A few journal entries from 6 months ago.
Taken directly from the journal I write in for Anna, before I went to see her that day:
Monday, December 19, 2011
7:40am
Anna girl,
There's so much I want to say to you; it's hard to know where to start. You are so beautiful... in more ways than one. God created you to be beautiful physically - your features are proportioned and pretty. Round head, dark hair, perfect eyebrows, sweet little nose, pretty lips, full cheeks, little round chin... long fingers and toes...
Your toes are a cute mix of Daddy & I. You have the longer 2nd toe and space like me, but I've notice your 2nd toe sometimes rises higher than your big toe, which is like Daddy. Your arms, legs, and shoulders & back are so soft. I can't touch you enough.
The nurses are saying you have sensitive skin - some of the tapes and things are causing red spots & irritation. Isaac has sensitive skin, too.
But you're also beautiful because of the glory of God you bestow. It's obvious Jesus is holding you. Many souls have been drawn closer to God because of your story. I'm so honored to be your mother. You are my hero.
I love every bit of you. I long to hold you close, kiss you all over, nurse you, bathe you, dress you...
What a gift you are, Anna!
I love to see you move. Your toes, your grip on my finger, your blinking eyes, your puckering or suckling lips...
I'm pretty sure you have a slight dimple on your right lower check. So cute.
I pray for God to heal you constantly. May he help your little body function correctly. In the powerful name of Christ Jesus, I pray those veins in your lungs grow and stretch so your body can pump blood efficiently.
You are so precious. I don't know how to express the depth of my love for you.
Taken directly from my personal journal, still hadn't seen her...
Monday, Dec. 19, 2011
9:11am
How do You want to speak to me today, Lord? Your Word, Your Spirit, Your presence, Your people, my husband, son, daughter, other family...? I open my heart to You - desperate for You. Longing for Your touch on my sweet baby, and on my own spirit as I wait on You. Provide grace for the moment. Strength for this day. We're depending on You - hoping in You. It's hard to give Anna to You. But it seems like it shouldn't be. She's in the best care in Your hands. I just love her so much. This hurts so badly, Lord. Carry me.
Touch Matt & bring him health. Don't let him get depressed.
We need Your touch. We cry out for Your supernatural touch, Father. Step in with Your power. Stretch her tiny lung veins so she can pump blood & live.
So many are praying for Anna to be healed. You hear every prayer. There are children praying for her. There are people coming back to you who haven't prayed in a long time. There are those praying who don't know you personally, but pray anyway. May they come to know You, Jesus!
It doesn't seem right for her to die with all the people watching & hoping. I have to trust that You know what is best for Anna, for us, for all the people watching. But it's so hard...
Show Matt & I what to do when faced with tough decisions. We don't want to have to decide these things. Please make things clear. Obviously clear & total peace-filled. It sickens me.
Christmas is coming. Just a week away. What are you going to do this week? Keep providing strength.
And from the journal for Anna again, after she was gone. I couldn't sleep...
11:21pm
My forever daughter -
You are with Jesus now. You left us around 6:45 this evening. I'm so thankful we had time with you. We all got to hold you before you were gone, then you passed away in my arms - resting snuggly between Daddy & I. I'm going to miss you so much. I can't believe I'll never get to hold your hand, kiss you, or stroke your eyebrows ever again. Oh, sweet girl... Mama loves you so much, and I miss you already.
We were blessed with 11 days with you. And I'm truly happy for you. I rejoice that you're in heaven. You are so fortunate to be with our Father & Jesus. You're going to experience your first Christmas in heaven. I can only imagine what it's going to be like. You are whole and healthy now. I'm so glad. It's a burden lifted knowing you're well and perfect and dancing for Jesus. Your life brought people closer to Him, and I'm honored to be your mama. My arms will always ache for you. Daddy & I will always miss you.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
6 months
I delivered Anna Joy six months ago today.
There is so much to say, and yet I'm having difficulty finding a place to start.
I miss by baby girl so much. It's been a rough week. I am recognizing that the initial shock of trauma and loss is starting to wear off, and I'm experiencing waves of grief at a deeper level. It's sinking in that this really happened and it's not going away. I hate that. This experience is real, not just a bad dream. But it's like living a bad dream.
The waves that throw me under and keep me down for a while are more fierce, and I come up gasping for air, covered in dark filth. The waves that push me up, the ones I've learned to ride - that give me a glimpse of perspective - have started to provide a tiny bit more relief instead of deepening ache. Sometimes I can actually smile at memories and thank God for certain blessings in Anna's story. These moments don't happen often, but they do and I'm grateful. Every small step makes progress toward healing. Often a few small steps forward will be followed by a huge fall backward. I don't usually know when the fierce waves are coming, but I'm not shocked by them anymore. I know that I have to endure them; they're part of the process of living on the shore I've been on the past year. I really want to move so I don't have to deal with the changing tides. But I realize living here for a while is necessary, because the waves will reach me somehow, someday... if I don't let them hit me now. I don't know how long I'll have to live here, which is daunting.
I feel like I've written these words before. If I have, please forgive me.
Six months ago I was in the labor/delivery room at UW Medical Center, wearing a stylish gown and trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the uncomfortable bed as I managed light contractions. I remember trying to stay in the balance of distraction and engagement - always seeking God's peace & strength - as various medical activity and conversation was taking place around me. It's 7:40 right now. None of us knew that my water would break in thirty minutes, and that the long awaited and anticipated little girl would arrive in less than two hours from now... 9:36am on Thursday, December 8, 2011. What a day. What a beautiful child. I remember seeing her for the first time as they held her up after she was born. Her little face was scrunched up, and I stroked her left cheek with my right index finger. At that moment, all physical pain I had just endured disappeared and I was filled with awe. I'm totally serious. I was blessed with a wave of clarity and supernatural connection for a few seconds. Then they took her away and the pain came back until I got to hold her for a short time.
This week I've been struggling with the concept of finding a solution to this heartache. At first I felt that there isn't one. I thought, There is no solution for losing a child! And in a way, there isn't. She can't be brought back. The pain of her absence will always linger. The "what might have been" is a forever mystery. And all of that hurts terribly. It's awful. Like, please just let me die so I don't have to feel the ache anymore. Seriously.
As I wrestled with the no solution concept, I believe my merciful heavenly Father revealed something to my broken heart. I now long for heaven like never before. I see people as eternal souls in a fresh, new way. Through my long, weary days I can somehow see a bigger purpose down the road. I can't see what it is, but I know in my gut that it's there. I have an interest in heaven that is deeper than intellect - there is a spiritual connection that draws me to learn. There is more to this life! The "solution" to this ache is really nothing new to any of us. We all long for heaven, for perfection, for our fulfilled callings... as I've written about before. So... WHAT DO WE DO WITH THAT LONGING? It should change the way we live.
And that is grace. Only a good, graceful God of hope could use loss and produce such perspective.
What if every time I miss Anna, I let God turn it around and help me to pour my heart into what is before me today? What if every time I'm paralyzed on my bed, bawling my eyes out from the finality of it all (it happened just this past Monday), I somehow ask for help to see a new way? What if every time I'm tempted to give up (and it will continue to happen), I remember that people are giving up every day without hope? What can I do to share the true Hope I know?
Someday it will be the right time for me to minister. Right now God keeps reminding me that it's OK to miss Anna, bawl on my bed, and want to give up (temporarily). I must ride these waves for a while. I'm thankful He is showing me light and lessons along the way... even if I must reside on the shore of grief indefinitely.
I long to hold my baby again. Sometimes I can almost feel her. I'm so sad she was taken from us... from me. I still can't believe it most days.
Today is hard. It's hard to believe it's been six months. It's still surreal.
Even if I don't feel it, I know hope is real. It's not an empty wish or unsure longing. My hope is sure. God made me for Himself - for love, eternal purpose, and to experience hope become reality someday. Heaven awaits. This pain reminds me to keep on. If there was no pain, we wouldn't have to fight for good.
Yet again, here is a song that says it well.
It's 9:36am. One more strong contraction, scream, push... and here she is! "Hi, beautiful! It's so good to see you! Welcome to the world."
"How I long for the sunrise"...
There is so much to say, and yet I'm having difficulty finding a place to start.
I miss by baby girl so much. It's been a rough week. I am recognizing that the initial shock of trauma and loss is starting to wear off, and I'm experiencing waves of grief at a deeper level. It's sinking in that this really happened and it's not going away. I hate that. This experience is real, not just a bad dream. But it's like living a bad dream.
The waves that throw me under and keep me down for a while are more fierce, and I come up gasping for air, covered in dark filth. The waves that push me up, the ones I've learned to ride - that give me a glimpse of perspective - have started to provide a tiny bit more relief instead of deepening ache. Sometimes I can actually smile at memories and thank God for certain blessings in Anna's story. These moments don't happen often, but they do and I'm grateful. Every small step makes progress toward healing. Often a few small steps forward will be followed by a huge fall backward. I don't usually know when the fierce waves are coming, but I'm not shocked by them anymore. I know that I have to endure them; they're part of the process of living on the shore I've been on the past year. I really want to move so I don't have to deal with the changing tides. But I realize living here for a while is necessary, because the waves will reach me somehow, someday... if I don't let them hit me now. I don't know how long I'll have to live here, which is daunting.
I feel like I've written these words before. If I have, please forgive me.
Six months ago I was in the labor/delivery room at UW Medical Center, wearing a stylish gown and trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the uncomfortable bed as I managed light contractions. I remember trying to stay in the balance of distraction and engagement - always seeking God's peace & strength - as various medical activity and conversation was taking place around me. It's 7:40 right now. None of us knew that my water would break in thirty minutes, and that the long awaited and anticipated little girl would arrive in less than two hours from now... 9:36am on Thursday, December 8, 2011. What a day. What a beautiful child. I remember seeing her for the first time as they held her up after she was born. Her little face was scrunched up, and I stroked her left cheek with my right index finger. At that moment, all physical pain I had just endured disappeared and I was filled with awe. I'm totally serious. I was blessed with a wave of clarity and supernatural connection for a few seconds. Then they took her away and the pain came back until I got to hold her for a short time.
 |
| I will never forget this moment. |
As I wrestled with the no solution concept, I believe my merciful heavenly Father revealed something to my broken heart. I now long for heaven like never before. I see people as eternal souls in a fresh, new way. Through my long, weary days I can somehow see a bigger purpose down the road. I can't see what it is, but I know in my gut that it's there. I have an interest in heaven that is deeper than intellect - there is a spiritual connection that draws me to learn. There is more to this life! The "solution" to this ache is really nothing new to any of us. We all long for heaven, for perfection, for our fulfilled callings... as I've written about before. So... WHAT DO WE DO WITH THAT LONGING? It should change the way we live.
And that is grace. Only a good, graceful God of hope could use loss and produce such perspective.
What if every time I miss Anna, I let God turn it around and help me to pour my heart into what is before me today? What if every time I'm paralyzed on my bed, bawling my eyes out from the finality of it all (it happened just this past Monday), I somehow ask for help to see a new way? What if every time I'm tempted to give up (and it will continue to happen), I remember that people are giving up every day without hope? What can I do to share the true Hope I know?
Someday it will be the right time for me to minister. Right now God keeps reminding me that it's OK to miss Anna, bawl on my bed, and want to give up (temporarily). I must ride these waves for a while. I'm thankful He is showing me light and lessons along the way... even if I must reside on the shore of grief indefinitely.
I long to hold my baby again. Sometimes I can almost feel her. I'm so sad she was taken from us... from me. I still can't believe it most days.
Today is hard. It's hard to believe it's been six months. It's still surreal.
Even if I don't feel it, I know hope is real. It's not an empty wish or unsure longing. My hope is sure. God made me for Himself - for love, eternal purpose, and to experience hope become reality someday. Heaven awaits. This pain reminds me to keep on. If there was no pain, we wouldn't have to fight for good.
Yet again, here is a song that says it well.
It's 9:36am. One more strong contraction, scream, push... and here she is! "Hi, beautiful! It's so good to see you! Welcome to the world."
"How I long for the sunrise"...
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Afraid to love?
The song I included below will always pull strongly at my heart ("All of Me" by Matt Hammitt). It puts words, chords, and living feeling into what I was experiencing before Anna was born, the moment she came, and the few days that followed. Remember with me. Let's go back several months to when we were all awaiting her arrival. Oh, what strong hope and anguish mixed in our hearts and minds. And then, she was born! Her birth story turned out to be full of miracles. Remember the waves of intercession that occurred on little Anna's behalf. What a journey!
I remember deciding in my soul the day we found out she could have a heart defect that I would give her to God, again. I would trust Him. And I would put my heart into loving this little girl, no matter how many days I would be given with her.
Enter again into part of my heart and feel with me, if you're willing... as much as you can. Let the sad chords of the song play on your heartstrings, walk the uncertain hours with me, and resolve to give your all to whomever is needing you in whatever season you're in.
It's worth it. Anna Joy was worth it. Love with all of your heart. Give it. Share it. Risk it.
Will you ask with me: Does she/he/He have ALL OF ME?
I remember deciding in my soul the day we found out she could have a heart defect that I would give her to God, again. I would trust Him. And I would put my heart into loving this little girl, no matter how many days I would be given with her.
Enter again into part of my heart and feel with me, if you're willing... as much as you can. Let the sad chords of the song play on your heartstrings, walk the uncertain hours with me, and resolve to give your all to whomever is needing you in whatever season you're in.
Anna Joy Peppley, my sweet baby daughter, was worth it. She will always be worth it. All of the tears, months of waiting, fears, questions, stress, torturous nights, moments of doubt, hospital memories... and even these agonizing days after her passing. You still have ALL OF ME, Anna girl.
And that leads me to think...
Does Isaac, my two-year-old, have ALL OF ME?
Does my husband have ALL OF ME?
And most importantly, does my Lord have ALL OF ME?
All my love... no matter what...
Will you give your heart?
Believe me, I know the pain of loving and losing. My heart may be broken. My arms may be empty. My dreams may be shattered.
But I have no regrets. But I gave, I loved, I lived every moment possible with my sweet baby. She had ALL OF ME. And I think she knew it.
It's worth it. Anna Joy was worth it. Love with all of your heart. Give it. Share it. Risk it.
Will you ask with me: Does she/he/He have ALL OF ME?
Saturday, April 7, 2012
O How He Loves Us
Shortly after Anna's passing, I had a hard time accepting the concept that Jesus was crying with me as I mourned for her. People would tell me that, and I wanted to be comforted by the thought, but I couldn't quite get my brain and heart to unite and grasp it. I remember wondering why Jesus would be sad when He could've just made the heart & lung defects go away and let me take my baby home (instead of Him taking her HOME). I wanted to say, "Why would You be crying with me over my daughter's death, when you allowed her to be sick and die? You could have saved both of us these tears, this grief!"
Another question I wrestled with for a couple weeks: "Why would He break my heart on purpose?" God gave me a heart for children and babies and gave me strong desire to be a mother. It's what I've dreamed of since I was very young. He gave me this longing. Why allow me to struggle with infertility, miscarriages, and now infant loss? I know in my heart of hearts that He is loving and good and sovereign. But I was broken, and wondered why the God of the universe, the Lover of my soul, would allow such pain.
Well, God is teaching me some things lately. I can't even get them all down, it seems every day there's something He speaks to my soul that I have to process. Please don't over-analyze my thoughts here. I certainly don't claim to be a theologian... just sharing more of the journey.
He created the world in perfection, but gave humans a choice. He didn't want to force us to love Him and live for Him. We chose (choose) selfishness. Thus, the world isn't perfect anymore. We chose (choose) our own way, which is imperfect. Therefore, there is sickness, pain, suffering, sin, and death in our world. Just a natural result of our free-will.
I don't like it, but it's the way it is. I've started to notice that many people want heaven on earth, but it's not going to happen... not until Jesus comes back. I have been caught in that longing for many years. We want perfect health, no wars, clean air, material comforts without debt, pleasures without consequences, no serious challenges, stress-free careers and relationships, etc. Sorry, folks! We're not in heaven yet. Jesus said, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) That's the good news. That's the hope Matt & I cling to. This world is temporary. But there's a plan for purpose beyond this world as we know it.
So...
I have come to believe that Jesus is indeed crying with me over my loss. He doesn't want to see me sad. He doesn't like that she was born with under-developed veins in her lungs, incapable of pumping blood. He is angered by the imperfection that occurs constantly for all of us. He is heartbroken over our pain, and hates to see us hurting. But... although He has full capability to fix it... a lot of times He doesn't. At least not in the way WE envision it should be fixed.
A month or so ago I remember telling God I really wanted Him to heal Anna. Not just for my sake, but for so many who were involved in her story. All the people who read the blog, the children who prayed in faith believing she would be healed, and the doctors who were working with her. Lord, it would've been a perfect opportunity to show them Your power, Your love, Your glory, Your personal involvement in our lives. So many were watching... why didn't You heal her heart? I really thought you would... somehow... bring her through at least... allow her to live longer than just 11 days... Oh, God, I REALLY wanted to see you heal Anna's heart!
And He responded.
"Maybe I want to show my glory through healing YOUR heart instead."
Whoa.
That would be a miracle, too.
As awful as this road is, with its dark fog surrounding me, rough bumps that trip me, bitter cold distracting my mind, and sharp obstacles that open my wounds over and over... I can count on one thing. The strong hand of Jesus gripping mine. Often I feel blindfolded and paralyzed. I fall, I cry out in despair. And His strength pulls me back up, warms my aching heart, and reminds me He's with me. When I accept that help, I am found. The hurt is still present, but I'm not lost.
What an amazing God... amazing Friend. He can be sharing the most sincere, empathetic anguish with me here on earth, and sharing the most pure, heartfelt joy with Anna in Glory at the same time. You see, He is about love. He IS love. And the most true love is unselfish, wanting the best for the other person. Jesus is doing His best for me by never leaving my side, by feeling all of the mixed up emotions I feel, by lighting the way for my next step, by providing strength for the day, by showing me His heart... it is full of L.O.V.E.
Why do we (I) default into thinking that when something bad happens to us, God doesn't love us? I don't believe He's causing the bad thing. We're just part of a fallen world. A world that longs to be found by Him. A world that groans and searches for His perfect love... often without realizing it. He doesn't want to watch us go through painful experiences. He wants to love us, teach us, show us His endless mercy and glory through the trials of this life. Everything can draw us closer to Him if we chose to look for Him.
My friend, Krista, texted me the following on July 27, right after we found out there was a possibility our baby girl had a heart defect:
"…He created this little life.
He has a divine purpose in mind
and He is trustworthy.
He is, He is.
And He loves, loves, loves you."
I am slowly learning what it means to believe that. It sounds funny even to myself as I admit that. I was raised in the Church, yet feel in the past few years I'm starting to understand the love of God. Doesn't it seem a bit strange that I am experiencing His love most in the wake of heart-wrenching loss? Maybe not. I've run to Him so desperately through it all. Even when I'm sad, mad, confused, emotionally bankrupt, physically drained, and ready to give up on it all. He's there. He lets me show it all. And He holds my heart so tenderly as I question and cry and beg for healing. Through it all. I'm so thankful Something in my life never changes.
He understands. He cries.
He chose to relate to us because He loves us.
Isaiah 53:3-5
He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.
Surely he took up our pain
and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
My mom brought my attention to an article from the April 2012 issue of Christianity Today by Ben Witherington called "When A Daughter Dies". He recently lost his 32-year-old daughter. The whole article is good, but a portion states...
Jesus said, "I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." (John 10:10)
If there are promises I cling to as I weep for our Christy, it is this promise, not
the sorry solace and cold comfort of, "God did this but we do not know why." No!
A thousand times, no. God and his will are aligned with what is good and true and
beautiful and loving and holy.
The phrase, "It's all God's will," is cold comfort. I believe in a God whose "Yes!" to
life is louder than death's "No!" Death is not God's will. On the contrary, God is in
the trenches with us, fighting the very same evils we fight in this world - disease,
suffering, sorrow, sin, and death itself. He cries with us.
I'm grateful this Easter weekend. So grateful for what Christ did for me on the cross, and conquering death by rising again! I'm also sad because I don't get to put Anna in a little Easter dress, show her off at church, and take pictures of her with Isaac. She would have been 4 months old on the 8th, Easter Sunday. But I'm trying to keep my heart set on the bigger picture. Trying to continue the process of letting go of my expectations of what I think God should be in my life... and allowing Him to reveal a more true portrait of Himself. I'm not thankful that I lost my darling baby girl. I still weep with longing for all I'm missing. But I'm thankful I have a God who cares, loves, and walks with me. He is helping me see His heart little by little. I don't understand much of it, but I'm learning to accept it... all the while celebrating my beautiful Anna Joy we miss so much. Praise God - she points me to Him at every memory. What a legacy!
Another question I wrestled with for a couple weeks: "Why would He break my heart on purpose?" God gave me a heart for children and babies and gave me strong desire to be a mother. It's what I've dreamed of since I was very young. He gave me this longing. Why allow me to struggle with infertility, miscarriages, and now infant loss? I know in my heart of hearts that He is loving and good and sovereign. But I was broken, and wondered why the God of the universe, the Lover of my soul, would allow such pain.
Well, God is teaching me some things lately. I can't even get them all down, it seems every day there's something He speaks to my soul that I have to process. Please don't over-analyze my thoughts here. I certainly don't claim to be a theologian... just sharing more of the journey.
He created the world in perfection, but gave humans a choice. He didn't want to force us to love Him and live for Him. We chose (choose) selfishness. Thus, the world isn't perfect anymore. We chose (choose) our own way, which is imperfect. Therefore, there is sickness, pain, suffering, sin, and death in our world. Just a natural result of our free-will.
I don't like it, but it's the way it is. I've started to notice that many people want heaven on earth, but it's not going to happen... not until Jesus comes back. I have been caught in that longing for many years. We want perfect health, no wars, clean air, material comforts without debt, pleasures without consequences, no serious challenges, stress-free careers and relationships, etc. Sorry, folks! We're not in heaven yet. Jesus said, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) That's the good news. That's the hope Matt & I cling to. This world is temporary. But there's a plan for purpose beyond this world as we know it.
So...
I have come to believe that Jesus is indeed crying with me over my loss. He doesn't want to see me sad. He doesn't like that she was born with under-developed veins in her lungs, incapable of pumping blood. He is angered by the imperfection that occurs constantly for all of us. He is heartbroken over our pain, and hates to see us hurting. But... although He has full capability to fix it... a lot of times He doesn't. At least not in the way WE envision it should be fixed.
A month or so ago I remember telling God I really wanted Him to heal Anna. Not just for my sake, but for so many who were involved in her story. All the people who read the blog, the children who prayed in faith believing she would be healed, and the doctors who were working with her. Lord, it would've been a perfect opportunity to show them Your power, Your love, Your glory, Your personal involvement in our lives. So many were watching... why didn't You heal her heart? I really thought you would... somehow... bring her through at least... allow her to live longer than just 11 days... Oh, God, I REALLY wanted to see you heal Anna's heart!
And He responded.
"Maybe I want to show my glory through healing YOUR heart instead."
Whoa.
That would be a miracle, too.
As awful as this road is, with its dark fog surrounding me, rough bumps that trip me, bitter cold distracting my mind, and sharp obstacles that open my wounds over and over... I can count on one thing. The strong hand of Jesus gripping mine. Often I feel blindfolded and paralyzed. I fall, I cry out in despair. And His strength pulls me back up, warms my aching heart, and reminds me He's with me. When I accept that help, I am found. The hurt is still present, but I'm not lost.
What an amazing God... amazing Friend. He can be sharing the most sincere, empathetic anguish with me here on earth, and sharing the most pure, heartfelt joy with Anna in Glory at the same time. You see, He is about love. He IS love. And the most true love is unselfish, wanting the best for the other person. Jesus is doing His best for me by never leaving my side, by feeling all of the mixed up emotions I feel, by lighting the way for my next step, by providing strength for the day, by showing me His heart... it is full of L.O.V.E.
Why do we (I) default into thinking that when something bad happens to us, God doesn't love us? I don't believe He's causing the bad thing. We're just part of a fallen world. A world that longs to be found by Him. A world that groans and searches for His perfect love... often without realizing it. He doesn't want to watch us go through painful experiences. He wants to love us, teach us, show us His endless mercy and glory through the trials of this life. Everything can draw us closer to Him if we chose to look for Him.
My friend, Krista, texted me the following on July 27, right after we found out there was a possibility our baby girl had a heart defect:
"…He created this little life.
He has a divine purpose in mind
and He is trustworthy.
He is, He is.
And He loves, loves, loves you."
I am slowly learning what it means to believe that. It sounds funny even to myself as I admit that. I was raised in the Church, yet feel in the past few years I'm starting to understand the love of God. Doesn't it seem a bit strange that I am experiencing His love most in the wake of heart-wrenching loss? Maybe not. I've run to Him so desperately through it all. Even when I'm sad, mad, confused, emotionally bankrupt, physically drained, and ready to give up on it all. He's there. He lets me show it all. And He holds my heart so tenderly as I question and cry and beg for healing. Through it all. I'm so thankful Something in my life never changes.
He understands. He cries.
He chose to relate to us because He loves us.
Isaiah 53:3-5
He was despised and rejected by mankind,
a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him in low esteem.
Surely he took up our pain
and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
stricken by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.
My mom brought my attention to an article from the April 2012 issue of Christianity Today by Ben Witherington called "When A Daughter Dies". He recently lost his 32-year-old daughter. The whole article is good, but a portion states...
Jesus said, "I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." (John 10:10)
If there are promises I cling to as I weep for our Christy, it is this promise, not
the sorry solace and cold comfort of, "God did this but we do not know why." No!
A thousand times, no. God and his will are aligned with what is good and true and
beautiful and loving and holy.
The phrase, "It's all God's will," is cold comfort. I believe in a God whose "Yes!" to
life is louder than death's "No!" Death is not God's will. On the contrary, God is in
the trenches with us, fighting the very same evils we fight in this world - disease,
suffering, sorrow, sin, and death itself. He cries with us.
I'm grateful this Easter weekend. So grateful for what Christ did for me on the cross, and conquering death by rising again! I'm also sad because I don't get to put Anna in a little Easter dress, show her off at church, and take pictures of her with Isaac. She would have been 4 months old on the 8th, Easter Sunday. But I'm trying to keep my heart set on the bigger picture. Trying to continue the process of letting go of my expectations of what I think God should be in my life... and allowing Him to reveal a more true portrait of Himself. I'm not thankful that I lost my darling baby girl. I still weep with longing for all I'm missing. But I'm thankful I have a God who cares, loves, and walks with me. He is helping me see His heart little by little. I don't understand much of it, but I'm learning to accept it... all the while celebrating my beautiful Anna Joy we miss so much. Praise God - she points me to Him at every memory. What a legacy!
2 Corinthians 4:17-18
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, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
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, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
my turn...
Welcome back to the show. It's me, Mr. Peppley.
Can you believe it was three months ago that precious little Anna Joy was born? Yup. Just three short months. But...it feels like it's been about three years. I think we are still in slow-motion. Not as "super slow motion" as we once were, but still perty darn slow. I'd say while we used to be about as slow as molasses in January (if anyone can accurately tell me that movie, I'll send you a ten dollar bill!), we are now about as slow as real maple syrup at room temperature.
Anyways ... does anyone besides my wife get tired of my poor attempts at humor? If so, please tell me and I'll put myself out of your misery. Until then, you will get more. Ha. So there.
Yes, we miss Anna Joy. Lots. And missing her still hurts. Lots. But there's always a "but" when we feel our hurts. Let me 'splain-no, let me summup. Pretty much my whole life I've had an intimate relationship with the hymn "It is well." You know, the one that has the sea billows rolling? And saying whatever the cost, I'll say it is well (it is well), with my soul? Ya, that one. Well, while I have always loved that song, I've always asked myself "when the time comes, and the sea billows are...billowing, will I indeed be able to say 'it is well with my soul?'" Well (no pun intended), I think I can honestly say that through dealing with Anna's whole story, I have been (more or less) able to say that I have praised God through it all.
Have I doubted? Yes. Have I cried out in anguish? Yes. Have I been angry? Yes. But - I have also tried my darndest to stay true to the God who loves me.
So there you go. Or there you have it. Or take it for what it's worth. But please don't think I'm bragging about my phenomenal Christianity abilities, that are able to bend a bow of bronze. No no no no no no nononono. I'm just a guy who faced a storm, and am able to look into the smiling, crying face of Jesus, and say "I love you. With all my heart."
I still miss my baby girl. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I am jealous of her, though. See, she gets to be with Jesus right now. I can't wait to get there. What a glorious day that will be.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
This awful, amazing road
A couple weeks ago we met and held and cried over our new niece, Claire. She is a tiny beauty, and she'll always have a special place in our hearts because of her closeness with Anna. Here are a couple photos of me holding Claire in the hospital. Images I longed to have taken with my own daughter...
There are many other things I could share from the past few weeks. Words from the Lord through His Word, other people, special moments, well-written books, etc. I wish I had the energy to keep you updated on a more regular basis. We're still struggling with sickness, and we are exhausted. But the Lord continues to carry us and get us through one day at a time. One day can bring a wide variety of emotions and experiences:
I certainly don't have answers, and I don't want you to try to provide any. Just walk with me, hug me, cry with me, encourage me, remind me of hope.
Matt & I have started bereavement counseling and plan to try a support group this week. Please pray for clarity as we talk about our pain, attempt to take steps forward, learn to communicate with each other, and somehow find the energy to continue the process.
* * *
"Unredeemed" by Selah
The cruelest words, the coldest heart
The deepest wounds, the endless dark
The lonely ache, the burning tears
The bitter nights, the wasted years
Life breaks and falls apart
But we know these are...
[Chorus]
Places where grace is soon to be so amazing
They may be unfulfilled, they may be unrestored
But when anything that's shattered is laid before the Lord
Just watch and see it will not be
Unredeemed
For every choice that led to shame
And all the love that never came
For every vow that someone broke
And every life that gave up hope
We live in the shadow of the fall
But the cross says these are all...
[Chorus]
Places where grace is soon to be so amazing
They may be unfulfilled, they may be unrestored
But you never know the miracles the Father has in store
Just watch and see it will not be
Just watch and see it will not be
Unredeemed
I pray that gives someone else hope, too.
A couple weeks ago I sang in church. I was asked to do a specific song if I felt up to it, but didn't know until I woke that morning whether I would do it or not. I awoke Sunday, February 19th (2 months from Anna's passing), and realized I believed the words to the song I was asked to sing:
No sweeter name than the name of Jesus
No sweeter name have I ever known
No sweeter name than the name of Jesus
You are the life to my heart and my soul
You are the light to the darkness around me
You are the hope to the hopeless and broken
You are the only truth and the way
I have sung in church a lot in the past. I've been on worship teams and sung in choir over the years. But this was a new song. Not the song literally, but a new expression of worship. A true sacrifice of praise. I was weak and frail, and I broke down in tears during the first service. I didn't care what people thought. I'm guessing most of my church family knew why I was crying, but it didn't matter. I was standing and singing only because God pulled me up that morning out of darkness and gave me strength to sing His Name through the depths of sorrow. Another miracle.
And it was another step toward healing. I didn't realize when I put my dress on that morning how stepping out in humility and faith was truly profound. There's something about the combination of the true Word of God and music that sets me free! Praise Him!
As I walked alone to my car after I had sung and cried in church, I was still tempted to doubt God's goodness. In that lonely moment, I thought I heard Anna say to me, "It's worth it Mama. Stay strong. It's worth it."
So back to the cemetery from earlier today...
I was slowly steering the car through the gray road that winds through areas of green grass dotted with more gray. As my weary eyes scanned the markers of souls that once breathed here, warm tears slipped down over a sight so dark and empty. Unplanned by me, the song on the CD playing was Blessings by Laura Story. I let the words shower me as I stared at the inscriptions of precious names I didn't recognize, knowing that I would fairly soon be staring at my daughter's name in a similar spot.
"...when darkness seems to win,
we know that pain reminds this heart that
this is not, THIS IS NOT OUR HOME!
It's not our home.
What if my greatest disappointments
or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy?"
(You can find the recording and full lyrics of this song on the Special Songs page of this blog.)
Suddenly the cemetery wasn't dark and empty anymore. Instead of total grief, I was filled with hope! Those markers reminded me that life on earth in our mortal bodies isn't all there is. We were all made for more. We have eternal purpose. The earth in its current state isn't our destiny. God has intended so much more for life. And thinking of my darling Anna girl enjoying the presence of Jesus so completely brings my aching heart peace. Not only for her, but peace that inspires me to continue on with another day - whatever God wants me to do - singing, dancing, creating, loving... all for His glory.
The very same God that spins things in orbit
Runs to the weary, the worn, and the weak
The same gentle hands that hold me when I'm broken
They conquered death to bring me victory
Now I know my Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry
I know my Redeemer lives!
He lives to take away my shame
And He lives forever I'll proclaim
That the payment for my sin
Was the precious life He gave
But now He's alive
and there's an empty grave!
(from "Redeemer" by Nichole C. Mullen)
Sadness, grief, loss, brokenness... it can all lead to grace and hope.
There are many other things I could share from the past few weeks. Words from the Lord through His Word, other people, special moments, well-written books, etc. I wish I had the energy to keep you updated on a more regular basis. We're still struggling with sickness, and we are exhausted. But the Lord continues to carry us and get us through one day at a time. One day can bring a wide variety of emotions and experiences:
- sadness felt at the core of my being (sometimes it causes me to fall to the floor and weep, but mostly I just carry it with me wherever I go and try to breathe as it attempts to constantly suffocate),
- questions of "why" and God's will,
- thankfulness for the blessings I can sometimes see through the fog,
- amazement at how Anna Joy has touched so many people,
- frustration at the long journey of grief ahead,
- longing to know what she would've looked like now,
- fighting the temptation to stay in bed,
- loving the time I have with my precious little son,
- savoring a long hug from my husband,
- fears that someone else I love will be taken,
- wishing I could cry constantly,
- wishing I would never cry again,
- smiling at life even though I'm still hurting,
- wanting to tell every single person I meet that I have a beautiful baby girl...
Isn't she lovely?
As kind of a side note, you may appreciate the following from Family Life's website if you're wondering how to encourage, help, or better understand Matt & I.
10 Ways to Help Parents With Grieving HeartsHow to help friends or family when they lose a child.
1. Be there. One mom put it so well. She said, “It’s not the words you spoke; it’s the tear you left on my cheek.” Commit to walk with me through the valley no matter how long it takes. It may take awhile. Statistics show that a parent is considered newly bereaved for five years. I may tell you I want to be alone. Yes, you should honor that. But know that I don’t mean forever, just maybe right now. What I really want is for you to be there.
2. Pray for me. Don’t stop, although I may even tell you to. My faith has been shaken and I feel as though I have been betrayed. I question how God could have allowed this to happen. I may even be angry with Him for a time. I need your prayers. I am too wounded and weak to pray for myself.
3. Don’t expect very much from me, especially those first few months. It is a challenge for me to get out of bed and on a good day I might remember to brush my teeth. Even though my world has stopped, life continues. I have to cook, clean, take care of my remaining family, and often go back to work. Help me. Bring over a meal. Take my children to the park or to a movie. Do my laundry. Run to the grocery store for me. Don’t wait until I ask you; I probably won’t.
4. Remember special events - not just that first year, but every year. I will always be a mother who misses her child. Transfer those dates from one calendar to the next and send a card, drop a note, make a phone call. Be there!
5. Don’t offer advice or give me clichés. I don’t need a sermon on how best to grieve. Don’t offer me clichés such as, “Time heals all wounds,” “He’s in a better place,” or, “It was God’s will.” Don’t assume that you know how I feel. Even other bereaved parents don’t truly know my grief. We are each unique, so don’t lecture me. Just walk with me and be there.
6. Say the name of my child. I love to hear it! Remember a story about him and share it with me. Let me talk about him; don’t change the subject. I may tell you the same things over and over and over, but please just be there.
7. Accept that I am different now. I will never be the person I was before. A mom told me the other day that she was watching old videos and as she saw herself laughing and having fun with her daughter, she missed her. She also said, “I missed me.” We have lost our innocence. We have lost a portion of ourselves, and we are different now.
8. Don’t judge me. I may wear a T-shirt with his picture and visit his grave every day, sometimes twice a day. It may make you uncomfortable if my office cubicle looks like a shrine to the one I lost. Please give me some time.
9. Visit the cemetery. And when you do, leave a note, a flower, or maybe just tell me that you stopped by his grave. It means so much.
10. Watch for the signs. Be alert to behavior that may be dangerous. There are those who cannot move beyond their pain; encourage them to talk to someone in the professional field. Search out a support group for them, and offer to go to it with them.
Matt & I have started bereavement counseling and plan to try a support group this week. Please pray for clarity as we talk about our pain, attempt to take steps forward, learn to communicate with each other, and somehow find the energy to continue the process.
* * *
Today I drove through a cemetery. We still have choices to make about what to do with the ashes of Anna's body (goodness - that could be a whole separate post in and of itself). Everything about it slashes at my heart more, but at the same time I know each little step will bring another bit of healing. That doesn't even seem like it should make sense - that something so painful can bring healing - but I've started to experience it. It takes courage to talk about my pain, and hearing the words come out of my own mouth brings initial heartache. But afterwards, I feel recognizably lighter. Not a lot, but some. Just as forcing myself to listen to a song or read a scripture or put Anna's things in a keepsake box or scrap a page of her photos... it all hurts. But afterwards, I acknowledge another step taken towards a mended heart. Right now I can't picture my heart ever looking the same as before Anna passed on. It may undergo mending, little by little, to reach wholeness eventually... but it won't ever look or feel the same. I'm changed. Thank God he makes purpose out of pain. This loss hurts like nothing I can explain. But I still believe in my Redeemer. His act of love for me on the cross and rising again not only provided a way of salvation for me, but shows me that nothing I experience is in vain if it's surrendered to Him. He won't let the precious life of Anna Joy Peppley disappear for nothing. It won't go "unredeemed".
The cruelest words, the coldest heart
The deepest wounds, the endless dark
The lonely ache, the burning tears
The bitter nights, the wasted years
Life breaks and falls apart
But we know these are...
[Chorus]
Places where grace is soon to be so amazing
They may be unfulfilled, they may be unrestored
But when anything that's shattered is laid before the Lord
Just watch and see it will not be
Unredeemed
For every choice that led to shame
And all the love that never came
For every vow that someone broke
And every life that gave up hope
We live in the shadow of the fall
But the cross says these are all...
[Chorus]
Places where grace is soon to be so amazing
They may be unfulfilled, they may be unrestored
But you never know the miracles the Father has in store
Just watch and see it will not be
Just watch and see it will not be
Unredeemed
I pray that gives someone else hope, too.
A couple weeks ago I sang in church. I was asked to do a specific song if I felt up to it, but didn't know until I woke that morning whether I would do it or not. I awoke Sunday, February 19th (2 months from Anna's passing), and realized I believed the words to the song I was asked to sing:
No sweeter name than the name of Jesus
No sweeter name have I ever known
No sweeter name than the name of Jesus
You are the life to my heart and my soul
You are the light to the darkness around me
You are the hope to the hopeless and broken
You are the only truth and the way
I have sung in church a lot in the past. I've been on worship teams and sung in choir over the years. But this was a new song. Not the song literally, but a new expression of worship. A true sacrifice of praise. I was weak and frail, and I broke down in tears during the first service. I didn't care what people thought. I'm guessing most of my church family knew why I was crying, but it didn't matter. I was standing and singing only because God pulled me up that morning out of darkness and gave me strength to sing His Name through the depths of sorrow. Another miracle.
And it was another step toward healing. I didn't realize when I put my dress on that morning how stepping out in humility and faith was truly profound. There's something about the combination of the true Word of God and music that sets me free! Praise Him!
As I walked alone to my car after I had sung and cried in church, I was still tempted to doubt God's goodness. In that lonely moment, I thought I heard Anna say to me, "It's worth it Mama. Stay strong. It's worth it."
So back to the cemetery from earlier today...
I was slowly steering the car through the gray road that winds through areas of green grass dotted with more gray. As my weary eyes scanned the markers of souls that once breathed here, warm tears slipped down over a sight so dark and empty. Unplanned by me, the song on the CD playing was Blessings by Laura Story. I let the words shower me as I stared at the inscriptions of precious names I didn't recognize, knowing that I would fairly soon be staring at my daughter's name in a similar spot.
"...when darkness seems to win,
we know that pain reminds this heart that
this is not, THIS IS NOT OUR HOME!
It's not our home.
What if my greatest disappointments
or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy?"
(You can find the recording and full lyrics of this song on the Special Songs page of this blog.)
Suddenly the cemetery wasn't dark and empty anymore. Instead of total grief, I was filled with hope! Those markers reminded me that life on earth in our mortal bodies isn't all there is. We were all made for more. We have eternal purpose. The earth in its current state isn't our destiny. God has intended so much more for life. And thinking of my darling Anna girl enjoying the presence of Jesus so completely brings my aching heart peace. Not only for her, but peace that inspires me to continue on with another day - whatever God wants me to do - singing, dancing, creating, loving... all for His glory.
The very same God that spins things in orbit
Runs to the weary, the worn, and the weak
The same gentle hands that hold me when I'm broken
They conquered death to bring me victory
Now I know my Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry
I know my Redeemer lives!
He lives to take away my shame
And He lives forever I'll proclaim
That the payment for my sin
Was the precious life He gave
But now He's alive
and there's an empty grave!
(from "Redeemer" by Nichole C. Mullen)
Friday, February 10, 2012
heading where no man has gone before...
No, this post isn't about Star Trek, although I do enjoy a good episode or two. And the movies are generally pretty good too. No, this is about today, which is going to be a big day in the lives of the Grofreeppley family. That's the Gross, Freeby, Peppleys - in case you were wondering. That would be the Matt & Alissa Peppley (us), Randy & Cathy Freeby (Alissa's parents), Matthew & Kim Freeby (Alissa's brother and sister-in-law), and Jason and Katie Gross (Alissa's sister and brother-in-law) families. Also, this day will likely be noted by lots of other people in our extended families.
You may ask yourself why, and that is okay. It's not because today marks the 65th day since our sweet little Anna Joy was born. Nor is it because it's the weekend before Katie's 30th birthday (sorry Katie...or should I say Happy Birthday?), nor is it because we are heading into uncharted territory. You see, today marks the day that Matthew and Kim are having their 3rd little baby girl (heretofore and henceforth known as "Junior") delievered via caesar salad section.
 |
| Alissa & Kim a few days before Anna was born. |
Well, we are kinda heading into uncharted territory, at least for us. The big question for all of us, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. is how are we supposed to react to this beautiful baby? I'm assuming she's beautiful anyway...most babies (in my opinion) are not pretty, but their first two were pretty cute, so I'm betting number three will be as well. Anyway -- none of us know what to do. Do we sing for joy at the birth of Junior, or do we weep with sorrow at the passing of Anna? Or do we do both? If so, how do you mix joy with sorrow? You see, those two things don't typically mix well. They're kinda like water and oil. Well, not exactly. Water and oil don't mix at all. But joy and sorrow do mix, albeit not that well.
We in the Grofreeppley household have had many discussions over the last few days about this very topic. And there have been lots of tears sitting in the corners of eyes during the conversations. You see, we all miss Anna, but we also can't wait to meet Junior. But how are we going to react? Who knows?
Last night Matthew and I were discussing today's event while we stood in the parking lot at Wal-Mart. Not your typical place for a meaningful conversation, but sometimes you can't choose the ideal locale, so there we were. Both of us wanted to say something to the other, but neither of us knew what to say! From my standpoint, I wanted to tell him to not worry about being happy and joyful for Junior's arrival. From his standpoint, he wanted to tell me to not worry if Alissa and I feel like we can't be around because of too much pain. But then, neither of us felt like that was adequate for what both of us as c0-fathers and c0-brother-in-laws are having to deal with. But the point is that we, as well as the rest of the family, feel like we don't really know what to say to each other.
But we are all trying to be cognizant of each other's feelings. Matthew and I decided that while there must be people out there that have gone through similar situations, we don't know anyone who has had a granddaughter/daughter/niece/cousin/sister born and die eleven days later, and then have a granddaughter/daughter/niece/cousin/sister born about two months later. Crazy! That's what this is. Just plain crazy!
The point of this is this: we will miss Anna Joy a lot today. But we will be extremely pleased to meet Junior (whatever her name will be...) and will be filled with joy. And when I say "we," I mean all of the Grofreeppley household.
By the way, when Anna's Aunt Kim held her on the day she died (Anna died, not Kim...), baby Junior jumped as soon as Anna was placed on Kim's belly. And Junior continued to jump and jump and jump. So we all think that Anna and Junior have a very special connection. Grami Cathy has pictured the two of them giving high fives on their way past each other - Anna going to heaven and Junior coming!
 |
| Auntie Kim holding Anna while "Junior" jumps. Very powerful moment! |
Oh, Junior's here now. I think we're going to go see her and cry. A lot.
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