Kemah Boardwalk Celebrating Elijah's 3rd Birthday

Connor has just turned 16 and Elijah is now 3 years old. Notice how tall Connor has grown!

Lilibeth Eve

The Loss of Lilibeth

I had to fly to Texas to be with our daughter, Monica, suddenly on July 5th. She had a miscarriage in her tenth week of pregnancy. I stayed for two weeks to help her through the pain, shield her from well intentioned people she was not prepared to see just yet, and help her with our three year old grandson, Elijah. There was sadness to be sure but also joy and even moments of laughter. A three year old can do that for sure. Especially when he crawls into my lap and asks his Grandma the Magnificent (a title he gave to me) to read a story or two to him.

Although she could not easily voice her feelings, Monica did write about them. Here is what she said:

"Tuesday, July 08, 2008
There are so many things that I've been wanting to write about and share. But, there either hasn't been time, or it's been consumed by other things. This weekend has been no different ... definitely consumed by the unexpected: I lost my baby on July 5th. Though I've not been capable of 'talking' about it with anyone just yet, I do feel the need to express my feelings, and here seems to be the right place to start. This was my third pregnancy. My mother had difficulty with her pregnancies (note the plural and that I am an only child). Because of her history, I had fear during my first pregnancy that I'd miscarry easily. But, that fear gave way to joy as I progressed without concern. Connor will be sixteen this month, and Elijah three. Though thirteen years apart, my pregnancies had been easy. I had no reason to expect anything different. On July 4th, I began to spot just a little. Despite knowing that some women experience this in pregnancy, I was only slightly worried in that this had never been my experience. So, I began praying that everything would be alright. At first the spotting seemed to lighten, but then it reoccurred and this time looked more like bright red blood. Now I was concerned. I continued praying and tried to rest. Later that night I awoke at around 4:15am blood soaked and ran to the bathroom. Some tissue fell from my body ... an eerie feeling I'll never forget. Sam insisted that we wake Elijah and go to the hospital. We arrived there at nearly 4:45am. The staff checked me in and two nurses began to treat me. Though they had few words, their somber expressions screamed what I didn't want to hear. A doctor came in about an hour later and asked me, "Do you understand what's happening?" As I barely choked out a faint "yes", my throat ached and tears flooded my eyes. It had been the first time I admitted to my heart what was happening. I was losing my baby. The hospital sent me home with instructions on how to monitor my symptoms. I continued to bleed, near hemorrhage, for nineteen hours before returning to the hospital. They contacted an OB from a nearby city to get instruction as to how to treat me. They opted for a drug called Methergine to control my bleeding, but they had none on site. I waited for two hours for the drug to be couriered from another hospital. As soon as it had been given to me, my uterus began to painfully cramp. I was nearly doubled over still bleeding, still clotting and now in agonizing pain. They gave me a heavy pain reliever and released me for home again. The car trip was excruciating ... every bump, hole and fissure magnified my pain and I writhed by the time we were there. The painkiller allowed me to sleep through the night. Sam made me comfortable and waited on me like a prince throughout. He called the same OB that the hospital had spoken with to make an early morning appointment for Monday. We arrived at 9:15am. The receptionist knew to expect us, but in my mind seemed to be graceless with regard to our condition. She was so matter of fact, and concerned mainly with how we'd pay than with how we felt. Ugh. I am not a hateful person, but thoughts of love and joy were not being stirred towards her. After a few moments, the doctor saw Sam and I. He explained that he was going to look at me and see if I had passed everything I needed to. Sam took Elijah and went back to the waiting room. And, I headed to a small dimly lit room that had a very odd, very stiff, and very uncomfortable looking chair in it. It wasn't the usual bed you see in a doctor's office ... this looked more like something you'd sit in for a dental check-up. I felt chilled. The nurse told me to completely undress and slip on a paper shirt, open in the front, and to cover my legs with a paper sheet. I had trouble opening the shirt, and was dreading sitting in that odd chair as I was still bleeding and couldn't bear the thought of making a mess let alone being uncomfortably exposed. A few moments later the doctor walked in. He told me to set my legs in the calf clamps at either side of the chair. They were more like awkwardly positioned round metal tubes than easy leg rests. As I tried to sit as he instructed, a wave of insecurity washed over me. He pushed a button and the chair began to motorize and tilt backward. He pulled a light close, inserted a clamp, stretched me open and then began to poke at my insides. The pain was unbearable again. I was already consumed by layers of mental, emotional and physical anguish. The humiliation of the procedure along with realizing that I hadn't yet passed everything and would need further surgery completely broke my countenance. I couldn't help but mournfully and bitterly sob, upside down, barely covered in paper, foreign objects inside and with two strangers a foot length away. I was covered in grief. Sam (Monica's husband) took me to get checked in to the hospital. We arranged for all the paperwork, had more blood drawn and my surgery was scheduled for 2:30pm. We went home for about an hour-and-a-half before returning to the day surgery unit. They prepped me with an IV and Sam I waited for an operating room to open. It turned out that two other surgeries before us ran in to complications which delayed my procedure by nearly four hours. In a way, I was glad to wait knowing that the others before us were being cared for so well. But, I was also weary of laying on an uncomfortable stretcher, hooked up to an IV pole and freezing. Finally, the time came. The anesthetist came to speak with me, then two nurses came with pre-surgery medication. A few moments later I was whisked to the OR where the anesthesiologist placed a mask over my face, and I drifted off to black silence. That was the last thing I remember prior to waking woozy in the recovery room. Sam was still by my side. He was always by my side. I love him so. I was able to leave within a half hours time, and am glad to be back at home. I'm still hurting, though more mentally and emotionally than physically. My mom flew in yesterday and is here with me now. I'm so glad. My best friend Tami helped with Elijah, and picked my mom up from the airport while Sam and I were at the hospital. Tami, thank you for your friendship. You're so good to me. And, Sam, thank you for being so tender toward me for every moment of the last four horrific days. You have made my love for you grow. Despite ailing from your own bout with bronchitis and being severely deprived of sleep, you have sacrificed continually for Elijah's and my comfort while ministering to our every need. You really shine as the hands and feet of Christ. I'm sorry for the loss of our child, but I am so glad to have gone through it with you. Your love, care, compassion and ministering have meant the world to me. For anyone that might wonder, no I have never once blamed God nor been angry or upset with Him in any way for what has happened. This world is given over to sin, and sin has brought death ... not God. I know without question, and without hesitation that our loss was in no way God's doing, nor His will. However, I do know that our child rests in the arms of our Lord now and that we will see her in days to come. My Father has been of absolute comfort to me throughout this time. I've leaned on Him and He has covered me with His grace. This world is broken. He is not. Everything is right with Him and I claim victory and life in His name. Thank you Jehovah Rapha for being my great Healer and El Shaddai, my All Sufficient One. I love you and praise you through this storm.
Job 6:10Then I would still have this consolation— my joy in unrelenting pain— that I had not denied the words of the Holy One"

"Thursday, July 17, 2008
I feel like adding a final post about the loss of our baby on July 5th. As hard as it's been to go through, amazing good has come from it. When I woke up blood soaked early Saturday morning, I knew that something was terribly wrong. Though I hadn't been in pain at that time, Sam insisted we rush to the hospital. We did. Two very tender and sweet nurses began taking care of me. They had such kind expressions, but laced with sorrow. It was difficult to look in to their eyes. As I lay on the stiff white bed, in the cool and sterile hospital room, I simply closed my eyes and prayed ... and prayed ... and prayed. The nurses had gone for a least a period of an hour. During that time I prayed Jeremiah 32:17, "Ah, Sovereign LORD, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you." I kept saying over and over again ... "nothing is too hard for You. You can do this. You can fix what's wrong and make it right." I not only said those words, but believed them deeply. There was no way that I'd give thought or voice to loss of hope. When the nurses returned, the doctor followed. He had a serious expression on his face, a mix between stern and grave. When he asked if I understood what was happening, there was only one reply. Yes ... I did. Despite, acknowledging his words my hope had still not been lost. I asked if we could listen for the baby's heartbeat. The doctor began to speak very clinically, and said that we could try, but doubted that we'd hear anything. Despite his pessimism, I insisted. The nurse slathered my belly with cool gel, and began to carefully search for the baby's heartbeat. But only mine was heard. It seemed that my baby had already been gone ... now it was time for 'biology' (as the doctor put it) ... to take over. There were so many layers to my experience at that time. Despite being physically and verbally engaged with the nurses, and doctor; despite my own discomfort and tumult of emotion, I had been fully gripped in prayer. It had been when I heard no heartbeat other than my own that I immediately switched gears and conceded to God, "It's a no. I know that nothing is too hard for you, but You said no. So, instead I'm going to praise You through this storm. I don't know why this is happening, but I know that You are faithful. I will still love You no matter what. You are still on the throne. You still love me. And, now I have a child in heaven ... with You." As I had been praising God, another line of thought crossed my mind. I had been thinking, while praying, how glad I was that despite the torment of my circumstance that my first reaction was to PRAISE HIM!!! That alone gave me peace and joy. And, while this peace surrounded me like a blanket, another thought began to enter. I thought, could this be pride? Am I feeling pride now ... at this moment, while my baby is literally falling from my body? Ugh. Though the thought of it repulsed me, there remained a deep satisfaction that yes! ... praise had been my first response. I had praised God at the most difficult of times, and in my most vulnerable state. After arriving home from the hospital that morning, I immediately turned to the Word. I had been searching for the verse in Jeremiah 31:13, 'I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.' I had been set on claiming that passage to get me through the day and days to come. However, As I had been searching for that passage, God revealed another to me. It was Job 6:10, 'Then I would still have this consolation - my joy in unrelenting pain - that I had not denied the words of the Holy One.' In the King James Version, the verse reads, 'Then should I yet have comfort; yea, I would harden myself in sorrow: let him not spare; for I have not concealed the words of the Holy One.' The word harden in today's language seems to give the verse the exact opposite meaning of it's true translation. In Hebrew, the word 'harden' means to 'leap, jump or spring for joy.' So, Job, in his inmost heart still leaped for joy because he hadn't denied God ... even after losing all of his children, his livestock, his home and his health. He continued to praise God. I knew at that moment that God had given me a special word. The experience I had with Him in the hospital, praising Him first despite enormous loss and pain, was not pride but simple joy. I had been joyful to praise Him even in the midst of despair. I'm so glad. Thank you Father, for holding me then and now. You always do. I pray that I will be endlessly thankful for your goodness. I feel that it is important for me to share this experience, if for nothing else than to give others a ray of hope. This experience has not been easy. It's been heart wrenching. But, despite the mourning, there has been gladness. We can survive our 'worst thing imaginable' with God. He will carry us. And, though we may never know the 'why' on this side of heaven, we can know the truth. And, the truth is OUR GOD IS GOOD!!! He has plans for us .... 'plans to prosper us and not to harm us, plans to give us a hope and a future.' - Jeremiah 29:11. Our daughter may be in heaven, but that is where I'd want her to be anyway .... despite wanting to selfishly hold her in my flesh and blood arms, on earth. She is where we all want to be ... in the loving arms of the one who loves like no other ... our true Father in heaven. Praise be to Him. We named her Lilibeth Eve. In Hebrew: Lili means 'pure and innocent.' Beth (short for Elizabeth) means 'God is my oath.' And, Eve means 'alive or living.' So, all together she is an innocent daughter of God, alive and living because of His oath of faithfulness to us.Praise Him for He is Good!"

I told Monica I could not tell her that she would in time forget the pain of loss. I have never forgotten my miscarriages. But I did tell her she would move beyond the pain with time and that Elijah would be instrumental in that as well as her strong spiritual beliefs.

While I was away, my husband also felt compelled to write about Monica's loss. He did so in a letter he wrote and sent to Sam and Monica. This is what he wrote:

"Dear Monica and Sam, I am writing you a few lines to let you know how I personally feel about the loss of your baby, my special grand baby. As long as will live on this earth, there will always be a special place in my soul for the gift of life God gave me of this grandchild. My Christian belief is life starts with conception, when the baby's first heart beats are started by God's miracle of life. Then the child also will be given a soul by its heavenly father, Jesus, and by its heavenly grandfather, Jehovah. For some reason this miracle of life was cut short of existence to be born to a loving mother and father on earth. My faith tells me that this child will have a special place in the heavenly kingdom. I like to believe that the baby was taken by angels to heaven to be raised by them and when fully grown be presented to the heavenly father Jesus and its grandfather, Jehovah, to be welcomed by them into eternal service as a fully grown angel. Yes, I believe your baby will be an angel in god's kingdom. So when I pray to Jesus and Jehovah, I will always ask for permission to pray a few words to my personal angel, your miracle baby. Lots of love to you, Monica, and to you, Sam, for being such a kind and loving dad. My prayers are with you at this time."

My husband, Arno, is not one to write about or speak about his feelings. They are a very private part of him. That is why these words he wrote are so moving to Monica, Sam, and to me.