Our Story

I know I am supposed to be writing something, but I don't know where to start.  I have felt the urge to write for some time, but some things have happened recently to keep me from posting.  I will not go into it here because it is actually too personal even for this very personal blog.  Suffice it to say, I am walking another lonely road and I need you more than ever, Lord.  My heart is heavy with grief and frustration over recent events that, once again, are out of my control.  All I know is that I need you.  I need to lean into you and find out what you want to do through all of this -- through me.  Speak to me now.  Hold me close and help me find my way through this.  You have seen me through so much and you have always been faithful.  I know you will not leave my side.  I just need to hear your voice and know what you want me to do ...

Perhaps this would be a good time to try to put into words some things that were on my heart before all of this happened.  I was bursting with joy over what the Lord has done in my life over these last few years.  I have the privilege every day of staring into the faces of not one, but two miracles.  I even get to hold them in my arms and listen as they call me "mommy."  It seems impossible to tell this story and do it justice.  It is so big, at least to me.  But I will try because I know that sharing it is what I am supposed to do and that it will bless and encourage everyone who hears it.

Most  people who know me, or at least have known me for more than a short time, already know that the fact that I have any children at all is no small miracle.  I was told in 1997, just a few months before we married, that I would never conceive a child.  The doctor who just performed a diagnostic laparoscopy came out of the operating room and told my then fiance and my mother without my permission.  I would only later confront that doctor with this simple truth:  he was a doctor and not God.  Only God could make that certain of a diagnosis and that I was finding a new doctor.  My husband and I married a few months later (thank God he still wanted to marry me) and started seeing a new doctor who gave us much more hope.  Although that doctor was unable to help us conceive a child, we began seeing a specialist a couple of years later and through many tests, surgeries and procedures, we finally conceived a child almost 7 years into our marriage.

Let's just say that those 7 years were filled with unimaginable joy and sorrow.  We led a youth group at our church for most of those years and our youth group kids became like our own family.  We parented dozens of teens in those years, some of whom remain close to us even now.  We spent as much free time with our elementary aged niece and nephews as we possibly could.  I kept myself busy at work.  My husband kept himself busy with school and the ministry.  Then I quit my job and went back to school when I was 29, partly out of boredom and partly so that I would have something to do other than sit around waiting to get pregnant.  When my 30th birthday came, every friend I had either just had a baby or was pregnant.  I subjected myself to the torture of a party (I still can't understand why I did that to myself) and smiled outwardly while I was screaming inwardly.  I would later discover that this was how I handled much of my silent grief.  Yes, it was grief.  Every month that I started to bleed was a death to me.  It was the death of a baby not conceived.  The death of my hopes and dreams to be what every little girl dreams to be: a mother.

To try to describe the pain of infertility and what it does to your marriage is difficult at best.  Everything that is meant to be sacred and intimate becomes clinical and sterile.  It steals the sweetness of lovemaking and turns it into something that it was never intended to be.  We worked hard to keep our relationship special, but after years of trying, it just took it's toll on us.  We were exhausted emotionally, spiritually and physically.  I remember the day I gave up like it was yesterday.  I continued to do some consulting work for my former employer while I was in school and went back to work for them full-time when I graduated.  It happened as I was driving home from work one day.  I heard the song "Why?" on the radio and began to sob and question God.  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  Why could everyone else have a baby at the drop of a book and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get pregnant.  Why was I suffering like this?  Why was I the only one I knew who was suffering like this?  It wasn't fair.  Then I released my control for the first time and made the choice to trust God with the outcome.

Lucky?

So now that my daughter is home from Russia, people tell me I'm lucky. I'm lucky that my little girl came home potty trained, that I didn't have to go through that horrible newborn stage, that she sleeps through the night, that I don't have to change diapers or clean spit up, etc., etc., etc. Wow, I am so lucky. Why do people feel the need to tell me this? Am I lucky that I missed the first three years of her life? Am I lucky that I have missed and will miss my birth daughter's entire life? That I never got to take care of either of them as a baby? To see their first teeth, hear their first words, watch their first steps, comfort their first cries? How does that make me lucky? Is my daughter lucky that she spent the first three years of her life in an orphanage without a mother? Or that she was ripped away from her birth mother when she was born? That no one cradled and adored her when she was a newborn baby? That no one was there to rejoice in her firsts or comfort her cries? That she had to wait and wait and wait for someone to come and rescue her? That she lost everything and everyone she knew, including her country and her language, in order to be my daughter? Or am I lucky that I couldn't get and stay pregnant again after my daughter died? Am I lucky that I didn't have to go through labor to bring my daughter home from Russia? Was it an easier pregnancy? (I have been pregnant 3 times. It was not easier.) Am I lucky that I didn't have medical bills or a physical recovery from childbirth? (I did have bills ... lots of them.) Or the "pain" of carrying a child for 9 months? Am I lucky? Really? Am I lucky that I had to watch my son grieve and coach him through grief while dealing with my own? Am I lucky that he still feels that loss even though he now has a sister through adoption? And that I do, too? If I compare my life to those around me who have never experienced infertility, miscarriage, the loss of a child at birth, secondary infertility and adoption, all I can say is that they have NO clue what they are talking about! I am not lucky. My daughter is not lucky. My son is not lucky. My husband is not lucky. We are thankful to have each other and to finally be together, but lucky is not a word I would associate with my experience. We will have to continue to deal with our own grief throughout our lives. Having another daughter does not replace the daughter we lost (nor would it be fair to expect her to). She will also experience her own grief as she grows up and realizes what she has lost. I even catch glimpses of that now when she looks at photos from her old life or sees someone caring for a small baby. Yesterday, a friend came over with her 8 month old. I could see it in my daughter's eyes when she was asked, "Do you remember when you were a baby?" If she could have answered, I would have expected something like this, "Yeah, I remember. No one loved me like that. You're daughter is lucky!"

Thanks for listening ...

Post about my mom

I just found out a couple of weeks ago that my mom has lung cancer. She is 66. I am 40. She has smoked since she was a teenager. She insists that the doctor told her that her cancer is unrelated to smoking which is driving me mad. She said the doctor told her after her surgery (when she will have the upper part of her left lung removed) he expects her to quit, but until then she can smoke. I have decided to leave her alone about it until after the surgery, but if I see a cigarette in her hand, so help me God, I will have words with her. I will not watch her kill herself.

I find that I am going through all of the normal stages of grief as I process what this could mean for our family -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression -- I'm back on the rollercoaster. My primary emotion has been anger, although I have bargained and cried. I am angry that she doesn't see that her life is not just her own. I am angry that she does not see that her children and grandchildren still want and need her here. I am angry at her selfishness.

Lord, help me to love my mom and to forgive her for only thinking of herself through this time. Help me think of what she needs and not what I need even though what I really need is a mom. Give her what she does not deserve; what none of us deserves ... your love.

Sifting through the ashes

I woke up this morning with all kinds of plans for how I would spend this day. Work, bills, taxes, adoption grants and other tasks all stared back at me from my pile of papers needing to be completed, but all I could think about was sifting through the ashes of these last four years. The fire is out (finally) and there is no more smoke, but there are still ashes everywhere. It's time to clean them up!

Last night we met with our home church group and began a series of cardboard testimonies. Chad went first. He shared some pretty intimate and graphic details of our battle which drew me to look back and see what we have overcome and what we still have yet to tackle. It has taken this long just to be free from attack and come up for air long enough to see if the smoke has cleared. It has. And I can see how God has used all of it for our good, even if we haven't seen the full effects of it just yet.

For years, the focus was on my family which was obviously very dysfunctional. There was no hiding the effects of adultery, divorce, alcoholism, and abuse on our family. We obviously had problems. Chad's family looked normal in light of what we had been through. But what we didn't expect were the problems that arose in his family after Abby's death. It seemed to come out of left field, but as they say, hindsight is 20/20 and now it all makes sense.

Before we were married, Chad and I were very honest with each other about our sexual past. He knew I grew up around pornography and had sex with several partners. I knew that he had also been exposed to porn and had been promiscuis prior to our relationship. But we were both growing so strong in the Lord and we made a total commitment to purity in our relationship, knowing that God brought us together for a purpose and not wanting to do anything to jeopardize it. We were free of our past sexual sins and didn't want it in anyway to marr what God was doing. In fact, we didn't even kiss until our wedding day so there would be no temptation in our physical relationship before marriage.

So it wasn't too surprising a couple of years into our marriage to discover that pornography had made it's way back into our lives. When I caught him for the first time, it was easy to forgive and show him grace. Little did he know that I had also been struggling with pornography and together we agreed to seek out help. We went to a three day conference and learned what we could do to prevent it from ruining our young marriage and we found accountability partners to help encourage us to stay pure. It seemed to be working and we thought we had conquered the beast. It wasn't until years later that it would rear it's ugly head again.

I have learned that you cannot get rid of weeds unless you pull them up by the roots. If we had known then what we know now, that is what we would have done. But we didn't. We had not grown to understand that truth yet. So instead of treating the problem, we had only treated the symptom. The root issues were buried deep inside of us somewhere, hiding and hoping never to be found. It took a hurricane to finally unravel the deep issues of our hearts and bring us to a place where we could be honest with each other and ourselves and begin to truly heal.

In the months that I was pregnant with Abby, I began exploring an area of my life that had long been neglected. I am thankful that when God exposes areas that need healing, he treats us like an onion and only does a layer at a time. I had started to see how my attitudes and behaviors were controlled by deep issues of abandonment and rejection. I also started to see how I was repeating behaviors that were modeled for me by my own parents. I had become horribly abusive to my husband and realized how my need to control him had sabotaged his ministry more than once. I knew I needed to tackle this issue before my daughter was born and I set out on a path in search of healing and restoration.

The beginning of that healing came through a bible study called "Breaking Free" which exposed many lies I had believed about myself and my family. I started tearing down the strongholds in my life for the very first time. "Breaking Free" was followed by "Captivating" and "Believing God." These three bible studies revolutionized my life and my thinking in so many ways I can't even begin to count. I was starting my journey to freedom and I was committed to do whatever it took to achieve freedom.

Be careful what you pray for! I will never forget the words I wrote and taped to my refrigerator during that Bible study. It was something along the lines of, "God I give you permission to do whatever is necessary in my life to break these strongholds once and for all ..." Little did I know what would follow. I may not have ever agreed to it. But I know it was for my good and His glory. It would take the death of my daughter to get my attention and Chad's. And the days, months and years that followed, we would watch as the world we once knew burned all around us.

Right after Abby died, I was as broken as a person could possibly become. I don't think it is possible to be more broken than I was. But God met me tenderly in those fragile early days of grief. At first it seemed every stronghold we had ever faced had been demolished forever by her death. But it was only the beginning. The worst was yet to come.

To say that 2007 was normal for us seems laughable. But for a family who had just lost a child, we were dealing with what was normal for our situation. Our friends and family were almost heroic at the beginning, sending unbelievable amounts of love and support our way as we grieved openly. But as the months went on and people developed expectations for our grief process, things slowly began to change. The numbness of our early grief began to wear off and we became hyper sensitive to comments that seemed harsh and critical when what we needed was comfort.

Friends become strangers and strangers become friends. That is what we heard happens when you lose a child and that is what was happening to us. Everyone from our close friends to our pastor even Chad's family attacked and accused us in the following months and years. The expectations that we would be the people we were before were completely unrealistic. The loss of our daughter was a life changing event. We can never be the people we were before. And we will never be those same people again. As if surgery, a lawsuit, loss of friends, family betrayals, secondary infertility and miscarriage weren't enough, probably the most devastating event in all of this, at least for me, was the betrayal of my husband.

Little did I know that the monster called pornography had crept back into his life again until one day I found a magazine stowed in the rafters of our basement ceiling. It prompted me to check the computer where I found he had been browsing porn sites for months. He lied to my face at least half a dozen times before he finally confessed even though I had the evidence in my hands. I told him I wanted him to pack his bags and leave immediately. I felt so hurt and betrayed by his lies and did not believe anything he said to me. I grabbed our son and got in the van and told him that I expected him to be gone by the time I returned. He dropped to his knees in our driveway and begged to stay. I don't know what changed in me at that moment, but I decided to give him the chance he asked for and made him promise to get counseling. And so we did.

Fast foward three years and we are back where we started, battling the monster again. But this time, we know what we didn't know then. We must go after the root! And finally all of the issues in his family make sense. My family wasn't the only one that was dysfunctional. I never could explain why he and his sister had such extreme sexual issues. They seemed like the perfect, Christian family. But upon further examination and looking at in hindsight what we could not see in foresight, the issues are clear. Now I remember that first year we were married and how his parents gave us an extremely inappropriate (sexual) gift. And how his mom would complain about his dad's sexual desires. I finally told her that I didn't want to talk about her sex life or mine. But I never really put two and two together until now.

Add on the completely emotionless nature of his father and his mother's inability to deal with conflict and matriarchal reign of the family and I can see why I am married to a sexually addicted and extremely passive man. Not to say he is always passive. He could lead an army to victory in battle. In fact, every day he does just that at his job! But when it comes to the women in his life, he takes a beating and lays down for more. I see it clearly now. An abusive sister. A controlling mother. A passive father. Sexual dysfunction. Emotional disconnect. Marriage to a controlling, abusive wife. It was a perfect recipe for the battle we are facing in our marriage today.

It is not entirely his fault, you know. I am sure I have contributed to the problem. I also blame infertility and the clinical nature in which our sexual relationship was treated in our attempt to build a family. However, I know that God has used all of this to bring us, him, to a place where he can finally be free and heal from the wounds and sins of his past. There are no words to express how I feel at the thought of my husband being free and the restoration process he is finally in. I am proud of him for sharing openly with our church family and for seeking the help he needs to conquer the beast of pornography once and for all.

As I continue to sift through the ashes, I am reminded that God made a promise to bring beauty from them. He already has and I know there is more to come. We have to trust that He who began a good work within (us), will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns (Philippians 1:6). We are not finished yet ...

Happy 4th Birthday in Heaven

Happy birthday precious girl! What a special day it must have been in Heaven today! I just can't imagine the beauty that you get to experience every single day. If I close my eyes I can imagine you as a beautiful little four year old girl with long blonde hair spinning in a twirly princess dress all covered with glitter and gold. I can imagine reaching down to hold your hands in mine as we spin and twirl around the room singing silly songs laughing and hugging as we celebrate your special day. I look into your eyes and see my own but in your smile I see your daddy. You're a big girl now not a baby anymore yet I can still see your baby features in that beautiful big girl face. Oh how I wish I were there to celebrate with you!

As we drove home today from our annual getaway and thought about where we wanted to release your birthday balloons this year we noticed a sign that said "Hope - 12 miles." We decided what better place to celebrate Abby's birthday than Hope? So we drove into the little town of Hope Indiana and released 4 pink balloons and 4 white balloons and wished you a happy birthday as they got further and further away in the sky. I hope you could see them and that you can feel our love from Heaven. It hurts not to be able to watch you grow up here and have you in our family circle but we know you are safe in our Father's arms and someday soon we will see you and hold you and kiss your sweet face and never be separated again. Someday we will celebrate together forever!

Happy birthday 4th beautiful precious daughter. We love and miss you so much! Wishing things were different and you were here to celebrate with us ...

Love,
Mommy

Forgiveness

How do you forgive those who have hurt you most deeply? Those who were supposed to love you and be there for you and not only failed, but refused to do so, and at times even hurt you intentionally while they knew you were already in agony? I call that "friendly fire." It's like being in a war zone and getting shot in the back by the people on your own side. And then, when you are screaming in agony, they shoot you again. I don't know how to do it. Just when I think I've forgiven, I can feel the pain and see the hurt in my life towards those who have caused it. I am identifying the three greatest wounds as my church, my sister-in-law and my mother-in-law. I guess if I include Lisa, there are four. There are other friends who have done the same, but I think I've made peace with them. I don't know how to forgive the first ones, though, or if I even want to. I know I have to. (But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. Matthew 6:15). I'm just being honest here. I fight it in my heart every day, but when the people you are trying to forgive continue to do things to hurt you, how do you really move on? Lord, I need your help because I can't do this on my own. Please help me truly forgive, from my heart.

Just Some Frustrations ...

I have been a believer 27 years and have been really following Christ for about 16 of them; married to a pastor for 13 of them; struggled through infertility for 6 of them; grieved over my daughter for almost 4 of them, and struggled with secondary infertility for another 3 of them. I have learned that we don't always get what we want. We ask God and sometimes He says yes, sometimes He says no, and sometimes He says not yet. I now find myself in a place of frustration with the arrogance of believers who just "know" God is going to do this or that for them (or for someone they are praying for) and I have come to an almost complete intolerance for it to the point where I cannot stand to be around most of them. I feel like I am going to scream when I hear people say that they just know that "God would never let that happen to me" (or the person they are praying for) or that somehow if something bad happens, the person didn't pray enough or somehow failed when the truth is that God does let bad things happen. He doesn't allow it because He's mean or wants to hurt us, but He does allow it. He sees the beginning and the end and He never allows something bad to happen that can't be used for tremendous good in our life or in the lives of others. And sometimes it is to change the entire course of our life (i.e. this website wouldn't exist if it weren't for Joanne and her sweet baby girl Cheyenne). But why do they think they are entitled to a happy ending? None of us is entitled to that. We are taught time and time again (in the Bible) that the path includes sorrow and suffering and that we are to take up our cross and follow Him. Some crosses are heavier than others and we are called to help carry those. I don't understand the mentality of the western church (or, I should say American church) when people are suffering around the world and even in our own country. People are dying and being tortured for their faith. People lose loved ones every day. Cancer kills. Soldiers die in war. Accidents happen. People grieve. Where do these people who believe they deserve their happy ending get their theology? Am I cursed or not a good Christian because my child died? Or because I believe that sorrow and suffering could possibly be part of God's plan for me? My neighbor died of cancer this summer. She was my friend. I prayed for her and believed for her healing, but God said no. I don't understand why she had to die. She was only 44. I shared my heart on this at my church group recently by sharing some of my grief blogs after being asked to bring something that would show the others who I am. I wanted to convey my heart for the grieving and suffering and how I have learned to die to my dreams and embrace God's dreams for me instead. That means that I will not get to raise my daughter on this earth or have anymore birth children. It also means that caring for grieving people has become my passion. I believe I was created for it. My whole life I was surrounded by grieving and suffering people and I have always had a deep compassion for them. My best friend lost her father when she was 17 and her mother when she was 23. I walked through the valley with her and somehow knew that I was just supposed to be there and let her cry. I didn't realize this was my path, however, until my daughter died. Now I can see how God has worked in my life to bring me to this place where being drawn to the suffering has purpose for me and I'm trying to figure out how He wants me to use it. To my shock and surprise, I was met with a comment that maybe I didn't really care about grieving people as much as I thought but that maybe I am actually just grieving myself because fall is here and my daughter's birthday is coming. I was basically discredited by my grief instead of being seen as having learned something valuable from my experience. I really believe that I have learned something of great value that most believers will never experience. That God loves us so much that He even grieves with us. What hurts us matters to Him, too. And that it should grieve us when someone we know is grieving, not just to bring over a chicken casserole and our duty is done. The Bible says to "mourn with those who mourn." I am constantly quoting James 1:27 which says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." My biggest lesson is that true religion is to care for the grieving. After all, what is a widow or an orphan? I don't think that statement excludes grieving parents. I believe it includes them and all that are suffering around us. My sister and I are working together to build a place called, "Hope's Lodge." It make take years, but it is a dream that was born out of our mutual grief so that people would have a safe place to go where they can grieve away from the harsh world and it's demands to return to "normal." I know from my Bible and my experience that God cares passionately about this yet everywhere I turn I see people who are distorting Scripture and making it about getting what they want, achieving their dreams, having the right attitude, etc. (prosperity gospel) instead about loving the people around us with a love that is real and not superficial or self-serving? How can I convey this without sounding bitter or resentful? I am not bitter, I am just tired of Christians who don't get it and won't listen. It is time for the body of Christ to step up and do what we are supposed to do. No wonder the world hates us. We don't have a clue what it is to be like Jesus.