All Is Grace

"Mack, did you see the sunset? Look how pretty it is!" Mackenzie and I are kicking around her soccer ball in the back yard on a Friday night. I think the typical response of most five-year-olds would have been something to the extent of, "Yeah, that's cool mom, now can you kick the ball to me?"  Instead Mackenzie looks at me and says, "I know mom, I already saw it.  It reminded me of Baby Finley." And then my heart went and melted into a giant puddle.

At the time that we lost our baby to miscarriage, Mackenzie wasn't even quite three.  We don't talk about Baby Finley very often but it was important to us when we miscarried, that Mackenzie understood the significance of human life and the love that we felt for that baby even though we never held him or her in our arms.  

I struggled a lot with how to process my miscarriage.  Science and health books told me it was "natural" and that 1 in every 4 pregnancies result in a loss.  Friends, in their desire to help me move on told me, "it was for the best" or "God was just trying to protect you from a baby who would have been born with some type of birth defect."  My doctor used the words "chemical pregnancy".  But all the research, all the words, all of the best intentions just all seemed incredibly shallow to me. I kept returning to what I knew to be true-- which was that God was (and is) the author of all life.  I believed there had to be a purpose for my little one's short life and that it has to be more than just science.

And two and a half years later, what I'm even more sure of than ever is this-- God didn't want my baby to die. But Satan did. God is a God of life, not death. Satan stole something good from me and what he intended for evil, my God created good.  Satan watched me suffer and he was proud and thought he had done good work  That he had succeeded in bringing me pain.  

But here's the pretty cool part. God used the short life of my baby and he used that loss to breathe desire to be a mom again into my heart. And almost one year later to the day of my miscarriage, after 51 hours of labor, I gave 8 pushes in a mountain side hospital room and I pulled a 6 lb 14 oz. baby boy onto my chest and I experienced more healing and more peace than Satan ever thought he could have taken from me. 

He didn't win. The beautiful sleeping boy in the next room over is proof that God wins. 

Proof that God loves me. That He's got my heart. Proof that He watched me from the time that I held my first baby in my arms and I struggled to be a good momma to her.  He watched as I wrestled day after day, night after night over whether or not we should take the risk and have a second baby. And maybe struggle again with post partum depression. And it took losing my second baby for me to realize how badly I wanted to be a momma again.  It took losing that baby for me to find healing. And that's what God does.
He takes us in our brokenness and He brings redemption. 

And sometimes, that redemption comes in the form of beautiful little boy.  A little boy who is the spitting image of his daddy.  Who loves to make silly faces and show you where his belly button is. Who loves to snuggle and read Pete the Cat books. A little boy who is fearless and only wants to climb and go down the tallest slides.  A little boy who loves to sleep and when he's not sleeping he carries his blankets around with him everywhere.  A little boy who is so full of life and love and has completely captivated my heart.

As difficult as it was for me to lose baby Finley, I have to recognize that without that loss, I would not have Levi with me today. The timing of his little life was no mistake.  Two years ago when I spent weeks and months grieving the loss of our sweet baby, I didn't realize what God had in store for me. For our family. Without a doubt, one of favorite things about God is that He uses our greatest losses and turns them into our greatest victories. All is Grace!

 

Grace

Last Thursday morning I boarded a plane and headed west to San Francisco and Sonoma for a long weekend with some of my best girl friends.  The weekend was like a dream.  In fact, when I began to describe it to my husband, he made the comment, "Sounds like you got a small glimpse of what eternity is going to be like."

The house we rented was on a beautiful piece of land nestled right against the mountains of northern California. The property held a garden with just about every herb, fruit and vegetable you could think of and we were told we could eat whatever we liked from the garden as long as we left some of the next renters. There were lime trees in the front yard, a big pool with a stone water slide and a large hot tub.  The home itself had two large shaded decks with plenty of seating to relax and enjoy the crisp fall weather.

I laughed more in those four days than I think I have in years. I rested. Really and truly rested. I slept uninterrupted with no children climbing into my bed, no feet in my face. I was able to sit in the quiet of my own thoughts and really reflect without interruption or the stresses of every day life parading in.  I experienced a peacefulness that I haven't felt in a very long time.

But fast forward to Monday morning after my return home and I have to be completely honest, this week has been a huge struggle for me. Levi's whining has seemed magnified, the house messes have seemed like mountains rather than small hills..  The cold and flu season is returning and it seems like we're surrounded by runny noses and germs galore.

I've been fighting the urge to wallow in self pity and ungratefulness. I've returned to "real life" but I haven't been able to snap back to reality and do so with a joyful heart. Haven't been able to find my place or to do my part well for my family. I've yelled at the kids more times than I can count and in general I just feel like one giant failure of a mom and wife. To put it plainly, I feel very graceless.

2 Corinthians 12:9 has come to my mind over and over. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness."  But again, I have to be honest... this verse has always been a struggle for me to really grasp and understand.  I mutter it under my breathe because it's the Christian "thing to do".  Because reciting this verse is what believers are "suppose" to do at our low points.

So this week I've asked myself, what does mean for me on the days or weeks when I can't seem to find grace for myself? For my babies?  My husband? It's easy for me to muster up the grace for myself and my family on weeks when things are going "well".

When I'm on vacation and I've got plenty of time to rest and experience the beauty of nature without the demands of real life.

When I'm home and the kids are extra helpful around the house and the messes aren't piling up faster than I can clean them.

When everyone is healthy and happy and it's sunny outside and the birds are chirping and...well, you get the idea.

This morning at MOPS during our discussion group one of the moms made the comment, "THIS is what God's grace is for."  Such a simple statement but yet it really brought this verse home to me.  Jesus is most glorified in my bad mommy moments when I just give those moments up to Him. On the days when I can't find the strength to fight one more battle.  To wipe one more runny nose.  For the days when I feel like I've just totally blown it as a mom and a wife. It is then that I need the Lord's grace to find my way back.  To ask my kids for forgiveness.

And, it is through those moments of really seeking out God's grace that my kids see Jesus most in me. Because I'm able to confess that I am imperfect and it is only because of Him that I can find the strength to keep going.

Monday morning, my first morning back after vacation, we were running late to get Mack to school. I sped there praying that I wouldn't have to wait at the back door of the empty playground waiting for someone to let me into the school at their mercy. And of course, as I'm pulling into my parking spot outside of the school, a cop pulls up behind me and the lights go on.  Thankfully, after a strong scolding, the police officer showed me some grace.  But I couldn't seem to find any grace for myself.  I sat in the car after rushing Mackenzie into her classroom and I just sobbed.  The ugly messy cry. Less than a day back and I already felt like I screwed up.  Like I couldn't pull myself together to get my kid to school on time and I probably could have run another kid over with my recklessness.

That afternoon when Mackenzie asked me if I got a ticket, I was able to use the police officer's act of grace for me as a teaching moment for her.  "Mommy made a mistake, but the nice police officer showed me grace."

And I think that's what God does for me-- for us-- on a daily basis.  We snap at the kids and we beat ourselves up.  We think we've blown it again.  And maybe we have. Or maybe we're overreacting. But regardless, we are at the mercy of God's grace daily.  And thankfully, He gives it freely.  And I'm so grateful for that.

I don't show myself much grace.  This week has been a true reminder of that. And being a momma would be a heck of a lot harder if I didn't have Jesus constantly looking out for me and pouring out the grace where I fail to give it.