Have I Not Given You Promises? Part 2

The last ultrasound photo of our boy, 8 weeks

     Two days ago I took a very brave step and shared the very painful, very personal story of the miscarriage that my husband and I, and our families, have endured. It was very difficult to write, as I had to go back to moments that I had completely buried in the back of my mind and relive them in order to get them onto the screen... I had to stop writing at times because I could not see my computer through the tears that were flowing. Yes, one full year later my heart hurts like I just got the news this morning. But my life continues. My God remains faithful. 

     For the past year I have stood, crawled, and lain on my belly through the most painful storm of my life. A storm which, at the beginning, I thought was unbearable, one I couldn't possibly survive. I have asked questions, been angry, and even wished I could forget it all. I've fallen more times than I can count. But I've stood back up every time. No, I can't say that. I haven't stood on my own- God has picked me up and put me back on my feet. But for His mercy and grace I would still be on the ground looking for a hole to crawl into. Thanks to His love kindness I no longer want to stay down. But even now, carrying a beautiful, healthy child in my womb, I still have sad days. And when they come, I let them. I don't fight. I let the emotion roll over me and I weep for my lost child, and for the dreams and hopes that died with him. But then the sad day is over and I've survived yet again. 

     The enemy stole my child from me. But he has not diminished my hope, nor will he ever. He has not taken my faith, and while he may have scuffed up the edges of my joy- it is still ever present and FULL! It just has a story now, and some extra character. I have a story, and I have more character. Chris and I have added to our testimony. And God is good!

     I was recently talking to a friend who has suffered similar loss and we spoke of how our lives have been impacted forever by these tiny, brief lives that we carried inside us. People on the outside, it seems, will never understand the enormity of our losses. We are expected, by many, to get over our grief and quickly forget about these invisible children who are such a part of us. My friend was having a hard time putting her feelings into words and the Holy Spirit gave me the following description for her: 

A bomb has gone off in the very center of our beings, leaving behind not just gaping holes, but sharp, shattered fragments around the edges. Every time we move, breathe, shift our weight, those shards stab at us, reopening wounds that have just barely begun to close. Sometimes the people around us and their words, actions, and expectations grab at some of those shattered pieces and snap them off, stabbing at wounds they, at times, didn't even realize existed. The pain is oh, so real to us. But day-by-day the Father gently, lovingly sands down the fragmented, broken, hazardous edges until they are smooth. They become scar tissue, still sensitive, but no longer constant pain. Little-by-little He works His way around the gaping mouth of the hole that the bomb left. Smoothing, smoothing... Taking great care on the most tender spots, lovingly breaking off pieces that will never heal, never be smooth, until one day, perhaps many years from now, the entire opening is smooth and polished. The hole is still there. It will never be filled again until we reach glory and see the faces of our angeled children. But instead of stabbing, searing pain, there is only a slight ache when someone brushes across the opening of the chasm. Its a sensation we can bear and one to help us remember. Other bombs may go off in our lives but we know now that we will survive the devastation. We don't lose hope. Other joys will come, perhaps even other children, and will crowd our hearts, making the gaping hole a little smaller each time. It will always be there though, and at some point we'll realize that we wouldn't have it any other way. It is part of who we are. It defines us in a way, this scar that we carry. Just as each of our living children define a part of us... And we will continue on...

     The thing that I want to put across with this post is HOPE! Hope that our pain will not consume us. Hope that fear will not control our lives. Hope that we can continue to trust in a God who loves us so completely. Hope that there is still a plan and purpose for our lives after pain and loss... Hope that our losses are not in vain, that our children's lives, whether other people will acknowledge them or not, will mean something. I am determined that my child's life will mean something! I am adamantly opposed to the memory of my child being pushed aside because miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death are taboo subjects and not to be spoken of. 

     The night before my d&c, before I was even able to comprehend completely what was happening in my life, I started hearing from God. One of the first things that I felt in my spirit was that I needed to name my child. And that I needed to find a name with meaning. Specifically, I needed to find a name that meant "promise." I deeply love the Hebrew language and I immediately went to the computer and tried to find a word or name in Hebrew that meant promise. From my research that night I found that, as far as I could tell, there is no word in Hebrew for promise. The word I did find was this:

 בְּרִית

      The word is b'rit (br-eet). Covenant. There is no word for "promise" but there is a word for Covenant. A covenant is a contract, a pact, it implies the "shedding of blood in the process of ratifying an agreement." It is so much more, so much stronger, and much more protected than a simple promise. I found this word and it resonated within my spirit. In my immense sorrow and pain that night I knew that God was telling me that with the loss of this child He was still giving me a covenant. If I remained faithful, as He is faithful, He would covenant with me to restore what I had lost. He would restore to Chris and I what had been stolen from us, 100-fold.
     My son's name is B'rit. B'rit Joshua Deming. He is my promise. He is my signed covenant with my God. He is my test of faithfulness and he is the sign of my restoration. I knew that, for us, that restoration would come with another child. I did not know how long we would wait. I did not know much of anything except that I would be faithful and trust in this most sacred of promises.

Our boy's Heaven Birthday cupcake

     I want to be able to encourage you, any of you reading this. Whether you have suffered the loss of a child, or some other deep hurt that has forever affected your life, wait on the promise. Wait, be faithful, and watch God restore your hope, your joy, your peace. It is one of the hardest things you will ever do. Waiting and being faithful, being patient, when your hurt is so raw and your wound so open. Being hopeful when you don't understand what is happening or why you are being allowed to endure such a trial. But oh, the reward! I can not promise that your restoration will come in the birth of a living child. I can not promise that your storm is over and you will never know loss again. I can not fathom what promises God has for you. But I can promise, that He is ever faithful. I can promise, that even if His timing makes it seem like He has forgotten about you, He has not. He holds you, your hopes, your dreams, your desires in the palm of His hand. He cares for your heart as if it is the most precious in the world. As if you were His only creation. He is completely devoted to you.  I can promise that He has a plan and a purpose for your life and that of your child or children.
     Once you begin to listen and wait, you may find that He has more than one promise He is eager to make to you. And the ways in which He will reveal these promises to you may just blow your mind! Shortly before we found out whether our Rainbow baby was a boy or a girl I had already decided on names. A wonderful client and friend was sitting in my chair and we were discussing my pregnancy and our name choices. The name that I had chosen for a girl was Mayim. Being that Ariyah's name is Hebrew, as is B'rit, it seemed fitting for this child to have a Hebrew name also. Mayim means water, and while I wasn't sure of the significance when I chose the name, I knew that it was perfect and fit us somehow. When I told my client, Brittany, this I was given clear and incredible understanding as to why I had been drawn to that name. God used Brittany to deliver a word to me, a new promise!

A beautiful cistern, or well, in Turkey.

Brittany had heard in her spirit that my time of sorrow, my loss of our B'rit was my desert. That up until this moment, I had personally been a dry place. She saw the desert and then a spring bubbling up in the middle of the dry sand. My Rainbow baby, my Mayim was the water in that spring, bubbling up, filling me with life once again. And she heard the Spirit say that from that moment on I would be a well, a cistern, and I would never be dry again. I knew immediately in that moment that He would hold true to that promise. And that my sweet Rainbow was a girl.
     I do not know that this promise means I will never endure a loss again. There are some parts to our stories that we are simply not supposed to know or understand. Because if we know what is coming, we may alter our behavior, our decisions, to see that the outcome we know doesn't happen. Would we have tried to conceive if we had known ahead of time that we would lose B'rit? Perhaps not... But then also, we would not have the memory of him, and I would not have the opportunity to reach out to other moms and families and be able to help them in the same way that I can now. If we knew we were to lose another baby in the future, would we stop having babies after Mayim? I don't know. I'd like to think that I'd be able to trust God and still walk through it, but I just don't know. But even though I don't understand the complete parameters of the promise I have been given, I know that I have a promise! I know that whatever comes my way, I will be able to stand strong. I know that I will be able to endure, and that my well will never cease to spring forth with life and living water.
     In much of this post I feel as though I have rambled. But in being inspired to write this, I was encouraged to simply share my heart. I knew that it was finally time to make our baby's name public. And I knew that I simply needed to be real. It is my absolute and sincere prayer that something I have said in this post touches other people. I know that there are a few of you who have just experienced loss very recently, and that, for you, it is too hard to even try to have hope at the moment. But, please, take the tiniest shred that you have left and hold onto it with all of your might. Out of it will grow something beautiful. Something joyous. Be encouraged and do not allow yourself to crawl into that hole you are searching for. Reach out to someone. Reach out to me. Let those of us who have been there hold you up and encourage and support you. It is one of the most important things you will ever do for yourself. You are not alone in this, and you do not have to stand alone to endure it.

I pray peace, healing, and hope over every single person who has taken the time to read my heart here. I thank you more than I can say. I look forward to having more to share, on this and many other topics! Be blessed and be a blessing!!