></i><br />
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See, it's been a week. No...it's been <b style="font-style: italic;">a week. </b>I will spare you all of the gory details, but to make some very long stories short-- I made some mistakes at work (that nearly could have cost me my job--in fact, they really could have-), was left to clean up my own mess-- And then there was the nasty case of respiratory crud that hit (which is really not that unusual for this asthmatic), but hit in the mist of the work fiasco and nearly drove me to the ER on Thursday night. We managed to avoid that, but I have been down and out for the last day and a half, dead to the world and unable to work on anything for the ministry or our fast approaching event. And in the midst of it all, my mind has been plagued with overwhelming thoughts of worry, despair, and darkness.<br />
<br />
Worry? Despair? Darkness? <i><b>These do not come from God.</b></i> These come from one place only. And that is how I know<br />
<br />
<b><i>Someone does not want this event to happen.</i></b><br />
<br />
Well all praise and thanks to God for carrying me (literally carrying me-- ever had one of those days/weeks/journeys where the evidence that He gently picked you up and carried you when you could no longer walk was just undeniable??!) through my work mess, giving me the strength to face the office another full 3 days this week, and to make it through this illness while managing to avoid any major setbacks. It all could have been a lot worse. Much worse.<br />
<br />
And guess what else I realized in all of this? I have been handling a large part of the administrative responsibilities with this ministry and next Saturday's event--but I was MIA the majority of the week because of all that was going on and -- <b><i>things kept on moving right along without me. </i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Cuz guess what. This ministry is going to move forward regardless of my involvement or what the enemy decides to throw in our way. Because there is a need. (4 boxes went out this week alone.) A need for wounded women to find hope and healing through Christ and His love. And He isn't about to let anyone or anything to get in the way of that. He's too big. And He cares too much. </i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
One more time-- here is the kick off event info. <a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B9-zYE2WlmteRGRwamJxOUVWVmM/edit">https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B9-zYE2WlmteRGRwamJxOUVWVmM/edit</a><br />
<br />
And so. Come rain or shine. Regardless of whether all of our planned tiny details come together perfectly the way that we've planned or they don't. <b><i>This event is happening.</i></b> And there is a team of us who have been praying for you. Praying that if your heart is hurting in this area, that you will come. And that we will be able to encourage you. To love you. To show you that you're not alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many are the plans in a person’s heart,</span></span><br />
<div class="passage version-NIV result-text-style-normal text-html " style="background-color: white;">
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<span class="indent-1"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Prov-19-21" style="position: relative;">but it is the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>’s purpose that prevails. Proverbs 19</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Prov-19-21" style="position: relative;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="indent-1"><span class="text Prov-19-21" style="position: relative;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-51940673691043889762014-01-05T14:47:00.003-08:002014-01-10T17:22:42.276-08:00We Remember You - A Day of Hope and HealingYou've seen our <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9-zYE2WlmteRGRwamJxOUVWVmM/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">fliers</a>. <br />
<br />
You've watched our video.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/83794360">http://vimeo.com/83794360</a><br />
<br />
You've heard about our box ministry.<br />
<br />
You've read our requests for help and prayer.<br />
<br />
<i>So what's this all about?</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xj9uuq26X9mJ2ZZBEQtblnKE9za2r5_Agj1Bg8Y8eLFSOXUBIrdGvkdihIM2AGZ1NsgiNnvQ4sCkbvNUEtEU2YAKWp3-wOhHHWEnr7CtP01MfNVL2fFz_Em_-qwX16Yx9ietAam4C3I/s1600/ForgetMeNotPoster+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xj9uuq26X9mJ2ZZBEQtblnKE9za2r5_Agj1Bg8Y8eLFSOXUBIrdGvkdihIM2AGZ1NsgiNnvQ4sCkbvNUEtEU2YAKWp3-wOhHHWEnr7CtP01MfNVL2fFz_Em_-qwX16Yx9ietAam4C3I/s1600/ForgetMeNotPoster+(2).jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
This is our dream. This is our hope. Our mission.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first step was our box ministry. Our vision was that through the church, any woman who knew of a friend, family member, neighbor, or perhaps even herself, in need of comfort and encouragement because of a miscarriage, late loss, stillbirth, or early infant loss could get a small box of comfort items and to her know that both she and her baby were remembered and loved. And to date:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">-50 total boxes are ready to go</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">-8 boxes have gone out</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">-1 box went to a family who just lost their baby boy on Christmas Eve</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">-2 of those boxes have gone to two different churches in Oklahoma--those two pastors are now planning to work with us to help them build their own FMN ministries at their churches</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">-many MANY conversations about FMN and thus about Jesus have transpired between those of us in the ministry and others--some of which have been perfect strangers (strange things can happen at the Jo-Anne's cut counter, ok?!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And the second step is really what this post is all about. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>We Remember You</b> is a day of healing for women affected by pregnancy loss, abortion, or infertility. We invite you to attend this special seminar on Saturday, January 18th, 2014 in the Education Center at Palmcroft, 9am- 1pm with a light brunch beginning at 8:30 am. If you are able, the suggested donation is $5. Palmcroft is located at 15825 N. 35th Ave.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B9-zYE2WlmteRGRwamJxOUVWVmM/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Click here for event flier</a></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In exactly two weeks, we will be holding this, our first kickoff event. This is likely the part you have seen us advertising whenever and wherever we can, but you're probably still asking yourself, <i>"what is it??"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Want to know if this event is for you? Or who you should consider inviting? So here's the scoop. This Saturday morning event is going to be run like a workshop. In fact, here are some details that we haven't previously released:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Healing From Pregnancy Loss (Workshop 1)</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This session will be directed toward women who have experienced any type of pregnancy loss including early miscarriage, late loss, stillbirth, and abortion. Questions and topics discussed will include:</span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-747560eb-60af-6729-a1b5-71b2c48967cf" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Will I see my baby again?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I deal with the emotions that follow loss for months and years to come?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why is God letting this happen to me?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why do other women get a healthy baby while I do not?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If I had an abortion, does God forgive me and how do I deal with guilt and grief? Will I see my baby again? </span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If I had an abortion, how do I talk about that with other Christian women? Won’t they look at me differently?</span></span></div>
</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Struggle of Infertility (Workshop 2)</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This session will be directed toward women who have experienced or are experiencing difficulty in conceiving. Questions and topics discussed will include:</span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-747560eb-60af-c7f8-8e4a-2e60f495c34f"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why is God allowing this struggle in my life?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why do other women who get a baby while I don’t?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If I take advantage of modern medicine to try and conceive, am I “playing God?”</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I maintain romance and connection with my husband in the midst of this journey?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What does the Bible say about infertility?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What does the Bible say about IVF and other options for conception? </span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why should I/shouldn’t I consider adoption?</span></span></div>
</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pregnancy, Parenting, and Maintaining a Godly Marriage in the Midst of Grief (Workshop 3)</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This session will be directed toward women who are married and experiencing the stressors of pregnancy loss or infertility, women who might experience pregnancy again after loss, and women who are parenting other children through/after a loss. Questions and topic discussed will include:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-747560eb-60b0-5568-1692-fecd7a0c601b"></span></span><br />
<ul style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><ul style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I reconnect with my husband after loss?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I reconnect with my husband during our infertility struggle?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do we find romance and hope in our marriage in the midst of grief?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I deal with a husband who doesn't know how to be supportive of my loss and/or infertility?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does my husband grieve differently? How?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What are some practical ways that I can protect my marriage during this time?</span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I deal with the paralyzing fear that comes with pregnancy after loss (or that comes after watching my friends experience losses?) </span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; list-style-type: circle; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I explain my loss(es) to my other children? </span></span></div>
</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Supporting a Grieving Loved One (Workshop 4)</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This session will be directed toward women who have walked the road of grief as a result of pregnancy loss or infertility with a family member or friend. Questions and topics discussed will include:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How can I show love to her during this time?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What should I say? What should I not say?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How do I support her while I grieve the loss and/or unmet desire too (as grandmother, aunt, etc.)?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How can I love a friend/family member who is hurting from abortion?</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What are some practical things that I can do to help?</span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-747560eb-60b0-e01c-0acb-47149e614736"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each woman in attendance will be able to choose 2 of the 4 workshops to attend. Each of these workshops will be led by a pair of very brave women who will be sharing from their own personal life experiences in these areas. <i> It will be vulnerable and real. </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Think you want to attend but feel like maybe only one session is a good fit for you? No problem. While all of these workshops are going on, so will our <b>"Memory Making" </b>session. This is an informal session in which any woman who attends will be able to make a small craft, like a bracelet, keychain, or Christmas ornament by which to remember their loved little one who is no longer with us. We will also have the materials to make a beautiful little journal to take home if your struggle is more related to infertility, or if you are attending in support of another woman and wish to make something for her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And if the thought of putting together a craft project totally stresses you out (not everyone's favorite color is glitter!!), then we will have places where you can hang out, grab a bite to eat, and even a quiet room where you can go to think, pray, or talk with one of our trained mentors.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We will also be "planting" our <b>Garden of Remembrance</b>. "What's that??" you ask. Come join us and find out. <i>In fact, we can't wait to show you.</i> We think that it will be a beautiful visual representation of the little ones that we will meet again and of the countless who struggle to ever even conceive. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have tried very hard to make sure that there will be something for every woman who attends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The bottom line we want to make sure that you understand about this event with which we have been bombarding your Facebook newsfeed as of late?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">In order to attend this event it is not necessary to have personally had an experience with pregnancy loss, abortion, or infertility. It is only necessary to have a desire to want to reach out and minister to other women who are hurting in these areas. And if you're reading this post? Then you already know one.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">We will be announcing our plans for support groups, box packing parties and more at this event. Please. Come join us. We would love to have you. <i>We hope that this is just the beginning.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Please let us know if you have any questions at all or would like more information or some fliers for your own distribution.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i><i><u><span style="font-family: inherit;">becky.forgetmenot@gmail.com</span></u></i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><u>karen.forgetmenot@gmail.com</u></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you for reading this lengthy post and we hope to see you there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>If you choose to come? You will be amongst friends. Friends who love you, support you, and understand the road you walk. We don't want you to suffer in isolating silence anymore.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4355720554865916878.post-21195398762444434242013-12-27T21:32:00.000-08:002014-07-18T07:37:57.606-07:00"I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm pregnant"Sometimes it comes in an unexpected conversation. Sometimes it comes at a big holiday or event. Sometimes it comes in a phone call. Sometimes it comes in a Facebook announcement to you and the whole world. And sometimes it comes in a text message. A very long. Very stuttered. Very merciful. Very kind. And yet very painful text message. <br />
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"I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm pregnant."<br />
<br />
She's nervous. She's scared. She's been dreading it. She's been putting it off. <br />
<br />
<i>And she feels guilty.</i><br />
<br />
And she shouldn't <b>She really shouldn't</b>. But she knows that there is absolutely zero way that she can share this huge, life-altering, joyous, inevitable news with you. <br />
<br />
<i>Without stabbing the deepest of daggers in your heart.</i><br />
<br />
She knows that you've always been close. She knows that you've always been there for her. And she knows that you love her. And yet. And yet she wonders.<br />
<br />
<i>Will she hate me? </i><br />
<br />
And you have always been close. And you have always been there for her. And you do love her. And you could <b>never</b> hate her. <br />
<br />
But the part of your heart that jumps at the exciting, miraculous, divine new that you've just heard is overshadowed by the shattering of what's left of a heart that is drowning in sorrow, jealousy, and fear. <br />
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And never in your whole life have you ever wanted to feel something so badly. To be able to grit your teeth, tell your emotions to shove it, and push through with smiles, laughter, and join in the excitement. And so you try. And you try. And you try. And every time. You fail. Because, no matter the size of the pep talk you give yourself, no matter the amount of analytic that was passed on to you by your oh so logical and wise engineer of a father, you absolutely cannot, will not succeed in harnessing the "mind over matter" mentality. <br />
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<i>But there is no mind over matter when it comes to matters of the heart.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Because Christmas came and went, and your miracle did not come. Because you are grieving, even still, loss upon loss upon loss. Because your doctor has just given you news that stacks just one more odd against you. Because you are facing the cost and anxiety of insanely expensive treatments and less than favorable odds. Because your hope is deferred and your heart is sick. Because you feel out of place with the people you have always felt comfortable with. Because you are jealous. Because you are sad. Because there is no end in sight. And because you are tired of being lapped by everyone else. Again. When you can't even get around the track once. <br />
<br />
And as Max Lucado puts it in <u>You'll Get Through This</u>:<br />
<i> "[You] fear that the depression will never lift, the yelling will never stop, the pain will never leave. Here in the pits, surrounded by steep walls, we wonder, will this gray sky ever brighten? This load ever lighten? [You] feel stuck, trapped, locked in. Predestined for failure. Will [you] ever exit this pit?"</i><br />
<br />
And those announcements are never easy to receive. <br />
<br />
<i>Even when they come from the women you love <b>most</b> in this world.</i><br />
<br />
And you may not be able to pull it together enough to send the congratulations they deserve. Or to go to the showers. Or to buy the little bunny pajamas that their little one would look ridiculously cute wearing. <br />
<br />
But some day, you might.<br />
<br />
Because as Max continues to point out, <i>"[...] life in the pit stinks. Yet for all its rottenness, doesn't the pit do this much? It forces you to look upward. Someone from up there must come down here and give you a hand. God did for Joseph. At the right time, in the right way, He will do the same for you."</i><br />
<br />
And so today, I may not have the fortitude to gush out the "Congratulations!!!! <3 <3 <3" that she deserves. And I may struggle and fight and claw and grapple to get my attitude to cooperate. But last week? Last week, I did something that I never would have guessed possible. I attended and participated in a gender reveal party for one my dearest of friends. With all of the family and the frosting filled cupcakes. And the squeals. And the cameras. And the baby shower planning. <br />
<br />
<i>And I brought the bunny pajamas.</i><br />
<br />
And it was. One of the most bittersweet moments of my life. There was no way that it would not be tinged with the sadness of my own loss and longing. But for one night. For one friend. I looked upward and was given a Hand of strength, of mercy, and of gentleness, to overcome. To smile. To celebrate. And to be joyful for her miracle. It doesn't sound like much. But it was the most <i>victorious</i> of milestones for this grieving girl.<br />
<br />
And the next announcement will come, just as it did today. And it might be gentle, sensitive and kind. And it might not. And I will be glad. But I will also feel the inevitable sting. But I will try and try and try to show her the kindness and the joy that she deserves, though it will likely not be enough. And so here and now. You [all] know who you are-- let me just say. I love you. Do not, I repeat, do not allow my current calling to sorrow steal from your joy. The enemy would love nothing more. You can still love me (as I have no doubt that you do). And you can still cry for my struggle, as many of you have told me that you do. But do not. Allow. Your joy. To be stolen. I love you. I may be distant for a time. But darn it if when this season subsides, your little boy or girl won't have the cutest shoes in his or her closet. Courtesy of Aunt Becky. <br />
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And in the meantime, I will try to remember this charge:<br />
<br />
<i>"This chapter in your life looks like rehab, smells like unemployment, sounds like a hospital, but ask the angels. 'Oh, she's in training.'</i><br />
<i> God hasn't forgotten you. Just the opposite. He has chosen to train you. The Hebrew verb for test comes from a word that means 'to take a keen look at, to look, to choose.' Dismiss the notion that God does not see your struggle. On the contrary, God is fully engaged. He sees the needs of tomorrow and, accordingly, uses your circumstances to create the test of today. </i><br />
<i>Does He not have the authority to do so? He is the Potter; we are the clay. He is the Shepherd; we are the sheep. He is the Gardener; we are the branches. He is the Teacher; we are the students. Trust his training. You'll get through this.</i><br />
<i><b>[And] compassion matters to God. This is the time for service, not self-centeredness. Cancel the pity party. Love the people God brings to you."</b> (Max Lucado, You'll Get Through This)</i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635044427341431026noreply@blogger.com0