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?

Marriage: Leaving The Buts Out Of It.

I'm watching him play ping pong with the guys, laughing and complimenting, counting in German and beating most of them.
I try not to brag about my Husband too much because I know all the girls will get jealous, but it cant be helped anymore. We work together and I get to watch him every day, all day. We get to stare at each other from across the room, it's so fun to catch his eye and share a smile. This man is the only man I've dated. The only man I've kissed. He started to open doors for me when we were friends and continues to this day. Sometimes it means I stand beside the car door waiting, but it's always worth the wait. There have been a few times when I've seen a man walk into a room and my initial thought is-"he's attractive" only to realize that "he" is all mine! Sometimes he gets me giggling so hard that I can't stop. Other times we banter back and forth and surprise each other with how clever we are! I can  identify his walk and his deep, loud laugh can be heard anywhere in the house. He has on occasion cleaned the bathroom, and just today finished the laundry! I love being in love. I miss him when he's gone, even if it's just for a few hours.
We've only been married for two and a half years. We are rookies at this strange dance and have no idea what we're doing most of the time. Marriage is hard. Fabulously hard.
I wish someone would have told me that before we were married. Sure I got lots of -Marriage is hard, BUT it's the most exciting and wonderful thing you'll ever do!
And predictions- Your first year will be hard, BUT it keeps getting better after that!

Can we leave the buts out of it for a moment please? Marriage is hard. It's excruciating and vulnerable. I've never felt more pain. More shame and more stress. I've never stayed awake sobbing quietly so often before, argued so frequently, gone to sleep angry so much (that's right, we occasionally let the sun go down on our wrath, I told you we were rookies), been so deeply hurt before or so angry at one person this often.
I have friends who tell me they've never argued with their husband before, and hey, that's great, I'm
happy for them, that's not us. And that's not the norm. But I'm sorry to say that's really what I was expecting when we pledged our lives to each other, that we would be different, unique, set apart as a holy, beautiful union. When we had our first real fight and Jordan stormed out of the house while my hands were deep in dish water, I cried and told God that this isn't what I had signed up for.
Our next fight I was the one to slam the door and wandered down the train tracks, angry and confused. 'God, what is this?' I asked.

Since then I've come up with a few realizations.

This is learning that marriage was not meant to make me happy. It was meant to make both Jordan and I holy. Think about that for a minute. That goes against everything that the world tells us.
This is looking into the eyes of my husband and seeing who I really am. I can't hide from Jordan. He truly SEES me. He loves me in spite of me.
This is knowing without a shadow of a doubt that we will fight and cry and say things we shouldn't to each other and even leave for an hour, but every night, there he is beside me, in spite of it all. That is commitment.
This is having someone who will witness my life. There are billions of people in this world, which of them really care about how my day went and what my dreams are? Jordan does. And I care about his.
This is clinging to Jesus more than I ever have. I run to Him more often and need His direction when I'm falling apart. The more I realize how much Jordan and I let each other down, the more I realize that God never has, and never will.

We spent five silent days together in the spring. I was so mad I didn't want to touch him. It was the same fight that made me walk the tracks a year and a half before. I still made his meals. He still held the car door open for me. Ice palace. In the early morning of the last day I couldn't sleep so I tried to quietly slip out of bed. Jordan sat up, grabbed me and held me. "I just miss you" he whispered. The next morning I cautiously asked him if he remembered saying that and he looked up clueless. We
started to giggle and immediately the ice was broken.

We fight. We argue. He doesn't always bring roses home and I'm not always waiting at the door with a dress on and lipstick, puckering up. Actually...that's never happened...
Sex isn't like Hollywood portrays. Kissing isn't always a magical moment.

Marriage is filled with normal days, hard days and wonderful days. With all of those moments in between. If this was all that there was to live for in life, I would be completely depressed. It's truly not enough. That's why Jesus has to be number one, for both of you. I'm learning that Jesus is all that there is to life, and slowly everything else is starting to make sense. It all matters. Every argument, every giggle, every tear. It's all making us holy.

I am so excited to grow in this love that feels (and is) so new. I'm thrilled that Jordan is the man who witnesses my life, who sees all of me, and who points me to Jesus every single day, whether he knows it or not.
So let's leave the buts out if it and embrace all that marriage is. I love telling newly dating girls and engaged girls that- Marriage is hard! And it's ok. It's all ok, but it will get better (That was a little joke).

I'm Supposd To Be Miserable?

I have been pondering what to write for my first blog in Germany. I want to write before all of these experiences mold together and I forget specifics. As an International Worker going to Germany, we had to raise the money we needed to work and live here and with that comes many, many wonderful people who have donated so that we can be here! I grew up in a Christian community and therefore have a few ideas of what an international worker's life should be.
#1- They have to suffer. Probably be very sick for a long period of time and miserable for the rest. After all, they are doing the Lord's work.
The problem is, I'm struggling to find things to be miserable about.

I walk into the living room and one young man is trying out Kung Fu on another. I sit in the hall monitoring the first study hour and a young man sits beside me on the floor to read his mystery novel, then an hour later pulls out a plastic gun that he had in his pocket the whole time, just because. When the book is later lost, he becomes Sherlock Holmes and retraces his steps. I am living in the most gorgeous little village I've ever seen, with the church bells bringing in every half hour and the green hills enveloping the dorm. Ping pong is happening all the time. We move into our apartment on the third floor of a house that is 150 years old and I get to name the rats that are making their (I'm sure) lovely house in the wall beside our bed (Tarzan and Jane by the way). I'm driving three seniors up the hill and we sing Michael Buble as loud as we can. The first day Jordan and I are asked by a Freshman if we are siblings and Jordan grabs me and kisses me, the poor guy stares in shock then relaxes when we tell him we're married. I learn to drive a 9 passenger van through narrow streets that were built around houses and trees. France is an afternoon trip for school supplies. I make cappuccino cookies. I last about 3 minutes in the gym playing dodge ball with 26 men, then run screaming for cover. Laundry is now work...what? It used to be something I did for fun. We marvel at being a part of a community, finally.

For those who think that International Workers do indeed need to suffer all the time to make an impact, I could comfort you with things that we have gone through as well. My dear Uncle Lauren passed away when we had been here a week. It's hard to mourn around people I have just met, while being in the town my Uncle grew up in. He was so much a part of why we came here and I see him everywhere I look. He was the fourth family member to die in a little over a year and heaven is looking sweeter now then it ever did. And I can't help but hear his laugh if I told him my fear that people will think we're not being useful if we're having a good time, he would laugh and then ask if I've been eating enough chocolate, and have I started liking coffee yet? I ought to start liking coffee.
Loss happens even in the most beautiful of havens.

These 23 young men are why I'm here and here happens to be in the middle of God's beauty and grace. I've come home.