Streams in the Wasteland

I haven’t written in a long, long time. And what better way to resume my writing than with this post? This is by far the most significant post that I will ever write. Well, to me at least!

I have written with some amount of detail as it is meant to reach out to people who need to know that sometimes the brightest of lights is preceded by the deepest of darkness. If this is not you, I won’t be offended if you choose not to read any further.

School term-break started a couple of days ago. The very first term-break since I’ve been back. I rode the train with my family. Took my 6 year old swimming. I rode down the slippery dip with her. We turned up the music really, really loud and danced like crazy to silly pop songs. We did a Maccas (McDonald’s) run and drove home, windows down with the music system on overdrive, singing at the top of our voices. These are such everyday things. Yet, to me, this was super special since I haven’t been able to do any of this for a long, long time. For close to two years, due to one physical restriction or another, I was forced out of my once hands-on and carefree relationship with my daughter Shannon. She and I were forced to endure the pain of watching the wonderful relationship we shared, since she was minutes old, change in unanticipated and heart-wrenching ways. Have you ever been away? Like you were present but still not really there? Well, I have and this is my story.

On the 18th of Dec 2012, at 3:30am, my husband, my mother and I sat clutching onto our beautiful, 3 day old baby girl Danielle as the doctors turned off her life support systems. This was after a ten hour long fight our brave little girl put up to stay here for us. I watched, through my tears and the most intense pain, her heartbeat monitor fade to zero. I held her close and kissed her head a hundred times knowing that those were the only kisses I would ever get to give her. I cried from the deepest depths of my heart. For the loss of the beautiful baby I would never cuddle through the night. For the loss of the toddler who would never call me mamma. For the birthday parties I would never host. For the kindergarten child who would never need my help with reading. For the high school graduation I would never attend. For the bride I would never kiss good bye. For Shannon, the then 4 yr old girl, at home, anticipating the arrival of her little sister – the little sister who would now never get to come home. I cried for the empty photo frame I had been saving in our family tree set. I cried for the empty space that would now haunt my marriage. I cried for the entire loss of an entire lifetime that our future had promised not long ago. I cried most of all because the person I used to be might have coped with all of this much better than the person that was left behind. We had just lost a baby. With that baby, my husband and daughter lost the wife and mother they once knew.

After six weeks in a hospital bed, traumatic medical drama, surgery and ultimately the loss of my beautiful girl, what was left of me returned home to a heartbroken, confused 4yr old, a shattered husband and the million pieces of the new life that we had recently begun in a foreign country. Alongside this we had to deal with the tantrums of some members of the extended family who chose to be petty in the middle of our tragedy. This was a very costly tragedy. Financially too. We were left with a massive mess to clean up in the aftermath. I had no friends at the time just a couple of kind acquaintances from a church we had recently become a part of – that church, C3 Silverwater, has since become my second home and those same people are some of my best friends. I was a prisoner inside my own body and my body was a prisoner inside my home for want of human company other than my husband and daughter. The only contact I had with other people was mostly via long distance phone calls to my friends and family back home overseas. I was always an achiever, a fighter and an overcomer. But here I was, unable to tap into that side of me. Did that side even exist after an experience like this? I had no answers. I had no answers for anything. Most of all, I had no answers for why my God – the Father who had never failed me – had let me break beyond the walls of my wildest imagination. Burying a child is against the ordained order of life.

Lots of people have bad experiences – some arguably more horrific than mine. Many times people will testify to the horrific life they previously had and how they had an encounter with Christ that transformed everything for the better, forever. We love those stories where God swoops in and rescues someone. We shout them from the rooftops. But what of the stories like mine? Life in the church and with God is the only one I’ve ever known – right from when I was a tiny baby at my mother’s knee. Everything I’d ever done was always carefully within the perimeter of what God considers acceptable. I wasn’t the prodigal daughter. God, my Father, wasn’t meant to allow something like this to happen to me. But it did happen. The irreversible had actually happened. Stories like mine make most Christians twiddle their thumbs and whistle nervously as they look up at the pretty shaped clouds. Stories of failure, like mine, within a church aren’t exactly pin-up stories. Some even speculate (some quietly, some not so quietly) about what serious ‘no no’ we had committed that brought on this sort of ‘punishment’. Fortunately, I know my God. He is only good. Don’t hate God because people misrepresent him. I almost did. God is far more loving, forgiving, tolerant and empathetic than some people who run His church on earth. I knew in my heart, God is good. Now all I had to do was to reign in my mind to trust him through this season of darkness and let Him restore me.

The road to this restoration was not easy. First, I had to recover physically and emotionally. And I had to do this while feeling second rate in a new country where people knew nothing of the old me – dynamic, physically fit, talented, happy, positive, well educated and always up for a good laugh. Fortunately, I made a few friends within my church family and a wonderful family from my hometown who God sent right to my hospital bedside. They loved and accepted me as what I had become – a sullen, grieving, out of place young person (in post maternity clothes), physically unable to even bend down to the floor comfortably or even remember things properly, thanks to all the medical drama. It was a powerful experience viewing life from this position. I met heroes of the faith who’s words and actions lined up perfectly. I also met people who think they are heroes of the faith and are very focussed on this fact even during basic interactions with other human beings. I discovered quickly that people in my position would much rather be asked very simply, “how are you?”. Or maybe just be listened to/ prayed for rather than be preached at or provided with forms of distraction. Locking eyes with someone and engaging with them is to value a person’s humanity. It truly is a powerful thing. I met people who consider themselves to be just regular people but turned out to be the biggest heroes of my life – people who had strength and time not only for themselves but for someone like me too. I was always one of the cool people. There are very few things I cannot do and there are very many successes that I have tasted – I say this not with arrogance but with a spirit of humility. When God gives you much, there is much expected out of you. But even this considered, I can now tell you that the view from the top is often a skewed reality. They say ‘never judge another man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes’. I now know how true this is! How thankful I am for the people in my world who truly understood and who loved me back into sanity!

I knew in my heart, under it all, that the true restoration I was really crying out for had to come in the form of another baby. How would this ever be possible? I didn’t have the guts to even try. How could I? We had just lost our Danielle – born a few weeks early due to a random complication that had developed overnight. Her lungs were just not strong enough. They stayed strong, however, for 3 days – long enough for me to hold her hand, watch her react as I sang to her, experience the joy of feeding her and completely fall in love with her. This made the heartache all the more unbearable, as if that were even possible.

My first pregnancy was a breeze. The second time around things went wrong for inexplicable reasons. But now that it had, statistics said there was a 30% chance it could happen again. The complication that had cost me my baby is one that cannot be predicted, prevented or managed. This made me feel defective and helpless. I was also completely convinced, without medical proof, that it was something I had done that caused this tragedy. Everything I had ever achieved or stood for before ceased to matter because I felt defective – for losing one baby and being unsure if I could ever have another one – for failing my husband and 4yr old daughter in a way that couldn’t be fixed. I felt well and truly defective. In a funny way, this presented me with a starting point to begin my healing with God.

I began to pray and challenge God to make me feel purposeful even without a new baby in the mix. I said to Him, ‘You have called me for a purpose and You are more than able to fulfil Your purpose in me no matter what’. I began to push myself to function normally. I tried hard to find joy in the things that I had loved and excelled in before. This even translated to being a mother and a wife – the trauma of my experience left me unsure of how to do even this. I became involved in my church C3 and found much healing in serving a gathering of broken people, like myself, who came to our Thursday ‘Care Centre’ service. I wrote songs. I painted. I started this blog. I baked. I cried a lot. But all the while I felt so empty. Though it broke my heart to say it, I often told God, “We really need another baby to heal our family but if it is not Your will then help us to rise above this desire.”

I guess it was God’s will after all because one year after we lost our baby girl I found out that I was pregnant again. No, I didn’t receive this news with the grace that actresses do in the movies. I crumbled in a heap. I spent the first night curled up, praying and crying in my walk-in-wardrobe.  I had panic attack after panic attack. I begged God to give me the grace to trust Him through the 9 months that lay ahead of me. The next day I dragged myself, with sheer determination, to our church’s ‘Everywoman Conference’ so thirsty for a sign/word from God that everything would be okay. He did not disappointment me. It was as if the preacher had tailored her message just for me – a touching message on ‘Hannah’. I thanked God and went home recharged to face the days ahead. I knew I would stumble in my faith several times in the face of the unknown and the scars from my past. And I did. And God picked me up every single time. He knew I needed something to hold on to and so He gave me a word of promise…

“Forget the former things, Do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not see it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.” – Isaiah 43.

God repeated this promise to me time after time through different people and different circumstances. Sometimes it just left me dumbfounded the way He would say this to me. He gave me a promise, my loving husband and my mother to stand by my side and a rock solid group of friends who believed and prayed on my behalf when I couldn’t pray for myself. It was an added bonus that my friends kept finding ways to keep me involved, make me laugh and shirk off the boo boos. He even placed me in the hands of a doctor who believes in His grace and goodness. Trusting God is hard work sometimes. God understands this all too well…’the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak’. Don’t let anyone undervalue you or your faith just because your reaction to your circumstances doesn’t coincide with their understanding of it. All that matters is that when your faith falters, you push through the fear harder. On God’s strength. Not on your own. With a little help from your friends.

Did you know that the devil talks too? He talks a lot more than God. Mostly because he is so full of different kinds of crap. He constantly presents various kinds of negatives – words and situations and sometimes people – to try and take your attention away from what God has spoken to you. He tormented me the whole time with memories and various kinds of fears. It is human to be afraid. I was. But, fortunately, it is also very human to consciously choose faith over fear. I lost count of how many times I had to make this choice. Sometimes making this singular choice can be a battle that rages over days. It doesn’t matter how it takes. Just do it.

After 9 long months of conducting myself like a vegetable ( I literally left the house only to play guitar at Thursday church service and attend service on Sundays), being a hygiene freak (my idea of protecting the baby) and many other manias, God finally brought His promise to fulfilment. On the 23rd of June 2014 we welcomed our perfect, beautiful baby boy into the world.

Broken sleep, dirty diapers, vomit on my shoulder, fat around my hips, mummy clothes and managing two demanding children – things that so many people take for granted and joke about- became my absolute dream. God took it and made it real! There are many other wastelands in my life that I still need to conquer but in the meantime, the most vast and desolate wasteland has been transformed by a living, smiling, breathtaking, life giving stream. He is now 3 months old and his name is Jaden – “God has heard/God has answered”.

Elizabeth Stone once wrote “Making the decision to have a child is momentous…it is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body’. My heart now has three pieces – Shannon, Danielle and Jaden. Shannon and Jaden walk with me on earth. Danielle walks with Jesus in heaven – very, very far away from me. Yes, I still cry for this tiny missing piece. There are still moments when I feel completely numbed to think that I will never see her again in this lifetime. There are sights, smells, sounds and places that I can’t tolerate because they remind me of her. My heart is incomplete. Happy but incomplete. A baby cannot be replaced. Jaden has filled our lives with joy I never thought I could ever feel again. His arrival has given me new purpose and fresh hope. The missing piece, however, keeps me forever connected to the only person who can lead me beside still waters and restore my soul – Jesus. I have no idea why Danielle was taken from me. What I do know, with full certainty, that fighting with God doesn’t bring any peace or any answers. I did that for a while. I know it doesn’t help. The only thing that helps is to develop a one-eyed belief that God is good and His plans for us are only good. This is easier said than done and here is where His grace steps in.

I don’t know the wasteland that you are walking through. I don’t know the stream that you are longing for. But God knows exactly what you need and He knows exactly when and how to give it to you. The only choice every individual has is to yield the desires of one’s heart to Him and to trust Him with the unknown. He is a God who comforts the broken-hearted and gives rest to the weary.

This is my story. My story of loss and divine restoration with the whole bunch of issues that lie in between. I may never tell this story from a massive platform with the smug air of an apparent world changer but I will share it whenever I get the opportunity. If it can help touch even one precious life and help them to believe in the power of a real, living, good God, then it is worth the heartache and scars I carry under my new found smile and new found life.

My experiences have really created in me a heart for people. I have worn the shoes and I can legitimately say, “I understand”. If my story has touched you or if you are fighting through a wasteland, let me know below and I will pray and believe along with you for your miracle. God bless.