All Is Well

All is well. I have that song on repeat in my head. My favourite version is sung by Michael W. Smith and Carrie Underwood. I pretend that I can sing as well as her as I pound out the notes in my head, boy do I sound good!
That song was in my head this morning at church as I glanced over at friends of ours who are expecting their first child. Her hand is over her stomach, protectively, and they are beaming. The kind of people you cant help but adore and beam back at. All is well.
In the same row is another couple that I don't know yet, but know that they have tried for years to have children, they have one baby in Heaven, but not one to hold. She is closing her eyes in worship as we sing and I am in awe. All is well.

I glance down at my stomach. Our second little baby is taking its merry time showing, after four months and days of sickness you'd think I'd have more to show for it, but this little Turnip seems to be comfortable in it's hiding place. I think of our Regen, and I tell her I love her, something that is immediate now, this talking to my daughter whom I don't know. All is well.
And it is. Because two thousand years ago the Light came to this world, as a baby. And even though I don't understand the sorrow that grips every single one of us who breathe here on earth, somehow, all is well. I will see Regen one day because of that baby and His sacrifice. And this child growing inside of me, this one whom I expect to hold, he or she will live with the hope that I am still in awe of, because of that baby. One day there will be no more orphans, no more bad guys, no more death. And this, right now, that you are living through, breathing through, this pain or hurt you deal with that is choking you? That baby grew to be a man and took the world on His shoulders. I have seen the Carpenter in the darkest pit, been held by Him through the ripping apart.

All is well, because of Jesus. So I sing it, very loud when I am at home, and very loud in my Carrie Underwood voice when you see me grocery shopping.

And I simply want you to know, I think, that no matter how dark your Christmas season, that little baby, the one who grew into a Lion, He's got this. He conquered death after all. And all is well.

What Not to Say

Today, October 15th, is "International Miscarriage and Stillborn Awareness Day." Did you know? I didn't, because I was never aware. Now it is a part of my story. I have been wanting to write this blog for a while now, but to be honest I'm a little terrified to. This might step on some people's toes, it might change the way you see things and make you aware. So here goes!
Our miscarriage was widely known, because we had to make our pregnancy widely known. It kinda crept in and changed our job, the country we lived and our entire universe. Because of that I think Jordan and I have become experts on how NOT to respond to a loved ones miscarriage. I have heard every response that there is. I have had people completely ignore the death, people offer advise because their sister in laws mothers friend went through one, people who come to me because they suffered one and want to talk through it even though it was twenty two years ago, and I have heard a few pretty ridiculous christianisms such as- "Jesus just wanted to hold your baby." I smiled and said thank you, but inside screamed "Really?! Yes, that is the God I serve. He kills children so He can hold them." I have also heard that God knew I needed an angel to watch over me. This is my baby we are talking about. She isn't floating above me, she's chasing lions and asking Jesus to throw her up one more time.

So why the little rant? I don't want this blog post to be me screaming at the world, but to be a tool you can use so that you don't say something hurtful to the next empty mother. There have been so many wonderful people who have said the right thing, and done the right thing and made the loss more bearable. But If there's one thing I've learnt through all this, it's that people who mean well say stupid things. People are awkward with death, and there is no death as awkward as miscarriage. What do you say? Do you say anything? Do you talk about babies ever with them? Do you keep them distracted? Do you hug them? I understand all of the uncertainty and awkwardness and I hope that I can take from my experience and help you be a blessing.
There are no memories of the child, no smells, no favourite items of clothing or favourite foods. It was a life that came for seconds and touched no one but the parents. So how do you as a friend or family member come into the situation and not make it more painful?

I have a short list.

1. Acknowledge. Say you're sorry and then if you haven't gone through it yourself- SHUT UP. Don't talk about the friends you know who have gone through it. Don't talk about what God can teach her through this. Don't give her medical advise. There have been people who literally do not take a breath, they keep on talking. There have been people who immediately unload all of their own past struggles on to me, and it's not that I don't want that, I have always welcomed it. I love to listen and help, but not when my baby just died. I was the one who needed to talk, I needed to unload but sometimes all I did was tell them how sorry I was and ask questions and counsel. The mother and father don't need your advise or burdens, they need your listening ear and your quiet love.

2. Ask Questions. I'm not joking. I think there are maybe one or two people of the literal hundreds that we have talked to who have asked me about my baby. My baby. Not tissue. A living being. I have memories of Regen Lavonne. Jordan has memories. We want to talk about our baby just as much as the next parent. So ask her if she wants to talk about her baby and if so, ask how she found out she was pregnant. Ask her how she told her husband. Ask her what songs she danced around to. Ask her what they did together as a family. I would have loved it if someone did that.
We took Regen to four countries within nine weeks. We celebrated her life by going to our favourite restaurant. Jordan cried when I told him I was pregnant and then he prayed for our baby. We spent the day skyping and calling family. My parents couldn't make out the drawings I had done to tell them and it took them about ten minutes to figure out what was swimming across the page. I called her 'Meine Kleine' which means my little one. I wrote so many entries into her journal, telling her how much I loved her.
Those are things I've never told anyone because no one has asked.

3. Be There. Death is a natural part of our sinful world. And miscarriage happens in one of every four pregnancies. It's common and every one is horrendous. Don't be afraid to pop by her house. Do go to the hospital or send the email or send a gift. So many people don't know what to do so they do nothing, and I think that is the worst of all. I so appreciate peoples kindness in acknowledging Regen, even if they say stupid things. At least she isn't forgotten. There is a song by Casting Crowns that says it better than I can-
"Just love her like Jesus. Carry her to Him. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. She doesn't need the answers to all of life's questions, just know that He loves her and stay by her side. Love her like Jesus."

If you are one of the people who have spoken to us and are worried that you did more harm than good, please don't. I understand and that is why I need to write this. I too was awkward with miscarriage before ours and I wish I knew these things sooner. This is taken from my own experience and by talking with dozens of mothers who lost a baby and have told me the same things. This won't be true with everyone but my hope is that the next time you hear those awful words and see the pain in her eyes, you will not shrink back but know what to say. Acknowledge, Ask Questions, and Be There. Please.

There Are No Words for This

I was speeding down the mountain in a panic/thrill. My feet couldn't make their mind up to stay on the racing snow or the sled and so they flip flopped from both. I squealed, then laughed. Jordan was giggling ahead of me, then behind me, then ahead again. AHH! Coming through! My friend Kate yelled, trying to catch up with her husband. The Alps that surrounded us were completely obscured by the snow pounding down around us. The path...what path? Where did the path go? Feet go down again to slow my racing heart. Sledging in the Alps.
There are no words for this. 

We borrowed our hosts bikes near Amsterdam to bike through the countryside of Holland. Passing field after field of tulips. I felt like Corrie Ten boom the whole time, rescuing a baby in the basket. Then hearing my name called and rushing into the arms of a good friend after 7 years apart, squealing and jumping, hugging and talking at the same time. Going to the beach with old and new friends to watch the cold waves and run through the sand. Learning about Dutch culture and being awed by its beauty.
There are no words for this. 

We cooked and baked and laughed till our sides hurt. We hugged the boys goodbye and welcomed them back home with food. 24 teenagers. Loud music. Soccer. Long talks. Teasing. Water fight. Deep breaths for a long day. Driving down winding roads to drop off and pick up.
There are no words for this. 

Then one day there was a positive sign on a pregnancy test that changed everything. I started dancing around with my hand on my stomach to songs I couldn't wait to teach. And our time on the Alps and with the boys and old friends came to a close as we dreamt of a new life. New plans. And all of a sudden life stopped and it didn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. Long days turned into long nights and loneliness and grief were companions.
There are no words for this. 

Our year in Europe was a romance. And there are no words to do any of it justice. God brought us there and God brought us home. He gave, and He took. Blessed be his name. I can say that now. Because right now, in Alberta, where it is snowing in early September, I am still being pursued by Jesus. This Jesus who picked me up from a nightmare and enfolded me in His arms of joy and grace. He is no stranger to suffering. And as I sit in our new apartment, thinking over our year, all I see is Him.
We try to put feelings and experiences into words, but how can you describe grace? How can you describe pain? How can you describe jumping into the future with no plans, no ideas, just a crazy belief that God is good? I have no words, but I try to explain all the same.

 Skyline Hill by Jenny and Tyler

Dawn breaks over Skyline Hill
Beauty and grace, all is still
Canvassing this sight, I'm sure
There are no words for this

Your breath is heavy on my skin
I close my eyes, breathe out and in
Spinning 'round, a steady rhythm
There are no words for this

And I don't know what to say, to properly convey
The lines of this earth, the lines of your face
I am small and unsure, but more and more I learn
There are no words for this

Tears roll gently down my face
I lick my lips for the salty taste
Reveling in deep, deep grace
There are no words for this

And I don't know what to say, to properly convey
The lines of this earth, the lines of your face
I am small and unsure, but more and more I learn
There are no words; there are no words

There are no words for this

What Now?

And now we pick up the pieces. It has been two weeks since the bleeding began and our Regen was gone. What do you do with broken plans and a broken heart? We have two tickets from Zürich-Calgary that we booked the day before she died. She was the reason we were flying home so what do you do when your reason is gone?
We don't know why we are going home one year too early. Why we have to leave the country we love and the house full of young men and noise to who knows what in Three Hills Alberta.
My parents arrived on the 7th and we have been giving them the grand tour of the spots we have loved. Quaint towns of France, Alps of Switzerland, hills of Germany. We saw a rainbow. And it has been raining everyday.
In a few weeks we will leave and God is in that too. He is all around us and He knows just what we are getting ourselves into in this new journey.
We are healing but the tears still come. I am reminded every time I see a blonde haired, brown eyed little girl. I am reminded every time I see a pregnant lady. Baby clothes, toys, everything you can think of. There are hundreds of women walking around you who know this pain. It has been unreal how many women I know who have told me of their miscarriage because of mine. There are women who don't speak of it, some who carry it in shame and secret. Through this grief we have come to realize that the worst thing people can do is not say anything at all about our baby. Those who talk to us as if it didn't happen, who try to distract or talk of their own problems because death is awkward and unknown. Especially the death of a baby no one knew or saw. But to do that is to minimize our pain. You are saying it doesn't really matter or isn't anything to discuss. So talk to us Parents in our pain. Look us in the eyes and say you are sorry, that is sucks and is awful. Hug us. Pray for us. Have the courage to speak. Maybe then women wouldn't feel the need to hush up the agony that is causing everyone so much discomfort.
It will be ok. I have full confidence of that. This new unknown will have Jesus at the centre. It's a little bit exciting, not knowing what's ahead but knowing it will be good because we serve a good God who desperately loves us! It will all be ok.

We have been so overwhelmed by friends and family who have loved us through this. Thank you to all of you who have spoken into our pain and lifted us up in prayer. Through it all there was so much peace and we know it was because of all of you.  Please continue to pray for us in the unknown and the pain that we still go through as parents with no child to hold, and no plans for the immediate future. And for those of you who know of others who have suffered a miscarriage, you know what to do.

Empty Arms

The day we found out about you

My Darling Regen,
I never wanted to write this. No mother should ever have to write this. But you are gone and I am empty. I knew you for seven weeks of my life and right away you became my life. I wrote you many letters already in your journal, wondering who you would be. A writer like me or a musician like your father? Your dad hoped you would have my skin and I hoped you would have his nose. Do you have my eyes? I told you no matter who you were we would delight in you every second of your life. I thought for sure that no mother had ever loved her baby more than me, and I didn't even know your name.
When the blood came all I could do was lift my hands in surrender. And then it left and we went to lead worship, your father and I, trusting that you were all snug because we were chosen to be parents. Everything was coming together in a crazy God way and we were going to start your life. Then more blood came and we drove to the hospital. We sat there for hours baby, the last hours of your life. I knew when you were gone, in the bathroom stall with the bright red. We saw you soon after for the third time and for the last. The doctor was very quiet, searching. "There is no heart beat." She said in her thick German accent and we clung to one another. Parents. Mom and Dad.
She wanted to have the operation right away but we needed to know for sure. Then we drove home again and you fell into the toilet. Your father lovingly scooped you out and we rushed back to the hospital where they poked me and undressed me and put me to sleep so they could scrape the rest of my child out of me.

As we were driving home the strangest thing happened. It was raining and very cloudy and in the sky was a rainbow. No sun Regen, but a rainbow. Right away I heard the words- Never again. We named you Regen because the German word for rainbow is Regenbogen. You are named after a promise from the only Father you know right now, the one who is holding you in His arms and laughing. We were so excited to teach you all about Him, but you are learning first hand exactly what He is like. After we named you we found out that in Celtic, Regen means Little Princess. We know you are a girl not because the doctor told us, it was too soon to find out, but because when His children ask, sometimes He gives the answer. You are my daughter and one day you will teach me all I have to know about life.
But right now Mommy sees only what is here on earth and she is in so much pain. You see clearly but I see hurt and grief. I am confused and my arms ache. Today I am doing the normal, I cut my nails and trimmed my hair, I laughed at something your dad said and watched my favourite show. Slowly the fog is lifting but I still don't know how to cope without you.
Do you know what you have taught me baby? Through you I went to the deepest, darkest pit, and I saw Jesus there. Fear has haunted my steps since I was a little girl, but on June 29th 2014, my fear was replaced by grief and sorrow. I would rather have anything then fear. I am covered by the peace of our Daddy, He who holds you and who holds me. I know now, like "Much Afraid" in "Hinds Feet on High Places," that right down in the depths of my own heart, I really only have but one passionate desire, not for the things which Jesus has promised me, but for Himself. All I want is to be able to follow Him forever. So I will continue to dance with our Father. Though I know it will bring more pain and grief, and I won't see clearly what He is doing, I will fall in step and gaze into the eyes that hold you captive right now. The One that is your only desire.


I saw a little boy riding a bicycle the other day and I asked Jesus if He was going to give you one. He told me that He is going to give you wings.

I love you daughter.
Your Mom

Staring Into the Eyes of a Prostitute

We happened upon it and there she was. Encased in glass, she was trapped. Her head was down and her shoulders slumped, defeated. I don't know what I was expecting, a smile? A come and get me look? That came after her, right beside her was another and she was beckoning. But I was still thinking of the first. The prostitute was sitting on a chair in the red light district of Amsterdam. Jordan looked away, trying to show her respect by being the only man in that street not ogling.
I looked at her face and I broke. I wanted to rush at the glass prison with a battering ram screaming like Brave Heart to free her, is not this fight just as heroic?

How broken do you have to be to sit in glass with nothing covering and sell yourself? How many lies does a little girl believe until she becomes defeated as a woman?

He was carrying a briefcase and was balding. Walking with a purpose past the windowed shops he became sidetracked by a display and stopped. Going halfway into the door he started to turn around when suddenly a young man rushed towards him from up the street shouting "Don't be shy! Come on in sir!"
Satan beckoning men into hell with open arms. Here you will experience death eternal, don't be shy!

We walked on trying to find the way out, but wanting to stay and be aware of what we are up against as two people wanting to fight for justice. We passed girl after girl, all with plastic smiles. Jordan looking ahead, myself staring into their eyes, willing them to see my heart and the worth they have. We passed crowds and crowds of men, some looking at the girls in the windows, some walking into buildings. I have never seen so many groups of men or single men in all my travels as I did in Amsterdam.

How broken do you have to be to be a man who doesn't protect women and children but exploits and abuses them? Are you hearing me men? This starts with pornography and ends with destroying lives. STOP staring at your computers and magazines in the dark and be a man. Fight for the oppressed. I beg you. 

When finally we excited the Red Light District, on the next street was a beautiful cathedral next to a canal. The church had it's back on the Prostitutes. Men flocked past us and I stumbled to the river. Hanging over the side and clinging to my husband. I have never felt more helpless. More broken.
A boat floated past us with a band playing a beautiful song. The whole scene was gorgeous and surreal and I had just walked through hell. "God, God, God..." I repeated. "Jesus, oh Jesus."

Even now that's all that I can pray when I remember. Her face haunts me. My lack of action to save her haunts me more.

So what am I going to do about it? What can we do children of God?