Diagnosis

I lost Brighton one day after seeing a healthy heartbeat on an ultrasound. I remember sobbing in the shower with the distinct impression that my body was killing my perfectly healthy baby. They tell you that's not the case. They tell it's "chromosomal". They tell you there's nothing you could do. It turns out I was probably right though. My own broken body, my own blood, is what's been killing our babies. In all likelihood, they could have been perfectly healthy, happy babies, had it not been for this thing called "antiphospholipid syndrome." And it turns out, it could have killed me too.

Doctors call it "sticky blood". In short, it means my blood clots very easily; too easily in some cases. And if it's not treated during pregnancy, they believe that tiny blood clots cut off blood flow to the baby causing miscarriage. If this doesn't happen, then, as pregnancy progresses, it increases the risk of blood clots forming in arteries and risks stroke and pre-eclampsia, and pre-mature birth.

It's scary, and it's sad, and it's comforting to find this out. We always look for reason in our suffering. We want to know why God has allowed things to happen in the ways that he has. To be able to see that he was protecting me from great harm gives some meaning to the tragedy of it all, though I would of course have risked my life for any of my 3 kids in a heartbeat. But that wasn't his plan. Now we know though. We can take precautions, we can treat it, we can take away most of the danger for me and our future babies, but it won't be easy. Every time that we want to get pregnant from now on will have to be well planned and well prepared for. It will involve 3 different doctors, and 5 medications administered 3 different ways, two of which are contraindicated, and one of which is a daily injection for the entire pregnancy, and a 6th medication if I'm as sick the next time as I was with Keelan. As much as I desperately long to be pregnant again, I'm also dreading it. The joy and excitement will be there, I know they will, but my first reaction will have to be to take a deep breath, thank God for the next precious life, and pray for the strength to face my fears. On top of concern for my next baby's well-being, it feels like it's all riding on these treatments, because it's everything we know to do, and if it doesn't work, I'm afraid nothing ever will, and not only will we not have that baby, we may never have a biological child at all until we meet our children at the throne of Jesus Christ.

But that's exactly where I find my peace in all of the medical jargon, and odds and percentages, and the depths of googling: the throne of Christ. Brighton and Keelan and Addison remind me to keep my mind turned heavenward, towards my true hope for them and for me and for all our future children.Though I am extremely grateful for them, my hope is not ultimately in medical treatments but in the unfailing savior, Jesus Christ. This truth is the difference between crippling anxiety and unnatural peace. No matter what happens, I will have joy and peace in both the happiest and most desperately trying of times, because, as always, everything is in the hands of our God who reigns sovereign over all of his creation; over my life, over their lives, over bodies and blood clots, over placentas and hormone levels, over thyroids and umbilical cords, and every cell in our bodies, and even over death itself.  We are thankful to him for this diagnosis, the treatments that are available for it, and the ability to move forward with genuine hope, regardless of the outcome. To him be the glory, great things he has done, and great things he will continue to do. Amen.

A Prayer for the "Goodbye Parents"

I've seen posts from a number of foster parents in the last week who have had to say their goodbyes to their foster-loves. This is my prayer for these "goodbye parents":

First, I pray for your kids. They may not be in your home, but they will always be in your heart, and you will always consider them "your kids" in a way.

I pray that they are safe and loved, because you signed up for this heartbreak so that they could know those things.

I pray that even if they were too little to remember, that the love you gave them will never leave them and will make a difference for the rest of their lives.

I pray for their salvation; that even if you never see them again in this life, that you'll see them again in the next.

I pray that wherever they may be, God will also place someone who will teach them about Jesus' saving love for them.

Second, I pray for this child's family, because loving our fosters means loving the people who they love and who love them.

I pray thanks to God for restoring their broken family to each other.

I pray God will rescue them from their sin and the situations that led their kids into foster-care, that they may never have to be apart again.

I pray they will be wise, loving, and godly parents.

Third, I pray for you, foster mom or foster dad.

I pray that you would be able to feel confident that this child is loved and safe, wherever they are.

I pray you would have true, deep joy in the restoration of this family, even as you mourn the loss of this child as part of yours.

I pray that when you find that long lost sock in the laundry, or the pacifier under the bed, or when you hear their favorite song, see their favorite toy, or see a child who is their age or who looks like them, that you would have peace and be able to remember your time together with joy.

I pray that when the tears do come, that you will embrace the love that you have for this child.

I pray that you would grieve well.

I pray against bitterness towards the system, the family, and God.

I pray that God will draw you near to him as you walk through each day.

I pray that if you don't have other children in your home, that you would adjust back to this childless stage of life well.

I pray that if you have mixed emotions about this child leaving your home, that you would not feel undue guilt in that.

I pray for your marriage, that you would be able to comfort and encourage each other and talk with each other and point each other towards Christ, that you may be each other's greatest earthly comfort.

I give thanks to God that he has allowed you to live out this calling to love your neighbor as yourself, and pray that he will continue to confirm this calling if it is his will for you to continue fostering.

I pray that if you need a break, that you would have one and take the time that you need without guilt.

I pray for wisdom in your words and actions as you process this grief; that you would not speak or act rashly and in ways you will regret.

Fourth, I pray for your other children.

I pray that they would understand why their foster-sibling is gone.

I pray they would know how to express the feelings they have in healthy ways.

I pray that they would adjust back to life without them well, but that they can remember and continue to love them even in their absence.

Fifth, I pray for your friends, family, and church family.

I pray God places people around you who understand, or, who are willing to listen and learn if they don't.

I pray that when they don't know what to say, that God would give them wisdom so that they would say and do helpful things.

I pray that you would hear even the unhelpful things with an attitude of patience, grace and appreciation, giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Lastly, I pray for the things that I don't know are hard for you today. With my limited experience, I can't even begin to understand how different foster-care situations affect different people, and how your situation is affecting you.

I pray that you would grow in grace, in comfort, in peace, and in love for God and neighbor each day.

Amen.


If you are a foster parent who has said goodbye to a foster-love or who is going to soon, I would love to know more ways that I can pray for you and support you in this goodbye. Obviously this prayer is based on my own experiences, so please, share with me and help me learn how to help you and my other fellow foster-parents better! Thank you for being willing to take on this heartbreak to give these little souls a safe and loving home for whatever time they needed it.

Having Hope

"I will rejoice and be glad in your steadfast love, because you have seen my affliction; you have known the distress of my soul and you have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy; you have set my feet in a broad place. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eye is wasted from grief; my soul and my body also. For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my iniquity and my bones waste away [...]. But I trust in you, O Lord; I say "You are my God." My times are in your hand." -Psalm 31:7-10, 14-16a

Every once in a while someone will say something to me in this season of life that I know I'll never forget. Often it is something that stings, but occasionally it's something profoundly helpful, and, often, profoundly simple. I went to an endocrinologist last week to sort out my malfunctioning thyroid and as she looked through my records, she spoke with genuine compassion when she said "3 pregnancies and 3 miscarriages, that takes my breath away. I'm so sorry."

Sometimes I underestimate the toll that saying goodbye to 4 beloved children (including foster love) has taken, and continues to take, especially when 3 of them were in as many months. This grief is a long, slow burn. The longing to fill our home with family is physical; I can feel it in my chest. The brokenness of death and of foster care still captures my thoughts, I still cry, I still lay in bed instead of doing the dishes, and I still wish them back, even though I know they don't belong here. I still have sorrows and I still sigh, and even with how open I try to be about all of it, I still feel shame in that sorrow. I fear making others uncomfortable with my story and the reality of my grief. I fear being a burden to someone. I fear that I sin by my sorrow. But if it takes away the breath of a stranger, of a medical professional who sees hard things all day long, I'm reminded that it's allowed to take my breath away too.

I'm not doing this grief thing perfectly. But I'm so grateful for the license that this Psalm gives me to deeply, painfully, grieve and sigh. And to know that not only does it take my doctor's breath away, not only does it knock me down, but that God has seen the distress of my soul, and he has seen me sin in that distress, and yet he has been steadfast in his love and gracious in his dealings with me, showering me with his his provision and forgiveness. I recently had a few weeks that were very hard for me; I felt like I couldn't get my head above water, and I felt like my soul and body were "wasted in grief." The longer I let it go, the worse it got, and the more upset with myself I became over it. And then, suddenly, God has set my feet on a broad place the past few days. I feel a spring awakening in my soul. I have a rekindled love of God's word and of God himself. He has not handed me over to self-pity and shame and despair, but has rescued me from my own deceitful heart and manipulative attitudes. My grieving doesn't cease, and there are days that I quip that God has been teaching me patience for 3 years, and I can't wait for him to be done with it. But I know that "my times are in his hands" and I can trust in him, his plan and his love: he sees all my grief, he sees the depths of my heart, he grieves the brokenness of this world, and desires to set it right. What a good and gracious God.

Let me say here, that my husband is such an incredible example to me of God's love. I know that I've been a downright miserable person to be around the last month. I have grumped and griped, and blamed, and belittled, and not once was he harsh towards me in return. He faithfully did the dishes, and brought me water, and snacks when I didn't want to get up off the couch, and spoke kindly towards me with more patience than I know I could have mustered in the same situation. When I realized my attitude and mean spirit, I had to seek his forgiveness, which he gave freely and immediately, asking nothing in compensation and he has not spoken of it again. In an even greater way, God has been gracious to me in ways I do not deserve and in more ways than I can count or even know; the greatest of which has been his complete forgiveness freely offered, and the second greatest of which has been giving me a husband after his own heart to walk through each day with.

I hope and pray that these hardest days are coming to an end. The doctor told me something else the other day: "we're going to treat this, and we're going to have hope." We've discovered that I have a thyroid disorder that can prevent pregnancy and cause miscarriage, and it's easily treatable. We've also found that I might have a clotting disorder that causes miscarriage and serious conditions that are life-threatening to both me and an unborn child, that can also be managed with great success. And so, though it's hard for me to really believe after so much loss, we have real hope that we will soon be on our way to welcoming a child into our arms to stay. What a beautiful, beautiful thought.

Whether or not we have children, we will still have hope. We will have a hope that is not difficult to believe, because unlike our experience with pregnancy and parenthood, we have not once been failed by the hope of Jesus Christ. Come what may, I will rejoice and be glad in his steadfast love whether I have joy or sorrow, excitement, or disappointment; for I always have Jesus and his everlasting love for me. I have the hope and knowledge that he will glorify himself in me and my circumstances. He will give grace and strength to not just face another day, but to be content and seek his glory in it, if only I ask. May he make it so.