Hope: birthed at the dawn of the New Year

happy new year, #2015bestnine I'm parked by the fire place at my in-laws house in Boise, feeling the warmth of the fire wrap around me like a cozy blanky. Except its better than a blanky because I don't have to put forth any effort to keep the heat in.

It's a weird thing, this turning of the years like a leaf. Somehow our brains can compartmentalize time and box up the adventures, experiences, trials, and joys of 12 months, stick them into a filing cabinet drawer of our memories, and enter a year with fresh hope and goals and ideas. But as you and I also know, those same adventures, experiences, trials, and joys from each passing year still stick with us. They still phase us, scar us, boost us, and help make up who we are as individual humans. As cultures and countries. As humanity. But still, though the experiences of each year stick to us like glue, becoming a part of us, we are still somehow able to look into the next year, literally as the hours count down, and as soon as that ball drops or that whistle is blown or those lips are kissed, something special happens.

Hope is birthed at the dawn of the New Year.

I am very much ready for 2016.

There were many moments, stringing into days and weeks, and even months that I could not help but think, "I am ready for 2015 to be done." "I do not like 2015." "2015 marks itself as pain-filled, wound-induced, and heart breaking." My heart felt like it broke in half more than I thought it could. And the slightly terrifying thing is this: I am young; I potentially have decades ahead of me. Decades that could very well hold years more pain, loss, betrayal, and broken-heartedness.

And let's be real: 2015 wasn't constantly darkened from what seemed to be the pits of hell. I can just be a drama queen. If my sister[by law, by also by friendship] Emily is reading this, she would give me her look that says, "Nat, don't be such a debbie-downer, you had some really good moments." And she is right. >Though we lost our first baby, we experienced a positive pregnancy test that was not phased by loss and fear. It was the most joyful of moments, full of laughter and dreams and name-games and dancing; full of nursery plans and Christmas dreams of snuggling our newborn close near the tree; full of love and excitement without a hint of fear. >We found joy amidst the mourning every time we visited our nieces. Nieces are gifts from heaven. >Our best friendships deepened, solidified themselves all the more. >We explored 5 countries over 3 weeks in Europe, sipped wine in Paris, ate frites in Germany and Netherlands, we climbed the Eiffel Tower and said prayers in ancient churches and rode trains through Austria. >We spent countless hours with the best of youth; a few tears are falling now as I think over those sweet memories. >We began our incredible journey towards adopting our baby. The #bringhomebabyBrenner hashtag was birthed and I ache for the day it changes it #broughhomebabyBrenner. >We discovered another baby [boy] in my tummy, who is still residing there today at 19 weeks 1 day. >And, we moved to the Portland area.

Maybe it will be #theyearofBrennerbabies. #wecravecrazy.

Loren and I were looking at my "2015 Instagram Best Nine," the most liked photos on my little account, and we were like, "almost all of these were from the last three months!" Every single one except our adopting announcement. What's ironic is that the most liked photos were from some of the absolutely most painful and difficult time.

I don't want to spit on 2015. I spent many days and nights on my knees crying prayers into carpet fibers, but in those moments I knew more than ever that He was with me. I can look back on 2015 and find more grace in the broken pieces of it than in the whole and pretty pieces of it.  So instead of burying the ugly we wore last year and instead of pretending that it didn't happen, let's remember that the messy fragments often serve as the avenues to grace. Let's clothe ourselves with dignity. It is in the messiness and the brokenness, the dirt of this world, that we often find Jesus. We find Him when we are raw, stripped down, and at the bottom of the pit because there is nothing else to experience but His tender grace and presence.

Gah, He is so good and so hope-filled and so joy-importing.

As we approach 2016 tonight, I feel the tingling of Hope in my heart.

I feel the budding of Hope for a joy more profound than I have ever known. Hope for experiencing love and loving deeper than ever. The budding Hope is beautiful and bright, vibrant and radiant. It brings freedom, Hope does.

Hope that we would be better kids to our parents, better siblings, better grandkids, better spouses.

Hope for my heart, that it would find more healing. Deeper healing than I have ever experienced.

Hope for my husband's heart, that it would also find healing.

Hope for Tummy Baby, that we will meet this little boy and kiss him and smooch him and begin the years of parenting.

Hope for Heart Baby, that we will raise enough funds to adopt our baby, that we will meet our birth mama and have a relationship with her. That our family would embrace this baby, no matter what, as their own; that they would acknowledge the baby growing in our hearts and understand that adoption is not charity or a metaphor, but the very heart of God. Adoption is redemption. Family is so much more than blood.

Hope for our marriage to continue thriving, our friendship to develop powerfully, our love to strengthen and deepen.

Hope for writing; that I would finish my [fifth draft of a] manuscript, that I would continue writing as a freelancer and ghost writer, that I would grow and learn.

I want more than anything for my Hope to fully reside in Jesus. And for all other hope to flow out of that. My hope is that I would see Him in the mess and the beauty, that I would see the mountains and remember that our Creator crafted them carefully, that I would see Him in people...the messy, toothless, smelly people. But also in the people I {unrightly} deem as snobby and too-good-for-you. I want to see Jesus in all the things, even when I may only see splinters of Him.

He is my security and my safety, my home, and He shall [more than ever] be my Hope.

Happy New Year, team.

Thank you for joining us on this wild ride.

PS. Did you see our adoption shirt fundraiser was kicked off tonight? The shirts (3 styles) will only be available until January 21, so be sure to order one and support our adoption!

The Tunnel: days following a miscarriage

empty arms october pregnancy loss awareness october pregnancy infant loss awareness October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. I invite you to read these words from Chelsea, our last guest post for the month. Chelsea and her husband have been married for over 10 years. She loves americanos, is a notary, and is trying to radically pursue what it means to die to herself. She has walked through 4 IVF's and 6 IUI's, and through all of that a lot of pain, loss and 3 miscarriages. Meet Chelsea:

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“I’m so sorry to tell you …”

All the phone calls started the same way. In some cases, I was anticipating this call, the bleeding had already started. In others, the hope levels had risen high enough in my chest to anticipate a different set of words coming from the doctor’s mouth. Either way, the outcome was the same. “This pregnancy is no longer viable. I am sorry to share that you are miscarrying.”

Numbness set in. Tears flowed. Questions started flying up to God faster than my brain could think them. My heart would pound loudly. I’d feel sick to my stomach. “This is happening. I am losing my baby.”

When Natalie asked me to write something for her blog, I wanted to invite you into this small, dark tunnel that is the days following a miscarriage. Because miscarriages happen. Not just to me and my husband, but to you or your friend or your sister-in-law or your pastor’s wife. We have walked into this dark tunnel 3 separate times, and each time, the loss and grief is unique, yet overwhelming.

I remember my first miscarriage, lying on the bed, genuinely wondering if I would ever be able to get up again. Every part of me ached. I cried over the loss of dreams, the life that we would never see. I felt physically, emotionally and spiritually strained. God, where are you? Why me?

The heaviness almost became unbearable. I could feel the weight of sadness puncturing my soul, encasing me like a thick wool blanket. I remembering feeling so thirsty but knowing that drinking water would only eventually result in a trip to the bathroom, which held a painful, visible reminder to the sorrow I was feeling.

One of the many hard parts about miscarrying was realizing that life was still going on around me. Days began to pass and with it, I had to shower, grocery shop, go to work, cook dinner, visit the doctor. The fact that people around me were smiling and laughing seemed so surreal. Didn’t they know how sad I felt?

I remember the first time my husband and I laughed together after each of our miscarriages. It almost felt disloyal to our angel baby. Were we allowed to be happy and laugh when that baby never would?

Slowly, and only thanks to God’s peace, strength and presence, the sadness got a little less heavy. It still lingered, mostly catching me off guard in small moments - observing a child at Target, watching a mom hustle a crying baby out of a church service, seeing a commercial on TV with a tiny infant. My breath would catch and my eyes would fill. I would slip in and out of present moments and into a delicate room of reflection and sorrow.

The reality is, deep grief, that kind that comes after losing a child through miscarriage, stillbirth or infant loss, can be all-consuming. Even when you believe in God, even when you know His promises are good, even when you feel His peaceful reassurance of His presence. Even then, grief is hard. Sadness is real, loss is tangible, yet Hope is at hand.

Friends, grieving takes time and there is no right or wrong way to do it. If you need to rest, do it. If you need to scream into a pillow, do it. If you want to hibernate and grieve quietly, do it. If you need to cry, rent The Notebook and sob. If you need to eat McDonald’s French fries, eat them. If you want to go to the movies, grab a drink with friends or sit in a coffee shop, go there. The truth is, there is no wrong way to grieve. Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself the permission to take care of YOU. Be cautious not to shut out your partner. Keep those lines of communication open, even if it’s just to whisper “I feel sad today”.

Put your healing first. Trust that those around you know you are doing the best you can. Sometimes it means you simply have to walk through an ocean of tears.

Healing takes prayer. It takes bringing your grief to His feet each and every day, even if you have no words left to say. God is big enough for your questions, compassionate enough to gather you in His arms, gentle enough to calm you. And even then, it will still hurt. But, in time, it will hurt a little less. The tears do slow down. I promise. Then, the heavy wool blanket of grief that covered you will start to feel a little bit more like a cotton afghan, then a thin scarf, and at some point, you will be able to separate that fabric from hanging on you all the time. The tunnel opens up, fresh air lets in, and a renewed strength comes. When that time comes, it doesn’t mean you have forgotten. It simply means you are moving forward with a new beautiful scar on your heart.

The tunnel is never easy but the words of Psalm 34:18 (ESV) encourage my heart: “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Friends, let’s thank Him today for His goodness even in the sorrow. And let’s remember we are never, ever alone.

With love and hugs,

Chelsea

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Thanks for reading! I love to get to know new friends. Feel free to check out my personal blog at www.trialsbringjoy.com or on Instagram at @chels819.

Losing Baby April: a miscarriage story

empty arms october pregnancy loss awarenessoctober pregnancy infant loss awareness

October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. For the month of October, Natalie Brenner Writes will be hosting a few precious and ever so tender stories about families who have lost babies, whether through pregnancy loss or infant death. My heart and hope is to shed light on the reality, to let others know that they are not alone, and to also *hopefully* reveal some tips on ways to support someone who has lost their so loved and so wanted baby.

Meet my friend Andrea, and her beautiful family. Wife to Daniel, momma to Paige and Baby April who is in heaven. I am so honored to have Andrea share their story of losing their precious little baby. I will never forget sitting on the couch messaging her, asking her about her miscarriage. I eventually asked her what the due date was...and I began sobbing as soon as I saw it. We had shared the same due date this year.

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In April 2015 we lost our second baby at 10 weeks.

I went in for my first ultrasound, so excited to be pregnant again. My doctor was having a hard time getting a good picture of the baby, she called in her ultrasound tech which didn’t have me worried. It was when she asked me to hold my breath, twice, I knew something was wrong with our little baby. They couldn’t find a heartbeat and just like that we lost that little soul. I knew all the risks and complications that come with being pregnant but I never thought this could happen to me. How could God let this happen to me. I was so mad at him. My daughter was going to be a big sister, we would have two just in time for Christmas. In those ten short weeks I had the rest of our lives planned out. It wasn’t just the pregnancy that got taken away, it was so much more.

The next couple months were the hardest months of my life. I felt like I couldn’t keep going, why keep going? I had a hard time taking care of my daughter. I didn’t work for about a month. It was hard to do anything. I remember going to the grocery store a couple days after we had found out and just breaking down. All these people were freaking grocery shopping and I had a baby inside of me with no heartbeat, it wasn’t fair. It was hard for me to see people going on with their lives like nothing had happened. I never realized until it happened to me that a miscarriage is the loss of a child, no matter how far along you are. My baby had died and I was a mess.

People told me ‘well at least you know you can have a healthy baby’ or ‘be thankful you already have a daughter’ I don’t think people were trying to hurt my feeling but those words hurt so bad. I know I have my daughter and I am so grateful for her bright personality but it’s just not what I needed to hear at the time. I needed someone to tell me it was okay to feel the way I was feeling, I needed someone to sit there and be sad with me, to be mad.

That’s what I needed.

I am still coming to terms with this whole thing. Some days it slips my mind and some days it’s all I can think about. That precious little baby should be in my arms early November. It is hard when I see ladies who are about as far along as I would have been. It is a pain I don’t think will ever go away. I talk about it and want people to know, I want people to know what my family has been through and about our loss. I want to let people know it’s okay to talk about, I don’t want to act like it never happened. It shouldn’t be something people feel they can’t talk about. I want everyone to know I have had two kids and I love them both with all my heart and can’t wait to see by baby that was too beautiful for this earth.

My life is forever changed no matter how many more kids I do or don’t have.

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A Lifetime of Love: a baby loss story

empty arms october pregnancy loss awareness october pregnancy infant loss awareness

October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. For the month of October, Natalie Brenner Writes will be hosting a few precious and ever so tender stories about families who have lost babies, whether through pregnancy loss or infant death. My heart and hope is to shed light on the reality, to let others know that they are not alone, and to also *hopefully* reveal some tips on ways to support someone who has lost their so loved and so wanted baby.

Meet my dear friend, Holly.  Wife and momma. Hard worker and loving kindness. I went to church with Holly when I was in High School. Fast forward a few years and she contacted me when she was pregnant with Jaxon, letting me know that she had already endured a miscarriage, wondering if I had any tips on how to healthily go about this second pregnancy. (I am a doula). Two months later I am walking through my own darkness of miscarriage so I reach out to her, hungry for validation and prayer.

Thank you for sharing, Holly.

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“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew {and} approved you {as my chosen instrument}; Before you were born I separated you and set you apart, consecrating you; I appointed you a task– “ Jeremiah 1:5

I am a mother. Not because I carried a baby for 9 months or because I delivered a new person into this world, but because we conceived.

I was 20 years old and on July 10th, 2013 a spark ignited in my womb and life was created. I know this was the day of our baby’s beginning as this was the day my husband proposed to me. The evening was so full of joy and excitement as our dreams were becoming true that we couldn’t contain ourselves and I will never be ashamed of it since it was through that love expression, God spoke and life was made, even out of the marriage covenant.

Before I left for my first wedding dress fitting 4 weeks later I saw the positive sign on the pregnancy test. I was shaking. Partially due to nerves but more so the love that flooded me as I placed my hands over my womb and knew there was a life in there for the first time! Beautiful!

I told my fiancée the news the next day and after a few deep breaths he said with tears in his eyes, “I’m going to be a daddy?!” and so the hugs and tears commenced.

One week. One week was all we had with our first child before I just didn’t feel right. We went to the doctor who scheduled an ultrasound by which we were able to see the sac where he was so cozy but our little one was still too small to be detectable at 5 weeks old. We went home assured that everything was fine but the next day I bled and it didn’t stop.

A trip again to the E.R. confirmed I was in “active abortion of the embryo” as the Doctor stated so calmly and rationally, with no sense of compassion, sadness or softness. I cannot begin to describe the intense feeling that completely overtook me after that. My body is aborting him? I am losing my baby? Why? What did I do wrong? I was shaking. Partially due to being cold in that backless hospital gown but more so the sobs that came as my heart shattered into a

We were told that 1 out of 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage; especially the first confirmed pregnancy a woman bears, then we were sent on our way. The pain I felt not only physically from the cramps but emotionally I can never express. “I am so sorry…” was all I could utter to my fiancée as we sobbed together that night.

I remember holding it because I didn’t want to see the reality the blood produced and I remember when I flushed my innocent baby. I knew it was him and not just another clump. I could feel it. A mothers’ intuition.

Guilt and shame clothed themselves on me like dirty rags after that. I couldn’t enjoy myself. It was wrong to feel happy when my baby was dead. I had killed him with my worry. It was my fault he never saw sunshine or got to experience rain on his face. It was my fault I never got to feel him kick or hear his heartbeat. I caused this… These words the Enemy spoke over me 24/7 in the months that came after that. When my 21st birthday came that December I choked down every drink as best as I could. How dare I consume this! If he was still here I wouldn’t be able to. It was a slap in my face that he was gone and I was empty.

Everyone told me I did nothing wrong, that it was just what happens, that our baby was alive and well in heaven and I would meet him someday. I felt supported and comforted by people trying to help but if I am honest there was nothing comforting about these truths. It was just another reminder that he wasn’t here.

I wish I could give some sort of sage advice to those of you who are seeing friends or family members walk through this type of loss but, I can’t, since I have fallen speechless as I have been in your shoes, watching dear friends and family members grieve. Even going through it myself I too have only been able to say sentences that begin with that horrid “at least he didn’t…” statement and no matter how many times I say “I am so sorry for your loss” I know it is of little help.

What I can tell you though is that prayer is the only weapon we have to help our loved ones when unexplainable loss has occurred. Guilt and shame are wretched tyrants who attack when we are low and cause fear that we will never be whole, never be okay and never not be a failure, but Gods word says in 2nd Timothy 1:7 “He does not give me a spirit of fear, but of power, love and of sound mind.” So pray over your friends and family. Encourage her that it isn’t her fault. That her baby was appointed and created by the Lord of All, just for her in that time and when his life had fulfilled Gods purpose he was called to come home just as we are at.

I wish I could take away the pain you feel, dear sister. Know you are not alone in feeling like it was by something you did to cause this turn of events. You did everything right by loving your child from day 1. You did everything right as your baby’s protector and nurturer. You did it, Mommy. Now rest in your Fathers’ arms of healing and put your faith in His love letter to you. Psalms 139 is His comfort to you right now! The Enemy is allowed no ground in your heart to sow seeds of guilt and shame, so attack him back with the Shield of Faith! Stand as your child’s protecting mother and declare that your baby’s life had a purpose and a reason. He/She is not a waste! Your son or daughter is an angel, given to you from a loving God who knew that is exactly what you needed in the time you had him or her. Celebrate your baby’s life, speak of him or her. Mention his or her name out loud in honor since their lives had just as much meaning as those who live 100 years!

The Lord healed my heart of the hurt and delivered me of guilt and shames chains. I know my baby is at peace, so I am at peace. I know my baby is dearly loved by his maker so I allow myself to be dearly loved by his maker. I know my baby was conceived for a purpose so I will live my life with purpose. My baby is my angel and I will praise the Lord for his days here on earth even if it was just one week. One beautiful, splendid, marvelous, miraculous and most lovely week I

Psalms 103: 2-4 "Bless and affectionately praise the Lord, O my soul, And do not forget any of His benefits; Who forgives all your sins, Who heals all your diseases; Who redeems your life from the pit, Who crowns you [lavishly] with loving kindness and tender mercy."

My name is Holly Strasheim and I am a daughter of a King, wife to a man after Gods own heart and a mother to two children. One very active baby boy named Jaxon and one very loved baby in heaven. It was nice to meet you!

If I Could: a letter to those walking through miscarriage

empty arms october pregnancy loss awareness october pregnancy infant loss awareness You may or may not know this: October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. I didn't know until March of this year. I didn't have a reason to know. For the month of October, Natalie Brenner Writes will be hosting a few precious and ever so tender stories about families who have lost babies, whether through pregnancy loss or infant death. My heart and hope is to shed light on the reality, to let others know that they are not alone, and to also *hopefully* reveal some tips on ways to support someone who has lost their so loved and so wanted baby.

Meet my friend, Josie. She is wife to Danny and momma to many. She loves netflix and is one of the best friends you could ever ask for. She is honest and she is true. They have lost two babies through miscarriage. Be blessed as she shares her heart through a letter titled, If I Could.

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My very dearest friend, I was crushed to hear your news:

I lost the baby.

I never would want anyone to face what you are going through now and will continue to go through for some time. I have been there. To be 100% honest I had forgotten some of the things I went through in the midst of my loss. Time has done a lot of healing to that wound, but I was amazed at the vividness of remembrance of the pain as you described to me your pain, so it will probably always be there with you, but changed and morphed hopefully into a less constant drip of a wound.

If I could I would run ahead of you and silence all those who will say things to you that make your heart squeeze and flip. You know they love you. You know they mean well. They honestly just don’t know. They have no idea what to say and feel they must say something. We know they don’t need to, but they will. If I could I would run ahead and whisper in their ear “Just say ‘I’m sorry and I love you’ and nothing else”.

If I could I would take away the pain you feel when you see other pregnant women and babies. Then it wouldn’t be necessary to also take away the guilt that comes immediately after this pain. The guilt is worse than the pain when the woman is a friend, or a sister or a relative. I would take it away so you never felt terrible about the person you are becoming on the inside. The twist of envy and sadness. If I could I would take it away if for no other reason than because people won’t understand it, and it will hurt them, but there is no control over it no matter how much you wish there was.

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If I could I would wipe away that date from the calendar. That due date. The one that was supposed to bring you all the joy but instead it brings all the hurt. I would just take that date right out of the week, the month and even the year. Even 9 years later mine echoes in my mind. If I could I’d save you from that.

If I could I would take away that anxiety of the next two pink or blue lines. I would fill you only with joy over the prospect of seeing those positive results. I would make that joy grow and bloom and overflow you, pushing out the anxiety of even breathing lest it trigger round two of your worst nightmare.

If I could I would tell all those around you that this process takes time. Much more time than you or anyone else wants it to. That somedays you will be fine and others not so much. That no amount of pushing you to “get over it” will in fact make you get over it. I’m not sure there is a getting totally over it. You may have other babies, and as those babies grow you will think of the ones that are not growing. You will think of them less, but they will be with you always. If I could I would help people understand that, because to be honest, most won’t.

If I could I would tell you how the father of this baby will handle this. Maybe he will not be affected as much as you, which at times will sting. Maybe he will be deeply affected but not willing to accept that or own it, that also might sting. You have to give him Grace, it wasn’t his body but it was his baby. He may not understand how you grieve because it is so different than how he does.

If I could I would be there to stroke your hair and hold you while you suffer the loss of something so precious. I would tell you to not be so hard on yourself. I would tell you to let yourself feel those feelings because bottling them will just lead to an explosion later. I would say it’s okay to be angry, but don’t let it grow into bitterness. It’s okay to be sad, but ask for Peace from the only One who gives Peace that passes understanding.

Here is what I can do. I can tell you that I know that pain. I have walked this road. I can tell you that for me the fact that I get to share in your pain makes me feel a sense that my pain is helping us both, and while that is not the reason for the pain it can be the good part of it. I can tell you that experiencing pain can make us much stronger, but it requires you to lean on The Bearer of our Burdens and to look for ways to express your gratitude to Him even while in the throes. For me this pain has lessened, became distant.

I don’t know what your story will be, but I will be here to hear it whenever you need.

[Empty womb] Empty Arms, pt 2

empty arms october pregnancy loss awareness october pregnancy infant loss awareness

You may or may not know this: October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. For the month of October, Natalie Brenner Writes will be hosting a few precious and ever so tender stories about families who have lost babies, through pregnancy loss or infant death. My heart and hope is to shed light on the reality, to let others know that they are not alone, and to also *hopefully* reveal some tips on ways to support someone who has lost their so loved and so wanted baby.

The first two weeks/posts, I will be sharing parts of our own story and why this is so important to us. From there, you will have the honor of hearing from a few others.

[I am about to share with you a most precious and personal story that I possess. Why I would do such a vulnerable and risky thing is because I know there are many sufferers, many victims of this, many grievers and mourners, and momma's with empty arms and broken hearts. And they, we, tend to remain silent. For a number of extremely valid reasons, we silently suffer, isolated. There is this thing within me that drives me to share my brokenness, my precious stories that are my actual heart, and point you towards He who loves and He who cares and He who sees it all. Feels it all. Weeps and mourns and grieves right next to me. Right next to you. So please, if this is for you, read it. Soak it in. Know you are not alone. If this is for a friend or a loved one...pass it along. Please. During the fresh time of raw grief, I read a few posts over and over and over again. Because there were not many that hit the home of my heart. I pray that this would hit the home of many hurting hearts.]

 

[Empty Arms Part 2] Written Spring, 2015

The moment those two pink lines appeared was one of those forever-changed moments.  They were faint, but they were there...on five different tests. It was a moment that moved mountains of doubt and sadness in my heart, a moment that ushered in delight unexplainable, that signaled for the sirens of smiles to consume my entire body. Can your whole self smile? Because that is what I experienced. It was as though the Hoover Dam had been ripped to shreds and the river of life and hope and reality and dreams and visions of little toes and squishy cheeks and big blue eyes was flooding my whole being.

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Loren and I cried tears of laughter and smiled the biggest smiles we have ever smiled. That speaks volumes if you witnessed us at our wedding. We jumped around and we danced and Loren put is ear up to my womb - we celebrated. Baby Brenner has been created - we had been waiting for what seemed decades. This was life to celebrate.

Patiently, we had done our best to withhold rearranging our second bedroom until the pink lines emerged or until we were in the thick of adoption. We had nearly moved two times hoping to welcome Baby Brenner (BB), but decided against it both times, "Let's just wait until the two pink lines emerge. Then we will make a decision about moving." A year into this "trying" thing, we stopped scheming up potential names. It hurt too deeply to discover names only to meet a newborn claiming it. We halted planning for the future, because the future was foreign and we knew we needed to live now. Presently. And presently held no promise of a BB. But when those two pink lines arrived... Immediately, dreams were dangerously and relentlessly unleashed. The desires of our souls were close, just 36 weeks away. It was more than a dream, it was reality: we would be adding a third to our small family tree. 

I would swell fat with life, stretching wide and growing round, I couldn't wait to not see my toes. To need Loren to tie my shoes.

Plans began to unfold. Coffee and lunch and dinner dates planned with various family members and close friends. A list of who to tell first and how was formed. Gifts for loved ones were purchased and made, we were ready to share this precious life in special ways with all who love us. With all we love. We knew this little BB was already doused in a divine love, a love immeasurable. 

Let's unleash love for him, we thought. He is worth it. 

When we shared the enthralling news with my in-laws, more clear tears of salty love were shed. Tight hugs and warm embraces, ecstasy indescribable. BB would meet us in October/November at some time.

baby announcement

Courses of action were immediately claimed: we had yet to spend Christmas in Eagle with the in-laws. Why not this year? Bring that bundle of baby with us. A two month young at Christmas! Game plans for our home were sketched out: shelves, storage, make room for BB. My mother in law bought me a beautiful dress, one with a stretchy waistband. I looked forward to wearing it this summer when we saw them again in July; my stomach will be swelled big, round, and beautiful. I would feel fat, but Loren would see me as radiant. Because I was carrying our child. Our so wanted and so loved and so precious child.

We were coming into spring and the flowers were blooming life and all was joyful, hopeful, lively. Promising. Expectant.

nature-flowers-summer-branches-large

flowers-summer-bokeh-large

spring

When the clots of blood fell into the toilet, I felt my heart drop right with the red so bright. I stared into the bowl of contaminated water. Life froze, my heart stopped, and I experienced the heaviest emptiness possible to [wo]mankind. This can't be happening. I swallowed and begged, "Jesus, no. Jesus you are the author of life. Jesus you heal and you are good and you want this life more than I do. Jesus, make your name famous and keep this life living in my broken body. That's miraculous." 

Slowly, I strolled to the living room and laid by the heater. Surely, if I lay down, BB cannot leave my body. Surely, if I am warm but not too warm, he will remain cozy in my womb. Surely, if I think happy thoughts and send oxytocin coursing through my veins, he will experience my bottomless love. Surely, if I drink plenty of water and no sugar or caffeine or anything bad, he will know how much I care and cling to my womb. Surely, Lord, you wouldn't take my child, my so wanted and waited for child. 

When I told Loren I believed we were losing this life that had drastically altered ours, he wouldn't believe it. It was unfathomable. He said no and he searched and scoured google for stories of Hope. Stories of bleeding and life surviving the blood flood. Though many moms and dads wrote their victory stories for the world to see, I knew I was empty. I experienced it when I flushed my baby down the toilet to forever reside in the sewer with feces and vomit and urine. 

Before the blood tests that would unravel our hearts to sheer brokenness, I said to my beloved husband, "If we lose this Baby, I need you to go there with me. I am going to grieve and be honest and I need you with me. I cannot do this alone."  As if I were crazy, he said, "Of course I will be there with you. This is horrible."

It was a Sunday in March when the confirmation of death was given. It was that March Sunday that our life was, once again, forever changed by our little BB.  It was that March Sunday that I knew deeper than my heart that I would feel this void until I reach Heaven. 

Never have I conceived such sorrow, such desolation, such loss. Never has my womb felt so empty, so barren. November, my arms will be empty when they should be fuller than ever before. 

Empty womb.

Empty arms. 

Broken heart.

The weeks that followed were the most painful of my small existence. My chest, my actual heart, ached. Snapped in half, part of it had been flushed down the toilet. It was raw and wounded, gaping open and obviously broken. I had always been warned by doctors that miscarriage was a high probability for me, but never had I any clue as to the deep ripping of my heart that it would entail. People don't talk much about miscarriage, about pregnancy loss, about the death of their very alive baby, and when they do it feels sterile. It is protected - I was protected. I had no idea the penetrating pain of this specific loss. 

My husband and I grieved deeply together that first two weeks. We laid in bed a lot and our tears ran together, knitting our hearts more into one. We named our Baby, we ordered a custom made garden stone, I planted an entire flower bed in his honor. Our friends Ben and Bethany gifted us with a snuggly bear I will never lose, neck jeweled with a B and a dove, and a big bouquet of flowers. We were not going to pretend that this Baby did not exist. He altered our forever. The sobs echoed through life and I was heavy and empty all at once. 

pregnancy loss

pregnancy loss awareness month

   My ultra sound appointment remained so Dr Card could be sure there was "no tissue left." The CNA that weighed me as she has for three years now looked at me with sad eyes, "I was so excited that you were finally pregnant.. I'm so sorry." Words like, "chemical pregnancy," and "spontaneous abortion" were used. They made me feel bad, dirty, stupid, useless, barren

"We can continue fertility treatments after your second cycle begins." As if it were no big deal, as if there was nothing to mourn; no Red Sea to walk through. Just try again. Simple as that. 

But when I dared to glance into the future of this year, what once held promise and life and hope and chubby cheeks to gobble and little toes and fingers to count and poopy diapers and sleepless nights and stupid quarrels because of exhaustion...was now replaced with an irrevocable darkness. All I could see was a dark night of my soul, as I trudge through waves of grief and loss. The loss of my first baby. How could I try to get pregnant again? How could I risk losing another? And yet, at the same confusing time, I wanted so badly to conceive again. I wanted that hope and that promise. I wanted full arms at the end of 9 painful months of swelling and stretching and marking my body with scars of love. 

The blender of desires were confusing.  They still are. The loss of life with such potential is painful. Life that had not yet run its course, did not even have a chance: lost from my womb, our arms. Forever.

I thought other's pregnancy jokes were painful before...

I thought when people said, "Are you sure you want kids?" after wrestling theirs was hurtful before..

I didn't even notice, before, when people said, "well, at least all my kids are alive" as a funny joke that they made it through the day..

I thought seeing all-things-pregnancy and baby related was painful before...now the mere existence of my people and their plumpness and their fertility and their healthy alive babies and even my own self crumbled me to bits of fragmented pieces of flesh. It is an ugly place that I am in; I am that person that people avoid, for fear of hurting. I am broken. More broken than I ever have been. Never have I been so incredibly aware of how human, how fickle, how desperately in need of Grace I am. I thought I understood loss, but I now understand suffering and grief and agony on such deeper levels...and I know there are much deeper levels that I selfishly hope to never experience. 

There are zero words to explain the depth of despair our hearts are traveling through while attempting to understand the ridiculous shift that is occurring while all of our hopes and expectations for that life is dropping out from beneath anything stable. It's an experience and loss that we will never make sense of, it is tragic and drastic and totally unfair.

the louvre

- - - -

Since writing this post in the fresh weeks of losing that so precious and so wanted baby through pregnancy loss, I can say that while walking through the raw ugliness of it, I knew Jesus was with me right there, catching each tear. I knew that He would heal me over time, but I wasn't about to rush it or force it, though at times, I was frustrated at how slow the healing process felt. When people would say, "You will be whole again," I would either think or say, "But right now I'm not, and I think thats okay." I think thats okay to say and acknowledge, believing that one day we will be whole again. It's okay to not be whole, to be broken and sad, to grieve loss.

I can tell you that people who tried giving us formulas and ways to "get through it" really just ticked me off and I had to distance myself from them.  I can tell you that the few people who validated our loss and our grief and our pain and the roller coaster of ugly and beauty and mourning and confusing joy amidst that brokenness, those were the people I kept close. Those who didn't expect me to resemble something I wasnt, those who didn't attempt to mold me into something I wasnt, those who loved me just as I was and brought me meals and precious memory gifts and shed tears with me, I needed those people. Those are very dear friends.

I can also tell you that I nearly punched the multiple people who said, "at least you got pregnant." Instead of violence my heart sank to below my toes and into the earth's crust, reminding me how very little I am but even more how very little that baby's life meant to others.

Please, if you have someone walking through this loss, just sit and listen and validate and hug and pray out loud with them and then shhhh. Pray for peace but also ask God why for them, because they're trying to face that question in an honest way without being condemned. He will not condemn the honest questions of our heart.

Loren and I went to Europe for 3 weeks the end of April and into May. That trip was timed perfectly. Though I had envisioned myself rounding wide while adventuring the trains and trams and hills and streets of Europe, I was still blessed to get away from our normal routine and breathe. I felt that for the first time, I could exist how I was: broken and accepted. I felt that no one had parameters and measuring sticks for me, merely because I knew no one there. It was refreshing.

I had three friends who already have their hands full with two to four kids who blessed me immensely through this process, constantly reminding me to be gentle with myself, constantly reminding me that it is okay to grieve the loss, that it has only been This Many Weeks or This Many Months and it may take a lot longer than I want. They would ask me how I was doing, they would ask me about our little BB, acknowledging that he was real and valid. They validate our baby's life and therefore our loss, and for that I am forever thankful.

It wasn't until the very last day of August and the very first week of September that my heart was able to loosen its grip a little bit and breathe, thinking mainly of our adopted baby wherever he/she/they are. There is no timeline for grief. There is no formula or strategy. I cannot express this enough.

I believe that Jesus is with us while we grieve, grieving and mourning right along side us, about this broken world that is full of death and loss and sickness. The things that God did not initially intend for. I believe that He is with me when I am grieving like a train wreck and when I am grieving beautifully, whatever that even means.

I hope and I pray that you find refuge in Him. Even if that means laying in bed, letting His warm presence wrap around your fragmented self. I haven't been able to say this all year, but right now in this moment, I can say it in full confidence: He is good. And it's okay if you can't say that right now, just know that I am believing it for you in the meantime.

Empty womb [& Empty arms pt 1]

empty arms october pregnancy loss awareness october pregnancy infant loss awareness

You may or may not know this: October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. I didn't know until March of this year. I didn't have a reason to know. For the month of October, Natalie Brenner Writes will be hosting a few precious and ever so tender stories about families who have lost babies, whether through pregnancy loss or infant death. My heart and hope is to shed light on the reality, to let others know that they are not alone, and to also *hopefully* reveal some tips on ways to support someone who has lost their so loved and so wanted baby.

The first two weeks/posts, I will be sharing parts of our own story and why this is so important to us. From there, you will have the honor of hearing from a few others.

[I am about to share with you a most precious and personal story that I possess. Why I would do such a vulnerable and risky thing is because I know there are many sufferers, many victims of this, many grievers and mourners, and momma's with empty arms and broken hearts. And they, we, tend to remain silent. For a number of extremely valid reasons, we silently suffer, isolated. There is this thing within me that drives me to share my brokenness, my precious stories that are my actual heart, and point you towards He who loves and He who cares and He who sees it all. Feels it all. Weeps and mourns and grieves right next to me. Right next to you. So please, if this is for you, read it. Soak it in. Know you are not alone. If this is for a friend or a loved one...pass it along. Please. During the fresh time of raw grief, I read a few posts over and over and over again. Because there were not many that hit the home of my heart. I pray that this would hit the home of many hurting hearts.]

marriage

[Part One: Empty Womb] Written March  2015

My dear husband and I have been dreaming of growing our family in numbers since before we were married. We talked about it over skype and in letters, bringing babies into this world ourself to raise and to parent, and also adopting a few. Before marriage, I was honestly a little wary of being a Momma - what if I hurt those precious and innocent lives, without realizing it? But as we wed and our hearts and bodies entwined into one, a growing desire to create something together that only we could create grew within this soul of mine. My heart was more fertile than my womb will ever be. We knew it would be difficult, impossible some said. But over the years I have had many women share victorious stories of their endometriosis, their radiated ovaries (seriously, why is this my story?), their Protein S Deficiencies and their Factor V Leiden. None of these women had all of these issues combined as I do...but I know that God is bigger.

Months (calculated by cycles) turned into a year and then two, and negative pregnancy tests remained negative, as I tossed them into the trash cycle after cycle.  So many tests purchased and pitched, as I blinked back stinging tears and again submitted my deep desires to tell my beloved husband he was finally a dad.

Infertility is defined as not being able to get pregnant despite having frequent, unprotected sex for at least a year for most people and six months in some circumstances. So however long this lasts, however long this waiting tests my patience, we have been launched into this category being placed under the title by professionals: infertile. For now or forever? We will see. There is no on or off switch, it's a medical diagnosis; but we do believe that all babies are miracles.

season after season

season after season

Friends and cousins and sisters and non-friends and church people and strangers were all receiving this gift of plumpness, planned and unplanned, of little lives healthily growing within their very own bodies. I watched and died to my self over and over and over again. I reminded myself, "This is not about you. The world does not revolve around you. Jesus is near and He feels your anguish. He will use this pain of infertility, this barren brokenness. Let your Hope be bigger, Hope for His presence and will above all."

So I swallowed and took yet another step forward. 

Fighting dangerous jealousy for those who carried a life inside of their womb was a struggle I wasn't willing to forfeit. That doesn't mean it was easy. Envy was nothing near the heart of God and deeper than my desire to carry a child, to mother miracles, was a desire to pursue His way. His will. His heart. His goodness. I knew that, no matter how painful it was to die to myself, His way was best. His way, in the end, was most freeing and beautiful and whole and pure and peaceful. I clung, and continue to cling, to that Truth. But it hurts a lot of the time.

I am a part of a few infertility support groups...but I am the minority in the sense that I fight the urge to bash and criticize and despise those who have the gift, the blessing, of pregnancy and motherhood. I fall into this temptation in my heart, but I do my best to swallow that pride and see them with clear eyes of love. When getting pregnant is talked about as though it is so easy that it is even maddening, (maybe you feel you have 2 too many children), there is a tendency for The Infertile and The Waiting to loathe you. It feels like you're shoving it in our face how terribly broken our bodies seem to be.

Part of my denying myself and choosing to love those who I could have so easily hated was becoming a birth servant. A Doula and Birth Photographer. This has been the most humbling and often times humiliating journey in my small life. But in serving those women who I wanted to be jealous of, I found myself running to Him. Sprinting to Him because He was the only source of safety, hope, joy, protection. I found myself understanding Paul (a biblical author) on a more intense level when he says, "When I am weak, then I am strong." Or when Jesus talks about denying our self completely.

I did not want to become obsessed with infertility; I did not want to let it define me and rule me and become me. I want(ed) my primary identity to be that of a follower of Jesus Christ. Not a wife struggling with infertility, so please pity me. I did not and still do not want this to become all that we talk about in our marriage - our goal is not pregnancy and babies, our goal is Jesus. But this is becoming a major part of our story and there is no denying the pain that is deepening the caverns of my soul

Last fall multiple of My People were able to announce that they were expecting #2 or #3. Bless. In the time we have been trying our best for Baby Brenner 1, our friends have made and brought into the world 2 or 3. In the quiet and isolation of my bedroom, I broke in half and in half again until there was nothing left. Tears were shed and I believe will forever remain on the floor of this apartment dwelling. This suffering and isolation burned through my bones. My husband recommended that we finally go see a fertility specialist. It was time to own up that this is our journey, these are our cards, and we don't get to accidentally get pregnant and be surprised and shocked.

season

The first doctor appointment was in October. Oh the prayers and the submission and the ache to please the Lord! I fasted to be sure I was not sinning in this decision to pursue family growth; my heart ached to be in line with His. December 2014 was the beginning of  fertility treatments. (We began fertility drugs that wreck you up, in addition to but not limited to:  drastic diet changes, exercising regularly, acupuncture, supplements, OPKs, temping and the list goes on).  A drug that gives me hot flashes and hunger like a menopausal woman; a drug that increased the intensity of my nightmares; a drug that made me lose sleep, but by golly it was a first step into making me ovulate good eggs. I did my best to keep this in my daily conversations with Jesus but to also not let it rule those conversations. My heart was to continue submitting this desire and doing what we could, but trust Him all the same that no matter what, He is good

January arrived. More pregnancy announcements. And another cycle ended for me with a negative pregnancy test. But joy was real and I knew that Jesus has good things in store, whether that be on earth or mainly in Heaven. I knew that He is present and that this was not my entire life. I still had my jobs - my Doula work, my photography, my church leader position, house cleaning. I was still a home maker and a neighbor and a youth leader. I was still me: a young wife pursing wholeness despite the brokenness. As I began my second round of the fertility treatments mid January, I prayed to Jesus as I always do. "Take this painful cup; but not my will...yours."

Loren and I then began researching adoption again and what that would look like for us to pursue sooner rather than later. We searched up and down the scope of the internet and we landed on Christian Adoption Consultants. Our hearts were being transformed and hope was rising, but we were also hopeful with this January cycle of treatments. Maybe we could have two babies in one year, we joked and giggled at the crazy possibilities. We thought, hey we aren't getting pregnant as quickly as we thought we would, and we know that we have always wanted to adopt, so why not begin the process of finding one of our babies through adoption?

About two weeks into this cycle I couldn't hold myself together anymore - I sobbed big tears of honest grief and pain and isolation. "Every time I go to text or call a friend about how lonely this life of not conceiving is, I can't. Because they don't understand. They are either pregnant and/or chasing their little ones. They don't get it. They just tell me 'my time will come.'  This is so lonely. I am so alone."

The agony of that night was real and I will never forget it; I wept so freely into loving arms and they held me and prayed over me and begged Jesus nearer. Monday rolled around and for the first time in two weeks I felt the spark of hope. Something within said, "You can do this. You have Him and He is near and He is strength. That doesn't mean this doesnt hurt and is not lonely, but it does mean that He is always here and that this will be used for His glory. This will be used to further His Kingdom."

I began talking with a consultant through CAC, Susan, who was walking us through what it would look like to work with them in pursuing our baby through adoption. We were scheming of ways to rally our community around us to help us grow our family, to love outside of our bloodline. It was thrilling, exciting, adventurous. It wasn't going to numb or bandage the pain of the present infertility, but it would bring us closer to growing our family and loving like we never had before. We told our friends Ben & Bethany, we told Mike and Heather, Kathleen and Brett, Jesse and Daniel. We had plans to tell our family this exciting step.

We agreed: if we are at least six months into this thing of adoption and we get the two pink lines, we will continue both. We are answering the call to adopt and we will not ignore it. Pregnancy is not our goal, so why would we stop our adoption? I still hoped and believed that one day I would carry a life in my womb just as much as I began carrying a life in my heart.

I wrote this post that week - the Lord had been working into my heart the song lyric, "Whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well with my soul." Those words aren't easy. They aren't arrogant. They are not about me - those words are humbling and submissive and whole and difficult and agonizing. They are difficult but they are my anthem cry. I began nesting like crazy that week. Hormones were surging and I was cleaning and selling so many things in our small home. I began ridding of junk and garbage and seeing what hoarders we are. I began carefully plotting how we could make room for a baby, a baby adopted and ours to love until death do us part. Dreams and envisions I have been holding off on letting loose because of many reasons. But as I nested and cleaned and had more energy than I had in months..a fleeting thought that frequently passed through, sparked my heart, "Maybe I'm pregnant." 

But no, I quickly pushed it away because I know too well the deep disappointment that comes with the negative pregnancy test. With the one line staring at you so loudly. With the bright blood that says, "I'M HERE AND YOU'RE NOT PREGNANT, MUAHAHAHA." I pep talked myself, "Do not get your hopes wrapped around those two little lines." Nesting can happen with a surge of excitement for adoption, I was sure. Could it be both?

A particular Monday was cycle day 28 for me. If you know anything about (in)fertility things, it is that you know your cycle like you know the back of your hand, freckles and wrinkles, creases and all.

CD 28, 12 DPO. That day had arrived. I thought I was brave, I was definitely nervous, and I whipped out one of those First Responses. The visit of the flow normally greets me in the evening (sorry to any males reading this) but I knew that the first pee of the day was the most concentrated (again, sorry not sorry). As I peed into that clear plastic cup and dipped that small little litmus like test into my very own urine, I prayed a familiar, "Jesus, we see Loren's parents this week..and it would be QUITE the visit to finally be able to tell them they can expect a grandchild. You can work miracles Jesus. Let this be our year. But Jesus, whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well with my soul."

To be continued.

Joy unkissed by grief

adoption is beautiful, brenner adoption The other day a super extraordinary thing happened to me: I experienced a constant and gentle joy, a pure joy that existed throughout the entire day, not touched, unkissed, by grief. I was heading to visit a friend after work and before youth group; she is a new momma, baby fresh from the womb. No sign of grief washed over me, no hint of anxiety or fear or tight-chest-edness while I drove. No sadness. No despair. Only a freeing sense of joy. Only joy.

This pure-joy-unkissed-by-grief has become a rarity for me this year. This year has been the year of tears. Tears of joy and grief all in one complex thing that makes up a Me. Grief has made me awkward. It has made me unsure of myself, wanting to claw out of my very own skin. How do I feel beautiful when the body I live in is broken and breaking? I find my way back to His word and His promises and I know they are true, no matter how ugly and broken I feel.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18.

As I parked my car in her driveway, I inhaled waiting for the sting of grief, waiting for the stabbing thought "I should be nearing my labor and delivery, over 30 weeks round, preparing to meet our little BB," waiting for the icky ugly feeling that now always accompanies the deep joy I have for the people I love most. It didn't come. It didn't threaten the joy that I have been asking and fighting for. While I sat in the most precious nursery of all time, she fed her baby girl and rocked in the cushy chair and my heart was full. Full of all-the-good-things. Full of pure joy, unkissed by grief.

It is a lovely feeling, this thing of pure joy without the ugliness that grief never fails to bring to my heart. I write this post carefully, with hesitation even, because I know that in the next moment I may be right back in the place of ugly grief begging for glimpses of grace. The place of fighting for pure joy, the heart aching for freedom and laughter and light heartedness. But I also write this post because I want to share how beautiful it is to experience those moments, moments that may become a day, maybe stringing into a week...moments of joy unkissed by grief. I want to bask in those moments and days, allowing my heart to soften and soak them in, rather than harden and protect itself out of fear for the next moment of stabbing grief.

I want to do more than set my life on default to survive, to merely exist and get through. That's more than I could have said three days ago in honesty; sometimes I feel defeated and wonder if jaded is easier. But today I don't want to live numb to life, jaded and apathetic; I don't want to give in to wounded-ness and stop chasing Jesus-joy. What relief to taste the sweetness again. I am a whole-hearted believer in sorrow often becoming a part of someone, moving in as a permanent resident, but I also believe that it can thin out over the years, stinging differently than when it was fresh. I believe that we do not have to merely exist and get through life as a giant wound for years on end. Though believe me, this year I have felt like a gaping wound. I know that gratitude and thanksgiving don't come naturally; but I believe that those rare brave humans who search for good and true and beautiful things, even in the minute and mundane, who thank Jesus for those little precious things, are those who unravel the secret of joy in the pain. I am not there, always finding the joy amidst the grief, but sometimes I do. And most of the time I am quiet about it, timid, carefully and silently seeking Him out in the little things.

This week I have not been able to stop thinking about our little baby. Not the baby we lost, but the baby we are waiting for...the baby we are planning and preparing for through this tragically-beautiful thing of adoption, the baby God is moving mountains for, the baby that will join two families into one. His/her mama has been on my mind a lot this week, too, as I go throughout my days working and spending time with people. I cannot help but wonder where she is, what she is doing, how old she is, is she married? What ethnicity is she? What ethnicity is our baby? What about gender? Is our baby 6 months in the womb or 6 days? Has our baby been created yet?

We made tamales Monday and friends...it brought me so much joy. I could be a Mexican-baby-momma. I can do this! If our baby carries a culture that tamales are a thing, count me in. I will make those. Next month we are trying an Indian dish and then an African American dish.

brenner adoption, adoption is beautiful

As I watched my dear friend snuggle and feed her precious newborn, my heart was full and I wanted so badly in the most purest, most-non-jealous way to be holding our baby right there with her. The baby that has cracked our hearts wide open for this life of adoption. I want to snuggle and smooch and kiss and love and count his or her toes. The longing is pure and light and lovely and it has been unkissed by grief for a running of nearly two days. Two days. My secret strategy? I have none. No one said the magic words to snap me out of it for a brief day, there was no magic prayer or chant or billboard or thing. I have chosen to walk honestly and search for Him, even if timidly and quietly, unnoticeably, but hunt for Him and His graces. 

Something in the deepest parts of me knows that our baby and his/her momma needs us to be praying for them. It is quite possible and likely that is why their presence on my heart has weighed so heavily this week. Loren and I have been praying for our baby and his/her birth family since January; every night we spend time praying over them. But I wonder if I am being called to pray for them constantly, perpetually, ongoingly..they are not leaving my heart or my thoughts and I can't wait to be able to look back and see why. I cant wait to meet them and ask what was going on during this time that my heart would be so heavy for them.

This joy? This joy is different than the joy that Natalie Brenner is usually "known" for. This joy isn't jumpy and crazy but calm and gentle and very present. It is light. I don't know that I will wake up tomorrow with joy unkissed by grief. For months I was not sure if I would ever again experience joy without kisses of grief. But right now today I am accepting the joy, unkissed by grief, and I am counting it an immense reason to be grateful.

Thank you, Jesus, for your good gifts of grace. Teach me to see them in the mundane and every day.