"Do you have kids?"
I have a very well rehearsed answer to that question.
"Yes, we have son who passed away the day that he was born. He would be about ___ months old now."
I find that it's a simple, concise answer that allows the listener to have enough information about our son, without having to ask more questions if they don't want to, or don't know exactly how to. Most people respond with something like:
"I'm so sorry."
Some will ask more questions about how he died or how far along in the pregnancy we were. A few times, people have sweetly shared stories of their beloved children who have also passed away.
I think my favorite response was from a dear woman in the hospital where I work. I didn't know her at all and she wasn't even my assigned patient for the evening. She needed help getting to the bathroom and I volunteered to assist her. She started making small talk, and following:
"Are you married?"
always comes:
"Do you have kids?"
When I gave her my routine answer, she simple and ever so sweetly replied with:
"That must have left such a hole in your heart."
Yes. It absolutely did.
She allowed a comfortable silence to fill the room and then let me direct the conversation forward. I asked if she had kids and we went on from there for just a few minutes until she was settled back in bed.
I have heard people talk about how they dread the question. I've stumbled over my words a few times and seen the dreadful turn the conversation takes if it isn't delivered quite right. People simply expect a "yes, I have ___ kids" or "no", not a "yes, but..." And I've learned that there is an unfortunately unfair burden on me to direct the conversation so that it doesn't completely crash and burn. And believe me, I've seen it crash and burn. And once it does, there's really no recovering.
I have to take the cues from the listeners and decide if it's a topic we can safely navigate, or if I need to bounce the conversation back into their court by asking about their families or job or place of birth. The responsibility is still on me, even when people respond with sweet understanding. They don't want to be the one to change the subject and seem unfeeling, but they don't always know how much I might be willing to share and might not really know what questions to ask either. They're stuck too. So I've learned that I have to take the lead and let them know that it's okay for us to talk about Garren and it's okay to talk about something else. To go on in the natural small talk fashion. With no hard feelings.
Most of the time, I delight in talking about Garren. I am so incredibly proud to be his Mommy. I hate to admit it, but sometimes I don't like enduring the "crash and burn" in a conversation. It's kind of exhausting, even if only for a few moments. I told myself and Garren that I would never lie and say that I don't have children. I am proud to say that he's my son. But I'll admit that sometimes I steer the conversation in a way that the question never comes up. And I feel horribly guilty about it.
Jay and I went on a Caribbean cruise this summer and had an incredible time. There were 4 other couples our age who were assigned to our dinner table. At first I was disappointed that we wouldn't be having dinner by ourselves for the week, but after we met the other couples it was pretty clear that we'd have a great time at dinner each night. Over the week, we got to know each other better and talked about our jobs, our hometowns, some hobbies, and then mostly our experience each day on the cruise. We had a blast and looked forward to spending dinner each night with our new friends.
I think it was assumed that no one at our table had children because none of us were travelling with children. I didn't ask any of the other couples if they have children, mostly because I was afraid of having to tell them the truth about us. I didn't want to spoil the great conversation we had and the happy atmosphere. I hate that I felt that way. I hate that I didn't tell them. I hate that I worried about what their responses would be. I hate that this is even something I have to worry about. I guess I figured that I probably wouldn't see them again and it didn't come up in conversation, so I could just let it be. I wish I didn't feel guilty about that.
My 10 year high school reunion is coming up next month. I've gotten a few texts asking whether or not I plan to attend. So far, my answer has been that I figure I already keep in touch with the people who I'd spend time with at the reunion anyway and I just haven't decided yet. That's true. I wasn't a wildly popular kid in my graduating class of 100. I had great friends and enjoyed my time in high school, but I don't know exactly what to expect of a reunion 10 years later. I think I'd be apprehensive about it anyway, but now there's the question.
The question.
I'll show up with my wonderful husband, introduce him to the people who "knew me when..." and then I'll have to answer the question.
With social media and you know, blogs and stuff these days I'm sure a fair number of my former classmates will have heard that Garren died. I know that people will be understanding and caring. I just dread the awkwardness in the conversation whether they've heard or not. I dread hearing them talk about all of their beautiful children and having nothing to add to the happy conversation. What I have to add will just be sad. I'm happy that they have their children. I just don't know that I want to put myself in a social situation that will likely make me feel just as insecure as I did in high school and have the added pressure of navigating the conversation to avoid making people feel awkward.
And the strange part about all of this is that I love talking about Garren. I want to talk about him. I love him just like any other parent loves their living children. I hate that I worry about ruining a conversation or making people feel awkward. But the truth is that I feel awkward. I hate that this is my story. Oh what I would give for things to be different. For him to be here.
Oh my goodness, the ache. The agonizing ache.
I'd be naïve to think that there aren't other people in my high school graduating class who have invisible pain. Maybe I should just muster the courage to go and be willing to listen with an understanding heart to their stories of the last 10 years, whether I'd be celebrating with them or sitting in pain with them.
I don't know. I'm probably making this a much bigger deal that it needs to be. In the end, if I go I doubt that I'll regret it. But then again maybe I will.
I just wish he was here.
Oh God, would you please help me feel at ease talking about Garren and instead of feeling dread of crushing a conversation, would you please help me feel overwhelmed with the pride and gratitude that I have in being Garren's Mommy? I feel that all the time, but too often it's mixed with the awkwardness. I know that there's no one emotion at a time any more and I hate that. I hate that the emotions are always mixed. I guess I need to ask you to help me feel comfortable and content in the mixed emotions. They're becoming more familiar, but I still don't like them. Please tell Garren that I'm so proud to be his Mommy. Please tell him how much I miss him and how much I love him. I love you too, Lord. Thanks. Amen.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Loving You
To My Precious Garren,
For two years I've known about you. Every day for two years, I have thought about you. Every day for two years I have longed to see you - alive and healthy. First, an eager longing, waiting for your grand arrival into the world. In a millisecond that eager longing changed. Drastically. The longing became a heart-wrenching ache. The ache is still here. The longing is still here.
I long to hold you. I long to kiss you. I long to hear your voice - the one that would giggle, or squeal, or scream, or cry. The little-boy voice that might be jabbering, practicing and learning new words every day. I long to give you butterfly kisses and imagine butterfly kisses from you as you grow up - with those long eyelashes, just like Daddy's. I long to see the sparkle in your blue eyes - those eyes that I will see for the first time on the day I get to heaven. I long to tickle your toes - those long toes, just like mine. I long to chase you around a playground and take walks with you in the stroller. I long to see you sitting at the dinner table with us, trying new and exciting foods for the first time and even making a mess of it all and then wiping your sticky hands and face when you're all done. I long to walk into your room, see you standing in you crib, smiling at me in the morning. I long to walk into your room, see you sleeping peacefully in your footie pajamas. I long to read stories to you and sing songs with you. I long to play with you and teach you new things. I long to tell you that I love you and hold you while I say it.
I've loved you for a long time, Garren. Longer than the 16 months and 18 days since you were here. And longer than the two full years since I learned that you were joining our family. My heart has always loved you, Garren. And it always, always will.
It's been two years of knowing you, and already a lifetime of loving you.
I miss you so much.
Love,
Mommy
For two years I've known about you. Every day for two years, I have thought about you. Every day for two years I have longed to see you - alive and healthy. First, an eager longing, waiting for your grand arrival into the world. In a millisecond that eager longing changed. Drastically. The longing became a heart-wrenching ache. The ache is still here. The longing is still here.
I long to hold you. I long to kiss you. I long to hear your voice - the one that would giggle, or squeal, or scream, or cry. The little-boy voice that might be jabbering, practicing and learning new words every day. I long to give you butterfly kisses and imagine butterfly kisses from you as you grow up - with those long eyelashes, just like Daddy's. I long to see the sparkle in your blue eyes - those eyes that I will see for the first time on the day I get to heaven. I long to tickle your toes - those long toes, just like mine. I long to chase you around a playground and take walks with you in the stroller. I long to see you sitting at the dinner table with us, trying new and exciting foods for the first time and even making a mess of it all and then wiping your sticky hands and face when you're all done. I long to walk into your room, see you standing in you crib, smiling at me in the morning. I long to walk into your room, see you sleeping peacefully in your footie pajamas. I long to read stories to you and sing songs with you. I long to play with you and teach you new things. I long to tell you that I love you and hold you while I say it.
I've loved you for a long time, Garren. Longer than the 16 months and 18 days since you were here. And longer than the two full years since I learned that you were joining our family. My heart has always loved you, Garren. And it always, always will.
It's been two years of knowing you, and already a lifetime of loving you.
I miss you so much.
Love,
Mommy
Monday, April 7, 2014
Looking Back
As we approached Garren's first heavenly birthday, I thought about writing a very reflective post on all that we had learned in the first year without him. Well, I didn't ever stop and take the time to write down my thoughts as we approached, and then experienced the day. Jay and I did talk about our prior year a lot though. In November we received a very thoughtful booklet, simply called "On the Anniversary of Your Loss". It asked some very simple and thought-provoking questions. We talked through a few of them each night before we went to bed, looking back on the good, the lessons, the blessings, the gifts that we have received since Garren died.
We learned that we can trust God.
I think we knew this in our heads, but really experienced it in a whole new way and had to know it in our hearts. We can trust that He is always with us and sovereign over all. We wish that He had chosen a different path for us - one that allowed Garren to live here on earth with us. But we know that God wants good for His children and gives us good gifts. Garren is one of those good gifts. I don't know exactly how, but Garren being in heaven is also a good gift. Yes, there is (and always will be, I think) a sharp, deeply painful sting in the death of our son. But we know that this sting is not forever. There will come a day when death has no sting. We are so confident of heaven and living there for eternity because of Jesus' sacrifice. We know that that is where Garren is and where we will see him again.
We can trust God because He loves us. Oh how He loves us!
It's so easy to fall into the belief that God must not love us or care about us when bad, painful, horrible things happen. If I'm being honest, I have had feelings of entitlement toward God. In my selfishness, I have felt that God owed it to me to spare Garren's life - as if I had earned the gift of a child as a reward for any "good" that I have done. It doesn't work that way. God doesn't give gifts as rewards. He gives gifts because He loves us. And gifts that are here only for a short time or gifts that take a long time to come, or gifts that we want and never get don't mean that He doesn't love us. I know it's so cliché, and the words stung like salt in my wounded heart every time someone would remind me of it in the weeks after Garren died, but I know it's true: God loves us, even if we don't always feel it.
We know that it's okay to be angry with God.
Some people might disagree with me and say that being angry with God is not very reverent. There is such honesty in pouring out all your feelings to God. None of it is a surprise to Him anyway. He knows exactly how we feel, before we even put a name to our emotion. He wants us to have authentic relationships with Him and hiding feelings of anger or hurt or disappointment don't make for a very honest relationship. I've learned that it's especially in those moments, when I'm the most honest and broken before God that He answers me with comfort I never expected. He hasn't often taken away whatever made me feel hurt, but He provides the comfort and peace to know that He still loves me, even when I don't feel warm fuzzies.
We've learned that it takes so much energy to fake what you're feeling.
That goes right along with being authentic and honest before God. I am not often able to hide what I feel from people either. And I don't usually try to, because frankly, I don't have the energy. That being said, I have also learned to identify the times and the places that are safe for me to share my heart.
There's a heaviness in grief.
It's exhausting. In the early weeks and months after Garren died, everything felt so heavy. I felt heavy. I am an oncology nurse and work felt really heavy. I didn't want to bear anyone else's burden on any level. I didn't want to be depended on for anything really. Sadly, a few friends and I share the pain of losing children. Only walking alongside another mom who lost a child seemed to be a burden I could bear, maybe because we were leaning on each other.
Forgiveness is hard.
We received a thoughtful letter in the days after Garren died. The letter was from another mom whose son passed away several years ago. In her letter, she told us some of what we might expect in grieving Garren. She told us that sometimes people would say things that would sting. They might say things that were hurtful and seemingly unfeeling. She told us that people mean to say that they don't want us to hurt anymore, and sometimes that comes out so very wrong. She was right. Grief is a difficult thing to navigate for the one steering the ship. And it is so difficult to know exactly what to say or what to do with someone else's feelings. But in the midst of hearing some hurtful things - even knowing that people didn't mean to be hurtful - I felt angry and resentful at times. And forgiveness is hard. Plain and simple. But when I hold the perspective that they mean well (and remember that I'm shown grace, just the same when I fumble through words) it becomes a little easier.
We have wonderful, supportive people around us.
On the other side of the hurtful things we've felt, it has been humbling to feel such love from so many people over the last 16 months. We received cards from some dear friends every month for a year. People reminded us that they were still praying for us, even months after Garren's death. Just last week, a sweet woman at church shook my hand during the greeting time and with an understanding look, asked how I'm doing. I answered that I'm doing well and she patted my hand and said they still pray for us and think of us. Isn't that amazing? I love that people talk about Garren and ask me about him. I love that people remember him with us. We received so many cards on his birthday too. My co-workers even bought a special gift for me on his birthday. And we had a wonderful group of people with us singing 'Happy Birthday', eating cake and spending time at the cemetery that day. People have been so thoughtful. And we're so very grateful!
This post seems a little late, but I suppose there is always a time for reflection, right? We miss him. Oh my goodness, how we miss him! But in the midst of the missing, we're doing alright. I've even started answering that I'm doing "well". That doesn't mean I don't think of him every hour of every day. It doesn't mean that we don't have that deep, sinking feeling in our hearts or our guts when we miss him more than usual. It doesn't mean that we don't cry and wonder why God chose it to be this way. It just means that we've learned more about God, more about His gifts and more about ourselves. And that ultimately, eternally, all is well.
Lord, thank you for these things we've learned. Thanks for the comfort you've brought us. We are filled with an aching joy (if that's possible) when we think of Garren. We're so grateful for him. Please continue to open our eyes to the gifts you give us, even the difficult ones. Help us to be more and more grateful for You. Would you please tell Garren we love him? Thanks!
Love,
Andrea
We learned that we can trust God.
I think we knew this in our heads, but really experienced it in a whole new way and had to know it in our hearts. We can trust that He is always with us and sovereign over all. We wish that He had chosen a different path for us - one that allowed Garren to live here on earth with us. But we know that God wants good for His children and gives us good gifts. Garren is one of those good gifts. I don't know exactly how, but Garren being in heaven is also a good gift. Yes, there is (and always will be, I think) a sharp, deeply painful sting in the death of our son. But we know that this sting is not forever. There will come a day when death has no sting. We are so confident of heaven and living there for eternity because of Jesus' sacrifice. We know that that is where Garren is and where we will see him again.
We can trust God because He loves us. Oh how He loves us!
It's so easy to fall into the belief that God must not love us or care about us when bad, painful, horrible things happen. If I'm being honest, I have had feelings of entitlement toward God. In my selfishness, I have felt that God owed it to me to spare Garren's life - as if I had earned the gift of a child as a reward for any "good" that I have done. It doesn't work that way. God doesn't give gifts as rewards. He gives gifts because He loves us. And gifts that are here only for a short time or gifts that take a long time to come, or gifts that we want and never get don't mean that He doesn't love us. I know it's so cliché, and the words stung like salt in my wounded heart every time someone would remind me of it in the weeks after Garren died, but I know it's true: God loves us, even if we don't always feel it.
We know that it's okay to be angry with God.
Some people might disagree with me and say that being angry with God is not very reverent. There is such honesty in pouring out all your feelings to God. None of it is a surprise to Him anyway. He knows exactly how we feel, before we even put a name to our emotion. He wants us to have authentic relationships with Him and hiding feelings of anger or hurt or disappointment don't make for a very honest relationship. I've learned that it's especially in those moments, when I'm the most honest and broken before God that He answers me with comfort I never expected. He hasn't often taken away whatever made me feel hurt, but He provides the comfort and peace to know that He still loves me, even when I don't feel warm fuzzies.
We've learned that it takes so much energy to fake what you're feeling.
That goes right along with being authentic and honest before God. I am not often able to hide what I feel from people either. And I don't usually try to, because frankly, I don't have the energy. That being said, I have also learned to identify the times and the places that are safe for me to share my heart.
There's a heaviness in grief.
It's exhausting. In the early weeks and months after Garren died, everything felt so heavy. I felt heavy. I am an oncology nurse and work felt really heavy. I didn't want to bear anyone else's burden on any level. I didn't want to be depended on for anything really. Sadly, a few friends and I share the pain of losing children. Only walking alongside another mom who lost a child seemed to be a burden I could bear, maybe because we were leaning on each other.
Forgiveness is hard.
We received a thoughtful letter in the days after Garren died. The letter was from another mom whose son passed away several years ago. In her letter, she told us some of what we might expect in grieving Garren. She told us that sometimes people would say things that would sting. They might say things that were hurtful and seemingly unfeeling. She told us that people mean to say that they don't want us to hurt anymore, and sometimes that comes out so very wrong. She was right. Grief is a difficult thing to navigate for the one steering the ship. And it is so difficult to know exactly what to say or what to do with someone else's feelings. But in the midst of hearing some hurtful things - even knowing that people didn't mean to be hurtful - I felt angry and resentful at times. And forgiveness is hard. Plain and simple. But when I hold the perspective that they mean well (and remember that I'm shown grace, just the same when I fumble through words) it becomes a little easier.
We have wonderful, supportive people around us.
On the other side of the hurtful things we've felt, it has been humbling to feel such love from so many people over the last 16 months. We received cards from some dear friends every month for a year. People reminded us that they were still praying for us, even months after Garren's death. Just last week, a sweet woman at church shook my hand during the greeting time and with an understanding look, asked how I'm doing. I answered that I'm doing well and she patted my hand and said they still pray for us and think of us. Isn't that amazing? I love that people talk about Garren and ask me about him. I love that people remember him with us. We received so many cards on his birthday too. My co-workers even bought a special gift for me on his birthday. And we had a wonderful group of people with us singing 'Happy Birthday', eating cake and spending time at the cemetery that day. People have been so thoughtful. And we're so very grateful!
This post seems a little late, but I suppose there is always a time for reflection, right? We miss him. Oh my goodness, how we miss him! But in the midst of the missing, we're doing alright. I've even started answering that I'm doing "well". That doesn't mean I don't think of him every hour of every day. It doesn't mean that we don't have that deep, sinking feeling in our hearts or our guts when we miss him more than usual. It doesn't mean that we don't cry and wonder why God chose it to be this way. It just means that we've learned more about God, more about His gifts and more about ourselves. And that ultimately, eternally, all is well.
Lord, thank you for these things we've learned. Thanks for the comfort you've brought us. We are filled with an aching joy (if that's possible) when we think of Garren. We're so grateful for him. Please continue to open our eyes to the gifts you give us, even the difficult ones. Help us to be more and more grateful for You. Would you please tell Garren we love him? Thanks!
Love,
Andrea
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Happy 1st Heavenly Birthday, Garren!
Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy!
I can't believe it has already been a whole year since you were born. Daddy and I find ourselves wondering what a year in heaven must be like. We wonder how you celebrate a birthday in heaven. I hope you get to have cake! I hope Jesus and all the angels sing "Happy Birthday" to you. We had a delicious lunch with lots of food and a big, scrumptious chocolate cake to celebrate your birthday in heaven! And Daddy and I blew out a candle to celebrate your first year there.
I'm so very glad that you are in heaven! There is no better place to be! We miss you more than we know how to say, but we are so grateful that Jesus loves us and gives us a place in heaven with Him! These feelings are so hard to figure out, Garren. Our hearts just ache without you here, and yet our hearts are the most glad they can be knowing that you're in His arms. We cannot wait to see you when we get there! Oh, how we long for Heaven!!!
We love you so very much, Garren! And we miss you like crazy! We wish we could give you big, big hugs and kisses!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Garren!
Happy Birthday to you!
Love,
Mommy and Daddy
I can't believe it has already been a whole year since you were born. Daddy and I find ourselves wondering what a year in heaven must be like. We wonder how you celebrate a birthday in heaven. I hope you get to have cake! I hope Jesus and all the angels sing "Happy Birthday" to you. We had a delicious lunch with lots of food and a big, scrumptious chocolate cake to celebrate your birthday in heaven! And Daddy and I blew out a candle to celebrate your first year there.
I'm so very glad that you are in heaven! There is no better place to be! We miss you more than we know how to say, but we are so grateful that Jesus loves us and gives us a place in heaven with Him! These feelings are so hard to figure out, Garren. Our hearts just ache without you here, and yet our hearts are the most glad they can be knowing that you're in His arms. We cannot wait to see you when we get there! Oh, how we long for Heaven!!!
We love you so very much, Garren! And we miss you like crazy! We wish we could give you big, big hugs and kisses!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Garren!
Happy Birthday to you!
Love,
Mommy and Daddy
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Lessons on God's Goodness... From a Beagle
I've been wanting to write about God's goodness and what I've learned about it. I've struggled to capture my thoughts in a concise, blog-appropriate way. Last night God gave me a very applicable illustration of His goodness and how we tend to understand it.
We have a beagle. His name is Rusty. I cannot express how thankful I am for him. He has brought laughter when we couldn't imagine laughing. He has snuggled close when no one else was within arm's reach. He has been someone we had to get out of ourselves to care for, when we didn't feel very much like caring for anything. He is such a gift.
Last night Rusty and I went to the dog park. He played and played, jumping and chasing the other dogs. When we got home I noticed him licking his paw for quite a while. As I looked at it, I saw his wound.
Now, I should first tell you that his wound is likely my fault. And I feel terrible about it. Rusty has long toenails and I haven't cut them in a while.
One of his toenails on his front paw was bleeding. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I think his long toenail must have gotten caught on something and caused it to split or come up out of the nail bed a little bit.
My heart broke for our little dog, who so faithfully loves us. He was hurting and all I wanted to do was to fix it and comfort him through it.
So, first of all I didn't want it to get infected, so I thought I should find a way to clean it up a little bit. I filled a basin with some warm soapy water and sat down by Rusty, giving him time to trust what I was doing, hoping that he would be able to know that I didn't want to hurt him more, but that I was trying to help him. After a few minutes, he let me wrap a warm cloth around his wounded paw and clean up the bleeding. But as I would get close to the wound, he would pull his paw away. I cleaned it as well as I could and tried to help the bleeding stop by dabbing some cornstarch onto his nail.
When Jay got home I told him about our poor beagle. We both knew we were going to have to clip Rusty's nail so that it wouldn't snag on anything or put more pressure on the nail bed where it was pulled. Before we even touched Rusty's nails with the clipper, he knew what was coming and was not happy about it. He struggled to run away, thinking that what we were doing would hurt him and he wanted no part of it. Between the two of us we held Rusty tight and clipped the nail while he howled and cried and tried to claw his way out of the painful situation. After it was all over, he snuggled up to us and allowed us to wrap a sock around his paw, keeping him from licking it.
Are the spiritual applications of this obvious, or am I making it up?
Rusty had to allow us to do what we knew was going to be best for him, to prevent more harm. He simply had to trust, even though he wouldn't understand. We tried to communicate our care and concern, but as smart as Rusty is, he doesn't understand a lot of conversational English. He had to trust that what we were doing was good. That we love him and want what is best for him.
We knew that he wasn't going to understand exactly what our plans were or the rationale behind them. But we knew that what we were doing was good for him. It was goodness.
Like Rusty's limited English comprehension, I have limited understanding of God. He has revealed Himself through His Word and through His Son and I know His love for me. But I am not God. I know that I don't fully know His love for me and I cannot fully understand the things of God until I am in Heaven.
"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." 1 Corinthians 13:12
There are things in this life that hurt badly. Losing a child is only one of the thousands of deeply painful things that we as humans will go through in our lifetimes on earth. Our perception of pain does not define His goodness.
Our perception of pain does not define His goodness.
I have questioned God's goodness in losing Garren. I've questioned how something so painful could be good. I don't know the answer yet. And I can say that I am content knowing that I might never fully know the answer this side of Heaven.
Like Rusty, I simply have to rest and trust when God holds me tight and says, "Andrea, this is going to hurt and you're not going to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing, but just trust me. You know that I love you. I have cared for you and provided for you and sacrificed my Son for you. I know this is painful, and it breaks my heart that you are hurting, but just trust me. This is goodness. I am always good. Someday I'll allow you to fully see that."
I can stop struggling. I can stop trying to jump out of God's tight grip while he clips away what must be clipped away. And I can rest, knowing that He knows what He is doing. Knowing that He desperately loves me and wouldn't waste the sacrifice of His Son to bring me anything BUT goodness.
These painful things in life must just be our perception. We see such a small picture of eternity. God sees it all and has it all planned out. I'm so foolish to think that because I don't define something as good, that it must not be.
Our perception of pain, does not define His goodness.
God is infinitely greater than that.
"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'As the Heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'" Isaiah 55:8-9
God knows far better what is best for me. Unlike me neglecting to clip Rusty's nails to prevent further injuries, God brings us through what we feel are painful situations and refines us, shapes us, grows us and is eternally glorified. And there is eternal glory that we receive in it as well.
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
I know these painful things don't feel light or momentary. Losing a loved one, a precious child does not feel "light." Seeing people struggle with devastating illnesses does not feel "light." Hearing about violence and abuse does not feel "light." Nor do these things feel "momentary." I will live out the rest of my days without Garren here. There will always be pain in that. There will always be the missing. That doesn't feel "momentary."
But in the span of eternity, knowing the endless days that I will spend in heaven and the timelessness of God - this is momentary. Because I am locked into God's grip and nothing can take me from him, every trouble or hardship or pain that I face in this life will be light compared to being separated eternally from Him.
Some have questioned whether or not God took Garren from us. Some say that God is our comforter, our healer and that because of sin in the world, there is death. That is true. There is death because God designed it as the consequence for sin. But God decided when Garren's heart would begin to beat and He decided when his heart would cease to beat. I can't decide to define God by what I perceive to be painful or what I would accept as "goodness."
I can believe who He says He is and trust Him. Trusting that I will not know all of His ways in this lifetime. Trusting that He loves me and will do what is best for me, even and especially when I don't understand it.
I find comfort in answers, in resolution. And I find comfort in this: I don't know the answer, but God does. So I'll choose to trust Him.
Lord, you are far greater than I can ever imagine. You are the creator, the sustainer over all of this world. You have chosen to reveal your heart and your love to us, by giving us your Word, your Son Jesus, and your Spirit to dwell within us. What incredible gifts! I don't deserve to know you or to be known by you. Thank you for the love you have for me, this unconditional love. Thank you that despite my anger and my questioning and my frustration and my struggle to trust you, yet you love me. Yet you show me your love in thousands of different ways. You show me your goodness in thousands of different ways. O Lord, thank you. Thank you for gifts like Rusty, who not only brings so much joy, but also brings spiritual lessons. You've used a beagle to teach me about you. You are so good! Thank you that these troubles are light and momentary in the span of eternity. Thank you that we can look with eager anticipation toward heaven where this "pain" will be no more. How we long for Christ's return! Lord, teach me to trust you. Teach me to listen for your voice, telling me you love me and to simply rest in the knowledge of that indescribable love. Teach me to see your goodness as you define it, not as I define it. Please continue to reveal more and more of yourself, that I may know you more and more. And Lord, would you please say hi to Garren for me? Please tell him I love him and miss him. Thanks!
Love,
Andrea
We have a beagle. His name is Rusty. I cannot express how thankful I am for him. He has brought laughter when we couldn't imagine laughing. He has snuggled close when no one else was within arm's reach. He has been someone we had to get out of ourselves to care for, when we didn't feel very much like caring for anything. He is such a gift.
Last night Rusty and I went to the dog park. He played and played, jumping and chasing the other dogs. When we got home I noticed him licking his paw for quite a while. As I looked at it, I saw his wound.
Now, I should first tell you that his wound is likely my fault. And I feel terrible about it. Rusty has long toenails and I haven't cut them in a while.
One of his toenails on his front paw was bleeding. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I think his long toenail must have gotten caught on something and caused it to split or come up out of the nail bed a little bit.
My heart broke for our little dog, who so faithfully loves us. He was hurting and all I wanted to do was to fix it and comfort him through it.
So, first of all I didn't want it to get infected, so I thought I should find a way to clean it up a little bit. I filled a basin with some warm soapy water and sat down by Rusty, giving him time to trust what I was doing, hoping that he would be able to know that I didn't want to hurt him more, but that I was trying to help him. After a few minutes, he let me wrap a warm cloth around his wounded paw and clean up the bleeding. But as I would get close to the wound, he would pull his paw away. I cleaned it as well as I could and tried to help the bleeding stop by dabbing some cornstarch onto his nail.
When Jay got home I told him about our poor beagle. We both knew we were going to have to clip Rusty's nail so that it wouldn't snag on anything or put more pressure on the nail bed where it was pulled. Before we even touched Rusty's nails with the clipper, he knew what was coming and was not happy about it. He struggled to run away, thinking that what we were doing would hurt him and he wanted no part of it. Between the two of us we held Rusty tight and clipped the nail while he howled and cried and tried to claw his way out of the painful situation. After it was all over, he snuggled up to us and allowed us to wrap a sock around his paw, keeping him from licking it.
Are the spiritual applications of this obvious, or am I making it up?
Rusty had to allow us to do what we knew was going to be best for him, to prevent more harm. He simply had to trust, even though he wouldn't understand. We tried to communicate our care and concern, but as smart as Rusty is, he doesn't understand a lot of conversational English. He had to trust that what we were doing was good. That we love him and want what is best for him.
We knew that he wasn't going to understand exactly what our plans were or the rationale behind them. But we knew that what we were doing was good for him. It was goodness.
Like Rusty's limited English comprehension, I have limited understanding of God. He has revealed Himself through His Word and through His Son and I know His love for me. But I am not God. I know that I don't fully know His love for me and I cannot fully understand the things of God until I am in Heaven.
"Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known." 1 Corinthians 13:12
There are things in this life that hurt badly. Losing a child is only one of the thousands of deeply painful things that we as humans will go through in our lifetimes on earth. Our perception of pain does not define His goodness.
Our perception of pain does not define His goodness.
I have questioned God's goodness in losing Garren. I've questioned how something so painful could be good. I don't know the answer yet. And I can say that I am content knowing that I might never fully know the answer this side of Heaven.
Like Rusty, I simply have to rest and trust when God holds me tight and says, "Andrea, this is going to hurt and you're not going to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing, but just trust me. You know that I love you. I have cared for you and provided for you and sacrificed my Son for you. I know this is painful, and it breaks my heart that you are hurting, but just trust me. This is goodness. I am always good. Someday I'll allow you to fully see that."
I can stop struggling. I can stop trying to jump out of God's tight grip while he clips away what must be clipped away. And I can rest, knowing that He knows what He is doing. Knowing that He desperately loves me and wouldn't waste the sacrifice of His Son to bring me anything BUT goodness.
These painful things in life must just be our perception. We see such a small picture of eternity. God sees it all and has it all planned out. I'm so foolish to think that because I don't define something as good, that it must not be.
Our perception of pain, does not define His goodness.
God is infinitely greater than that.
"'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'As the Heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'" Isaiah 55:8-9
God knows far better what is best for me. Unlike me neglecting to clip Rusty's nails to prevent further injuries, God brings us through what we feel are painful situations and refines us, shapes us, grows us and is eternally glorified. And there is eternal glory that we receive in it as well.
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
I know these painful things don't feel light or momentary. Losing a loved one, a precious child does not feel "light." Seeing people struggle with devastating illnesses does not feel "light." Hearing about violence and abuse does not feel "light." Nor do these things feel "momentary." I will live out the rest of my days without Garren here. There will always be pain in that. There will always be the missing. That doesn't feel "momentary."
But in the span of eternity, knowing the endless days that I will spend in heaven and the timelessness of God - this is momentary. Because I am locked into God's grip and nothing can take me from him, every trouble or hardship or pain that I face in this life will be light compared to being separated eternally from Him.
Some have questioned whether or not God took Garren from us. Some say that God is our comforter, our healer and that because of sin in the world, there is death. That is true. There is death because God designed it as the consequence for sin. But God decided when Garren's heart would begin to beat and He decided when his heart would cease to beat. I can't decide to define God by what I perceive to be painful or what I would accept as "goodness."
I can believe who He says He is and trust Him. Trusting that I will not know all of His ways in this lifetime. Trusting that He loves me and will do what is best for me, even and especially when I don't understand it.
I find comfort in answers, in resolution. And I find comfort in this: I don't know the answer, but God does. So I'll choose to trust Him.
Lord, you are far greater than I can ever imagine. You are the creator, the sustainer over all of this world. You have chosen to reveal your heart and your love to us, by giving us your Word, your Son Jesus, and your Spirit to dwell within us. What incredible gifts! I don't deserve to know you or to be known by you. Thank you for the love you have for me, this unconditional love. Thank you that despite my anger and my questioning and my frustration and my struggle to trust you, yet you love me. Yet you show me your love in thousands of different ways. You show me your goodness in thousands of different ways. O Lord, thank you. Thank you for gifts like Rusty, who not only brings so much joy, but also brings spiritual lessons. You've used a beagle to teach me about you. You are so good! Thank you that these troubles are light and momentary in the span of eternity. Thank you that we can look with eager anticipation toward heaven where this "pain" will be no more. How we long for Christ's return! Lord, teach me to trust you. Teach me to listen for your voice, telling me you love me and to simply rest in the knowledge of that indescribable love. Teach me to see your goodness as you define it, not as I define it. Please continue to reveal more and more of yourself, that I may know you more and more. And Lord, would you please say hi to Garren for me? Please tell him I love him and miss him. Thanks!
Love,
Andrea
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Counting Weeks and Blessings and Knowing His Piercing Love and Grace
Thirty-seven weeks and one day.
That's how long it's been since Garren died (or truly began to live, really). That's how long we've been missing him.
We had him here on earth for 36 weeks and six days.
We've now been missing him for longer than he was here.
I don't mark the weeks on a calendar. I don't have a tally system set up on my bulletin board. I don't have to think long and hard to remember what week it is. While I was pregnant I counted weeks, like every pregnant woman.
I'm 12 weeks today. The chances of miscarrying drop at this point. AND I'll get to hear my little baby's heartbeat on an ultrasound at this visit!
I'm 18 weeks today. Time to see this little one on the BIG ultra sound. Time to find out if we have a little lady or a little sir.
I'm 24 weeks today. If our baby is born too early, the chance that he'll survive will be better and better from here on out.
I'm 30 weeks today. Time to stay put and not travel anywhere just in case he surprises us with his presence early. Better start getting his room ready!
I'm 36 weeks today. Term. If our little man is born any day now, he'll be okay. Oh but Lord, please keep him in there for as long as he can stay so that he'll have the strongest brain development he can have. Keep him in there until his little lungs are ready to breathe all the wonderful air You give us.
Thirty-six weeks and six days.
Oh Lord, he could have lived. He could have thrived! He could have breathed sweet air and exhaled little breaths that I would feel on my chest as I held him. He could have squinted and squirmed and cried, letting me know he needed me. He could have lived. According to all the science and monitoring we have here on this earth, he was ready. But You decided otherwise. You knew exactly how many days Garren would have on this earth. You numbered them before the beginning of time.
"All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:16
You loved him before the beginning of time.
You loved me before the beginning of time. You numbered my days. You orchestrated every detail of my life. You directed and planned this. You gave me this. This. Dare I say it? Gift. This gift.
I count the days, the weeks. Simply because I love him. Simply because I miss him. I count. I counted to 36 weeks and six days once, with eager expectation and a growing, unconditional love. On December 8, 2012 I began the count again. I've counted past 36 weeks and six days with a longing kind of love, a soul ache, a dread for each passing day because it's one more day without Garren. It's daunting to know that we've crossed the threshold into the rest of our earthly lives. From here forward, we will always be missing him for longer than we had him here with us physically. Daunting. Overwhelming. At times, even crushing.
How long will I count? What will I count? Weeks? Months? What is this in me that NEEDS to count? If I stop counting weeks, what will I count? What should I count?
In the very seconds after I asked myself this question, the Lord, in His sovereignty and incredible love spoke to my heart. Count gifts.
Count gifts, blessings, evidence that He loves me. Evidence that He's here.
My heart has been pierced all over again in the last few weeks. This time, not a fresh piercing of pain and agony of longing. This time, pierced with an overwhelming feeling of love and grace. A knowledge of the love of the Father, who is sovereign. My heart feels contentment in His sovereignty. Oh, there are still days, so many days when I question His sovereignty and feel angry about His divine will and purpose as it's been manifested here in my life. But when I come to Him, I know that He is sovereign. And there's peace in that. There's not such a struggle, a warring in my heart about it anymore. I've always known He's sovereign, but in these months, in my anger and grief I couldn't fit those things together. How can my loving, powerful, sovereign God have designed this? And if He did, which I know beyond even a shadow of doubt, then why? Why? It didn't fit. Sovereignty, love and this didn't fit. I don't have the answer to why anymore than I ever have. But He is sovereign. That's the answer. I don't need to know why. I don't need to spend my life searching for the why. There might be a thousand reasons why. There might be one. The Lord will reveal it to me in His perfect timing, if that should be in my lifetime on earth. If not, I will surely know when I am in His presence in Heaven. And today, I'm okay with that.
So this piercing of love and grace comes from seeing, looking, searching for His gifts to me. His thousands and thousands of gifts, simply saying He loves me and cares for me and is with me.
So I'll continue to count. I don't know if my mind will stop unintentionally counting weeks, but my mind will intentionally continue to count His blessings. One by one.
"Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare." Psalm 40:5
Many, O Lord are the wonders you have done. Thank you for your unfailing love. Thank you for the wisdom and truth you have shown my heart over the last several weeks. Thank you for your sovereignty. Thank you for Garren. And thank you for loving him and numbering his days before the beginning of time. Thank you that he's home with you. And thank you that these weeks that I count in dread and angst, should really be counted in eager anticipation. We're 37 weeks and one day closer to seeing Garren again. And greater than that, we're 37 weeks and one day closer to seeing your son, Jesus face to face. Bless the counting. Open my eye to see your love all around me. Let me see as you see, that even the things I would never describe or name as a blessing would be seen as a gift from you. A gift that will bring good to me (as you see goodness, not always as I see it) and glory to you. "To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!" Revelation 5:13
Amen.
That's how long it's been since Garren died (or truly began to live, really). That's how long we've been missing him.
We had him here on earth for 36 weeks and six days.
We've now been missing him for longer than he was here.
I don't mark the weeks on a calendar. I don't have a tally system set up on my bulletin board. I don't have to think long and hard to remember what week it is. While I was pregnant I counted weeks, like every pregnant woman.
I'm 12 weeks today. The chances of miscarrying drop at this point. AND I'll get to hear my little baby's heartbeat on an ultrasound at this visit!
I'm 18 weeks today. Time to see this little one on the BIG ultra sound. Time to find out if we have a little lady or a little sir.
I'm 24 weeks today. If our baby is born too early, the chance that he'll survive will be better and better from here on out.
I'm 30 weeks today. Time to stay put and not travel anywhere just in case he surprises us with his presence early. Better start getting his room ready!
I'm 36 weeks today. Term. If our little man is born any day now, he'll be okay. Oh but Lord, please keep him in there for as long as he can stay so that he'll have the strongest brain development he can have. Keep him in there until his little lungs are ready to breathe all the wonderful air You give us.
Thirty-six weeks and six days.
Oh Lord, he could have lived. He could have thrived! He could have breathed sweet air and exhaled little breaths that I would feel on my chest as I held him. He could have squinted and squirmed and cried, letting me know he needed me. He could have lived. According to all the science and monitoring we have here on this earth, he was ready. But You decided otherwise. You knew exactly how many days Garren would have on this earth. You numbered them before the beginning of time.
"All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:16
You loved him before the beginning of time.
You loved me before the beginning of time. You numbered my days. You orchestrated every detail of my life. You directed and planned this. You gave me this. This. Dare I say it? Gift. This gift.
I count the days, the weeks. Simply because I love him. Simply because I miss him. I count. I counted to 36 weeks and six days once, with eager expectation and a growing, unconditional love. On December 8, 2012 I began the count again. I've counted past 36 weeks and six days with a longing kind of love, a soul ache, a dread for each passing day because it's one more day without Garren. It's daunting to know that we've crossed the threshold into the rest of our earthly lives. From here forward, we will always be missing him for longer than we had him here with us physically. Daunting. Overwhelming. At times, even crushing.
How long will I count? What will I count? Weeks? Months? What is this in me that NEEDS to count? If I stop counting weeks, what will I count? What should I count?
In the very seconds after I asked myself this question, the Lord, in His sovereignty and incredible love spoke to my heart. Count gifts.
Count gifts, blessings, evidence that He loves me. Evidence that He's here.
My heart has been pierced all over again in the last few weeks. This time, not a fresh piercing of pain and agony of longing. This time, pierced with an overwhelming feeling of love and grace. A knowledge of the love of the Father, who is sovereign. My heart feels contentment in His sovereignty. Oh, there are still days, so many days when I question His sovereignty and feel angry about His divine will and purpose as it's been manifested here in my life. But when I come to Him, I know that He is sovereign. And there's peace in that. There's not such a struggle, a warring in my heart about it anymore. I've always known He's sovereign, but in these months, in my anger and grief I couldn't fit those things together. How can my loving, powerful, sovereign God have designed this? And if He did, which I know beyond even a shadow of doubt, then why? Why? It didn't fit. Sovereignty, love and this didn't fit. I don't have the answer to why anymore than I ever have. But He is sovereign. That's the answer. I don't need to know why. I don't need to spend my life searching for the why. There might be a thousand reasons why. There might be one. The Lord will reveal it to me in His perfect timing, if that should be in my lifetime on earth. If not, I will surely know when I am in His presence in Heaven. And today, I'm okay with that.
So this piercing of love and grace comes from seeing, looking, searching for His gifts to me. His thousands and thousands of gifts, simply saying He loves me and cares for me and is with me.
So I'll continue to count. I don't know if my mind will stop unintentionally counting weeks, but my mind will intentionally continue to count His blessings. One by one.
Count Your Blessings
Written by Johnson Oatman, Jr. (1897)
When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings - name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.
Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your many blessings; every doubt will fly,
And you will be singing as the days go by.
When you look at others with their lands and gold,
Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold;
Count your many blessings; money cannot buy
Your reward in heaven nor your home on high.
So amid the conflict, whether great or small,
Do not be discouraged; God is over all.
Count your many blessings; angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you to your journey's end.
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your blessings, see what God hath done.
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your many blessings, see what God hath done.
"Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done. The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare." Psalm 40:5
Many, O Lord are the wonders you have done. Thank you for your unfailing love. Thank you for the wisdom and truth you have shown my heart over the last several weeks. Thank you for your sovereignty. Thank you for Garren. And thank you for loving him and numbering his days before the beginning of time. Thank you that he's home with you. And thank you that these weeks that I count in dread and angst, should really be counted in eager anticipation. We're 37 weeks and one day closer to seeing Garren again. And greater than that, we're 37 weeks and one day closer to seeing your son, Jesus face to face. Bless the counting. Open my eye to see your love all around me. Let me see as you see, that even the things I would never describe or name as a blessing would be seen as a gift from you. A gift that will bring good to me (as you see goodness, not always as I see it) and glory to you. "To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!" Revelation 5:13
Amen.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Still Counting
Still counting gifts, that is.
Thought I'd share a few today:
#233 - fields of wildflowers and butterflies
#388 - homegrown tomatoes
#442 - a slow tail wag
#598 - sound of rain
#604. "Happy Birthday" sung all in tune, with a little harmony added in at the end
#609. Watching fishing line fly through the air as it's cast
#623. The quiet of the forest
#626. Water falls, even small ones
#631. Sparkling rain drops on bright green leaves
#656. Bibles on patients' bedside tables
#667. Warm copies, fresh off the printer
#681. God's Word: powerful and piercing
(I've needed this)
I've needed to be thankful. I find myself looking for things to write down. I find myself on the scavenger hunt for gifts and grace like Ann talks about. I've been surprised to find that the list keeps going without many duplications. As hard as my heart has been lately, I'm starting to see this multitude of gifts in front of me. And it's refreshing. Pure grace falling on a dry heart. I've needed it.
Thank you, Lord for these beautiful gifts. These gifts that I see are a fraction of the grace that you give to me. Thank you for opening my eyes to see these things. Open my eyes wider to see more and more of the love you show me each and every moment of my days. Let my heart be ever thankful.
Love,
Andrea
Thought I'd share a few today:
#233 - fields of wildflowers and butterflies
#388 - homegrown tomatoes
#442 - a slow tail wag
#598 - sound of rain
#604. "Happy Birthday" sung all in tune, with a little harmony added in at the end
#609. Watching fishing line fly through the air as it's cast
#623. The quiet of the forest
#626. Water falls, even small ones
#631. Sparkling rain drops on bright green leaves
#656. Bibles on patients' bedside tables
#667. Warm copies, fresh off the printer
#681. God's Word: powerful and piercing
(I've needed this)
I've needed to be thankful. I find myself looking for things to write down. I find myself on the scavenger hunt for gifts and grace like Ann talks about. I've been surprised to find that the list keeps going without many duplications. As hard as my heart has been lately, I'm starting to see this multitude of gifts in front of me. And it's refreshing. Pure grace falling on a dry heart. I've needed it.
Thank you, Lord for these beautiful gifts. These gifts that I see are a fraction of the grace that you give to me. Thank you for opening my eyes to see these things. Open my eyes wider to see more and more of the love you show me each and every moment of my days. Let my heart be ever thankful.
Love,
Andrea
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
The Beginnings of a GrateFULL Heart
I've asked so many questions of God in the last few months. Questions of why, questions of how, questions of when. These questions have been met with silence. As long as I've had a true, honest to goodness relationship with the King of Kings, I've never heard so much silence. In good times, I'd be able to see His hand and feel joyful. In hard times, I'd turn on the Christian radio and hear His voice. I'd sit in church and be moved to tears, knowing He was talking to me. I'd read His Word and those words would be echoed by what I heard from others, from church, from songs. I heard Him.
In the first few weeks since Garren died, I looked for evidence of God's faithfulness. I kept a list of all the ways He had been faithful in Garren's death, in saving my life, and in the comfort we received from others. As time passed, I stopped seeing His faithfulness. I stopped hearing His voice.
I got angry and didn't want to hear Him tell me that He is in control.
That He is faithful.
That He is good.
Because none of that felt true in what I've been living: a life without my son.
So other than wanting to hear answers to the questions I'd been asking, I didn't want to hear anything from Him.
And the answers haven't come.
Every day, I wrestle with the fact that I will have to live my life not ever fully knowing the answers. I trust that I might someday get glimpses of the answers, but probably not the whole of them. And I need to learn to be content with that. Or it will cripple me.
It has crippled me.
I hear others talking about the prayers they pray for others and the expectation they have for God to work in this way or that. I hear others talk about their faith in the God who answers prayers. I hear others talk about the power there is in prayer.
I smile and nod outwardly. But inwardly? I scoff.
My heart scoffs, because my son being gone is evidence of God not answering the powerful prayer that I prayed as I crawled onto the operating room table, begging God to save Garren. Begging everyone in the room to pray as they worked to save him and me.
I am lost in the mystery of prayer. I'm lost in the mystery of the ways of God. Simply writing that out reminds me that His ways are higher than my ways, His thoughts higher than my thoughts (Isaiah 55:9). And maybe that's part of the point: I cannot ever fully understand God, because I am not. Abraham probably asked some of the same questions I ask when he was going to sacrifice Issac. He had no idea what earthly good would come from sacrificing his son, yet he obeyed God.
I can't see what earthly good can come from losing Garren, but I must choose to obey Him.
But the silence.
The silence has been so painful.
Until last week.
For the first time in so very long, I think I felt God's leading. Saw His hand at work. Heard His voice.
A group of ladies from my church will be gathering this summer to read "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. I knew very little from the book when it was selected as our summer Bible Study read. I purchased the book and the study guide, set them on the counter to be ready when I needed them for the study.
I follow several blogs that have been so helpful in my grief, one of them Sufficient Grace Ministries
(SGM). Last week SGM started a very specific Facebook page where bereaved parents could share experiences and encouragement with one another. The founder of SGM posted about gratitude, even and especially in painful things, referencing Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts". My eyes filled with tears, because it was that very evening that I was to begin to study that book with the ladies at church.
I could say it was ironic. But it wasn't ironic. It was God.
Finally.
The familiarity of feeling God's leading was so comforting. It felt as if He was assuring me that this was a book He wanted me to read. A book He would use in healing my deeply wounded, unrecognizable heart.
I read the first two chapters that afternoon before meeting with the ladies.
It is profound.
Ann writes about the act of giving thanks as the means to unlocking the door to a full life. A grateful life. A joyful life. Three words I could not use to describe my life.
She writes about learning to be grateful. Learning to see the thousands of ways God loves us. The thousands of gifts He gives us daily. Daily. Even days when the pain cuts to the depths of a soul? Yes, even then.
She encourages readers to practice the habit of gratitude. She encourages readers to name those things for which we are grateful. Those things which we love. Those things which are gifts. Gifts from God himself.
So I'm counting.
I started a list of one thousand gifts. I'm up to #80. I'm adding to it daily. Some seem hard to think of. Some seem obvious. Some seem childish. Some seem mundane. But they're gifts nonetheless.
But tonight I realized I was missing something. Something huge. I have been adding to my list, consciously looking for things for which to give thanks. But I've forgotten that most important part. To give thanks. I've been making the list, setting it aside and leaving it at that. This list means nothing if I don't thank Him. This list is just a list of things if I don't see them as gifts from the Giver. And thank Him for them.
It's no secret that prayer has been difficult for me. Prayers of thanksgiving will be the best place to start in communication with God again. What better way to enter into His presence than by acknowledging His goodness, to which I have been so blinded. I can honestly and easily thank Him for these things that I list. And maybe in simply thanking Him for these good gifts, just maybe the peace that transcends understanding will guard my heart from the doubts. From the unanswered questions. Maybe my heart will feel full again. Full of grace. Full of joy. Full of thanks.
Oh Lord,
Thank you. Thank you for the good gifts you give. For the thousands of gifts you give me every day. Even in these days of deep pain. Thank you for letting me see them. Thank you for Garren. And Lord, will you please tell him how much we love him? How much we miss him?
Thanks,
Andrea
In the first few weeks since Garren died, I looked for evidence of God's faithfulness. I kept a list of all the ways He had been faithful in Garren's death, in saving my life, and in the comfort we received from others. As time passed, I stopped seeing His faithfulness. I stopped hearing His voice.
I got angry and didn't want to hear Him tell me that He is in control.
That He is faithful.
That He is good.
Because none of that felt true in what I've been living: a life without my son.
So other than wanting to hear answers to the questions I'd been asking, I didn't want to hear anything from Him.
And the answers haven't come.
Every day, I wrestle with the fact that I will have to live my life not ever fully knowing the answers. I trust that I might someday get glimpses of the answers, but probably not the whole of them. And I need to learn to be content with that. Or it will cripple me.
It has crippled me.
I hear others talking about the prayers they pray for others and the expectation they have for God to work in this way or that. I hear others talk about their faith in the God who answers prayers. I hear others talk about the power there is in prayer.
I smile and nod outwardly. But inwardly? I scoff.
My heart scoffs, because my son being gone is evidence of God not answering the powerful prayer that I prayed as I crawled onto the operating room table, begging God to save Garren. Begging everyone in the room to pray as they worked to save him and me.
I am lost in the mystery of prayer. I'm lost in the mystery of the ways of God. Simply writing that out reminds me that His ways are higher than my ways, His thoughts higher than my thoughts (Isaiah 55:9). And maybe that's part of the point: I cannot ever fully understand God, because I am not. Abraham probably asked some of the same questions I ask when he was going to sacrifice Issac. He had no idea what earthly good would come from sacrificing his son, yet he obeyed God.
I can't see what earthly good can come from losing Garren, but I must choose to obey Him.
But the silence.
The silence has been so painful.
Until last week.
For the first time in so very long, I think I felt God's leading. Saw His hand at work. Heard His voice.
A group of ladies from my church will be gathering this summer to read "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. I knew very little from the book when it was selected as our summer Bible Study read. I purchased the book and the study guide, set them on the counter to be ready when I needed them for the study.
I follow several blogs that have been so helpful in my grief, one of them Sufficient Grace Ministries
(SGM). Last week SGM started a very specific Facebook page where bereaved parents could share experiences and encouragement with one another. The founder of SGM posted about gratitude, even and especially in painful things, referencing Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts". My eyes filled with tears, because it was that very evening that I was to begin to study that book with the ladies at church.
I could say it was ironic. But it wasn't ironic. It was God.
Finally.
The familiarity of feeling God's leading was so comforting. It felt as if He was assuring me that this was a book He wanted me to read. A book He would use in healing my deeply wounded, unrecognizable heart.
I read the first two chapters that afternoon before meeting with the ladies.
It is profound.
Ann writes about the act of giving thanks as the means to unlocking the door to a full life. A grateful life. A joyful life. Three words I could not use to describe my life.
She writes about learning to be grateful. Learning to see the thousands of ways God loves us. The thousands of gifts He gives us daily. Daily. Even days when the pain cuts to the depths of a soul? Yes, even then.
She encourages readers to practice the habit of gratitude. She encourages readers to name those things for which we are grateful. Those things which we love. Those things which are gifts. Gifts from God himself.
So I'm counting.
I started a list of one thousand gifts. I'm up to #80. I'm adding to it daily. Some seem hard to think of. Some seem obvious. Some seem childish. Some seem mundane. But they're gifts nonetheless.
But tonight I realized I was missing something. Something huge. I have been adding to my list, consciously looking for things for which to give thanks. But I've forgotten that most important part. To give thanks. I've been making the list, setting it aside and leaving it at that. This list means nothing if I don't thank Him. This list is just a list of things if I don't see them as gifts from the Giver. And thank Him for them.
It's no secret that prayer has been difficult for me. Prayers of thanksgiving will be the best place to start in communication with God again. What better way to enter into His presence than by acknowledging His goodness, to which I have been so blinded. I can honestly and easily thank Him for these things that I list. And maybe in simply thanking Him for these good gifts, just maybe the peace that transcends understanding will guard my heart from the doubts. From the unanswered questions. Maybe my heart will feel full again. Full of grace. Full of joy. Full of thanks.
Oh Lord,
Thank you. Thank you for the good gifts you give. For the thousands of gifts you give me every day. Even in these days of deep pain. Thank you for letting me see them. Thank you for Garren. And Lord, will you please tell him how much we love him? How much we miss him?
Thanks,
Andrea
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Good Grief?
It's been just over 5 months since Garren died. 22 weeks today, to be exact. I can't believe the time has been going so quickly. I've been reflecting a little bit lately on what grief has looked like over 5 months time. I've read about the stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) and I've definitely found myself stopping at all these stages at various times along this road. They say grief is unique to each person and the time one spends in each stage will also be unique. Sometimes I wish there was a guide, or a rule book for how long to feel each stage. Or maybe a syllabus letting me know what I'm going to be feeling and when I'm going to be feeling it. I love rules. I love structure. I love having directions to follow. Grief is so very different. So unstructured. So unpredictable.
Sometimes things that should feel really difficult, turn out to be okay. And on the flip side, some things completely catch me off guard. It seems like there's no rhyme or reason to it. I guess it all boils down to just missing Garren. I just miss him.
And the ache of missing him and the depth of my sadness has made me question far more than I used to. I've always felt secure in God's sovereignty in my life. Things have not always gone the way I would have planned or how I would have liked, but I've been able to be ok with what God chose to give me, or not give me. I've been able to see the good in things.
Now, I have such a hard time even saying that I will ever find the good in losing Garren. It hasn't been hard for me to give up things that I've wanted, and later realize that God had better things planned for me. It hasn't been hard for me to look back on trials and see how God grew my faith and taught me to be more like Jesus. But this? Losing my son?
I realize there are so many ways that God can (and will) use the hurt of losing Garren for His glory. But right now, I have a really hard time saying that I will ever think it was worth it.
When I say things like that, I'm constantly reminded that Garren was not mine in the first place. I know what a precious gift he is and I am so very grateful that God chose us to have him for even a little while. Having this love for Garren, memories of him, the ache of missing him and hope to see him again is far greater than never having known him at all.
I remember having a conversation with someone after our 20 week ultrasound and remarking on how overwhelmed with relief I was that Garren was perfectly healthy. I hadn't realized how anxious I had been about what we could find during that ultrasound. But I wasn't naïve enough to think that that was it. I knew that as much as I wanted to protect him from any bad things, any sickness, any injury in his whole life - I didn't have that in my control. And with the relief of knowing he was healthy, I actually said, "I know Garren is God's child anyway and he has just been entrusted to us". God must have been preparing me to let him go.
Some people have been asking when we're going to have another baby. I know they ask because they are looking for a sign that we're healing, and that must be the sign. Or maybe they ask because they think another baby will bring the healing that we need. Or maybe they're just curious because they want to see us enjoy something in life again. In all of these conversations I've had, in answering the questions of "when", I feel so adamant that I don't want to rush it. We miss Garren. We don't just miss having a baby. In a way, the grief that we're experiencing is like the process of raising him and figuring out how parenthood on earth would be. We wouldn't be rushing to have another baby if he was here. We wouldn't be looking so far forward that we wouldn't be able to see him now. And that's just the way I want it now. I want to fully experience all that goes with learning to be parents to Garren in Heaven. It's completely different than what we expected our first year of parenthood to be, but like any other new parents, we're learning as we go.
I'm not sure where the phrase "Good grief" came from, but yes, grief is good. I think all too often our culture is uncomfortable with grief and hurt and anything but perfect happiness. I'm learning that it's ok to hurt - and not hide it. It's part of bearing one another's burdens. And it's ok not to have a time limit on it. I don't think I'll ever be "done" grieving Garren. That grief will look different throughout the years, but it'll never end.
I'm not sure this captures the whirlwind that life seems to be, but these ramblings will do for now.
Lord, please guide us on this road of grief. Help us to see your goodness and trust you, even in these times when we don't understand. Thank you for the blessings you've allowed us to see in the midst of the hurt. Open our eyes to see your hand more and more at work in our lives. Please tell Garren how much we love him and miss him.
Love,
Andrea
Sometimes things that should feel really difficult, turn out to be okay. And on the flip side, some things completely catch me off guard. It seems like there's no rhyme or reason to it. I guess it all boils down to just missing Garren. I just miss him.
And the ache of missing him and the depth of my sadness has made me question far more than I used to. I've always felt secure in God's sovereignty in my life. Things have not always gone the way I would have planned or how I would have liked, but I've been able to be ok with what God chose to give me, or not give me. I've been able to see the good in things.
Now, I have such a hard time even saying that I will ever find the good in losing Garren. It hasn't been hard for me to give up things that I've wanted, and later realize that God had better things planned for me. It hasn't been hard for me to look back on trials and see how God grew my faith and taught me to be more like Jesus. But this? Losing my son?
I realize there are so many ways that God can (and will) use the hurt of losing Garren for His glory. But right now, I have a really hard time saying that I will ever think it was worth it.
When I say things like that, I'm constantly reminded that Garren was not mine in the first place. I know what a precious gift he is and I am so very grateful that God chose us to have him for even a little while. Having this love for Garren, memories of him, the ache of missing him and hope to see him again is far greater than never having known him at all.
I remember having a conversation with someone after our 20 week ultrasound and remarking on how overwhelmed with relief I was that Garren was perfectly healthy. I hadn't realized how anxious I had been about what we could find during that ultrasound. But I wasn't naïve enough to think that that was it. I knew that as much as I wanted to protect him from any bad things, any sickness, any injury in his whole life - I didn't have that in my control. And with the relief of knowing he was healthy, I actually said, "I know Garren is God's child anyway and he has just been entrusted to us". God must have been preparing me to let him go.
Some people have been asking when we're going to have another baby. I know they ask because they are looking for a sign that we're healing, and that must be the sign. Or maybe they ask because they think another baby will bring the healing that we need. Or maybe they're just curious because they want to see us enjoy something in life again. In all of these conversations I've had, in answering the questions of "when", I feel so adamant that I don't want to rush it. We miss Garren. We don't just miss having a baby. In a way, the grief that we're experiencing is like the process of raising him and figuring out how parenthood on earth would be. We wouldn't be rushing to have another baby if he was here. We wouldn't be looking so far forward that we wouldn't be able to see him now. And that's just the way I want it now. I want to fully experience all that goes with learning to be parents to Garren in Heaven. It's completely different than what we expected our first year of parenthood to be, but like any other new parents, we're learning as we go.
I'm not sure where the phrase "Good grief" came from, but yes, grief is good. I think all too often our culture is uncomfortable with grief and hurt and anything but perfect happiness. I'm learning that it's ok to hurt - and not hide it. It's part of bearing one another's burdens. And it's ok not to have a time limit on it. I don't think I'll ever be "done" grieving Garren. That grief will look different throughout the years, but it'll never end.
I'm not sure this captures the whirlwind that life seems to be, but these ramblings will do for now.
Lord, please guide us on this road of grief. Help us to see your goodness and trust you, even in these times when we don't understand. Thank you for the blessings you've allowed us to see in the midst of the hurt. Open our eyes to see your hand more and more at work in our lives. Please tell Garren how much we love him and miss him.
Love,
Andrea
Friday, March 8, 2013
Surrender
Dear Lord,
I haven't written to you in a while. I wish I could say that my actual prayer life was much different than these letters. It used to be. I used to have days when I would talk with you all day throughout the day and usually have a committed time of prayer stuck into my day somewhere. I wish I could tell you I got busy, just too busy to pray. I wish I could tell you I've just plain forgotten to pray. But I've been angry. So angry. So disappointed. So confused. So lost in the promises of your Word. I've been so angry that I'd chosen not to pray. I stopped praying when the prayers I prayed for a young girl's physical healing were answered completely opposite of what I prayed. Those prayers ended in taking her to Heaven. Just like Garren. Just like so many other babies and young children. I got so frustrated that you didn't answer those prayers. And I know that "No" is an answer. But why didn't you answer any of my desperate cries or the cries of other moms and dads to save our children with a "Yes?"
For my good and for Your glory....
I know, Lord. But why couldn't you have shown your glory in miraculously saving the lives of so many children? Why couldn't you have saved Garren and grown him into an incredibly godly man for you, to glorify you in his life by standing tall in such a dark, fallen world? Wouldn't you be glorified in that?
And none of this feels like it's for my good. I know that you are my Father and you do know what is best for me. I would have said that to Garren a thousand times as he grew up. I would have taught him what is right, even when he didn't like it, because I would know it's for his good.
Lord, let this be for my good. Even saying that feels so wrong. Any "good" that comes from losing Garren will never, ever justify losing him. I never want to say that there will be a reason good enough to be worth his life. But in the midst of this, would you bring good? Please Lord. Let me see the good. The beauty out of these ashes. Not to justify Garren's life, but to honor his life.
And Lord, be glorified in this. I don't understand why you didn't answer our prayers with "yes." I don't like that you didn't answer with "yes." But please be glorified. In saying that, I'm surrendering the doubt that's gripping my heart and the bitterness that's beginning to take root there. I know I'm going to need to say it to you over and over and over again. Because frankly, I want to think that I know best. I know that doesn't surprise you, Lord. In my heart I truly trust you, but in my selfishness and sinfulness I want to make the decisions. Even as I write that I know how childish that sounds. And I know how awful my life would be if I made the decisions. You do know best. Help me to trust that. Help me to trust you. Lord forgive me for my sinfulness and teach me to be satisfied knowing that you have all the answers, and I don't have to. Teach me to search long and hard for truths in your Word. And teach me to be okay with not having the answers to all the tough questions until we meet face to face. Teach me to pray again. And Lord, be glorified.
Will you hold Garren today and give him a kiss from me? Please tell him I wish we could be taking his 3 month picture today and marveling at how much he's grown. Please let him see how much I love him. Lord, let my heart never stop aching for him. Jay has such a great way of putting it. We want to heal, but we want a scar that will never go away. A scar that will be seen and felt forever. As painful as this journey is, I'm so grateful for the time we had with Garren. Thank you for entrusting him to us. He is such an incredible gift.
Lord, there is still so much pain in my heart and such a tendancy to doubt your love and your promises. Please hold me close and remind me of your love. Please remind me over and over and over again. "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here's my heart, Lord. Take and seal it. Seal it for Thy courts above."
Your Child,
Andrea
I haven't written to you in a while. I wish I could say that my actual prayer life was much different than these letters. It used to be. I used to have days when I would talk with you all day throughout the day and usually have a committed time of prayer stuck into my day somewhere. I wish I could tell you I got busy, just too busy to pray. I wish I could tell you I've just plain forgotten to pray. But I've been angry. So angry. So disappointed. So confused. So lost in the promises of your Word. I've been so angry that I'd chosen not to pray. I stopped praying when the prayers I prayed for a young girl's physical healing were answered completely opposite of what I prayed. Those prayers ended in taking her to Heaven. Just like Garren. Just like so many other babies and young children. I got so frustrated that you didn't answer those prayers. And I know that "No" is an answer. But why didn't you answer any of my desperate cries or the cries of other moms and dads to save our children with a "Yes?"
For my good and for Your glory....
I know, Lord. But why couldn't you have shown your glory in miraculously saving the lives of so many children? Why couldn't you have saved Garren and grown him into an incredibly godly man for you, to glorify you in his life by standing tall in such a dark, fallen world? Wouldn't you be glorified in that?
And none of this feels like it's for my good. I know that you are my Father and you do know what is best for me. I would have said that to Garren a thousand times as he grew up. I would have taught him what is right, even when he didn't like it, because I would know it's for his good.
Lord, let this be for my good. Even saying that feels so wrong. Any "good" that comes from losing Garren will never, ever justify losing him. I never want to say that there will be a reason good enough to be worth his life. But in the midst of this, would you bring good? Please Lord. Let me see the good. The beauty out of these ashes. Not to justify Garren's life, but to honor his life.
And Lord, be glorified in this. I don't understand why you didn't answer our prayers with "yes." I don't like that you didn't answer with "yes." But please be glorified. In saying that, I'm surrendering the doubt that's gripping my heart and the bitterness that's beginning to take root there. I know I'm going to need to say it to you over and over and over again. Because frankly, I want to think that I know best. I know that doesn't surprise you, Lord. In my heart I truly trust you, but in my selfishness and sinfulness I want to make the decisions. Even as I write that I know how childish that sounds. And I know how awful my life would be if I made the decisions. You do know best. Help me to trust that. Help me to trust you. Lord forgive me for my sinfulness and teach me to be satisfied knowing that you have all the answers, and I don't have to. Teach me to search long and hard for truths in your Word. And teach me to be okay with not having the answers to all the tough questions until we meet face to face. Teach me to pray again. And Lord, be glorified.
Will you hold Garren today and give him a kiss from me? Please tell him I wish we could be taking his 3 month picture today and marveling at how much he's grown. Please let him see how much I love him. Lord, let my heart never stop aching for him. Jay has such a great way of putting it. We want to heal, but we want a scar that will never go away. A scar that will be seen and felt forever. As painful as this journey is, I'm so grateful for the time we had with Garren. Thank you for entrusting him to us. He is such an incredible gift.
Lord, there is still so much pain in my heart and such a tendancy to doubt your love and your promises. Please hold me close and remind me of your love. Please remind me over and over and over again. "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love. Here's my heart, Lord. Take and seal it. Seal it for Thy courts above."
Your Child,
Andrea
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Happy Valentine's Day!
Hi Sweetie,
Daddy and I are thinking about you, maybe just a little more today than we usually do. It's Valentine's Day today. Instead of going out for a nice dinner like we did, we should have asked Daddy to bring home some pizza so we could all spend the evening together and get you to bed on time. Even though we went out and had a nice time, we thought about you and talked about you and missed you the whole time.
We love you so much Garren! We love you more and more every day. And we miss you more and more every day. Life is getting back into a routine and we want you to know that there will never be a day we won't think of you and miss you - no matter how busy we get.
You are our beautiful, precious son. We are so proud of you Garren! We love telling people all about you! We could never have asked for a more perfect son. You are more special and so much more loved than we know how to say.
Happy Valentine's Day Garren!
Love Always,
Mommy and Daddy
P.S. Thanks for the beautiful flowers! Daddy says they're from both of you :-)
Daddy and I are thinking about you, maybe just a little more today than we usually do. It's Valentine's Day today. Instead of going out for a nice dinner like we did, we should have asked Daddy to bring home some pizza so we could all spend the evening together and get you to bed on time. Even though we went out and had a nice time, we thought about you and talked about you and missed you the whole time.
We love you so much Garren! We love you more and more every day. And we miss you more and more every day. Life is getting back into a routine and we want you to know that there will never be a day we won't think of you and miss you - no matter how busy we get.
You are our beautiful, precious son. We are so proud of you Garren! We love telling people all about you! We could never have asked for a more perfect son. You are more special and so much more loved than we know how to say.
Happy Valentine's Day Garren!
Love Always,
Mommy and Daddy
P.S. Thanks for the beautiful flowers! Daddy says they're from both of you :-)
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
What a good time you'll have...
Garren,
Hey son, how are you? I'm sure you're doing well. It has to be amazing in Heaven. I miss you. I'm sorry I haven't written soon. Sometimes it feels like time just keeps marching on and I'm caught unprepared. I never feel like there is enough time in the day.
I went to a funeral yesterday. But I'm sure you know that already. It was for a very good friend of mine, my baseball coach when I was a little boy. He was quite a man, larger than life really. He was always smiling when I would see him, and full of good advice. I remember how he used to pour himself into me and some of the other young men at our church. He always loved and cared about us. I may be getting into my 30's, but I can remember when I was 7-8 years old and we'd go to baseball practice and he'd be there and it was so much fun being out there with the other boys. I always looked forward to playing baseball. He was probably the best coach I've ever had. Not because he was the best technician of the sport, but because he loved every one of us, and he made us all feel important. I wanted to play better because I loved being there with him and with the other guys. As I grew older, he never stopped caring about me and the man I was becoming. I would do anything I could to help him or his family.
I'm telling you this because I want you to find him there in Heaven, if he hasn't already found you. You two can play a little game of catch. Maybe he can show you how to throw a ball before I get there. He can show you how to go hunting and fishing too. But most importantly, you can praise God together. Hopefully, Heaven helps people have perfect pitch, he might be making a joyful noise, but it may be off key a touch. But even if he is off key, you two will have a great time. Just look around you and see all the beauty there is around you. I can't wait to see it myself. I'm not sure when I'll get there, but I know that when I do, you two will be waiting there for me. I can almost hear your voice in my head telling me all about the different things to do there, and how you want me to meet all your wonderful friends.
I miss you Garren, but you have the best coach, mentor, and friend to watch over you till I see you again. I'm envious of everything you two will find to do around there. Oh... What a good time you will have!
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well. I'd love to hear back from you sometime soon. Just send your mom and I a line or two and let us know how you're doing. I'll be talking with you soon. Until then, just know I carry you in my heart every day, and I'm never far away.
I love you son,
Dad
Hey son, how are you? I'm sure you're doing well. It has to be amazing in Heaven. I miss you. I'm sorry I haven't written soon. Sometimes it feels like time just keeps marching on and I'm caught unprepared. I never feel like there is enough time in the day.
I went to a funeral yesterday. But I'm sure you know that already. It was for a very good friend of mine, my baseball coach when I was a little boy. He was quite a man, larger than life really. He was always smiling when I would see him, and full of good advice. I remember how he used to pour himself into me and some of the other young men at our church. He always loved and cared about us. I may be getting into my 30's, but I can remember when I was 7-8 years old and we'd go to baseball practice and he'd be there and it was so much fun being out there with the other boys. I always looked forward to playing baseball. He was probably the best coach I've ever had. Not because he was the best technician of the sport, but because he loved every one of us, and he made us all feel important. I wanted to play better because I loved being there with him and with the other guys. As I grew older, he never stopped caring about me and the man I was becoming. I would do anything I could to help him or his family.
I'm telling you this because I want you to find him there in Heaven, if he hasn't already found you. You two can play a little game of catch. Maybe he can show you how to throw a ball before I get there. He can show you how to go hunting and fishing too. But most importantly, you can praise God together. Hopefully, Heaven helps people have perfect pitch, he might be making a joyful noise, but it may be off key a touch. But even if he is off key, you two will have a great time. Just look around you and see all the beauty there is around you. I can't wait to see it myself. I'm not sure when I'll get there, but I know that when I do, you two will be waiting there for me. I can almost hear your voice in my head telling me all about the different things to do there, and how you want me to meet all your wonderful friends.
I miss you Garren, but you have the best coach, mentor, and friend to watch over you till I see you again. I'm envious of everything you two will find to do around there. Oh... What a good time you will have!
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well. I'd love to hear back from you sometime soon. Just send your mom and I a line or two and let us know how you're doing. I'll be talking with you soon. Until then, just know I carry you in my heart every day, and I'm never far away.
I love you son,
Dad
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Hope
Heavenly Father,
Several years ago, a pastor once said that in times of trial one should "rely on what you KNOW about God, not what you FEEL."
I feel completely broken-hearted that Garren is not here. I feel like a lost mother. I feel exposed and out of place and at the same time totally hidden and unnoticed. I feel angry. I'm so angry that Garren isn't here. I'm angry that I didn't have any warning signs to get to the hospital sooner. I'm angry that there weren't warning signs that something was wrong TWO DAYS before he was born while I was already at my doctor's office. I'm angry that I didn't have mother's intuition to get to the hospital in time to save Garren. I'm so angry that you didn't save Garren.
My life is usually, sinfully consumed with worrying what people think of me. I don't want to pretend in this. I do have stong faith in you, Lord. But I don't want to spend my energy appearing that I'm not hurting and angry about the valley you have us in. And yet, in the midst of the anger and utter disbelief that we are where we are, I have hope. And for that I'm so grateful.
I have hope because of what I KNOW about you.
I know you are sovereign. You are far greater than I can ever fathom. You are the creator and sustainer of the Universe - of which I know very very little. I know you have known me and Jay since before you created the world. I know you have known Garren since before creation too. I know that you are loving. You sent your only Son to die as payment for my sins, forgiving me so that I can have a restored relationship with you. I know you have given me your Spirit to convict me, comfort me, and guide me through life and especially through this valley. I know you are my Shepherd. I know you do all things for my good and your glory. It's hard to see how taking Garren is for my good. And I wish you had chosen to show your glory in some other way. But when I get to Heaven, I'm sure I'll understand. In any case, I know you are faithful. I have seen beautiful displays of your presence in our lives, through small things (like bulbs I planted last summer that are finally growing even though I haven't watered them since I planted them) to big things (like the overwhelming peace we have in your sovereignty).
Peace: not the absence of turmoil, but the presence of God. Peace. We have it. You're supplying it for us. Thank you!
Hope. We also have hope. Hope because we know we'll see Garren again. Hope because Jesus died to save us. Hope because we know Garren is safe in Heaven with you. What hope! Thank you that this isn't final. Thank you that your promises are true. Thank you for your Son. And thank you for my son. What a gift he is.
Thank you for beautiful songs that encourage us, like this one from BarlowGirl:
Several years ago, a pastor once said that in times of trial one should "rely on what you KNOW about God, not what you FEEL."
I feel completely broken-hearted that Garren is not here. I feel like a lost mother. I feel exposed and out of place and at the same time totally hidden and unnoticed. I feel angry. I'm so angry that Garren isn't here. I'm angry that I didn't have any warning signs to get to the hospital sooner. I'm angry that there weren't warning signs that something was wrong TWO DAYS before he was born while I was already at my doctor's office. I'm angry that I didn't have mother's intuition to get to the hospital in time to save Garren. I'm so angry that you didn't save Garren.
My life is usually, sinfully consumed with worrying what people think of me. I don't want to pretend in this. I do have stong faith in you, Lord. But I don't want to spend my energy appearing that I'm not hurting and angry about the valley you have us in. And yet, in the midst of the anger and utter disbelief that we are where we are, I have hope. And for that I'm so grateful.
I have hope because of what I KNOW about you.
I know you are sovereign. You are far greater than I can ever fathom. You are the creator and sustainer of the Universe - of which I know very very little. I know you have known me and Jay since before you created the world. I know you have known Garren since before creation too. I know that you are loving. You sent your only Son to die as payment for my sins, forgiving me so that I can have a restored relationship with you. I know you have given me your Spirit to convict me, comfort me, and guide me through life and especially through this valley. I know you are my Shepherd. I know you do all things for my good and your glory. It's hard to see how taking Garren is for my good. And I wish you had chosen to show your glory in some other way. But when I get to Heaven, I'm sure I'll understand. In any case, I know you are faithful. I have seen beautiful displays of your presence in our lives, through small things (like bulbs I planted last summer that are finally growing even though I haven't watered them since I planted them) to big things (like the overwhelming peace we have in your sovereignty).
Peace: not the absence of turmoil, but the presence of God. Peace. We have it. You're supplying it for us. Thank you!
Hope. We also have hope. Hope because we know we'll see Garren again. Hope because Jesus died to save us. Hope because we know Garren is safe in Heaven with you. What hope! Thank you that this isn't final. Thank you that your promises are true. Thank you for your Son. And thank you for my son. What a gift he is.
Thank you for beautiful songs that encourage us, like this one from BarlowGirl:
Hope Will Lead Us On
Rise up again
Shake off the shadows
Unlock the doors
And let hope live once more
'Cause up from the ashes
A fire is woken
'Cause those who were broken
Are becoming the chosen
Chorus:
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
Our hearts come alive
With every moment
Become the flame
That shows us the way
So sing out your freedom
Sing it out loud
'Cause though we are broken
We're becoming the chosen
Chorus:
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
Oh we pray for the dawn
And we reach for the morning
And hope will lead us on
Oh the day will come
As we press on
When the battles' won
Chorus:
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
Oh we pray for the dawn
And we reach for the morning
And hope will lead us on
And hope will lead us on
And hope will lead us on
Shake off the shadows
Unlock the doors
And let hope live once more
'Cause up from the ashes
A fire is woken
'Cause those who were broken
Are becoming the chosen
Chorus:
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
Our hearts come alive
With every moment
Become the flame
That shows us the way
So sing out your freedom
Sing it out loud
'Cause though we are broken
We're becoming the chosen
Chorus:
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
Oh we pray for the dawn
And we reach for the morning
And hope will lead us on
Oh the day will come
As we press on
When the battles' won
Chorus:
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
So lift up your eyes
'Cause we're not forgotten
And hope will lead us on
Oh we pray for the dawn
And we reach for the morning
And hope will lead us on
And hope will lead us on
And hope will lead us on
Thank you for hope. I love you, Lord. Thank you for showing me you're still here. Keep my eyes and heart open to see you. And help me to rely on what I KNOW about you, despite what I FEEL. Tell Garren how much I love him and miss him. Please give him a kiss for me.
Love,
Andrea
Saturday, January 19, 2013
6 Weeks
Hi Sweetie,
I'm missing you today. Like every other day, I'm missing you. You've been away from me for 6 weeks already. It's been 6 weeks since I felt you kick and move around. It's been 6 weeks since I smiled in anticipation of your arrival. It's been 6 weeks since I felt the fear of going into surgery, knowing I might not wake up with you in my arms. I'm so grateful that I had time in the hospital with you. I cherish every second that I had holding you, kissing you, studying your sweet, perfect body. But every Saturday marks another week. Another week has gone by that I haven't kissed you or held you or rocked you like a Mommy should.
It feels like the weeks have passed so quickly. I wish time would slow down so that I could stay a little closer to you. I know that seems strange because I know you're in Heaven with Jesus and I'm actually getting closer to you every day.
Daddy went back to work a few weeks ago. Our friends have been so nice in coming to visit me while he's at work and spending time with us on the weekends when he's home too. And so many people have given us meals to eat, so we don't have to worry about that right now. While Daddy has been at work, I've tried to put together a few photo books with pictures of you to give to our families. I've found several other blogs to read and have learned about other families who have sons and daughters in Heaven, maybe you've already met some of those little ones!
The days just pass by. It all feels so wrong, Garren. We shouldn't have people bringing meals. We shouldn't have visitors coming to help us grieve. We shouldn't have books about grieving sitting in our living room, on our coffee table. I shouldn't have a stack of 'thank you' notes to write to people who've done so much for us - from the hospital staff, to our church, our family, our friends, people we've never met who've reached out to us and everyone in between. I shouldn't be making photo books of your pictures - the finite number of pictures we have of you. The books should be of your 1 month, 2 month, 3 month pictures as you grow. Your room shouldn't be clean. The house shouldn't be quiet. I shouldn't be doing laundry only once a week. I shouldn't find myself telling people we had a good day, and in the same sentence mention that we visited your cemetary and got information on ordering a marker for you. It feels so wrong.
I'm grateful beyond words for everything people are doing for us. But I just wish they didn't have to.
Rusty has been the sweetest thing since you've been gone. He always loved snuggling with us when you were here with me, but now he snuggles with me a little longer when he knows I'm feeling extra sad. I think he misses you too. He would have loved to have you chase him around the yard when you learned to walk and then run. I hope you have some doggies to play with in Heaven. Maybe Lady and Tramp and Trixie are there with you. It might seem silly Garren, but I really hope so.
I just wanted to tell you what we've been up to for the last few weeks. Not much really. We've just been missing you and somehow in the midst of that, the days go by. I wish with everything I am that you were here. I love you so much Garren! I miss you! See you later, alligator.....
Love You Forever,
Mommy
P.S. Will you ask God to show me that He's here? I'm having trouble seeing Him today.
I'm missing you today. Like every other day, I'm missing you. You've been away from me for 6 weeks already. It's been 6 weeks since I felt you kick and move around. It's been 6 weeks since I smiled in anticipation of your arrival. It's been 6 weeks since I felt the fear of going into surgery, knowing I might not wake up with you in my arms. I'm so grateful that I had time in the hospital with you. I cherish every second that I had holding you, kissing you, studying your sweet, perfect body. But every Saturday marks another week. Another week has gone by that I haven't kissed you or held you or rocked you like a Mommy should.
It feels like the weeks have passed so quickly. I wish time would slow down so that I could stay a little closer to you. I know that seems strange because I know you're in Heaven with Jesus and I'm actually getting closer to you every day.
Daddy went back to work a few weeks ago. Our friends have been so nice in coming to visit me while he's at work and spending time with us on the weekends when he's home too. And so many people have given us meals to eat, so we don't have to worry about that right now. While Daddy has been at work, I've tried to put together a few photo books with pictures of you to give to our families. I've found several other blogs to read and have learned about other families who have sons and daughters in Heaven, maybe you've already met some of those little ones!
The days just pass by. It all feels so wrong, Garren. We shouldn't have people bringing meals. We shouldn't have visitors coming to help us grieve. We shouldn't have books about grieving sitting in our living room, on our coffee table. I shouldn't have a stack of 'thank you' notes to write to people who've done so much for us - from the hospital staff, to our church, our family, our friends, people we've never met who've reached out to us and everyone in between. I shouldn't be making photo books of your pictures - the finite number of pictures we have of you. The books should be of your 1 month, 2 month, 3 month pictures as you grow. Your room shouldn't be clean. The house shouldn't be quiet. I shouldn't be doing laundry only once a week. I shouldn't find myself telling people we had a good day, and in the same sentence mention that we visited your cemetary and got information on ordering a marker for you. It feels so wrong.
I'm grateful beyond words for everything people are doing for us. But I just wish they didn't have to.
Rusty has been the sweetest thing since you've been gone. He always loved snuggling with us when you were here with me, but now he snuggles with me a little longer when he knows I'm feeling extra sad. I think he misses you too. He would have loved to have you chase him around the yard when you learned to walk and then run. I hope you have some doggies to play with in Heaven. Maybe Lady and Tramp and Trixie are there with you. It might seem silly Garren, but I really hope so.
I just wanted to tell you what we've been up to for the last few weeks. Not much really. We've just been missing you and somehow in the midst of that, the days go by. I wish with everything I am that you were here. I love you so much Garren! I miss you! See you later, alligator.....
Love You Forever,
Mommy
P.S. Will you ask God to show me that He's here? I'm having trouble seeing Him today.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
The New Normal
Dear God,
This path that you've asked us to walk is difficult. I'm struggling today, God. I'm hurting. The strange part about how I feel is that I can hardly put words to it. I've been trying all week to write down Garren's story, this new part of my story and Jay's story. You know that more than once in my life I've been told I have a tendency to talk too much. Why is it that I can't find words anymore? Why do the words that I know, the language that I speak not capture the depth of longing I have for Garren to be here and the hurt that I feel each day without him? I never want to forget the experience of carrying Garren or the feeling of holding him in my arms. When I try to write down those feelings, I get so lost. Lord, I think I'm learning that having Garren, holding him, being blessed to be his Mommy even for a little while in this life is such a profoundly incredible gift that there truly are no words to decribe its greatness.
Maybe there are no words to use because it shows how deeply wrong death is. I know that you have sorrow over death and weep with us in our sorrow. And at the same time, you comfort us with such love and compassion. I feel your comfort. I feel your peace. Others have suggested to us to keep a list of your faithfulness as we walk in this valley. What a gift that has been! You are faithful and my pain is no measure of that faithfulness!
Lord, you know I chuckled the other night when we read Your Word. I shouldn't be surprised at how perfectly and intimately you know me. You knew I was struggling with the idea of going through trials and the depth of the trial you're asking us to go through. It was as if you sat with us at our dinner table hearing all I was saying to Jay. And then when I was finally quiet after we finished eating, you spoke directly to me through our Charles Stanley daily devotional over James 1:2-4 "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." Thank you for that reminder. Thank you for telling me to have an eternal perspective. Thank you for telling me to have joy, only found through Your Spirit. And thank you for allowing me to hurt. You never said trials wouldn't hurt. It's humbling to know that you hurt with me.
This "new normal" is no fun, God. Day-to-day things that I've always done seem the same. And that's the problem. My heart and soul feel so completely different, yet waking up, getting dressed, running errands, just living life appear the same as they always have. Jay has gone back to work, we've gone back to church. I'll soon go back to my weekly Bible Study and go back to work myself. My routine will feel just like it did a year ago. I hate that. I hate thinking that life just goes on. I know I will never forget Garren and I will miss him and ache for him every day for the rest of my life, but I hate that I have to do all these "normal" things in life. I know it will get easier to do these things. Today it's just plain hard.
Lord, please continue to give me your strength, comfort and guidance as we walk this path. Thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me enough to save me. And thank you for loving me so much that you promise to never leave me. Thank you for loving me so much that you promise your peace, everlasting peace. Thank you for loving Garren and holding him in your arms. As much as, in my humanness, I would rather have him here I know he couldn't be any place better than in your presence. I love you, Lord. Please tell Garren I love him too.
Love,
Andrea
This path that you've asked us to walk is difficult. I'm struggling today, God. I'm hurting. The strange part about how I feel is that I can hardly put words to it. I've been trying all week to write down Garren's story, this new part of my story and Jay's story. You know that more than once in my life I've been told I have a tendency to talk too much. Why is it that I can't find words anymore? Why do the words that I know, the language that I speak not capture the depth of longing I have for Garren to be here and the hurt that I feel each day without him? I never want to forget the experience of carrying Garren or the feeling of holding him in my arms. When I try to write down those feelings, I get so lost. Lord, I think I'm learning that having Garren, holding him, being blessed to be his Mommy even for a little while in this life is such a profoundly incredible gift that there truly are no words to decribe its greatness.
Maybe there are no words to use because it shows how deeply wrong death is. I know that you have sorrow over death and weep with us in our sorrow. And at the same time, you comfort us with such love and compassion. I feel your comfort. I feel your peace. Others have suggested to us to keep a list of your faithfulness as we walk in this valley. What a gift that has been! You are faithful and my pain is no measure of that faithfulness!
Lord, you know I chuckled the other night when we read Your Word. I shouldn't be surprised at how perfectly and intimately you know me. You knew I was struggling with the idea of going through trials and the depth of the trial you're asking us to go through. It was as if you sat with us at our dinner table hearing all I was saying to Jay. And then when I was finally quiet after we finished eating, you spoke directly to me through our Charles Stanley daily devotional over James 1:2-4 "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." Thank you for that reminder. Thank you for telling me to have an eternal perspective. Thank you for telling me to have joy, only found through Your Spirit. And thank you for allowing me to hurt. You never said trials wouldn't hurt. It's humbling to know that you hurt with me.
This "new normal" is no fun, God. Day-to-day things that I've always done seem the same. And that's the problem. My heart and soul feel so completely different, yet waking up, getting dressed, running errands, just living life appear the same as they always have. Jay has gone back to work, we've gone back to church. I'll soon go back to my weekly Bible Study and go back to work myself. My routine will feel just like it did a year ago. I hate that. I hate thinking that life just goes on. I know I will never forget Garren and I will miss him and ache for him every day for the rest of my life, but I hate that I have to do all these "normal" things in life. I know it will get easier to do these things. Today it's just plain hard.
Lord, please continue to give me your strength, comfort and guidance as we walk this path. Thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me enough to save me. And thank you for loving me so much that you promise to never leave me. Thank you for loving me so much that you promise your peace, everlasting peace. Thank you for loving Garren and holding him in your arms. As much as, in my humanness, I would rather have him here I know he couldn't be any place better than in your presence. I love you, Lord. Please tell Garren I love him too.
Love,
Andrea
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
I remember...
It was one month ago... Right about this time in the morning when I was sitting up in a hospital chair holding you close to my chest. There were a lot of people around us that night. Holding me, holding you,asking about your mom. It all just happened so fast. In fact, it happened so fast that it's hard to know where to start or how to explain it all. Two days just merged into one.
Garren, when I saw you for the first time my whole life changed. There you were, perfect in nearly every way. You had your mom's nose and lips, but you had my eyes and crazy hair. You had your little blue and pink beanie on and you were swaddled up in a blanket. Your beautiful cheeks were warm and full of color as I pulled you up underneath my neck and chin. Just feeling in my arms was something I had been dreaming about for 9 months now. My son, my handsome and incredible son. That's a memory I'll never forget. It's bittersweet.
I have had a very difficult time sleeping these past few weeks. Not because I'm not at peace or because I'm needing answers. I don't sleep well these nights because I see you in my sleep nearly every night and I wake up missing you so deeply. I miss you so much. I think back on the days when your mom and I would watch Notre Dame play and I would sing you the fight song in your mother's womb. You would kick and move all over the place. I started to dream about your future and what things you would achieve in life. I dreamt that you and I could watch Notre Dame football games together, go hiking with the guys at church, do some camping together, see a few movies, or just talk life, give you a hug when you had a bad day, or watch you ride a bike for the first time, play a game of catch, or see you grow up loving God and getting married to a God loving girl. I just dreamed of life with you, and now I live days without you. I waited 9 months for life to change, and it did! Just not the way I wanted.
Son, I know you're in heaven and Jesus is looking after you. You have the best Heavenly Father! I'm so thankful for that. But your daddy just misses you tonight. I love you Garren! I will always love you. I hope you are sleeping well in the arms of Jesus. Lets hope I get some sleep too.
Garren, when I saw you for the first time my whole life changed. There you were, perfect in nearly every way. You had your mom's nose and lips, but you had my eyes and crazy hair. You had your little blue and pink beanie on and you were swaddled up in a blanket. Your beautiful cheeks were warm and full of color as I pulled you up underneath my neck and chin. Just feeling in my arms was something I had been dreaming about for 9 months now. My son, my handsome and incredible son. That's a memory I'll never forget. It's bittersweet.
I have had a very difficult time sleeping these past few weeks. Not because I'm not at peace or because I'm needing answers. I don't sleep well these nights because I see you in my sleep nearly every night and I wake up missing you so deeply. I miss you so much. I think back on the days when your mom and I would watch Notre Dame play and I would sing you the fight song in your mother's womb. You would kick and move all over the place. I started to dream about your future and what things you would achieve in life. I dreamt that you and I could watch Notre Dame football games together, go hiking with the guys at church, do some camping together, see a few movies, or just talk life, give you a hug when you had a bad day, or watch you ride a bike for the first time, play a game of catch, or see you grow up loving God and getting married to a God loving girl. I just dreamed of life with you, and now I live days without you. I waited 9 months for life to change, and it did! Just not the way I wanted.
Son, I know you're in heaven and Jesus is looking after you. You have the best Heavenly Father! I'm so thankful for that. But your daddy just misses you tonight. I love you Garren! I will always love you. I hope you are sleeping well in the arms of Jesus. Lets hope I get some sleep too.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Garren James
To My Precious Garren,
Today is December 30th. This is the date I must have said a thousand times when people asked me when you would arrive. How eagerly we all looked forward to this date! How eagerly we all looked forward to YOU! We had plans. We had dreams. We had expectations. Every thought of coming days, weeks, months and years as far as we could imagine had sweet little you in every picture. We never really knew if you'd come early, late or right on time, but we surely didn't expect to have so little time with you.
I have so many things I want to say to you. I don't know how to begin anywhere but at "I love you." Garren, these words don't seem to say even a little bit of how much Daddy and I love you. There aren't words to say it. Daddy always says, "I love you to the moon and all the way back down to the dirt." Maybe that describes it a little better, because that must be a lot. I think we'll spend our lifetimes trying to tell you and show you how much we love you. We think about you every day. We pray that Jesus would hold you in His arms and tell you His love, but also our love for you.
You are such a special boy Garren! It is amazing to see how you have changed so many lives. Of course you changed my life and Daddy's life, but God chose you to make a beautiful and profound difference in so many other people's lives too.
Garren, we miss you. I miss you. I miss the feeling of eagerly awaiting your arrival. I miss reading books to help me and Daddy care for you, and keep you safe, and teach you and even discipline you. I miss carefully thinking about what I eat to make sure it's good for you and going to help you grow big and strong. I miss taking pictures on Sunday afternoons, keeping track of how much you've grown (and how much I've grown) over the weeks. I miss feeling your little body moving and stretching and rolling inside my tummy. I miss imagining who you'll look like. I miss arguing with Daddy about what color your hair will be. Turns out we were both right. Daddy said red, I said blonde. And you have the softest, most beautiful strawberry blonde hair we've ever seen. I miss taking walks and planning for the days when you, Rusty and me would grab the stroller and some dog toys and head to the park. I miss thinking about Sunday afternoons with you at Grandpa and Grandma's house, playing with your cousins as you got older. I miss thinking about family vacations with you there. I miss holding you. I miss rocking you. I miss feeling your soft hair. I miss your beautiful face. I miss your long fingers and toes that look just like mine. I miss your long eye lashes that look just like Daddy's. I miss kissing your sweet, sweet face. I miss singing to you. I miss just looking at you. I just miss YOU.
Sometimes it feels like I get farther from you with every day that goes by. But really, every day that passes gets me a little closer to seeing you again. And Garren, I am SO EAGER for that day! You are our sweet, wonderful son and our greatest blessing from God. We love you more than we know how to say. See you later, alligator.
Love you forever,
Mommy and Daddy
Today is December 30th. This is the date I must have said a thousand times when people asked me when you would arrive. How eagerly we all looked forward to this date! How eagerly we all looked forward to YOU! We had plans. We had dreams. We had expectations. Every thought of coming days, weeks, months and years as far as we could imagine had sweet little you in every picture. We never really knew if you'd come early, late or right on time, but we surely didn't expect to have so little time with you.
I have so many things I want to say to you. I don't know how to begin anywhere but at "I love you." Garren, these words don't seem to say even a little bit of how much Daddy and I love you. There aren't words to say it. Daddy always says, "I love you to the moon and all the way back down to the dirt." Maybe that describes it a little better, because that must be a lot. I think we'll spend our lifetimes trying to tell you and show you how much we love you. We think about you every day. We pray that Jesus would hold you in His arms and tell you His love, but also our love for you.
You are such a special boy Garren! It is amazing to see how you have changed so many lives. Of course you changed my life and Daddy's life, but God chose you to make a beautiful and profound difference in so many other people's lives too.
Garren, we miss you. I miss you. I miss the feeling of eagerly awaiting your arrival. I miss reading books to help me and Daddy care for you, and keep you safe, and teach you and even discipline you. I miss carefully thinking about what I eat to make sure it's good for you and going to help you grow big and strong. I miss taking pictures on Sunday afternoons, keeping track of how much you've grown (and how much I've grown) over the weeks. I miss feeling your little body moving and stretching and rolling inside my tummy. I miss imagining who you'll look like. I miss arguing with Daddy about what color your hair will be. Turns out we were both right. Daddy said red, I said blonde. And you have the softest, most beautiful strawberry blonde hair we've ever seen. I miss taking walks and planning for the days when you, Rusty and me would grab the stroller and some dog toys and head to the park. I miss thinking about Sunday afternoons with you at Grandpa and Grandma's house, playing with your cousins as you got older. I miss thinking about family vacations with you there. I miss holding you. I miss rocking you. I miss feeling your soft hair. I miss your beautiful face. I miss your long fingers and toes that look just like mine. I miss your long eye lashes that look just like Daddy's. I miss kissing your sweet, sweet face. I miss singing to you. I miss just looking at you. I just miss YOU.
Sometimes it feels like I get farther from you with every day that goes by. But really, every day that passes gets me a little closer to seeing you again. And Garren, I am SO EAGER for that day! You are our sweet, wonderful son and our greatest blessing from God. We love you more than we know how to say. See you later, alligator.
Love you forever,
Mommy and Daddy
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