A Trigger Week

Mother's Day --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.  But how could I miss it?  

****

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.

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 wanted one too.  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 wanted to be around a baby.  I found myself neglecting dinner time and my puppies to come back on night two for more-- because I wanted to be around this baby.  Because she made me smile.  And though the sting to my heart was still there, the joy that came from holding her was unmistakable.  That has never happened before.  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.  Wow. 

(friends don't take pictures of friends when they are in the hospital and fresh out of major surgery-- so wedding pic it is)

A lot happened last week.  A lot.  It was a lot.  But this Mother's Day was precious.  It hurt.  But it was precious.

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."

I will never be able to express the validation, love, and healing that transpired as a result of that sentiment.

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"

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.  That she remembered.  

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.

And the timeline gets a little fuzzy here, but the thoughts and gifts had not yet ended.

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.  Just to encourage my heart. 

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.  Who is a pretty darn good example of what motherhood is all about.  

And a card.  From my husband.  That I did not expect.  And touched my heart more than I can really say.

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 with her own hands.  Just for me.  On Mother's Day.  Talk about lost for words...

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."

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 do.  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.

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--and when I most need it.  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. To not let your gifts and your sacrifice end here with me. 


"26 If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad."  1 Cor 12

"9 Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."  Gal 6

This is Why

lady: "so how are you doing?"
guy: "oh you know."
lady: " how is your wife doing?"
guy: "not very well.  and I think it's only going to get harder as the due date approaches next week."

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?

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.

"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."

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.

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?"

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.

"I've been trying to find out who this guy is for weeks!!"

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.

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.

"Michael would like to meet you and get an opportunity to thank you.  He was very touched.  And the baby's name is J*****."

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.

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.

2 Corinthians: 3 All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. 4 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. 

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. 

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-- This is why.  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. 

   

Thank You

Have 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?

Last week I took a risk.  After a number of weeks away, we attended our Sunday School class.

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 being in our Sunday School class was actually doing me more harm that good.  

[Enter major feelings of guilt here.]

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.

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--and this scenario happened two more times before I left.  

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 loved."

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...

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.  Wow.

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.

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.  

"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."  

My glitter space

I had a day yesterday.

No.  I had a day yesterday.

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.

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.

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.  My sisters.  And I wanted to celebrate with them.  I really 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 we made together.  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.

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.

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.

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.

And I adore this guy.  And I am privileged and crazy blessed to call him my husband.  

  
Matthew 19:4-6 NIV 
"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.

Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12 NIV 
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.

Song of Songs 8:6-7 NIV 
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.

Box Packing Party Update

This 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!

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:

ITEM	NEED
Boxes	0
Burlap (6 in. width)	40-50 yds
Lace (2-3 in. width)	50 yds
Flower Centers (pearls or gems 1/4 in. diameter)	207
Cream Tissue	40 sheets
Blue Tissue	41 sheets
Pink Tissue	0
Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)	10 yds
Blue Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)	5 yds
Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)	10 yds
Thin Twine	18 rolls
Tag Paper	25 sheets brown paper cardstock (paper bag type color, not chocolate brown)
Kleenex (unopened travel packs in muted colors if possible)	166
Pens (new)	159
Seed Packets (any kind of flowers)	161
Copies of I'll Hold You in Heaven by Jack Hayford	193
Booties **if you crochet and are interested, please send us a message!	as many as we can get
Journals	166
Candles (3 in. white or cream pillar, new)	163

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.

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!  :-)

Any questions, email us at any time--

becky.forgetmenot@gmail.com
karen.forgetmenot@gmail.com

Thanks, all!  :-)  

You'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!!!

Hold on.  Sorry about that.

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...:-)

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.

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.

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.

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.

In order to have enough supplies to pack these boxes, we are in need of the following:

ITEM	NEED
Boxes	0
Burlap (6 in. width)	40-50 yds
Lace (2-3 in. width)	50 yds
Flower Centers (pearls or gems 1/4 in. diameter)	207
Cream Tissue	40
Blue Tissue	41
Pink Tissue	0
Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)	10 yds
Blue Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)	5 yds
Cream Ribbon (appox. 1/4 in.)	10 yds
Thin Twine	20 rolls
Tag Paper	25 sheets brown paper cardstock (paper bag type color, not chocolate brown)
Kleenex (unopened travel packs in muted colors if possible)	182
Pens (new)	159
Seed Packets (any kind of flowers)	166
Copies of I'll Hold You in Heaven by Jack Hayford	202
Booties **if you crochet and are interested, please send us a message!	as many as we can get
Journals	166
Candles (3 in. white or cream pillar, new)	184

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.

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.

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!

Stay tuned for more updates :-)

-Becky

Another year gone by

"Do not regret growing older; it is a privilege denied to many." - unknown

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.

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.

"You want to plant some flowers, Beck?  Get a bench maybe?"

"Yes -- sob sob sob-- I think-- sob sob sob-- that would be ---sob sob sob -- nice."

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.

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.

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."

Did I mention that I love this guy?

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.

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,

knock.  me.  down.    

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.

Sometimes I wonder if all the happy endings are being used up on everyone else.

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.

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?"

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'm terrified to be pregnant.  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 don't want to be pregnant.  I want to have a baby.  

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.

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."

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.

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-- He created us to need Him.  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.  He loves me too much for that.  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 cannot handle this.      Spend 24 hours living with me and you'll see.  And without a doubt, the deepest desires of my momma heart remain unmet.

And yet.

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 am being straight up carried by Him at this point.  And while carried, I experience the healing of His love as He patiently binds my wounds and works to heal my broken heart.

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.  This is my God.  And I know Him.

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.

31, I'm a little nervous and scared, but here I come.