Choosing Uncertainty

Several weeks ago I attended my first foster parent support group, and in a way I felt like I had come home. We met on a Tuesday evening in a cozy restaurant, and chatted about all the craziness of this life we have chosen. One wise older mom adopted children with special needs from birth, and though the children are teenagers now, she still needs the support of this group. One mom wearing a T-shirt with blingy letters announcing "Papers Preggers" is waiting anxiously for the adoption to finalize for an infant in her care whose parents are homeless and on drugs. Another mom in her 20's talks modestly and hilariously about what life is like with two biological toddlers and two foster babies that are one- and three-months old. My friend who introduced me to the group is grieving the loss of an infant and toddler sibling group she thought she was going to adopt, but they are now reunited with their father, for better or worse. We laughed, cried, shared tips on dealing with the system, and ate more rich food than we should have. I felt understood and supported.

When people find out we are foster parents, they ooh and aah. "You're so brave. I could never do that." Some days—okay a lot of days—I wonder what in the world we were thinking getting into this. But here we are. Choosing to be in a constant limbo state, but loving with all our hearts regardless. Fostering is hard. You welcome children into your home sight unseen, last-minute, and you love them like your own knowing you will likely say goodbye to them someday. You work under all the paperwork and brokenness of the "system," hoping you can make a difference in some way. Why are we doing this? Because we hope we can make a difference, because we want to fill in for parents who can't provide their child(ren) with what they need for a time. No, we don't do it perfectly, but we are doing the best we can, hoping it doesn't break our hearts.

Riley arrived on Saturday afternoon, April 1, 2017. We were at Home Depot buying home improvement stuff when Meghann at the foster agency called. It was her third such call in three days. The other two calls—an infant with a mother in prison, and a sibling group with infant and toddler—ended up going to relatives and a foster family closer to home. We had agreed at that point that we would say yes to pretty much anything, and right away. So we did say yes. Almost as an afterthought, we stopped at Walmart on the way home to buy onesies, baby food, wipes, and diapers. About an hour later we opened the door to meet 7-month-old Riley in the arms of the CPS worker. She was in pajamas at 3:30 pm, red-headed, bright-eyed and friendly. I tried to decipher who she was at a distance while she sat on the couch with Isaac, and we sat at the kitchen table with the CPS worker signing paperwork. When the CPS worker couldn't answer my questions about feeding and sleeping, she called up Riley's dad on speaker phone. He said she eats hypoallergenic formula, likes to go to sleep listening to country music, and likes blackberries. It felt like a bit of a jolt to suddenly be talking to the living person who just said goodbye to his baby. The case worker said Riley's mom hadn't even cried when she handed her over to CPS, she said she'd never seen anything like it. Later when I heard her mother's voice on a permanency conference call, it felt pretty clear to me that she was depressed, resigned to this awful fate of having your 7-month-old baby taken from you. How could she not be? I couldn't imagine the awfulness of it. I quickly sent a bunch of photos to the case worker, in hopes of easing some of her pain.

As a mother, I often feel inadequate. I think every mother does to some degree. I make mistakes, I yell sometimes, sometimes I spank them or grab them in anger, sometimes I even mutter death threats under my breath. Once while vacationing in India I was sitting in the front seat of a van with the kids in the back outside a rainforest in India. The windows were open, and we were casually watching a monkey in a nearby tree when suddenly that big bad monkey actually came in through the window into the driver's seat. (Now keep in mind that Indian monkeys are very dangerous, so much so that when monkeys were on the playground at Isaac's school, they didn't go out to recess!) I knew all of this, but I'm embarrassed to admit that my first reaction to this dangerous situation was not to protect my children, but to hightail it out of the car! Lucky for all of us, he just grabbed the juice box in the front seat and left the car to go devour his prize in the tree. Every time I look back on that story I am ashamed of my selfishness, my lack of that supposed maternal instinct to protect and sacrifice everything for my children. In theory I would do anything for them, but when push comes to shove, my daily decisions don't always reflect that lofty ideal.

I can't imagine what it would feel like to have the state and a judge pronounce you unfit to parent your own child, and then to have that child taken from you. Aren't we all doing the best we know how to with what we've got? And when an outsider comes in and questions our abilities and motives, how can you recover from that? I don't know if I could completely.

When I got the paperwork for Riley after about a week in our care, I learned that she was born six weeks premature on August 22, but was due on October 1, 2016—just one day after our sweet baby Miriam was due. If Riley's parents were such awful parents, how is it that our baby Miriam was taken from us too soon, and Riley was born healthy and smiling to these young parents in a difficult living situation? I've thought about this often over the past nine months, and I don't know the answer. Various case workers have commented that we have a good chance of being able to adopt her. Though we would adopt her in a heartbeat, having lost my own babies, I am very uncomfortable with this thought. How could I take permanently this sweet baby from parents whom I know love and adore her? She was born to them for a reason, and far be it from me to judge whether they deserve to be her parents.

Her parents drive over an hour each way twice a week to visit with Riley for a couple hours in a cramped room full of toys and an observer. When they didn't have jobs they sold their plasma to get the gas money they needed to make the journey. They bring her clothes and toys and snacks, and too many presents on holidays. They call her "baby girl" and "Riley girl." Her daddy can put her to sleep in his arms while he plays music on his cell phone. He sends silly videos of himself with dogs and in masks to make her laugh.

Any day now her mother will give birth to a second baby girl, and they plan to name her Emily. She hopes to give birth to her naturally in the military hospital at Fort Hood with a midwife. She plans to breastfeed, and hopes the judge will eventually let her take her new baby home. For now the plan is that we will take Emily home, loving her as our own until it's time to go home to her biological parents. We are excited for Riley to have a baby sister, excited for the magic of a newborn in our home, but so puzzled and saddened for how this system plays out for their family.

They have asked us to be the godparents of these two little girls, Emily and Riley. I believe that means that if something happens to them we will take over their duties as parents. I feel much more comfortable in the role of (fairy) godmother than foster mom, because it takes away the battle I see many foster parents enter into, in which they feel they need to fight for the right we somehow feel we have earned to keep someone else's children as their own. Having lost my own babies, I can't look at it that way and feel at peace. But being a godmother, a grandmother, another source of support and love in these little girls' lives, and in the lives of their parents is something I can do.

It's a big, wide world, and God's grace is huge. And so is His family. I pray that this glass house we are building that encases our family and theirs in His love can withstand the tests of time and hearings and birth ahead of us. I pray that we will have the strength of heart and stamina of body to love and care for these little ones and our own flesh and blood with all we've got in us, even if it means saying goodbye someday for a time, or even forever.

A Strange Sort of Healing

Miriam's tree died. I don't know why. And I haven't been able to talk about it much. In all the bitterness we experienced, this often felt like the biggest slap in the face. So often in my life I have stumbled, yet still been carried by mercy to goodness and grace. I've doubted, been neglectful, even made giant blunders, yet somehow things have pretty much worked out just fine. Dozen of plants and trees I've planted have pulled through for me despite my neglect, always feeling like a testament to God's mercy and love for me.

My pregnancy with Miriam and subsequent loss of her didn't fit in a tidy package. It still doesn't. The dead tree reminds me of that every time I gaze at it outside my window. It's not only dry and dead, but flopped over toward the ground.

Miriam's tree might be dead, but out of her ashes has come some good, perhaps things I never would have considered, paths I never would have trod. And along the way, little by little, my faith is being restored. It's a different faith. Less blind, perhaps more jaded, but still there.

The first was my work with refugees through Refugee Services of Texas. The day we gave birth to Miriam I got word that the welcome team I had organized was assigned to an Afghan family of six arriving the following week. Literally sitting in bed with my laptop as I healed physically and emotionally, I organized my community to furnish their apartment and welcome them. It gave me purpose in the midst of the pain. The family's mother's name is Mariam.

Three months later we welcomed an African family of nine. Single mom, adult son, and seven daughters. They still struggle with money and health problems, but spending time with them gives me such gratitude and perspective. By November I found myself working full-time at Refugee Services while the volunteer coordinator was on maternity leave. I loved it. I trained and managed hundreds of volunteers, I wrote passionately in weekly emails to garner support, I made good friends from all walks of life, and I earned money. It felt purposeful, focused and challenging in a way that I haven't experienced for a while.

A few weeks after the volunteer coordinator came back, and my time at RST ended, we received our foster baby Riley. She was seven months old when she came to us, wide-eyed, red-headed, brave, and beautiful. She has been with us 2.5 months, and will likely be with us until February 2018, or even forever, though I don't dare count on it. It doesn't feel right to hope to gain a child by hoping for a loving mother and father to lose their beloved baby. They look just like her, and they drive all the way from Killeen every week to spend two hours with her in a cramped room with an observer.

When Riley first arrived, I spent some time sitting on the couch with her, weeping. Weeping for the sad situation she and her parents are in, in which they cannot be together. I wept for my own loss of Miriam, while still feeling so much joy and gratitude for the chance to have this little soul in our home for this season. When she came to us she wasn't even sitting up or eating baby food. Now she crawls around the house exploring all day, babbles like crazy, and pulls herself up and down from standing with ease. She loves people, and everyone in our family is head-over-heels in love with this sweet girl.

I do not know what the future holds. I am no longer naive enough to expect life to hand me tidy packages with perfect gifts inside. I know what I can count on is things turning out differently than I had hoped or imagined pretty much all of the time. And I'm coming around to being okay with that, maybe even welcoming it.

The Potluck Party: Let's All Sit Down Together Through God's Grace

These are the text and notes from a sacrament meeting talk I gave October 18, 2016.

GRACE

I love the word grace, and we use it in many ways. People name their children grace, perhaps to honor the grace they feel God has extended them, or in hopes that their child will be graceful in their behavior. Someone who has mastered social graces can make anyone feel important and at ease in any situation. We speak of falling from grace, a grace period for library books to be returned; we say grace over our food, we grace someone with our presence. Someone who accepts a compliment or award with grace doesn’t act prideful, but accepts it with gratitude, acknowledging all who contributed to their success. A dancer who moves with grace seems to float in the air, almost super-human, but backed by hours and perhaps years of practice.

Why do we use this word grace so much? Perhaps it’s because it’s what makes us human, or rather, humans created in God’s image, relying upon the grace of His son Jesus Christ to ultimately become gods ourselves someday.

D&C 93:13-14: And he received not of the fulness at first, but continued from grace to grace, until he received a fulness; And thus he was called the Son of God, because he received not of the fulness at the first.

THE PARTY

I’d like to invite you to a party—the best party you’ll ever attend. And that’s saying something, because this ward and stake really knows how to throw a great party, from baby showers to Relief Society parties, to pool parties, to mystery nights! We all have different roles at these parties. Some love to play the host, others love to play the guest. Some love to attend parties, some hate them. Some get invited to tons of parties—more than their busy schedules can handle, others seem to never get invited and feel left out.

This party I’m talking about promises to top all the parties you’ve ever been to, and everyone who is anyone is invited. You’ll definitely want to clear your schedule to attend. The party starts at 6 pm this Friday. It’s a potluck, so bring your best dish to share. All of your favorite people will be there, and you might want to go shopping for the right outfit to feel your best at the party. It will take a lot of help to make this big event happen, and I know there are some of you who will really step up to make this party beautiful, from the flowers, to the decorations on the walls, to the background music, to the party games, to the setup of the tables and chairs, to the delectable food and drink. Watch for the signup genius in your email.

HOW DO YOU FEEL?

Now how do you feel about this party? Are you excited to come? Are you planning a way to avoid going? Do you already know you have other plans that will make it impossible to attend? Or can you hardly wait to sign up to help make it a smashing success? Are you nervous about what you will wear, what you will cook, whom you will talk to at the party, whether you even have time to go?

Let’s fast forward to Friday. Some of us will have spent all week preparing for this party. We will have the perfect outfit, the perfect dish, and have spent hours making decorations or preparing games to put all the guests at ease. Others of us will have put in a lot of work to prepare, but our dish failed, or we spilled grease all over our perfect outfit and have nothing else to wear. Some of us will have begun the week with grand plans for all we would do to prepare for this party, only to find ourselves at Friday with nothing to show for our efforts except good intentions. Others of us will have forgotten about it, missed all the email and Facebook reminders. Some of us will have decided we don’t have the time or even the desire to attend.

Some of us will arrive early Friday afternoon to help set up. We will lay out our gorgeous decorations, set up the fun party games, pop our gourmet casserole in the oven so it will be perfectly toasty when the party starts. Those of us who aren’t already at the party Friday afternoon setting up, will get a call from the host, reminding us to come, letting us each know we are an honored guest, despite our lack of preparation or even excitement. When we get that call from our gracious host—and some will even get the call after the party has started—some of us will welcome the call and come to the party as we are. We might not have purchased the perfect outfit, had time to make the perfect dish, or helped with the setup and planning. But we will feel the gracious love of our host, his genuine desire to have us there.

As the party begins, those who have been working all week and all day for its success will be surprised when the host greets us warmly, but excuses himself to go outside and bring in even more guests to our already packed party. All our favorite people are already here, why would he want to bring in more? He goes out and finds people who had intended to come, but their car broke down along the way. People who didn’t feel worthy to come, but when the gracious host looks them in the eye and tells them they are needed and welcome, they feel that genuine, unconditional love, and decide to come after all. People who don’t look like us, share our political views, live lifestyles we approve of, or even speak our language. Some of them bring dishes we’ve never tasted before (and look disgusting), others plug their ipods in and play music we’ve never heard before.

The whole feel of the party has changed, and those of us who were involved with the planning and execution from the beginning feel deflated, perhaps cheated. How is it fair that the host would bring all these people we don’t even know in at the last minute to our party? Not to mention the people we do know who said they didn’t even want to come, brought a bag of chips instead of making a real dish, or just brought themselves and an improvised party game?

The host greets each guest one by one warmly. Then he invites one of the late-arriving guests to say the opening prayer, and invites us all to fill our plates with the amazing food at the table and sit down together. But there’s a catch. He asks those who arrived last to get in line first, and those who began our preparations on Monday to take our place at the back of the line. This comes as a surprise to many of us. How is it fair for them to be first in line when some of us were here first working hard? He listens graciously to our concerns, then promises that there will be just enough food for everyone—after all, this is the party of the century, the party to end all parties.

Is such a party possible? Maybe not completely in this mortal life. But through the grace of our host, the Savior, Jesus Christ, it most definitely is. Especially when we choose to follow his lead and be gracious guests as well. HIS GRACE UNLOCKS THE GATE (GETS US ALL AN INVITATION TO THE PARTY). What kind of guests do we choose to be at His table?

THE DISINTERESTED GUEST

Not interested in coming to the party at all.

Elder Dale G. Renlund, April 2016: “Our absolute distance from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ is important, but the direction we are heading is even more crucial. God is more pleased with repentant sinners who are trying to draw closer to Him than with self-righteous, faultfinding individuals who, like the Pharisees and scribes of old, do not realize how badly they need to repent.”

THE RELUCTANT/UNCOMFORTABLE GUEST
Doesn’t feel worthy or comfortable being there.

Elder Dale G. Renlund, April 2016: “Our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, are the ultimate Givers. The more we distance ourselves from Them, the more entitled we feel. We begin to think that we deserve grace and are owed blessings. We are more prone to look around, identify inequities, and feel aggrieved—even offended—by the unfairness we perceive. While the unfairness can range from trivial to gut-wrenching, when we are distant from God, even small inequities loom large."

Ether 12:27: And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

THE ZEALOUS GUEST

Wants to do everything to make sure the party is a success. Certain that their presence is key to its success.

2 Nephi 25:23: "It is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do" (not because of all we can do)

President Uchtdorf: “When we kneel to pray, is it to replay the greatest hits of our own righteousness, or is it to confess our faults, plead for God’s mercy, and shed tears of gratitude for the amazing plan of redemption?25

“Even if we were to serve God with our whole souls, it is not enough, for we would still be “unprofitable servants.”12 We cannot earn our way into heaven; the demands of justice stand as a barrier, which we are powerless to overcome on our own.

“But all is not lost.

“The grace of God is our great and everlasting hope.”

THE ENVYING GUEST

Does not think it’s fair that others who were not originally on the guest list should come.

Elder Christofferson's words in November of last year after the handbook change regarding children of same-sex couples not being allowed to be baptized (an announcement I really struggled with). "After the child reaches maturity, he or she can make an informed and conscious decision about their own Church membership,” said Elder Christofferson. “Nothing is lost to them in the end if that’s the direction they want to go. In the meantime, they’re not placed in a position where there will be difficulties, challenges, conflicts that can injure their development in very tender years.” This felt earth-shattering to me. So all those years we attend primary and check all the boxes don't really matter? Why in the world are we doing all of this anyway?

THE WELCOMING, GRACIOUS GUEST

They go out with the host to welcome others.

“We must cherish one another, watch over one another, comfort one another and gain instruction that we may all sit down in heaven together” (Lucy Mack Smith)

Uchtdorf: “But the grace of God does not merely restore us to our previous innocent state. If salvation means only erasing our mistakes and sins, then salvation—as wonderful as it is—does not fulfill the Father’s aspirations for us. His aim is much higher: He wants His sons and daughters to become like Him.

“With the gift of God’s grace, the path of discipleship does not lead backward; it leads upward.

“It leads to heights we can scarcely comprehend! It leads to exaltation in the celestial kingdom of our Heavenly Father, where we, surrounded by our loved ones, receive “of his fulness, and of his glory.”18 All things are ours, and we are Christ’s.19 Indeed, all that the Father hath shall be given unto us.”

“Another element of God’s grace is the opening of the windows of heaven, through which God pours out blessings of power and strength, enabling us to achieve things that otherwise would be far beyond our reach. It is by God’s amazing grace that His children can overcome the undercurrents and quicksands of the deceiver, rise above sin, and “be perfect[ed] in Christ.”

“Throughout our lives, God’s grace bestows temporal blessings and spiritual gifts that magnify our abilities and enrich our lives. His grace refines us. His grace helps us become our best selves.”

THE GRACIOUS GUEST

Shelly Cuevas, my dear friend who recently passed to the other side way too young, was a gracious guest on this planet by the time she left us.

D&C 76:94: They who dwell in his presence are the church of the Firstborn; and they see as they are seen, and know as they are known, having received of his fulness and of his grace;

Elder Holland:

"This parable—like all parables—is not really about [potluck dishes, or signup geniuses, or party music]. This is a story about God’s goodness, His patience and forgiveness, and the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is a story about generosity and compassion. It is a story about grace. It underscores the thought I heard many years ago that surely the thing God enjoys most about being God is the thrill of being merciful, especially to those who don’t expect it and often feel they don’t deserve it.

"I do not know who in this vast audience today may need to hear the message of forgiveness inherent in this parable, but however late you think you are, however many chances you think you have missed, however many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don’t have, or however far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines.

“His concern is for the faith at which you finally arrive, not the hour of the day in which you got there.”

CONCLUSION

"Salvation cannot be bought with the currency of obedience; it is purchased by the blood of the Son of God. Thinking that we can trade our good works for salvation is like buying a plane ticket and then supposing we own the airline. Or thinking that after paying rent for our home, we now hold title to the entire planet earth."

As we take our plates and sit down at the sumptuous tables beside all of the guests, the laughter, love and abundance of grace flows, and we are happy to be a part of it. Our preparations—or lack thereof, our insecurities, our pride, our judgments, all get swallowed up in this room full of love, hope, and joy.

Hebrews 4:16: Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.

• Comparing ourselves to others, trying to decide who should and should not receive salvation (including judging ourselves) wastes precious time we could spend partaking of God’s grace and promised joy.
• We are all welcome to sit down at the table of salvation with God.
• More of God’s children sitting at the table with us does not rob us of anything—the pot of grace at the table is endless and overflowing.
• Though our preparations help prepare and refine us, they do not qualify us for the seat at the table, or for the opportunity to enjoy the party.

The Wave of Grief

You know the feeling: Something reminds you of your loss, perhaps someone else's similar loss, and you feel a tightness in your chest. You can no longer breathe for a split second, and a wave of emotion washes over you. A giant sob that, depending on where you are, could threaten to engulf you entirely. For me this feeling never goes away, no matter how many years have passed since the loss. It becomes less dramatic and the waves become few and far between, but that familiar wave still occasionally returns in an unexpected roar.

My friend Kelly described the wave this way: "I usually end up curled up somewhere with a Little, while crying for the one I only held once."

I long for my grandparents, my baby Samuel, my mother-in-law, my daughter Miriam, for my big brother who died before I was born. Sometimes I weep for them. I write their names on the foggy glass in the shower, then watch the letters drip away in the rush of water and humidity. The wave often hits me in those quiet moments when I am alone with my thoughts. It hits when I hear a song or story on the radio, learn of a friend's loss, enjoy a family moment I know my loved one would enjoy, or go to a place that reminds me of those precious but gut-wrenching moments.

I'm grateful for these moments, difficult though they may be. They remind me that I am human, that mortality is brief and fragile. I'm hopeful that I am healing when the feeling propels me into action, action that helps another in their grief.

I felt weird posting my innermost feelings about Miriam's death last week, but it felt important to do anyway. Part of me wants to remove the post and pretend I never shared it with you. But as my friend Irene so wisely said, "Writing is healing. . . Some of us don't allow ourselves to feel and heal completely. Then a tender blog comes along, and it helps us either finish mourning or perhaps begin."

I hope my blog did that for you, that it was worth the risk of revealing my heart to you.

My friend Heather shared these wise words from a blog about the Yoga of Darkness:

"The end isn’t this negativity, this disappointment. But negativity is part of the path, and it has to be gone through if you want to understand it, to understand yourself, at all. If you don’t, you’ll be shutting down half of your experience of life, and probably the best strengths you’ll ever find."

"God moves away, often at the same time he takes away the ground. First goes this, then goes that. . . . Gone is the confidence of conversion. And then a small movement in the heart. And then two."

My friend Victoria shared these beautiful thoughts:

"I grieve with you not just as a mother, but as a woman who has had to brave being a parent beyond the confines of mortality. I want you to know, even if it is too hard right now, that you WILL taste sweet waters again. That this bitter season will grow and change. Your grief will never leave you, that it is a blessing, because it reminds you that she is real. Her spirit is real, and that you will one day embrace each other in the eternities, never to be parted again. But—grief does get easier to walk with each day. For months I lived moment to moment, then slowly day to day. Step by step with my loving Father in Heaven, but also with my Mother in Heaven, knowing that she was there taking care of my girl. I hope and pray that your family finds comfort. If ever you need to just say, 'today really sucks' please know I am here and I see you."

Thank you, dear friends--all of you--who are walking this path with me. I am here. I see you. Our Heavenly Father and Mother see us. And we all grieve together for what was lost, what is still darkness, and hope for the light to come. And it does.

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known" (1 Corinthians 13:12).

On Bitterness

The Bitter Potion by Adriaen Brouwer

Chef and author Jennifer McLagan said:

Bitter can be dangerous; bitter can signal a poison or a toxin. We have this innate reaction of negativity to bitterness. [I want] to help people overcome that negative reaction to bitter and try to see it as a positive taste.

I think one of the most important things is not to try to eliminate it. People say, 'Oh it's bitter,' and they'll put some sugar in there. Try to balance bitterness with something else. Something salty—salt will often cut the bitterness—but also something fatty. I should have known this straight away, fat and bitter are perfect partners. If you have something rich and you match it with something bitter, they play off each other and make each other taste even better. . . .

Embrace bitterness.

I have tasted bitterness this past month. We have tasted it.

"Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter?" (James 3:11)

On Tuesday, March 22nd we had an ultrasound at 13/14 weeks. Everything looked good as far as our little surprise guppy's development. A completely intact skull, fingers, and toes. That little one was wriggling around like crazy—alive! Aunt Robin noticed the babe's profile looked like Graham. I always love seeing the bright lines of perfectly formed ribs, limbs, and skull. The umbilical cord was covering the genitalia, so we did a genetic blood test screening to check for other abnormalities, and to reveal the gender.

On Tuesday, March 29th, the last day of my parents' visit, the test results came in. After hearing there were no genetic problems, I asked them to email me gender results. I forwarded them to Ashalon and Cindy, who helped us pull together a fancy gender reveal party just before my parents got on the plane. They wrapped up a wildflower in a box and gave the boys unmarked silly string cans to spray at us. A girl!!

As the unbelievably amazing reality of a baby girl set in, I was still feeling quite sick and somehow still a little uneasy. Maybe I was scared to have a girl, or maybe I felt what was coming. Ashalon made her a little pink tutu and blingy flower hair clip. Cindy and I went fabric shopping and talked about baby girl clothes and decorations. Michelle brought over a cute gift of a pink stuffed elephant and Mary Jane socks. So many people expressed their excitement for our new baby girl in our all-boy family. It felt like a tender mercy from heaven, just for us, too good to be true.

On Tuesday, April 5th, we went in for a regular monthly midwife appointment. Rich was with me. We chatted about exercise, how good my blood work looked, how the perinatologist changing the date of conception back almost two weeks based on the ultrasound measurements couldn't possibly be right. Then I got up on the table to be measured and check the heartbeat. No heartbeat. How could that be? They changed the batteries, brought another midwife in. Still nothing. So we rushed to the other office for an ultrasound. I wasn't nervous at first. I was sure there must be some mistake. This was our miracle baby. We didn't ask for her, how could God take her away from us now? But when they ran the ultrasound instrument along my swollen belly, there she was curled up in a ball—a flat line of silence for a heartbeat. Our little baby girl sleeping—dead—inside of me.

To avoid the many awkward conversations, we announced her death on Facebook, just a week after we'd announced the happy news of our pregnancy and her gender. Almost immediately we were showered with flowers, meals, treats, gifts, cards and kindness. My momma flew back to help me and grieve with me. It was almost too much to have so many mourning with us, but also felt good to have people share with us in our sadness, despite the awkwardness and embarrassment.

[They are] willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort. (Book of Mormon, Mosiah 18:8-9)

Some of the flowers lovingly given in our grief

I didn't understand when we lost Samuel to exencephaly 14 years ago that I was certainly not alone in my grief. I felt the Savior's empathy for me, but I felt like nobody quite understood what I was going through. Now I understand that so many women and their babies suffer this horrible fate, then many go on to birth healthy babies into happy families—happy families who still remember sadness.

[I]f they never should have bitter they could not know the sweet. (Doctrine and Covenants 29:39)

It took several days to find a doctor to help us deliver this little one, since our midwives couldn't do it in a birthing center and the homebirth midwife we contacted felt like it was too risky to do at home. On April 8th, Dr. Christina Sebestyen finally saw us (her practice delivered Henry) and scheduled us to go into the hospital Sunday, April 10th to induce labor.

They started the induction at 11pm with Cytotec every three hours, and I was able to sleep some, and breathe through the contractions. It felt very familiar to be laboring in the same hospital where I'd delivered Henry, but also surreal to be there for a much less joyful event. It was very quiet in our room, too quiet. We walked the halls a bit, trying to avoid looking in the rooms where babies were being born—alive babies. We listened to music, but couldn't quite settle on the kind of music we wanted as a soundtrack for these strange moments. We were playing cards (Spite and Malice to match our mood) at 11am on Monday, April 11th when Dr. Sebestyen came in to check me. She said I must have a high tolerance for pain, because I was dilated to a ten, and if I gave one or two pushes she would come out. Sure enough, she slid out like a little fish, and there she was: our baby.

Photo by Leilani Rogers

We named her Miriam Claudia. Miriam after Moses' sister who bravely looked after her brother, the prophetess who joyfully danced with the other women after they crossed the Red Sea. Claudia after my sweet and brave mother-in-law who was taken from this earth in December 2008 after a long fight with breast cancer.

She was very much not alive, slippery and colorless, looking almost like she was melting away. But she was so beautiful—tiny little hands, mouth, feet, nose, ears, ribs, umbilical cord, even a clitoris! Our old friend Leilani, a birth photographer, came to take pictures of her nestled in the beautiful blanket Aunt Robin made her, pictures we will always treasure.

After some sweet, quiet moments with Miriam, the contractions and bleeding started to increase really fast. I couldn't seem to deliver the placenta that was still inside me. My hands and arms went numb as I pushed, and after a visit to the bathroom where giant clots came out of me, I passed out briefly on the bed, just as my mom walked into the room. Dr. Sebestyen tried gently pulling the placenta out using some instruments, but my body, probably going into shock from all the blood loss,  wasn't cooperating. They made the quick decision to take me into the operating room, where under general anesthesia they scraped out the rest of that pesky placenta. I woke up later in the hospital room surrounded by Rich, my mom, Aunt Robin, and shortly thereafter my kids and Cindy. It was all over, but the grieving had only just begun.

The name "Miriam" can also be translated as "Marah," the name of the bitter waters in Exodus 15:

So Moses brought Israel from the Red sea, and they went out into the wilderness of Shur; and they went three days in the wilderness, and found no water.

And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter: therefore the name of it was called Marah.

And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink?

Moses Sweetens the Waters of Marah by Nicolas Poussin

And he cried unto the Lord; and the Lord shewed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet: there he made for them a statute and an ordinance, and there he proved them,

And said, If thou wilt diligently hearken to the voice of the Lord thy God, and wilt do that which is right in his sight, and wilt give ear to his commandments, and keep all his statutes, I will put none of these diseases upon thee, which I have brought upon the Egyptians: for I am the Lord that healeth thee.

And they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of water, and threescore and ten palm trees: and they encamped there by the waters.

I want to believe He will make these bitter waters sweet, or at least taste good. What is the symbolic salt and fat to help life taste good again? I'm not sure. But I know from experience they will come. I will wait and work for that miracle. If it doesn't make me bitter, it will make me better.

[W]eeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

[T]here could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. . . . [O]n the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy. (Alma 36:21)

On Mother's Day we planted a Montezuma Cypress tree for Miriam, spreading underneath its roots her ashes and the dried flowers from those who grieved with us. We planted it in the flood plain behind our house, where we hope the steady flow of muddy waters will help it grow into a giant tree that could live for hundreds of years.

We sang "I Am A Child of God," prayed over the tree, and finished with this scriptural hope:

Blessed is the [wo]man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is. For [s]he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit. (Jeremiah 17:7-8)

I don't know if the fruit we will bear in the future will include another baby, but I know I will choose to wake up each morning, trying to find the joy in each day, trying to continue to yield good fruit. I will try to figure out how to temper life's bitterness with the fat and saltiness that can make life delicious and meaningful, for myself and the people around me.

Janielle Visits!

Hello Blog

Yup, I'm still here. I'm pretty sure I've lost all my readers, but I thought I'd jump in the saddle again for a moment (since this blog is narcissistic anyway).

What's new around here:

• I am now the bishop's wife. So far that's meant I'm eating a lot more junk food and yelling at the kids more. How holy is that?
• We had the first freeze of the year, so the lemon and lime trees came inside. They are both blooming. So grateful for that annual tender mercy, like a tender message from my little Samuel that my faith that there is hope for a better world can remain intact.
• We have a cat who showed up at our doorstep as a tiny kitten about 6 months ago when we started our kitchen remodel. Her name is Shadow. I think she's pregnant, since we've seen a lot of teenage male cats hanging around. She's not allowed in the house, yet our sunroom and garage smell like cat. Blech.
• Christmas is coming. As usual, I am not ready, and am to that point where I've stopped the delusions of grandeur and am just trying to survive and at least get gifts for my kids and husband.
• Henry is two. He doesn't sleep through the night and spends way too much time playing on my iPhone and iPod.