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. 

Nineteen Years|St. Augustine Getaway #Anniversary

At three years into our marriage, sometimes I didn't think we would make it. Grief had brought out the worst in us and threatened to tear us apart.

After experiencing the death of a dearly beloved family member in 2003, our marriage was about to shipwreck. We needed a lighthouse, a way to navigate around the dangers of conflict allowed to escalate beyond acceptable levels.

Pride has no place when two people promise to become one. In order for our marriage to survive, we needed to be humble enough to ask for help. That support came in the form of friends, family, our church, and marriage counseling. The lighthouse we needed was the grace of God, exemplified in Jesus Christ. God the Father always forgives us in light of Jesus who sacrificed Himself on the cross for our sins. If we believe this, we can forgive.

It was a fight to learn to stop fighting each other.

Five years later, by the grace of God, we came to terms of peace.

Halloween 2008

For our nineteenth wedding anniversary, we chose to immerse ourselves in Old Spanish Colonial Florida in St. Augustine. Having celebrated our anniversary here before, we were able to take stock in how far we've come in loving each other unconditionally.

Casa de Solana, the house of one of my ancestors

"Above all, love one another deeply" (1 Peter 4:8) 

Anastasia Island

In the middle of our rocky years, I never would have believed we could love each other again. I thank God for His amazing grace that keeps on shining His unconditional agape' love toward us, showing the way to peace.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit" (Romans 15:13). 

Why my Grandpa Loved Halloween|A Life Well Lived #centenarian #Halloween

On October 31, 1916, at age five, my grandfather, Ernest Hedges almost died. You see, he was all dressed up for Halloween. Ready to go to the annual Halloween party at the one-room schoolhouse, but a fever landed him in bed.

Eunice, Ernie, and big sister, Louise

His mother and eight siblings, all except his big sister Pearl left without him.

He gradually grew worse. His skin turned as orange as a pumpkin and his fever spiked way beyond an acceptable level. Papa Hedges rushed him by carriage to the nearest hospital in town.

The ER doctor knew right away the problem. A ruptured appendix. By the grace of God, Grandpa Ernie received life-saving surgery. He recovered in the hospital for a month.
Missing Halloween had a huge impact on Grandpa. Even in his elder years he still loved to dress up.

Grandpa lived through the World War I, The Depression, and World War II, in which he was finally drafted.

In Italy, he met his beautiful wife, Cina.

After they both returned to the states, they built a home and a life. My father, Jonathan was the youngest of four children.

When my father was five years old, they moved from Madison Wisconsin to Melbourne, Florida. Grandpa was a baker and opened Hedges Bakery in Downtown Melbourne. Grandpa did the baking and Nona Cina decorated the cakes beautifully.

Grandpa and Nona's family grew.

And grew.

In 1998, Nona developed a cough that wouldn't go away. Doctors confirmed she had lung cancer, though she never smoked a day in her life.

Six weeks after her diagnosis, on July 8, 1998. she was gone.

In her memory, Grandpa Ernie wrote, Flowers for Cina, his life story, at the age of 92.

Many birthdays later, at the age of 105, Grandpa celebrated with his children, grandchildren, and twenty great-grandchildren.

Only a week later, on Halloween, October 31, 2016, exactly 100 years after he almost died as a child, Grandpa Ernie got a cold, which turned into pneumonia.

At the blessed age of 105 years old, Grandpa passed into the loving arms of Jesus.
Halloween was a special day for Grandpa. It's a day he was spared and given an extra 100 years to live.

I will always remember Halloween as a special day for a very wonderful grandpa.

In his life, Grandpa shared the love of Jesus, inspired his family and friends, and mentored his many adopted "grandkids."

A Dove of Peace| Life After Suicide #GriefRecovery #suicideawareness

"Have you checked Facebook today?" Mom's voice on the phone was low, almost a whisper.

"I don't usually get on Facebook this early. We're trying to get ready for church."

"So you didn't see what was posted about your dad?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Look on Facebook."

"All right." I squeezed the phone between my ear and shoulder, then started typing on the computer. 

After keying in my password, I clicked on Dad's Facebook page.

"May he rest in peace?" The words appeared over a red background. "Is this for real?" I found it hard to breathe. 

"Keep reading," Mom urged.

I scrolled down. "All the posts from his friends say my dad died."

"He lives all by himself. Have you heard anything from him lately?"

"We spoke over the phone on Father’s Day about a week ago." Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. I wiped them away. “Maybe one of Dad's sisters will know something. I'll call you back."

Phone calls were made to family, but no one knew what the posts on Facebook meant. Later a detective called to confirm my worst fear.

On June 30, 2018, my dad took his own life.

Baffled and in shock, I had no idea he was in that much pain.

Only a week before, I had watched A Brave Lament, a short documentary created by my friend Christy Bauman and her husband, Andrew, counselors in Seattle, Washington.

Christy and Andrew experienced the loss of their infant son, named Brave. Their story showed how they regulated their grief through marking moments, creating rituals, and relying on the care of their community.

My husband held me close as we watched the film. We wept together as we remembered our own infant son, Luke, who died shortly after birth.

Little did I know, this film would give me the tools I needed to deal with my dad’s suicide.

A few days after receiving the phone call from the detective, my sister, brother-in-law, and I agreed to go through his personal belongings at his place. Our two aunts and uncle were there to help and offer moral support.

Years earlier, my aunt told me about a dove that appeared in her yard after my Nona died. On the first anniversary of Nona's death, a dove appeared again.

As I walked along my dad's driveway, what appeared in front of his place?

A white dove.

I called to everyone inside. "You guys, come out here."

Together, we witnessed the dove pecking around on the grass. As I clicked pictures, the friendly little dove stayed close and didn’t fly away.

Peace enveloped me as I remembered my aunt's story and gazed at the dove. I whispered a prayer of thanks to God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit--who comforted me in my grief.

When we talked to some of Dad’s neighbors, I shared the story of the dove. “Does anyone own a pet dove? It seemed so friendly.” The neighbors shook their heads no.

At that moment, the dove swooped down, perched on a nearby roof, and watched us. Goosebumps formed on my arms. The neighbors gasped in disbelief. One woman covered her face and wept.

After returning back home, creativity became grief therapy. I painted stones with my dad's initials and a cross to give out to the family. I created a video and eulogy for his memorial service. I found a studded wooden chest to house Dad's ashes.

These marked my moments of grief and prepared me for the ritual to say goodbye, Dad's Celebration of Life.

What caused the most stress for me? Not being able to agree on where to bury Dad's ashes. Nothing seemed to be fitting for my unconventional Dad, a rock singer and guitarist. The traditional burial wouldn’t do.

At last, my brother, sister, and I decided to spread Dad's ashes on the river. He loved fishing, boating, and living near the water.

Although it had rained all week long, on the day of the memorial service, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue. After Dad’s Celebration of Life at the little church where he had frequented, we convened at the river.

Dad's grandkids climbed on the rocks and threw flowers into the water.

The wind whipped our hair in all directions. There was no way we were going to be able to safely spread Dad's ashes on the river.

"I can take the ashes on my boat tomorrow," my uncle, Dad's older brother offered. "I'll find a good place for Johnny."

And so it was. The beach around an island became my dad’s final resting place.

When I remember the care of my mother, the short film on grief, the support of my extended family, the dove, and everything for the memorial coming together so beautifully, I can't help but be thankful.

Suicide is a terrible thing. In its abruptness, there are so many unanswered questions. Yet, I have peace. I know I'm not alone. The dove reminded me that Christ is with me.

The grace I've found in my dad's suicide is something I wish for everyone touched by death in this way.

Peace is a grace I didn’t know I needed, but it's a grace crucial for healing.

Grief comes and goes like the perpetual tide at the river’s edge. And in that constant, the message of peace in Christ appears, carried on dove's wings through the centuries since His death, burial, and resurrection.

Until the sunrise of healing comes, we can rest in His peace.

 "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." (John 14:27) 

A Timeless Dream and Reality

Last night, I had a dream of another time.

In the land, both far and wide, temples cast shadows over its citizens, shrouding them in the cold grip of fear. The expressionless stares of the temple gods and goddesses only brought confusion and trepidation in my young heart.

Alone in the pale moonlight, my hands were bound in front of me as I huddled next to a temple pillar. My head throbbed. One of the sleeves of my tunic hung off my shoulder, revealing finger-sized bruises underneath.

The thought occurred to pray. But to which god?

Each situation dictated the proper call to a prescribed deity.

Before succumbing to a typical rote prayer to one of the statues in the plethora of temples, I paused. A cloud passed by and the moon shone through the lattice on the temple wall. The bind that held my wrists glowed as if with magic.

Was I was being punished by the mercurial whims of the intemperate gods to whom one must pay continual homage?

A flush of shame warmed my cheeks as all the ways I had failed crept into my mind. Why would any of the gods help me now?

Each storyteller in my city shared a different version of the gods' exploits, usually with the ulterior motive of a coin in the coffer for the temple priests ... most likely to use on the nightly band of prostitutes that roamed the streets.

Did my monetary sacrifice ever amount to anything but their pleasure at my expense?

If in my abduction, I was bound to be one of those enslaved women, I'd rather die.

I needed God, The Real God, The One Whom Cannot Be Seen, to have mercy on me. To save me.

I clasped my hands together.

It took more faith to believe in the God that cannot be seen. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and whispered my plea.

Then I awoke and found myself in my own bed in present day America.

The Greek gods and goddesses have passed away in the sands of time. In our educated, prosperous, sensible country, we have no such need for deities.

Or do we?

It may be that we turn to new idols. Ones that flicker and dance on the screens of our televisions and iPhones. Will they make us happy? Will they show us what to do? Will they save us?

The painted up masks of these people show health, wealth, and happiness, but the coins we stuff into the coffers of TV media moguls or the Pantheon of social media we trust in, prove a false hope. Because they're only human like us.

There is a God whom we cannot see. I've seen Him. Not with my eyes, but in my changing heart, thoughts, and deeds.

I've seen Him work even the most terrible situations for good (Romans 8:28).

This God, the One revealed in the pages of the Bible, is timeless. He is gracious, compassionate and good. And He wants to have a relationship with us through His Son, Jesus Christ.

If we would but let go of our false gods and turn to Him in our time of need. He'll be there. He's been there for me. Every. Single. Time.

* Credit: Temple in Athens  courtesy of Getty images

Whenever I feel Afraid: 5 Ways to Deal With Anxiety

The bathroom is one of the scariest places for my five-year-old. I'm not sure if it is the enclosed space, the sounds that echo off the walls, or the loud flush, but she hates to go alone.

I'd love for her to get over her fears. But, I'm still learning to overcome mine.

In the middle of the night I'm awakened by what sounds like an explosion outside. My heart races. I breathe and pray. My anxiety soon lessens.

Rain patters on the window. The "explosion" was only thunder.

Underneath the bedroom door, a light shines. Someone is up.

When I open the door, my fifteen-year-old is pacing the living room.

"Are you okay?"

She stops pacing. "I can't sleep. My heart is beating so hard."

"Mine is, too."

After more prayers with my teenager, I switch off the light to her room and head to my own bedroom.

Although I'm pushing forty, fear seizes me the same way it hits my children.

It's cute when my five-year-old dances around the house singing, "Whenever I Feel Afraid" from the classic musical, The King and I. 

The words say,

While shivering in my shoes, I strike a careless pose, and whistle a happy tune, so no one ever knows I'm afraid. The result of this deception is very strange to tell, for when I fool the people I fear, I fool myself as well.

It's cute, but it's not true.

We can't just whistle our fears away or pretend they don't exist.

The problem with the mentality of convincing ourselves, even deceiving ourselves that there is nothing to fear, is not living in the reality of a fallen world.

Fear is normal.  It is a part of our varied collection of emotions. It's there to alert us that something is dangerous, so that we can be wise and be safe.

All I have to do is turn on the news or scroll down the latest tweets and it's easy to see that there are real dangers out there.

Okay, so don't watch the news and stay off twitter.

Yesterday, my children witnessed a car accident outside the window of our church.

Okay, so don't leave the house.

Boxing ourselves in and trying to avoid our fears only serves to amplify them.

We would only make ourselves even less equipped to deal with the day-to-day stressors.

I've found being prepared to face my fears is a game changer.

An on-going battle plan to cope with life's hardships makes them less overwhelming.

Jesus said,

"The truth will set you free (John 8:32)."

He also said,

"I am the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6)." 

He wasn't merely talking about facing your fears, He was talking about knowing The Truth, who will set you free.

Knowing Him.

When we know him, all our fears are stripped away because we know Immanuel, The-God-Who-Is-With-Us and never lets us go. He's right beside us. Closer than the cold sweat on our brow. Closer than the tightening of our gut. Closer than the heart pounding in our chest.

He is there.

When we know Him, we can know He hears us. We can talk our fears out and ask for courage to face them. This brings me to the five ways I've discovered to deal with overwhelming fear.

1. Pray.

This is our first line of defense when facing our fears. We can't deal with them alone, and we don't have to. We have our Father in heaven, the Son who saved us, and the Holy Spirit who empowers us. Our Triune God longs to hear our prayers. He wants to help us, if we would only realize our need and ask.

2. Read God's Holy Inspired Word.

There is no other book like the Bible. It is living, active and speaks to our very soul. Giving us courage. Helping us to know what to do and when to do it. The Psalms help give voice to my fears. How many Psalms are there about deliverance? I've lost count. Proverbs helps me to know what to do. And, the rest of the books of the Bible are there to teach, exhort, and encourage me. Daily Bible reading is crucial to overcoming fear.

3. Memorize Key Verses.

Hiding God's Word in our heart, gives us the scaffolding we need to go higher than our fears. When we have the truth within, then the fears without can't crush us. The truth is stronger than our fears. When we turn to Jesus and trust in His truth, the battle is already won.

4. Journal.

Anxiety sometimes stems from being overwhelmed with too much information. Jotting down the swirling thoughts helps to organize, rationalize and prioritize the things we need to deal with. Along with journaling, listing can be helpful. After our To Do Lists, we can chart Thankfulness Lists, and Blessings Lists. These can remind us that there's more to life than the hard stuff.

5. Share.

Be with others who know Jesus. Share your fears and ask them to pray for your needs. Rely on others who have shared their stories. Read books and blogs by those who have learned how to face their fears in faith.

Fears don't have to overwhelm us because we belong to the One who faced the fear of execution on the cross. He took our shame, carried our sins upon His shoulders, and suffered the wrath of God on our behalf, all to save us. His name is Jesus and He wants to calm the storm of our fears. When we focus on Him, our hearts can finally rest.

When it's NOT Cancer: Celebrating the Sabbath

SO many things in life get put on hold when you think you might have cancer.

It's like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings plunked his staff right in front of all my planning about anything beyond the here and now and said, "You shall not pass!"

After the biopsy, survival mode kicked in. For me, that means making lists: writing down everything that needs to be done if I'm out-of-commission and delegating all these responsibilities to my husband and children.

Laundry, check. Dishes, check. Maintaining a clean house, check. Freezer stocked with frozen pizzas, check!

They'll be all right.

If I'm sick, they'll make due.

After the surgical biopsy, I couldn't do anything strenuous, so I had to let everyone else take care of the business of running our home while I recovered.

With more household tasks being done by others, I experienced a real Sabbath, a time to just rest and focus on spending time with each of my children.

And, I thought, I should live like this normally. My life is too rushed. From sun up to sun down, I go from job to job without stopping enough to be with the people I love.

But, then. This week. The results came in.

It's benign. I'm cancer-free! Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

We've been experiencing a drought in central Florida. The dry, brittle grass, the languishing trees and flowers wither while waiting for the clouds to let down it's waters. On Tuesday, the day of my doctor appointment, the rains came and soaked the parched earth.

I've always associated rain as a message from God.

Some say rain is a bad thing. Especially if you're having an outdoor party. But, when there's a drought, rain is a blessing. There's life, growth, and eventually fruit.

If the winter of life threatening sickness is not coming, what does that mean? Why all this preparation? Shall I go back to living life in a rush? And, in the whirlwind, truly miss life?

In my blur of busyness, I'm striving to keep my little world in order. To stay on top of the mountains of laundry. To keep the towering stacks of dishes from crashing down. But, am I going too far?

Will I rest in this downpour of grace and soak it in, letting it change me and fill me up to overflow with the loving-kindness of God?

In this season, I'm taking off the proverbial super-housekeeper cape, and letting things go a bit for just a little while. I need to. To gain balance and perspective. It's not my job to save the world. I can trust Jesus already has and will. 

I'm thankful that it's not cancer, but more than that I'm thankful to the Lord for giving me a fresh perspective on making time for those whom He's given me to love.

May there be life, growth and the fruit that comes from building a life on following Him while building into the lives of others.

 

May I truly experience a Sabbath this winter as I bask in the grace of our Lord.

"I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit...I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing." (John 15:1-5)