Uncharted Waters Part 1: Embarkation|A Mother’s Journey from Death to Life #PILAM #PregnancyandInfantLossAwareness

EMBARKATION

In July of 2003, months of planning for my first short-term mission trip to Ukraine were working out. The financial support came in. I secured babysitters for my toddler. My husband would take time off to visit family so he wouldn’t miss me so much.

There was only one thing holding me back.

I was pregnant.

After praying about the risk, my desire to go to Ukraine did not waver. I would continue on and trust in the Lord to keep my baby safe.

By the time the first-trimester nausea dissipated, my bags were packed, and I was ready to go.

Early in the morning, while down on my knees, amidst tears and fears, I committed myself and my unborn child to God.

June 4, 2003

“Lord, thank you for giving me a calling, a plan, and a purpose for my life. You are Sovereign. You have power over life and death. Please give me the strength to follow your calling and reign in my heart. I dedicate myself to You and Your service and place my life and the life of my unborn child in Your Almighty hands.”

—

As I left the car and ventured toward the airport lobby, rolling my suitcase behind me, my husband and daughter waved goodbye. Being a toddler, April stared in wonder as the sliding doors shut in front of her. I don’t think she comprehended how long I would be gone. Billy knew. I could see the sadness in his eyes.

Aside from a little turbulence that made me airsick, the flight to Ukraine was uneventful. I had perfect peace the entire way. I freely conversed with the other short-term missionaries in my group and grew especially close to Sally, an Asian American from Arizona. Wayne, from Texas, would be my English co-teacher.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

The night before teaching, we prayed and enjoyed a lasagna dinner with the Ukrainian missionaries. I felt led to share with my team that I was nervous about teaching and wondered if I could truly make any difference in our students’ lives.

“Expect great things from God,” challenged Sally. She beamed a bright smile and held my shoulder reassuringly.

 

Studying ESL lessons with Wayne, Sally, and her co-teacher, Charlie

The next day, the bus rumbled on the street corner outside our communist-style concrete apartment where we were staying. Its fumes permeated the breezeless air and added extra warmth to an already hot summer day. We boarded in silence, ready to embark on the great mission of reaching the world with the love of Christ. The whole prospect of teaching English thrilled me. The Ukrainians were known to be spiritually curious and might ask us questions about our faith.

Short-term Mission Team at English Camp

Upon our arrival, one Ukrainian student named Natalya waited outside my cabin door to walk with me to classes.

“Hablas español?” she asked.

I didn’t think I would need to speak Spanish in the middle of a Slavic country. But, it turned out that knowing a little Spanish came in handy.

Natalya barely knew any English, and I barely knew any Russian or Ukrainian. So, we figured that we could communicate with each other in Spanish—the only language we both knew. We called each other, “mi querida amiga,” which meant, “my beloved friend.”

We walked everywhere together, the Ukrainian way—by holding hands. At first, I felt a little childish, holding hands with my newfound friend. But eventually I got used to it and missed this simple way of showing affection when I came back to the U.S.

Natalya, “mi querida amiga”

Toward the end of camp, Natalya prayed during a teaching and gave her life to Christ in my presence. What joy filled my heart to see her brought into a living relationship with God through Jesus Christ. And, Sandy was right; wonderful things happen when we expect great things from God. It’s amazing how the Holy Spirit, unseen like the wind, sweeps down into the deepest part of person’s heart, and awakens it to new life.

“As you do not know the path of the wind,

or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb,

so you cannot understand the work of God,

the maker of all things.”

(Ecclesiastes 11:5)

“The wind blows where it wishes,

and you hear its sound,

but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.

 So it is with everyone born of the Spirit…

For God so loved the world,

that he gave his only Son,

that whoever believes in him

should not perish but have eternal life.”

(John 3:8, 16, ESV)

MARKED BY LOSS

Teaching English to the Ukrainian students was a joy. I relished the instant conviviality and solidarity of sharing life with my mission team. There is something bonding about living in close quarters at a former communist youth camp, where the bathrooms are termed "squatty-potties," and between the buzzing mosquitoes and jet-lag, sleep is scarce.

Only one thing got me down.

One morning, while praying, my Bible accidentally slipped out of my fingers, off my cot, and thudded to the floor. It broke open in the middle, right at the book of Job, ripping the introductory page in half.

At that moment, a wave fear swept over me. I knew that God loved Job and was very pleased with him. But Job’s life was marked by overwhelming loss and sorrow. It made me wonder. Does God have something like that planned for me?

Next post, Part 2. 

When the Cold Winds Blow: Healing from Pregnancy and Infant Loss

When the autumn winds blow fresh and cool, the maple leaves ambling to the ground, a slow but pervasive sadness creeps up. It doesn’t take long for me to know why.

And in the midst of this ache, a little light trickles in.

An idea. A glimmering grace to hold onto. A comfort to ease the pain.

Gathering leaves, big and small, symmetrical or somewhat askew, I hold them to my heart.

With broken crayons, sheets of blank paper and children needing something to do, I demonstrate. Taking a single leaf, I cover it with paper and rub it over and over again with a red crayon.

As if by magic, the leaf appears. First the stem, the veins and the outline of the leaf’s three points.

My kids are in awe and my heart is at rest. 

To turn death into a learning experience, a thing to grow from, gives me renewed focus and grace...

To look to the One who comforts me and love on the ones I have here.

I have this little blue scrapbook. A book of remembrance. Of a time of waiting for a sweet little baby. A son. His prognosis was grave. I was his life support. When he was born, he would die. Back then, bilateral renal agenesis (BRA) had no treatment and still has no cure. I received the news the beginning of autumn.

December came and he was wrapped up warm and comfortable in my womb while I waited for his birth day. The day I’d have to say goodbye.

Another month before his due date, I spent half that windswept day on a playground with my two-year-old Bright Girl. Pushing her in the swing. Watching her joy as she raced around, her sneakers crunching on the fallen leaves. Not knowing it would be the day before my son’s birth day.

Giving birth to a child born without the capacity to live was incomprehensible. How can you prepare for it?

All I could do was breathe and pray.  

When trying to savor each moment, time slows down. It would be one of the longest days of my life. And, I held my little boy, my Luke, for as long as I could before he passed from here to heaven.

I left the hospital, with empty womb and empty arms.

Trying to find some sort of normalcy, when my strength returned, I took my toddler to the playground. As I pushed her in the swing, a shadow seemed to block the sun. It wasn’t a shadow others could see, but it was felt. And only by me.

I don’t remember how long the shadow lasted, but it came and went like the ebb and flow of the tides.

And it's been like that each and every autumn, when the cold winds begin to blow. For twelve years now. The shadow of grief comes. Sometimes for a day, sometimes a bit longer.

At this point, I don't know if I can call grief a friend, but I now see a pattern for when it settles in.

And, I don't mind it anymore.

Loving and losing someone hurts. The pain means they mattered. And, the latent grief that comes is a reminder to us to think of the ones we miss in heaven. The ones we're waiting to see again.

And when the shadow of grief seems to linger, just remember...

You will bloom again.

Like the sunflowers who turn to face the sun, may we turn to face our Savior and wait for His healing, comfort and grace.

A wise king once said,

“To every thing there is a season…a time to be born and a time to die...a time to weep and a time to laugh…” (Ecclesiastes 3:3-8)

And Jesus said, 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted (Matthew 5:4).”

Death has not won the victory, Christ has. His love is eternal. Death couldn't stop Him. He lives on

 and by grace, our loved ones who are gone, live on.

Faith gives us hope.

Hope helps us bloom. To be open to joy.

Love is the source of that hope—the love of Christ, our gentle Savior who leads us on the path He has laid out for us. 

For some of us, it is the path of grieving in hope. The hope that brings whispers of a joy to come. On falling leaves and in fingers making impressions for little hearts to learn.