Let the Healing Begin

Another day. Another doctor's appointment. I saw my OBGYN for a 2 week post delivery checkup today, and we received only good news.

All restrictions have been lifted. I can resume exercise and all other normal activities.

I still have headaches and my heel is still numb, but right now that doesn't even matter to me. I can pick up my son, it doesn't hurt to bend over, and I think I can see the sun beginning to shine.

He has given me so much more than I deserve.

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What a Difference a Year Makes

A year ago today we found out we had lost our second child. After 3 weeks of hemorrhaging, his (or her) tiny heartbeat finally stopped. I had the pleasure of carrying our little one for 8 weeks.

It was so exciting finding out I was pregnant with our second baby. My hands were shaking when I read that positive pregnancy test. I even got the moment I told Aron on camera. I haven't watched that video yet. I guess I'm still not ready.

Tonight I'm lying in a hospital bed in New York. It is incredible for me to look back and remember what we were doing a year ago tonight. I feel like I'm a different person. I AM different.

I'm waiting to get some tests run for persistent headaches. My doctors are not overly concerned. Whatever it is, it is treatable - might even just be migraines. I guess after having a baby they like to take precautions and have these things checked out.

I can't even begin to start thinking about trying to have another baby, when my heart still aches to have Walter. I don't want just any other baby; I want him.

Still, I received very encouraging news tonight from one of my high risk doctors who has a lot of experience with AVMs. If nothing else, it was just nice to hear that he is not concerned at all about recovery.

He came by my room to say hello and let me know he heard how well my delivery went. In fact, it went so well that he wouldn't even necessarily consider another pregnancy for me as "high risk." He said I should still see a high risk practice and deliver in a well equipped hospital, but he believes that this delivery is evidence that another one has a very good likelihood of going smoothly. As I said, it was great to hear that I'm on the road to good health. God is so so gracious, but it is the farthest thing from my mind, carrying another child today. I buried my son less than a week ago. My heart is too full of him right now.

A year ago I was lost, frightened, desperate to have a baby, and clinging to the idea of holding on to control of my life and future. Tonight, even though I'm in the hospital again, I'm smiling at the thought of kissing my little Ethan's sweet cheeks, getting one of his big bear hugs, seeing my husband walk through the door, having him lay down in the bed next to me, hold me, and just feeling his very necessary presence.

All I know tonight is that I feel my Father's peace, His goodness, His unfathomable wisdom, His kindness, His healing hand, His love for me. I don't care what the future holds; I just care that I know He will keep holding me in the future.

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Reflections of Our Heavenly Father

This week was tough. My family has been such a tremendous comfort to me. My husband and I are unfortunately separated during the week by a span of about 200 miles. Needless to say, this is a trying time to be separated, but in the mean time I am so blessed to live near my family.

I've loved watching my son play with his cousins, grocery shopping with my Dad, getting to spend more time with my brother, watching my gorgeously pregnant sister-in law's belly grow, and spending quality time with my Mom, learning how to decorate and make her meatloaf. I'm astounded at God's goodness and the multitude of opportunities he's given me to just breathe in the fresh and beautiful parts of life. I'm astounded at his goodness in giving me such a loving, giving, time and energy-sacrificing, warm group of loved ones.

I love you guys, and I don't know where I would have been this last year without you. You truly reflect the love of Christ in your love for me.

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Blessed are those who mourn

We said goodbye to Walter 9 days ago. It's still fresh; it feels like yesterday.

My heart is so broken today. I understand that we all have hard providences to suffer. I know that our suffering is part of Gods plan, but even in knowing that it still hurts so deeply.

Grieving is a natural Godly process. We are not meant to just shrug off our losses like robots. God made us deeply emotional and spiritual beings. There is no shame in mourning. In fact, it is encouraged. God wants us to mourn, to use those deep emotions he granted us. "Blessed Are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." (Matthew 5:4)

The tears seem endless at times, but I want to grieve. I want to feel every ounce of longing to touch Walter's little hands and face again, to cry every tear, to feel my heart ache so much I can barely breathe. I want to acknowledge my son and his short existence. He lived. He was my son. He died, and He went to be with his heavenly Father.

There will be a day that I rise up from the ashes, that I look to the heavens, that I pick myself up off the floor, that the weeping stops, the darkness lifts, and I see the sunshine again. It just isn't time yet. My arms ache to hold my baby, and that's all I know today.

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Walter Daniel Gahagan

Born December 7, 2010 at 2:22 a.m.

Resting with our Maker December 7, 2010 6:30 a.m.

Jesus, Bring the Rain

I spent many evenings and afternoons sitting at my Grandad's table pouring ourselves over the Shorter Catechism, Romans and other Scriptures. My preteen and teen years were extremely developmental for me as far as my faith goes. I can remember multiple evenings that we were so overwhelmed by God's grace and mercy for us we were moved to tears. My Grandad had a ferocious love for the Scriptures that was unsurpassed by anyone I can recall, a love that was contagious. I watched him suffer daily from severe physical ailments that caused him constant pain, but he never ever blamed God. In fact, his suffering, I'm sure, is what caused him to cling even harder to the cross. I've never known a reformed, conservative Christian man to be so passionate and charismatic for his Maker. He sang "What E'er My God Ordain is Right" with complete conviction. When he recited hymn lyrics or Scripture he did it with his whole heart. He made the Word of God his anthem. Walter and Elspeth Ferrier lived lives of suffering and yet lives that were so filled with the Holy Spirit.

I have caught myself wondering sometimes, "When will we have some relief? A respite... When will our lives be normal?" But I am reminded of the lives my grandparents led. I don't remember a time that they weren't suffering. They were grateful for God's love for them no matter how bleak the circumstances. It is hard for me to think that there are no guarantees in this life, that I don't know what the future holds, that it may be a long time before I know that rest I so deeply desire. And yet...

I am so thankful that God is keeping me close to Him. When I think about my spiritual well being when life was "normal" and "easy," I remember having less of a "need" for Christ (or what I thought was less of a need). I don't remember feeling the longing that I do for Him now, for His Word, His presence. It is a shame that for me, apparently, it takes such times of trouble to keep me clinging to the cross, to my Jesus.

I will say this: if a life of difficulty, of sorrow, or pain, anguish, physical trials, loss and tears is what it takes to keep me close to God, then that is what I prefer. If an easy life, with little difficulty and normalcy produces weakness, poor character, a stunt in my spiritual growth and complacency, I don't want any part of it.

I will take whatever He gives me as long as it means I will want more of Him, as long as it means He will keep me close to Him.

My Loss, Your Gain

I remember your lips. I knew you were a boy the moment I saw your sweet little face. You had your Daddy's mouth. You had his hairline, his ears, his fingers. There was no doubt in my mind you were our son.

It's barely been two days since we watched your tiny heart beating through your chest. You were so strong even with so many physical difficulties.

The pain now is so raw. There was no way to be prepared for losing you. If I could have done anything, if giving up my own life would have meant preserving yours, I would have gladly.

Better for you to be with Jesus than with me though. My single comfort is that God chose to bring you to himself and spare you the suffering of living in this cruel, unholy world. Knowing that you are in God's hands instead of mine - there is NO better place to be.

But I love you still so much. It still tears my heart apart not to get to see you play with your big brother, to hear your voice, to watch you hug your Daddy, to feel you wrap your little arms around my neck, to listen to you giggle for the first time...

I will wait for the day I can look in your eyes and see you face to face in heaven, but until then I will look forward more to the day I can imagine your sweet face without feeling the anguish and heartbreak I feel now.

You are loved, little one.

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December 7, 2010

"The LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD." (Job 1:21)

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"O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.”

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