Kristen's 2nd Heavenly Birthday

I've wanted to get all the details of Kristen's birthday written down, but have had a hard time getting it done.  The days leading up to May 7th were tough ones.  Then to be followed so closely by Mother's Day...it left me emotionally tuckered out.

I'll start with something I ordered earlier this year...a Baby be Blessed doll.  Ever since I found out about this ministry, I've wanted to get a doll for Kristen.  Each doll is handmade and includes a scripture on its tummy.  They have lots of colors and styles to choose from and are truly a joy to work with.  Sweet Laura from BbB contacted me after I submitted my order to let me know that since it was a memory doll, they could include a photo or handprints/footprints along with the scripture patch.  This preview was made into two patches to actually fit on the doll:

I love that Kristen's name and the scripture form a heart shape.  The doll is just precious, too.

My oldest daughter is an amazing combination of technical and creative.  She folded a garden full of tiny purple origami tulips and arranged them in the shape of a 2 for Kristen's birthday.  After adding some fun effects to the photo, she included it in a collage print to frame as a surprise for the rest of the family.

Then she created a Basic program on her computer that, pixel by pixel, spelled out "Happy Birthday Kristen" and played the birthday song. 

I was very touched to have a friend of Grace's bring me this pretty yellow rose in honor of Kristen's birthday.

Her mom sent a yummy cheesecake to work for us to enjoy during our Wednesday afternoon staff meeting.  It was such a thoughtful thing to do!  Though the flower and the cheesecake are both gone, they remain a beautiful reminder of how loved we are and that Kristen is not forgotten.

I was finally able to get the pink geraniums planted around Kristen's tree a couple of days before her birthday.  In all honesty, geraniums have never been my favorite flower, but I wanted to have something pink around her tree that would look pretty on her birthday and continue to bloom throughout the summer.  Geraniums fit the bill!  The ones I planted last year were a solid pink.  We went with a "designer" variety this year that are two-toned.

 

We woke Saturday morning to find a birthday balloon, some yellow and pink potted daisies and a beautiful stained glass purple solar light around Kristen's tree.  I made a pink and white balloon wreath for the tree and hung it at 6:25 a.m. - the exact time of her birth.  Someone brought a lovely bouquet by sometime while we were gone.  The little tree looked beautiful!

The four of us released some bright pink balloons a little later.  It was a beautiful morning, with just enough breeze to take the balloons up and away with a few notes.

 
We headed to Tanganyika Wildlife Park in Goddard, KS for a family day.  We enjoyed seeing and interacting with a variety of animals, from penguins and armadillos to kangaroos and kookaburras.  Grace fed a giraffe and a ring-tailed lemur, and Emily rode a camel.  We drove out by Lake Afton and watched some remote control airplanes for a while.  They even have a landing strip for them.  We capped off the day with a delicious meal at Carriage Crossing in Yoder with my dad and step-mom.

This little guy loved the craisins Grace fed him.
He even grabbed her hand!

Camels are good at bumpy rides...

This giraffe loved lettuce leaves.

Since we were gone most of the day (and had splurged on dessert at Carriage Crossing), we decided to hold the birthday treats over to Sunday.  Will's parents joined us at church, then came back to the house for lunch.  Will's younger sister and her family joined us, too, and we enjoyed BBQ brisket, baked potatoes, sweet green bean bundles and Mel's yummy pea salad, all followed by birthday cake and bread pudding.

We are a family of chocoholics.  The requests for birthday cakes are always for chocolate cake.  For whatever reason, though, whenever I think of Kristen's cake, it's always white cake.  I frosted the two round layers with bright pink buttercream frosting, trimmed them in white and added a big monogram-type "K" to the center.  It was a new cake recipe (definitely one I will make again), and it turned out beautifully.  And I didn't get one single picture of it!

Bread pudding is also a "must-do" tradition for Kristen's birthday.  I'll save that story for another post, but suffice it to say that bread pudding makes me smile.

By the time Sunday evening arrived, I was feeling an odd sense of relief at having made it through another of Kristen's birthdays and another Mother's Day, too.  The days before had been such hard ones.  The highs were not especially high, but the lows were extremely low.  Extremes and tears at nearly every turn.  And God continues to be faithful.  He provided comfort, yet again, through loved ones who remembered us, and remembered Kristen.  The support of my dear Respite Retreat friends was (and is) such a blessing.  The sweet thoughts and prayers from friends that I've never even met in person are like a warm embrace.  Thank you, one and all.

Dear Sweet Kristen,

I don't know what birthdays in heaven are like.  Every day is beautiful and perfect, so maybe birthdays are just like any other day there.  Here, however, your birthday is a tough one for me.  I know it's a celebration of your birth, and that is absolutely a joyous occasion.  But that joyous day has a line attached to the saddest day of my life.  It's like a beautiful balloon with an ugly weight tied to it.  Though I can't separate them, I can set my eyes on that balloon.  You taught so many of us to look up, Little One.  I'm doing my best to follow your lead. 

All my love, Mommy

Focus

There are still days that I feel utterly stunned over the events of the last couple of years.  There are moments that it all seems so unreal, like a bad dream.  A really, really bad dream.  Yet, I know all too well the very sad reality of  missing my youngest daughter every minute of every day.

I made it through her first birthday without her, and now I face her second one on Saturday.  And I'm still having trouble keeping a wider angle on my perspective.  When I stay focused on my hurts, they sting all the more.  It's only in pulling back and looking at the bigger picture that I feel any lightening of my spirit, any joy.  I'm able to do that, but I'm having a hard time keeping it there.  I feel like I have a faulty zoom lens...it goes in, and stays, and stays, zooms out briefly, then goes right back in again.

I'm sad that she's not here to celebrate with us, to tell me what kind of cake she would like, to delight in the balloons and decorations, to smile and pose for pictures with her sisters.  It breaks my heart that we have to celebrate another birthday without her.  It's just not the same.  And it hurts.  As overwhelming and painful as it is, that's the small picture.

She gets to celebrate every single day in the glorious presence of our Lord and Savior!  Oh, the beauty that surrounds her!  Anything I could ever imagine absolutely pales in comparison to what she's experiencing.  She's perfect and happy right where she is. 
That's the big picture.

Why is it so hard to stay focused on THAT picture?  It's certainly one that is full of happiness and joy, rather than sorrow and tears.  It's a struggle, one that I feel I'm on the losing end of most of the time.  Perhaps I've gotten lax in my grieving.  It requires one to be very intentional in many areas.  If I'm completely honest, I have to say that I don't always make the effort.

I'm working on that.  I pour out my heart to God knowing full well that He understands like no one else can.  I'm praying for His strength and for patience as I figure out how to work this lens.  He's a willing instructor just waiting for His student to be teachable.  And it's hard to be teachable when your focus is off.

Terrible yet beautiful

As Kristen's 2nd birthday approaches, I'm finding myself on that wild emotional roller coaster ride again.  The life I anticipated two years ago and the life I have today are miles and miles apart.  My reality today is a family of five that looks like a family of four.  Though I get to experience the joys and trials of two pre-teen daughters on a daily basis, I am missing the would-be antics and cuteness of a toddler who would no doubt be trying her best to run the show around here.  With a soft-hearted daddy and two doting older sisters, I can only imagine how full my hands would be!

The second year of a child's life can be a challenge for some.  We've all heard of the "terrible twos."  With my older girls, however, I really didn't find that to be true.  In all honesty, these pre-teen years have been much more of a challenge.

Maybe I've been going through my own "terrible twos."  I began my second year without Kristen last August, and I have to say it hasn't been at all easy.  In some ways, it's been much harder than the first year.  The missing has been very intense and the alone-ness more pronounced.  I've grown very weary during parts of this ongoing journey and have allowed doubts to creep in.  Rather than being "quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry" (James 1:19), I've done just the opposite.

I have, however, learned some important things about myself and about God.

I've discovered that it's easy to place expectations on people and that it leads disappointment every time.  The only one who will never let me down is God.  And as much as I know that what I just wrote is true, there have still been moments when I questioned Him.  Even so, He's still there for me, loving me despite myself.

I've learned that it's easy to justify hanging onto old hurts, but it's only in turning them over to God (and leaving them in His care) that one can truly heal.

Though this learning process is terrible and painful, it's somehow beautiful, too.  I've experienced a depth of God's love that my life before Kristen did not include.  Some days it's harder to see that beauty, but remembering what Christ did on the cross for all of us helps me to put things into proper perspective.

This song, "Beautiful Terrible Cross," (recorded by Selah) speaks to my heart about the ultimate beauty from pain and reminds me that my situation pales in comparison. 

There is a beautiful terrible cross
Where though You committed no sin
Savior, You suffered the most wicked fate
On the cruelest creation of men

Yet on that beautiful terrible cross
You did what only You could
Turning that dark inspired evil of hell
Into our soul's greatest good

We see the love that You showed us
We see the life that You lost
We bow in wonder and praise You
For the beautiful terrible cross

There on that beautiful terrible cross
Though darkness was strong on that hill
You remained sovereign, Lord, still in control
As Your perfect plan was fulfilled

We see the love that You showed us
We see the life that You lost
We bow in wonder and praise You
For the beautiful terrible cross

Oh, we gained the riches of Heaven
Jesus, You paid the horrible cost
We stand forgiven and praise You
For the beautiful terrible cross
For the beautiful terrible cross

In the cross, in the cross
Be my glory ever
Till my raptured soul shall find
Rest beyond the river

Beautiful cross
Terrible cross
Beautiful cross
Terrible cross

Only the Almighty God could turn something so awful into our ultimate good.  I am ever grateful that He loves us so much.

A delicate balance

There is just so much sorrow in the missing.  It's the missing that makes my heart ache.  I miss her tiny voice, her wiggles, her legs that always seemed to be in motion, her sweet smile (with an occasional hint of an ornery grin).  I miss her fuzzy little head, that beautiful baby scent, the feel of her snuggled into my arms.  I miss her eyes, those amazing eyes.  I just miss her.  The sad irony is that I not only miss all of these things that were wrapped up into three months, I miss the things I didn't get to experience with Kristen.  Perhaps even more than I miss what I had, I ache for what will never be.

As much sadness as there is in the missing, however, there is even more hope in the knowing!  What sustains me is the knowing that none of what happened to our family is a surprise to God.  He is God and I'm not.  He knows what He's doing!  I take comfort in the knowing that Kristen left our arms for the eternal safety of His.  She's perfect and in His presence!  There is hope in the knowing that our heavenly Father will make all of this right one glorious day!

In the here and now, the missing tends to get in the way of remembering the knowing.  The waves that wash over me sometimes crash so loudly against the shore that I can barely hear His voice.  I know, however, that it's there. He's there.  The knowing is never gone.  I suppose the missing and the knowing, like the sorrow and the joy, will always be part of a delicate balancing act.  For the times when I lose that balance, I am so thankful for the Almighty who is always there to catch me.

God met me in Tennessee

I purposely did not write before we left about the retreat my husband and I recently attended, not because it was any big secret, but because I wasn't sure what to write.  The few weeks before we left had been especially hard for me for a myriad of reasons.  Preparing to be away from home for several days and making arrangements for my older daughters brought back memories of doing the same as we prepared for Kristen's birth, then doing it again just 14 weeks later as we prepared for her surgery.  My heart was just heavy as I missed my baby girl.  And, of course, there was some anxiety about the long trip and uncertainties of what to expect at the retreat.

When February 16th rolled around and we prepared to leave, I was so ready for a change of scenery.  I looked forward to some time away with my husband.  Even so, I cried as we left the girls at my sister-in-law's house.  I knew they would have fun and would be well cared for, but the tears came anyway.  On our way through Kansas City, we drove near the same route we had taken to Children's Mercy a year and a half ago, and the tears came again.  I hadn't thought through the fact that we would be driving that near to CMH.  It caught me completely off-guard and melted me into a puddle.

Being able to meet Wendy, one of my "Kristen friends" (people I would never have met had it not been for Kristen), the next night was such a sweet blessing.  This dear lady was my phone nurse during my pregnancy.  We spoke every month, and despite the fact that she could have been fired for telling me so, she prayed for me and for my baby during those uncertain months before Kristen arrived.  She grieved the loss of my daughter with me when she learned of Kristen's death.  We've stayed in touch via e-mail since, and it was such a wonderful joy to get to meet this sweet lady in person.

We drove the next afternoon to "The Hiding Place," a very aptly named lodge located northwest of Nashville.  This beautiful facility would be "home" for the next couple of days for us and 11 other couples.  The common thread?  We each have experienced the death of a child.

We shared our stories and our hearts, lots of tears, gentle hugs, even laughter.  Our stories are all different.  Our children range in age from infant to young adult.  We come from different parts of the country.  Some had watched their children battle illnesses, others had been struck by sudden tragedy.  For some, it had been years; for others, only months.  Some had packed a lifetime into a few short weeks, others were caught completely unaware.  All were left with shattered hopes and dreams.  None of us ever pictured ourselves on this road.  It's a road certainly no one wants to be traveling.  We found a strange comfort in sharing the burdens of our hearts with people who understand.  After feeling like a stranger in a strange land for so long, I felt safe and secure in this place where everyone there "gets" what I'm going through.  We left with renewed spirits, with hope, with e-mail addresses for our 22 new friends and one last bite of some amazing chicken enchiladas. :)

Our new friend, Jon, summed it up so wonderfully: 
"It's the best retreat you never want to go to."

David & Nancy Guthrie were our hosts for this Respite Retreat, the fifth one they've organized.  They've been on this road longer than the rest of us and have used their own sorrow to reach out and minister to others.  The Guthries are amazing...a beautiful couple we are so blessed to have met.

The weekend was truly a respite for me.  I am grateful for the opportunity to attend, for a husband who drove all 1700+ miles himself, for the fellowship with new friends, and for the many ways God met me in Tennessee.

Dying to self

I don't know if these thoughts make any sense together, but they've been on my heart for several days now.  The last couple of Sundays have been doozies!  I'm praying for a gentler day tomorrow...

The sudden deaths of both Kristen and my mom were events for which I was not prepared.  They were not wanted or welcomed, but rather thrust upon me in heartbreaking succession.  I am not silly enough to think that I am, or ever was, in control—I know Who is, and it’s not me.  My recent frustrations are not the result of trying to exert control over anything in my turned-upside-down life.  Rather, I think that they are directly related to a heightened sensitivity to order.  I am (mostly) an organized person, but I’m not a fanatic about it.  I don’t have to have my finger on every tiny detail, but I do like to know what’s going on.  I like to be "in the loop."

My involvement with many things outside of home and (home) school has been scaled back a lot over the last couple of years.  Initially, it was due to a difficult pregnancy, then because I had a new baby, then there was the anticipation of Kristen’s surgery, then her subsequent death.  It's been a blur of emotional events.  I am grateful for others who were (and still are) so very willing and capable to take up my slack.  As I’ve tried to work my way back into the swing of things, I have felt much like an outsider – a puzzle piece that no longer fits.  I suppose that’s to be expected.  I am not the person I was two years ago.

Perhaps because I've felt like I had so little order (or at least, not the order of my choosing) in my life over these past 17 months, I seem to be seeking it all the more.

Last Sunday morning, my pastor referenced the following text from John MacArthur's writing:

“When you are forgotten or neglected or purposely set at naught, and you sting and hurt with the insult of the oversight, but your heart is happy, being counted worthy to suffer for Christ—that is dying to self.

When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your advice disregarded, your opinions ridiculed and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart, or even defend yourself, but take it all in patient loving silence—that is dying to self.

When you lovingly and patiently bear any disorder, any irregularity, or any annoyance, when you can stand face to face with waste, folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility, and endure it as Jesus endured it—that is dying to self.

When you are content with any food, any offering, any raiment, any climate, any society, any attitude, any interruption by the will of God—that is dying to self.

When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, or to record your own good works, or itch after commendation, when you can truly love to be unknown—that is dying to self.

When you see your brother prosper and have his needs met and can honestly rejoice with him in spirit and feel no envy nor question God, while your own needs are far greater and in desperate circumstances—that is dying to self.

When you can receive correction and reproof from one of less stature than yourself, can humbly submit inwardly as well as outwardly, finding no rebellion or resentment rising up within your heart—that is dying to self.” —Anonymous

Based on just the first part of that, I have a very long way to go in dying to self.  Even last week, I was stung and hurt with the insult of an oversight and my heart was NOT happy.  Following times when I have taken things in patient (though not necessarily loving) silence, I HAVE let anger rise in my heart.  That anger was a temporary guest, but one that seems to return now and again.

This molding of me that God is doing is very uncomfortable, even painful at times.  It would certainly seem that losing my daughter is loss enough; also losing the "me" I knew seems to add insult to injury.  I know it must be necessary, but oh, is it hard.

I know it won't always feel this way.  This heaviness in my heart won't always be such a shroud over me.  I am trying to see the joy and embrace the beauty in my life, I really am.  And I see glimpses.  I'm just missing my youngest daughter so very much right now.

Tightly in His grasp

I truly appreciate all the comments and personal messages that my last post prompted.  Each one has given me things to think about.  I've spent much of this week praying and pondering the conversation that caused me to wonder if I was truly relying on God as I should be.

As much as my life sometimes feels out of control, I know Who holds my hand through it all.  I am grateful for a heavenly Father who cares for me in spite of myself, who continues to love me in my most unlovable moments, who never tires of listening to me.

Much of what I heard from you sweet ladies is nothing I haven't heard before.  Goodness, I've even written about it myself!  I guess I just needed to be reminded.  There are, indeed, many layers of grief, and no one's journey through them is exactly like anyone else's.  No one, no matter how prettily they package it, can tell me how I should be doing this.  Even the most well-intentioned words can cause pain.  It's when they come from someone you trust and care about that they can become a stumbling block.

If I pull back the focus, however, and zoom in on the most important relationship, the one I have with God, those words just don't have any weight.

And just so I'm clear on the whole "people are watching" subject...my only concern is that I allow Christ to be seen through my actions.  My tears of grief fall freely.  I don't apologize for them.  Sometimes, I don't even wipe them away.  There's no facade here.  My pastor's warning was really a message to "keep it real," even as messy and ugly and uncomfortable as "real" is sometimes.

Should I ever again feel like I'm being judged or rushed through my grief, I have a simple reply:  "Thank you for your concern, but I am right where I need to be...tightly in His grasp."

Perhaps this week was all about solidifying that for me.  My husband's fancy GPS can tell me in one of several different voices where I'm located, but it can't tell me where I AM.  Thankfully, I already know.