Today's Soundtrack

I believe

-Christina Perri

Miracle of Mercy

11 Days
December 19th. The date my c-section would have been. How did it get here so quickly?

Confessions
I've had a lot of tears today. There haven't been many days filled with tears - which is unusual - as I am not one to shy away from or shove back tears.

I haven't spoken to God much in the last 9 weeks. Talked about God - yes - and often.
Talked to God . . . not so much.

Today I finally did - hence the tears.

Understanding
I'm a deeply introspective person. I like to understand why I'm feeling the way I am, where the feeling comes from, how it got there, if it needs to go or stay, be strengthened or demolished. It's like a puzzle - my feelings - that I love working to solve.

When it comes to how I've felt about the death of Maggie and Ellen in relationship God, I've had a hard time solving the puzzle of feelings.

I'm married to a seminary educated man. My parents, sister, father-in-law, and the majority of my close friends are all seminary educated people. Heck, I have half a Masters of Divinity myself. Theology - as you can imagine - is a topic that frequents many of my conversations. My understanding of who God is and how God interacts in and with the world changes as God reveals more of God's self to me and as life continues to unfold in unexpected ways.

Sitting here one year ago, I found myself a bit annoyed with God. God was inviting and encouraging me to more deeply explore what I believed about God's interaction in and with the world. Why? At that time I didn't understand. Sitting here today, I am so thankful for that invitation. Now I know God was graciously preparing me to survive 2014 and all the death, pain, and hell its brought with it.

I'm married to a seminary educated man - who is a pastor.

One of the unwritten pastor's wife proverbs goes something like this:
A wise pastor's wife keeps the intricacies of her theology to herself. 

This year, I was led to a new understanding of who God is and how God interacts with humanity.

This new understanding is the reason I haven't felt the need to ask God why Maggie and Ellen died. It's the reason I haven't felt angry with or abandoned by God.
The reason that no matter how overwhelmed by grief I feel, I can still proclaim with honesty,  "Emmanuel. God with us."

So what have I been feeling? What has kept me from bringing my deep sorrow to God?

Thankfully, a recent conversation led me to the answer.

Mercy
Have you ever begged for something; love, forgiveness, or like my daughter, just one more episode of Dinosaur Train?

The feeling of receiving something you've desperately hoped, longed, and asked for - ah - that joy could run the world.

The feeling of being denied . . . that pain . . . crushing. 

I feel like we begged for mercy. We begged, pleaded, and petitioned.

I did.
He did.
They did.  
Thousands did.

I feel like we begged for mercy and got none.

Even writing that - I know it's not the truth.
My dad, the soon-to-be General, likes to remind me that many times our feelings lie to us.

There are countless mercies we've received - my life for example.
Please hear me say that I see those mercies and have genuine gratitude for them.

Yet, as a mother, those aren't the miracles of mercy I wanted.

The mercy I wanted was in the form of Maggie Jane and Ellen Olivia Miller - alive and in my arms - 11 days from now.

The mercy I wanted was to spend another Advent growing life - not grieving death.

The truth of the moment
One of God's most current gifts of mercy is giving me the freedom to sit with my feelings; no matter how irrational or untrue they are. For the moment - God allows my feelings to be true, rational, and  justified.

The truth of this moment is hurt.

It hurts that the God I believe to be the conqueror of death allowed my daughters to die.

Even though I don't believe God is in the business of protecting people from suffering and death, I wanted my daughters to be the exception. A miracle of mercy.
   
On a flight home this week I asked a woman of another religion how her day was going. She responded that her day was good - that every day was good. She went on to explain that it was never alright to say a day was bad, because if you did you'd make the God she believes in angry. 

God sat with me today at Maggie and Ellen's grave as I cried and spoke of my hurt. He sat quietly and allowed me to explore and express my feelings and pain - the true and untrue, rational and irrational.

God welcomed me and my feelings with grace, peace, understanding, and kindness. I wasn't met with frustration or hostility, anger or unrealistic expectations.

The bearer of all burdens gently took 9 weeks worth of hurt and held that pain with me.

I serve a God who isn't afraid to enter into the mess of our world.

That is mercy.
    
Eventually I got up, wiped my eyes, and walked away from the grave; feeling empty but alive, hurt but not alone.  

That is a miracle. 

Thankful for a Picture

I had planned on spending Thanksgiving in the NICU next to my precious girls. 

Thankful to be surrounded by family on this day that is filled with so much love and heartache. 

Thankful for Maggie Jane Miller and Ellen Olivia Miller,

who would have been nearly 33 weeks old today.

They touched so many parts of the earth they knew for only a few moments. 

A Season of Thanksgiving and Hope

Great Grief - it is so much more than an emotion. 

I've found that many times it feels like a physical battle. 

Me vs. pain.

Me vs. sorrow. 

Me vs. the darkness of death.

It ebbs and flows - this great grief. At times a nearly unnoticeable hum of discomfort; other times a weight so engulfing I am certain it will crush me to my very core.

As the week of Thanksgiving and the season of Advent nears, I have felt the weight of sorrow increasing. Increasing weight adorning an unwanted necklace that continues to pull me into the depths of sorrow. 

I like the way Elizabeth Gilbert describes great grief:

“Deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place.” 

Though this forest of sorrow I currently inhabit is thick and full of trees, beams of hope and thanksgiving still shine through the foliage. 

There is so much to be thankful for. 

-My life and health

-My incredible partner and best friend 

(We've survived a lot.)

-The people who have been brave enough to stand in the forest of sorrow with me

-My miracle of a daughter

-Those who continue to pray and give encouragement

-My local body of Christ

-Ministries like Hope Mommies and Hannah's Hope where our story can be shared and strength can be found with people walking the same road

-The many books that help educate us on what this road may hold

-The pictures we have recently received from Maggie and Ellen's first and last day on this earth

-The moments my daughters were alive and in my arms

There is so much to be hopeful for.

The season of Advent is a time wrapped in beauty and anticipation.

A time to prepare and wait in great expectation - for Emmanuel. 

Yes, Emmanuel came, long ago to a teenager in a barn. 

He came - God with us. 

God with us in the light and in the dark.

God with us in the joy and in the sorrow. 

God with us. Always. In all things.

God with us - to bring us the Good News. 

The Good News that the God who came still comes.

The God who spoke still speaks. 

There have been many Advent seasons in which my heart has not been prepared and I have not waited in expectation for the arrival of the One who still comes. 

I imagine that will never be the case again. 

This season brings hope.

And I wait this year expecting to receive hope.

Hope that I will never be alone.

Hope that this sorrow that seems so sharp now, will not always. 

Hope that one day this baby redeemer - this Emmanuel will come make all things right.

Hope that God is truly with us.

I pray you also wait in great expectation this Advent season.

Wait with hope, for hope.

The one who came is coming.

 He is Emmanuel. 

God with us.

 

You May Have All this World. Give Me . . .

The Tattoo.

I've always wanted one but never had much of a reason to put myself through the pain and foreverness a tattoo requires. 

Now I do.

I wasn't completely sure how I'd feel about it once it was done. 

Let's hope I like it, right? 

I do.

I've had several pieces of beautiful jewelry honoring Maggie and Ellen gifted to me. Over the weeks I've found myself feeling quite guilty if I wasn't wearing them or if I wanted to wear something else. As a result I haven't worn much other than my wedding ring. 

Though it may seem odd, this tattoo makes me feel like I'm honoring Maggie and Ellen all the time. 

And it helps me remember. 

I need help remembering. 

Emmanuel.

God is with us.

Even when I'm lost. Even when I'm angry. 

Even when the pain is so real and heavy it's hard to function. 

Emmanuel. 

God is with me. 

I needed that reminder as I sat in church this morning. 

A choir from Oklahoma Baptist University led our music today. And during a version of Give Me Jesus, similar to this one, I began to weep. 

The music created a vision. 

All of a sudden I saw Maggie and Ellen, about Abigail's age, 

singing this to Jesus as he tucked them into bed.

They were happy, loved, and singing to their true parent. 

They love Jesus with such an innocent and pure love.

Emmanuel. 

God is with them.

I sat and watched this in my mind and found myself overwhelmed with grief.

I want to hear their voices. I want to listen to them pray. 

I want to tuck them into bed each night and teach them to sing Give Me Jesus.

Although there is a place somewhere inside me that is deeply grateful Jesus is caring for His girls, today I found myself envious that Christ knows Maggie and Ellen and I don't. 

He knows the sound of their laughter, the look of their smiles, the warmth of their hugs.

They will always be His girls, but they were mine as well. 

Oh what I'd give for but a moment in their precious presence. 

Thank you, Lord, that when I'm jealous, in pain, and can't bring myself to sing 

"you may have all this world; give me Jesus," this truth remains - you are Emmanuel. 

God is with us. 

God is with me. 

God is with them. 

God is here.