The true start of the journey
I went in to get Bella this morning, having just finished my daily stroll down memory lane on Timehop. She was grinning up a storm, flapping her arms excitedly…and instantly my eyes welled up with tears.
I began sharing our journey with Arabella last year during Easter Week. That was the week of the official diagnosis. The Maundy Thursday where we were told our baby girl was incompatible with life.
But the true beginning was a year ago this week. Yesterday, to be exact. Yesterday was the gorgeous spring day that Jeff and I cheerfully headed to the OB’s office for our anatomy scan. With Eliana, we had found out her gender on Valentine’s Day. This time around we decided to up the ante and fun a little bit. We were headed off on a babymoon to the Oregon coast the following morning, so we planned on having the gender written on a card that we would open when we arrived at our destination.
But then suddenly, in the mere blink of an eye, gender became the last thing on our minds. I can still vividly picture the ultrasound room. I can still see the screen as the tech measured the long bones. And then measured them again. And then again. And how her mood suddenly changed and how her chipperness turned to reticence.
Something was wrong.
I remember the frantic google searches with Jeff at the little café table in the entryway of the building. I remember him walking me to my car, me fighting back tears, him cool and collected. I remember walking into my dad’s house to fetch Eliana and bursting into tears.
I remember the phone call that afternoon with a good friend who read my scan. The first naming of possible diagnoses. And the dark cloud of fear that descended. I remember going to lead Perspectives that night, and taking deep breaths to keep the tears from spilling over.
You saw my heart, you saw me begin to write when the Lord had already been working on my heart for several weeks. But on that day? My knees shook, my heart trembled, and I felt terribly ill equipped to walk the road that was being laid out before me.
Tuesday Jeff worked a couple hours in the morning, and then we climbed into the car to head to the coast as planned – only this trip was suddenly not nearly as fun and whimsical as initially envisioned. The envelope with our Poppy’s gender written on it was tucked in my Bible, waiting to be opened, but that didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. About fifteen minutes from our destination, we got the phone call from our OB. Once again, potential diagnoses and next steps. Tests and a likely future trip to UW. And so we arrived at our room by the sea, and I was a sobbing mess. I think the phrase I kept repeating to Jeff was, “I don’t think I can do this.”
When these pictures popped up in my handy Timehop app today, my stones of remembrance tool, the weight of the day came crushing down again. I could feel all the emotions like it was yesterday. Jeff had dragged me out for a walk along the beach as soon as we arrived, and then as the sun began to set we returned to the balcony. Me still on the verge of tears. We opened the envelope. Neither of us were surprised. We hadn’t seen “anything” on the ultrasound, and in discussing things with doctors we might have heard a feminine pronoun slip.
But regardless of what we were facing, we knew this was a life to be celebrated. And so we posed, me with tear stained face and somewhat forced smile.
That evening we walked to the closest restaurant we could find to our hotel. We were unaware of the culinary delights just a few blocks away, and so settled into a table next to the hardware racks at the local Screw and Brew. And in that most unlikely of places we had one of the most significant conversations of our marriage, and I learned a lesson that would serve me well in the months to come. We took the fears swirling around in the backs of our minds, we spoke them, and we examined them in light of who we knew God to be. And I saw how fear left unnamed, left to fester and grow, left in the dark, cripples and paralyzes. But fear named tends to shrivel, and if not die, at least shrink, in the light.
That evening and the days that followed are some of the most important days of our marriage and our journey with the Lord to date. We continued to name fears. We talked about all sorts of scenarios. All sorts of potential implications for our family. Of potentially having a child that would be with us the rest of our days. We reached a place of surrender and but-for-the-Lord-unexplainable peace about the future of our family. Plans and dreams and timetables were released. We were never in the driver’s seat, but now we fully acknowledged we weren’t in the driver’s seat. I watched my husband grow and change in beautiful, dramatic ways as his heart was molded and shaped in a way only the Spirit can do.
What was not discussed was the possibility that we may not get any days with this child. That was no where on our radar at this point. But the heart work the Lord performed on those quiet ocean side days tilled the soil for the news that would come just a few short weeks later. The hard work of surrender and trust had already begun. And now I look back on those weighty, tearful days and I can see the mercy and grace. I can see the grace in putting us in that place where we could not help but fall to our knees in recognition of how small and not in control we are. The mercy in removing the illusion of control from which we derive so much security. The gentle drawing to the acknowledgement that there was One far greater, far wiser, far more glorious who was writing this story. And what a story it is.
And so we left that ocean side retreat with words the Lord laid on our heart. Words that would provide ballast in the storms and months to come. He is a good, good Father, is He not?
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27
Your post reminds me so much of the story of the five loaves and two fishes. Sometimes He needs to show us just how little we have, wether it be resources or control, so we can be overwhelmed by His power, grace, majesty and goodness. He is so good! It has been such a joy to celebrate Bella with you. Thank you for sharing your hearts.
Hugs from Sunny FL.