Laying up Treasure in Heaven

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust does corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. - Matthew 6:20-21

So here we are - nearly five months since our little Andrew Stephen visited me in a dream, said goodbye and went to heaven.  Since then, I healed physically, got back on track with my diet and health, and felt the emotional healing that was so needed. 

I have set up a soapbox on Facebook and in my circle of friends to champion the cause of Mothers and Fathers whose children die before birth.  I want our society to know that a child is a child, no matter how small.  The death of a 10 week old child in the womb IS equivalent to the death of a 10 week old child out of the womb --  Or a 10 month old, or a 10 year old.  A child is a child, no matter how small...

So it came as a complete surprise in January to see two pink lines on the pregnancy test.  I was pregnant three months - almost to the day - of saying goodbye to Andrew.  I am 45 years old. Everything I've read says that it's next to impossible to get pregnant at that age.  I don't have a problem getting pregnant.  I have a problem staying pregnant.

My first thought was anger. I was mad that this was happening again.  I thought I had learned all the lessons and was ready to move on.  Now I could come alongside others who were hurting and help them handle the hurt.  I didn't want to hurt again.

At first, I didn't have a lot of pregnancy symptoms.  No aversion to coffee - very little nausea.  But then as time went on, I started feeling more and more pregnant.

By 8 weeks, I felt like I just needed to know what was ahead.  I made an appointment with a midwife to have a sonogram to see what we were looking at.  Was there a baby? Was there a heartbeat? We just needed to know.

We went to the appointment and when they did the sonogram, there on the screen in front of me was the image of my womb.  And there was a large black hole.  There was no baby.  There was no heartbeat.  Just emptiness.

We went back into the exam room and the midwife came in and said she was sorry.  She gave me the run down of what to expect.  She said within the next couple of weeks, the miscarriage would start.  She told me what to do for pain and bleeding,  Then she said, if nothing happens in the next two weeks, she wanted to see me back in the office to repeat the sonogram.  So...there is no hope, but just in case, we'll look again and see if the sack is still empty.

I cried on the way home.  I texted my friends and family and told them the news.  The pregnancy has stopped progressing.  The miscarriage should start in the next week or so...

We went to lunch at Red Lobster.  We smiled. We talked.  We tried to pretend that I was not carrying around a perfect little placenta and an empty sack with the tiniest little remnants of our child in it.

Then we went home.  We told the children that the baby was in heaven with Jesus.  At least I could start shopping for a dress for our oldest daughter's wedding.  It wasn't going to be a maternity dress.  I could start fundraising for my planned trip to Peru in September.  I wasn't going to be having a baby in September.

I sent a message to my homebirth group on Facebook and told them the prognosis.  One of my friends said, "Hey, don't you have a tilted uterus?  There's a pretty high incidence of misdiagnosed blighted ovums in early sonograms when you have a tilted uterus.  Check it out."  So I did.  I read story after story after story of women who had gone for an early sonogram and had been told the sack was empty, only to have the baby show up on the next sonogram.  They all had a tilted uterus.

And mine is tilted.  Majorly tilted.  My babies all hang out posterior.  My cervix points at my rectum instead of forward.  Up until giving birth, I have all manner of knees and elbows protruding out the front of my belly instead of a butt and a nice smooth back.  "They just fit better that way.  That's just the way you are made."  I've heard it over and over.

So you would expect that if the pregnancy stopped progressing, the sack would not measure 8 weeks 3 days.  It would measure 6 weeks like it had twice before when my body realized that the pregnancy was not viable.  But it measured right on for dates.  You would expect that my hcg levels would have started dropping, but they didn't.  They continued to rise. You would expect my belly to stay flat - but it didn't.  I started LOOKING pregnant.  The kids would look at me and just say, "Wow".  People started asking me if I was pregnant.  I didn't even know how to answer...

I had hope.  They must have just missed the baby.  We told our friends that there was still a chance that we were going to have this baby after all.  We were beginning to relax and feel happy that we would be blessed again.  I was due on my 46th birthday.  Talk about irony!!

Then one night, I had a dream.  In my dream, I heard the voice of God saying, "His name is Paul Richard.  His name is Paul Richard.  His name is Paul Richard."  Then I woke up.  I got up to go to the bathroom and I grabbed my phone and looked up the meaning of the names.  Paul means "Small" - and he is.  Right now at this moment, he is small.  Even if he is there.  If everything is going to be OK, he's the size of a grape.  That's pretty small.  Richard means "Brave Leader".  It had been the name of Kings and actors and famous people.  So I had a small, brave leader in my womb.

I went back to sleep and went back into the presence of God.  This time, I was in a place that was all light.  I walked into the light and there was a giant throne.  The biggest throne I had ever seen.  I could make out feet on the bottom of the throne.  They were wearing sandals and coming out of the bottom of a white robe.  My eyes moved upward toward the face, but I couldn't see a face.  Just light.  Pure light - like looking directly into the sun.  Then I heard the same voice I had heard just a few moments before.  It said, "I have called him by name.  He is mine."

Then, as fast as I had entered into the holiest of places - the throneroom of God - I was back in my own bed, pondering what that was all about.  I didn't particularly like the name.  I would not have chosen it.  I laughed at the fact that I had taken 13 months to teach my Sunday School class an exogetical study of the book of Acts, which was all about Paul.  Everywhere I turned, I was reminded of Acts.  What an obvious choice for my son...

A friend called to say that she had had a dream.  The night before I had told her I was pregnant, she had dreamed that our family was at her house.  I was pregnant and we had shared the news that the baby was a boy... Now she called again to say she had another dream.  This time I was at her house and we were folding my laundry on her couch - and it was little blue shirts and blue baby clothes.  I teased that she didn't know how to fold boy clothes because she was the mother of daughters.

Further confirmation.  I was having a baby, and he was a boy -- and his name would be Paul Richard.

Hope swelled within me.  Then I would plummet.  Yes, I am pregnant.  Yes I feel pregnant.  Yes, I look pregnant.  My hormones are still raging.  Coffee makes me gag.  The nausea was overwhelming.  BUT, I saw the empty sack with my own eyes.  But it happens.  The baby HAS to be in there.  Just wait.  In a few days, when I go back to the midwife, they will find the baby.  He will be kicking away in there.  His heart will be beating wildly.  I will be so in love with that little guy.  They wouldn't be able to tell that he was a boy yet, at 11 weeks, but he was.  I knew his name.  I was folding his little blue clothes.  BUT I saw the empty sack with my own eyes...

I was up, I was down.  I was up, I was up, I was down.  I would say to Mike, "So, what do you think?" and he would answer, "I don't know.  We'll just have to wait and see."  "Easy for you to say," I would reply. "You are not constantly looking down at an ever growing belly and being reminded that he is in there."

We were remodeling our bathroom.  I needed to get out of the feeling of "limbo" I had been in since January.  Am I? Am I not? Am I? Am I not? 

Then, the kids all got a tummy bug and between painting the ceiling and the shelves in the bathroom, we were cleaning up barf and running with buckets.  First one was down, then another.  The first was better, then the third started,  It was a long week that ended with me getting it.  A night spent in the bathroom.  Horrid, horrid stuff.

By Saturday, I was feeling better.  Most of the kids were gone to other places.  The older kids were at a retreat.  The next one down was at a friend's house.  Mike was gone on a day trip to run an errand with a friend.  I was alone with the little ones.  I spent the day excited about having a baby and worried that I wouldn't.

That night, as I prepared for bed, there was just the slightest little tinge of pink on the toilet paper.  But I knew.  I knew.  

The next morning, the pink was darker pink - and then red mucous.  And it had begun.  The beginning of the end.

I sat at my desk and prepared for my Sunday School lesson.  It was from James 2:21.  It was about Abraham's faith - Abraham, our father - who had been given the assurance that his son had big plans. He was to be a brave leader.  He was to be the father of a nation...but God told him to put an end to his life.  Sacrifice your promised son.  Give him to Me.  Do you trust Me? Do you love Me?  Put your faith into action, Abraham.  Do what I tell you, because I know the ultimate plan.  TRUST ME, Abraham.  Do you trust Me?  And he did.  Abraham trusted.  Unless I miss my guess, there were sleepless nights before he put legs to his faith and gathered his son and a bundle of firewood - and headed up the mountain,  He was a father.  This was his child.  This child he loved.  He had a promise.  BUT, he trusted God above all else.  He knew God loved him and he knew that if God willed it, he would raise his son from the dead if need be.  He HAD to trust God.  He just HAD to.  And he did.  And you know the story.  Just as he raised his hand to take his son's life, God stopped him.  He just needed to know that he trusted Him.  He would provide a sacrifice.  Take your son from the altar, Abraham.  You have passed the test.

I dressed for church, feeling numb.  God gave me a son.  He gave me a promise.  He was to be a brave leader - though he was small.  Now he was going to be taken away.  Did God have a job for him to do in heaven, like his brother?  Would he be a leader there? How was I going to teach this lesson?  How would I stand in front of my class and tell them that we must have faith in our crisis moment, when I was facing a crisis moment?

I did.  I taught the lesson.  I talked about trusting God in our crisis.  I talked about how our faith HAS to be so strong that it produces spiritual fruit.  Faith without works is dead.  Then I told them about my crisis.  There were tears - not just mine.  My friend, Sylvia, asked if she could put action to her faith and pray for me and Mike - right then.  She did.  It was a healing balm to the soul.

I sat and cried through the service and then as half the congregation was away at a retreat and we were short staffed, I went down to teach Junior Church during the sermon.  I hadn't prepared a lesson, so I told them what I knew.  We talked about heaven.  We talked about who was there and what it looked like and how one day, if we have asked Jesus into our heart, we will go there.  We will walk on streets of gold and see rainbows of jewels and bask in the light of God that lights the city and the lamp of his Son, the Lamb.

Then I asked them to draw pictures of what they think heaven is like.  One picture had a unicorn blowing a trumpet and a jet.  Because you get to heaven on a big jet and you fly round and round and round. One showed the throne.  The same throne I had seen a few nights before.  The same feet at the bottom of the throne - and a teeny, tiny angel sitting on the foot - to show how BIG God is.  Another showed a huge building with lots and lots of windows - and a horse coral off to the side.

Monday morning, labor started. The contractions came on hard and long.  For four hours, I labored, passing what was to be a boy named Paul - a small, brave leader.  The contractions stopped abruptly and the cramps took over.  In my abdoman, back and down into my thighs. Standing hurt, lying down hurt, sitting hurt.  My tailbone hurt, by sit bones hurt.  My heart hurt. 

The cramps would continue until Tuesday night... about 36 hours later - when my body finally let go of that last piece of the life giving placenta.  Then, as fast as it started, it stopped.  I remember that feeling of relief when the placenta is delivered.  I am usually holding my newborn and looking into their eyes and telling them how much I love them.  Then, we cut the cord and the physical bond that has held us together for the past 40 weeks.  And then a new life begins.

"All God's Children" by Danny Hahlbohm

But not this time,  This time, Paul flew straight from my womb into the waiting arms of His Creator.  He is there now.  Someone is holding him.  Maybe it's God himself?  Maybe it's Jesus? Or maybe his big brother Jonathan, who would be 11 or 12 now, is holding him. Maybe his sister, Katie is telling him what it's like to live in heaven and that Mama and Daddy will be there soon.  Maybe his brother Andrew, who has only been there for five months - is telling him about that day that he met Mama and told her that she wouldn't understand right now, but he had to go.  "And she'll know that you couldn't help it that you had to leave her.  She knows where we are and they will be here with us forever and ever some day."

"God's not finished with Mama and Daddy on earth yet.  He has a job for them to do there, Paul.  Just like He has a job for us here, they have work to do there.  But some day, we will all be together."  Sean and Melissa are nodding in agreement.  They look forward to that day, too.

At least that's how I imagine it.  Six little treasures - doing the work they were created to do - looking expectantly ahead to the day we will all be together.

“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,
Nor have entered into the heart of man
The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”

1 Corinthians 2:9

So, what have we learned this time around?  I don't know yet.  I know that just as before, I was chosen to be the vessel that ushered a precious life from this world into the next.  I know that God was with us every single step of the way.  I know that just as Abraham trusted God in his crisis moment, so should we.  

I know that the morning of my sonogram, God gave me this verse from Psalm 30:11:  "You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness."

I know that day will come.

I also know that I still have a calling to educate those around us about how to help those who are hurting.  Many people don't know what to say or do - so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing - they do nothing.  THAT is the wrong thing.

My next blog post will address what to do when a friend loses a child.

(For those of you who know me in real life, PLEASE NOTE:  My parents have been through a great deal in the past year.  My father is in a nursing home and my mother has her hands full. We have not shared this pregnancy or miscarriage with them to protect them from further pain and hurt.  PLEASE HONOR THEM BY NOT FEELING THE NEED TO HURT THEM FURTHER BY SHARING THIS INFORMATION WITH THEM.  We would greatly appreciate your assistance in this area. Thank you!)