Today one of my friends lost someone very dear to them. The world is full of death -- until Jesus returns! He says the last enemy He will defeat is death. So thinking of death, and Heaven, and the ones we love made me want to share some poetry that us struggling poets have composed. (That would be Eric and I, although you shall see I struggle more.)
The Day the Lord Has Made
This is the day the Lord has made,
Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
This is the day they told me
I can't find any heart tones,
But God made this day --
This is a day to rejoice?
This is the day they sent me away.
Again and again we tried to get into the hospital,
But no one wanted to deliver our baby.
But God made this day --
This is a day to rejoice?
This is the day my lifeless son came into the world.
I held his bleeding, broken body in my arms and cried.
I sent his body away,
A few short hours to hold my son
A few short hours to create all the memories we will ever have together.
Then they wheeled him away. Forever.
But this is the day the Lord has made --
We will rejoice and be glad in it?
This is the day we planned my son's funeral.
Obituaries, funeral services, caskets,
flowers, cemetery plots, headstones.
God made this day too --
It is a day to rejoice?
This is the day my baby was buried.
This is the day of his funeral, my son.
The casket was so small.
This is the day I watched aching as he rested in the grave.
This is the day my heart silently screamed -- No!
As I watched my husband shovel dirt
And cover the white casket where my son's body lay.
This is the day the Lord made --
This is a day to rejoice?
God, Your ways are unsearchable,
Who can know them?
God, Your thoughts are higher,
Who can reach them?
God, Your love and mercy are unfailing,
Who can surpass them?
God, You are the reason to rejoice.
We trust in Your Sovereignty, Your wisdom, Your goodness, Your love.
We trust and rejoice.
This is a day to rejoice.
SMN
Here's Eric's -- Sorry the music isn't included, I can hear it as I type.
My Secret Child
My secret child, so small and frail,
Why did you leave us so soon?
We love you so, just so you know
We would have had enough room
In our hearts though now are broken,
We will always remember you
And though the world will never know you
You will always be our secret child.
We remember when you never cried,
Our silent treasure so peaceful.
We don't understand the reasons why
Still our hurting hearts find comfort
For we know that Jesus, He holds you
Cause our arms just cannot reach you now
And though the world will never know you
You will always be our secret child.
I will always try to imagine
Of what you and I, we would have been
We would have had such a life together
And we would have been such good friends
And from time to time we will cry
But we will always hope
For one day when we see you again
There's one thing you can be sure,
that we will hold you, I will hold you,
and hold you.
Though our hearts are broken we will say
With our hearts now broken it's Thee we praise
For you have chosen to give and now
You have taken away.
So we bow down and we shout Lord
Blessed be your name.
Blessed be the Lord Almighty, the great El Shaddai,
Elohim our Creator, the Giver of Life
So full of mercy Lord we lift You high....
EAN
Used by Permission. Copyright 2007.
Showing posts with label Ian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ian. Show all posts
Monday, March 16, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
God's Gracious Gift
“I’m not finding any heart tones, Shari. You and I both know that’s not good.” I heard the words my midwife spoke, but I did not believe them. No heart tones? This baby was due to be born in 3 weeks. Everything seemed to be progressing so well for this pregnancy. My blood pressure, iron, weight and measurements were all normal. What was this silence? What was happening?
I stayed on the examining table while she checked again for any sound -- hoping for life as the tears quietly streamed down the sides of my face.
I remembered laying in bed at night feeling our baby move and watching my active abdomen. Sharing those special times with my son knowing that soon the world would see. Soon they would be able to feel him too as he squirmed in their arms. What would happen to him now?
My midwife called my husband Eric, told him the news and explained she wanted to meet at the hospital. She then excused herself for a minute to give us some privacy. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to break down and sob right there. The thoughts were safer in my mind. Better not to speak the truth I already knew -- my baby was dead.
At the hospital they wheeled me downstairs for an ultrasound. A nurse in the elevator asked if we were excited. How could she know the baby was dead? I looked like I was about to deliver, and I would -- only this child would not come home with me. He would never cry, or open his eyes or move his little fingers. He would need no milk, no diaper, no mother’s arms to soothe him in the night. It felt like more pain than I could bear.
The ultrasound was quick. I thought I saw his head, then she quickly moved to his mid-section, looking for heart movement. Nothing. The silent heart was also still.
We left the hospital and began the long wait for labor to begin. The weather changed, matching my inner turmoil-- it became dark and gray and started to snow.
My sister, Mel joined me longing to bring comfort any way she could. Looking at my sister was like looking in a mirror. In her dark eyes, I saw my pain. Her tears were my tears. She hugged me and we cried together.
Mel had ideas to induce labor and that night we returned to the hospital. So began the almost forty hours of pitocin, contractions and waiting. I had monitors around my stomach measuring the frequency of contractions and then displaying the results on the computer beside my hospital bed. I ached as I looked at the single gray line on the screen. Mothers with live babies had a gray and a red line. It was almost deceiving. For a brief moment I would feel excitement with the start of each contraction. We are going to have a baby! Then just as quickly I would remember -- no, my baby is dead. Anticipation and joy would be replaced by grief. During this time Mel sat with me for hours, listening and talking. When she wasn’t in the hospital with me, she helped watch our three older boys. One time she came in with snacks for Eric and a soft, powder blue outfit for our son.
Sunday afternoon, our silent treasure, Ian Jonathan entered the world.
The nurses treated Ian so tenderly; like he was alive. They weighed and measured him and dressed him in the clothes from his aunt Mel. Eric put a hat on his head and carried him to me. We sat there quietly crying, holding our son. Ian Jonathan -- God’s gracious gift.
Many friends came to visit. Many pictures were taken. Many tears shed and then it was time to say good bye. The nurse came and wheeled the cart carrying Ian away.
The next week we planned Ian‘s funeral. Our home and office swirled with activity, and I was unable to keep up. I laid on the couch in our living room, chilled from fever, aching, while Mel cleaned my house and cared for my older boys.
In the weeks that followed I hungered for encouragement. I frequently checked my e-mail or mailbox hoping to hear from someone. The pain was fresh and I longed for a fresh word. Sometimes people felt awkward, not knowing what to say. Mel taught me that it doesn’t matter so much what you say or do, but that you do something. I cannot count all the times Mel left cards, flowers, e-mail or thoughtful presents.
One day Mel gave me a journal full of poetry she had written for me. Her words seemed to echo the sorrow I was feeling inside that I couldn’t express. As I read her poem, “O God, You are There“, I kept thinking that God was there -- in her hands, in her words -- comforting me through my sister. She was God’s gracious gift.
“O God, You are There”
I’ve shed a thousand tears,
You caught each one in your hand.
You wiped away the wetness on my cheeks.
Dried my eyes.
My heart is hurting.
My body trembles.
You place your hand on my shoulder to let me know…
That you are there
To catch me when I fall
From the pain that overwhelms me
You are there
When I tremble and cry out
You are there.
I’m dependent upon you now,
Never felt so much pain before,
But by your grace I keep pressing on,
I look to you for strength
To help me through this dark valley.
And I know…
That you are there
I feel your presence now
You are there
I feel your arms reaching out,
You are there
To wipe my tears away
To let me know that its ok to cry…
O God, You are there.
I stayed on the examining table while she checked again for any sound -- hoping for life as the tears quietly streamed down the sides of my face.
I remembered laying in bed at night feeling our baby move and watching my active abdomen. Sharing those special times with my son knowing that soon the world would see. Soon they would be able to feel him too as he squirmed in their arms. What would happen to him now?
My midwife called my husband Eric, told him the news and explained she wanted to meet at the hospital. She then excused herself for a minute to give us some privacy. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to break down and sob right there. The thoughts were safer in my mind. Better not to speak the truth I already knew -- my baby was dead.
At the hospital they wheeled me downstairs for an ultrasound. A nurse in the elevator asked if we were excited. How could she know the baby was dead? I looked like I was about to deliver, and I would -- only this child would not come home with me. He would never cry, or open his eyes or move his little fingers. He would need no milk, no diaper, no mother’s arms to soothe him in the night. It felt like more pain than I could bear.
The ultrasound was quick. I thought I saw his head, then she quickly moved to his mid-section, looking for heart movement. Nothing. The silent heart was also still.
We left the hospital and began the long wait for labor to begin. The weather changed, matching my inner turmoil-- it became dark and gray and started to snow.
My sister, Mel joined me longing to bring comfort any way she could. Looking at my sister was like looking in a mirror. In her dark eyes, I saw my pain. Her tears were my tears. She hugged me and we cried together.
Mel had ideas to induce labor and that night we returned to the hospital. So began the almost forty hours of pitocin, contractions and waiting. I had monitors around my stomach measuring the frequency of contractions and then displaying the results on the computer beside my hospital bed. I ached as I looked at the single gray line on the screen. Mothers with live babies had a gray and a red line. It was almost deceiving. For a brief moment I would feel excitement with the start of each contraction. We are going to have a baby! Then just as quickly I would remember -- no, my baby is dead. Anticipation and joy would be replaced by grief. During this time Mel sat with me for hours, listening and talking. When she wasn’t in the hospital with me, she helped watch our three older boys. One time she came in with snacks for Eric and a soft, powder blue outfit for our son.
Sunday afternoon, our silent treasure, Ian Jonathan entered the world.
The nurses treated Ian so tenderly; like he was alive. They weighed and measured him and dressed him in the clothes from his aunt Mel. Eric put a hat on his head and carried him to me. We sat there quietly crying, holding our son. Ian Jonathan -- God’s gracious gift.
Many friends came to visit. Many pictures were taken. Many tears shed and then it was time to say good bye. The nurse came and wheeled the cart carrying Ian away.
The next week we planned Ian‘s funeral. Our home and office swirled with activity, and I was unable to keep up. I laid on the couch in our living room, chilled from fever, aching, while Mel cleaned my house and cared for my older boys.
In the weeks that followed I hungered for encouragement. I frequently checked my e-mail or mailbox hoping to hear from someone. The pain was fresh and I longed for a fresh word. Sometimes people felt awkward, not knowing what to say. Mel taught me that it doesn’t matter so much what you say or do, but that you do something. I cannot count all the times Mel left cards, flowers, e-mail or thoughtful presents.
One day Mel gave me a journal full of poetry she had written for me. Her words seemed to echo the sorrow I was feeling inside that I couldn’t express. As I read her poem, “O God, You are There“, I kept thinking that God was there -- in her hands, in her words -- comforting me through my sister. She was God’s gracious gift.
“O God, You are There”
I’ve shed a thousand tears,
You caught each one in your hand.
You wiped away the wetness on my cheeks.
Dried my eyes.
My heart is hurting.
My body trembles.
You place your hand on my shoulder to let me know…
That you are there
To catch me when I fall
From the pain that overwhelms me
You are there
When I tremble and cry out
You are there.
I’m dependent upon you now,
Never felt so much pain before,
But by your grace I keep pressing on,
I look to you for strength
To help me through this dark valley.
And I know…
That you are there
I feel your presence now
You are there
I feel your arms reaching out,
You are there
To wipe my tears away
To let me know that its ok to cry…
O God, You are there.
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