She Brings Joy

Parenting After Loss: In Our House, We Do Things Differently

When walking into our house, you may have noticed the stickers all over the wall. Truthfully, the whole place looks like a cyclone hit it, most of the time. I try my hardest to keep up with the constant flow of motion a toddler creates but I'm not always successful. My teenaged son doesn't help, leaving his multiple art projects and science experiments strewn about.

Now, I don't sit passively by and allow my children to destroy our home, but I am on the more lenient side when it comes to allowing them space to express themselves.

This past few weeks we have witnessed horrific acts of terrorism. The culmination of these events was the beheading (or throat slitting - accounts vary) of a Roman Catholic priest in France. In speaking about this with a friend, on social media, I stated:

"I think this is how he would wish to die: truthfully, as horrific as it is, as Christians, we should all wish to die kneeling at the altar. As a Catholic, this would be of the highest honor. We don't teach our children the stories of the martyrs any longer, because we are safe.... 

They need to know Christianity isn't about cute animals on Noah's ark and God gifting you a Ferrari because you tithe. We were literally called to the cross."

I hold this to be a valid truth. We are ultimately called to suffering, not prosperity. 

This was roundly refuted - some were horrified I would take this stance. Yet I hold fast to it. We are not called for wealth and prosperity. We are called to a cross which promises much grief in this alien place. This is a Christianity which most people choose to ignore, in favor of a feel-good religious system which has very little to do with the reality of the faith.

While it may not seem to have anything to do with facing a complicated pregnancy, it has everything to do with it.

As Christians, we are called to do the hard things, even when the world is telling us we must do something else. Even when the world gives us an out, an "easier way". Even when the world tells us the hard things aren't really what God wants for us.

In the decision whether or not to continue a pregnancy after a poor prenatal diagnosis (or after a sexual assault, or even when you just can't afford another child/need to finish school/whatever), the mental anguish of the mother is always posited as the most important issue by those who would encourage her to end her pregnancy. 

I don't agree: the most important issue facing a woman dealing with a complicated pregnancy is whether the child she carries is a human being, deserving of equal rights. If so, then no amount of suffering on the mother's part is grounds for ending a pregnancy.

I generally don't write about "choice" in the matter of continuing a pregnancy with complications. Too many pro-life people out there share their opinions regarding "mother-health" without any regard for the trauma this situation inflicts on its victim (whether they choose termination or not). There's an anguish which many pro-life persons choose to ignore when a baby has been diagnosed with a life-limiting condition. Women who choose life in these circumstances are often put on pedestals, without any regard to the real pain they are feeling.  I've also always chosen to avoid even the slightest hint that the choice to continue a pregnancy may be done as some sort of "martyrdom", because this only fuels the pro-choice fires on this subject, making it all about a mother allowing her child to suffer for her benefit.

My focus has always (and I believe, appropriately) been on the rights of the child as an individual human being. As such, any ulterior motive on a mother faced with this situation is irrelevant. In other words, because the child is an individual, a mother's choice isn't part of the equation.

But today, I'd like to focus solely on mom. 

When we learned our Beatrix would not live for very long after birth, even my pro-life husband gave me the "out" of termination. I've heard stories of ministers and priests telling mothers it would be acceptable for a woman to end a pregnancy where an anomaly is detected. Many major church bodies have exceptions to their abortion stances.

All of these exceptions, personal and religious, are given in hopes of lessening the grief of a mother -- a mother who instinctively understands her place as her child's ultimate protector, and a mother who will grieve just as deeply (if not more deeply) when she terminates her pregnancy.

All of these exceptions are given in an effort to help women avoid the hard things. 

But is this what we are supposed to be doing? 

Are we, as Christians, called to avoid the hard parts of life? And honestly -- when does ending a pregnancy ever help women avoid the hard parts? 

When we direct the destruction of an innocent human being how is it ever a good thing?

As pro-life as I am, I'm not even arguing against abortion in general here: I'm arguing against Christians encouraging other Christians to abort disabled, preborn children. I'm arguing against Christians encouraging families to eschew the hard parts. 

As Christians, how do we approach the pain of finding out our child's life may be brief? How do we do this hard thing? How do we encourage others to accept this hard thing in their lives, and to understand it will all be to the glory of God? How do we help others see their travails as gifts from a God who invites us to partake in the most intimate of communions with him: the suffering of the cross? 

While I am not trying to make carrying to term some type of saintly activity, I would argue that in bending ourselves to God's alien will in this instance, no matter what the cost to ourselves, we perform the most intimate acts of faith: we partake of the bitterness directly promised to us as believers. We acknowledge the sinful nature of man, and because we choose to honor God with our suffering, we make something beautiful out of it. When we sacrifice our time for someone who has no ability to appreciate it, we are practicing the most blatant charity towards our neighbor.

So why are we so quick to put away the hard things? 

Why are we so quick to bend to the world's opinion that ending our suffering is the ultimate goal?

What if enduring suffering is the goal? What if accepting and cherishing our child, unconditionally, is the goal? 

What if our experience is a gift?

No one says we should seek out painful experiences. 

No one says a woman should like this, or embrace this with no anger or frustration in her heart. 

No one says we should work towards any type of "martyrdom". It doesn't work this way, in Christianity. 

But accepting and understanding our circumstances through the lens of the cross -- this is what Christianity is all about. In accepting the fallacy of the world's ideas regarding frailty and society's propensity to avoid pain at all costs as being the antithesis of what Christ was trying to teach us from the Cross, we come to a richer understanding of what will come to be: a place where there will be "no more death' or mourning or crying or pain" {Rev 4:21}. We come to a richer understanding of this place as a temporary resting place, a stop along the way to our journey home. 

And about this believing in a savior who suffered the hard things -- the hardest thing of all -- taking on the sin of the entire world. He tells me we should always choose to emulate His actions, even though we will never come close to His holiness, and even when our actions lead us to places where we think we don't want to follow. We are not to look to our reward in this life, but the next. We are to do the hard things, and offer them up as sacrifices and present them to His glory alone. 

This, then, is why I believe this priest would have chosen to die at the altar: because he would have understood his life to be a witness to Christ's suffering, and the emulation of this suffering in his own death, will only result in God being glorified. 

This, then, is why I believe Christians should never, ever encourage a woman to choose termination over loving her child to life no matter how long her child lives: because her suffering is a testament to the graciousness of God who carried all of our suffering onto His cross. His pain and suffering ensures her future reunion with her child, and her witness to trusting him can only bring more people to believe in His goodness. 

In both situations, the Glory of God is shown in humbling born of intense suffering. 

This, then, is what it means to be Christian: to welcome the prospect of giving a reason for our hope, no matter the conditions or cost. {1 Peter 3:15}

Every day we see inspirational stories of people overcoming the odds. Our Facebook newsfeed is filled with images of extraordinary courage, our nightly news often features tales of sacrificial love, and self-help books written by those who have overcome difficult situations are best sellers.

Why does TV consistently portray grieving mothers as insane murderers?

I'm sure the title of this caught your attention. People generally don't proclaim their intention to do you no harm with such forcefulness unless they are actually intent on harming you. I felt it necessary, however, due to the common characterizations of bereaved mothers on television.

I posted over at The Mighty This Week

This isn't a political post, and it's not meant to disparage anyone whose family may be currently serving, or who has lost a loved one in armed conflict. We have both current and past military members, in addition to war dead -- who are still mourned every day -- in our own family.

This also isn't an anti-war screed. My feelings about my country's history of conflict is deeply nuanced, but even I comprehend the need for armed intervention in some situations. Contrary to popular belief, pacifism includes a wide range of belief about warfare. You can object to war in most cases, yet still believe a nation has a natural right to protect itself. 

But I digress.

This is about loss, the after affects of grieving your child, and how that experience can change your worldview in a split second.

I became a pacifist the day my daughter died. I was never a war hawk before this event, but the fall-out from her death left me with stronger feelings about casualties of war.

Today I've watched a number of videos honoring the sacrifices of our armed service members.... I think about all of the far-off places our young men and women have died, and it makes me weak. Seeing their faces, I can imagine too well the pain their death caused their mothers. They are all devastatingly gorgeous, of course. I'm sure they were good children, who were necessary to the inner workings of their family life and community. I'm sure their households are less joyful because of their absence. I'm also sure their mothers don't recall their boys just as the valiant young men they became, but as little boys jumping in puddles, the infant they held in the hospital, and the baby they felt moving in their body during pregnancy. I'm sure they don't just see their resilient, proud daughters, they see girls in christening dresses, and curly-headed toddlers handing them bouquets of dandelions and clomping around in their high heels.

The idea of the angel baby, in terms of child loss, is one of the most pervasive myths we have to contend with. In addition, most of what must be said regarding angels has been addressed in the two previous posts. Are we able to communicate with our dead children, and have they gone to heaven or are they here?


One of the most ubiquitous characterizations of our babies, after death, is that of "angel baby". We have tattoos of cherubs sleeping in the curve of angel wings, memorial stones which say "our angel", and at least three dozen Facebook support groups which have the words "angel mom" in their title.

The only problem with this is that no major religion believes that humans turn into angels after death. {The closest approximation I found was the Catholic concept of sainthood -- and saints are not angels.}

Last week I wrote a post about the afterlife. Today I'm continuing the conversation, and I wanted to focus on psychics. This is part of a series, so will not be exhaustive regarding Christianity and loss. 

Again -- heavy topic. Not for everyone. If you aren't Christian, this is going to be a bunch of crazy talk to you. If you aren't ready, this may seem cruel to you. Choose wisely.

It may seem innocent to allow ourselves to believe our children are communicating with us through others who claim to have "gifts" which allow them to communicate with "the other side".

Mediums who make this type of claim have become commonplace. They have their own television shows, write bestsellers, etc. We think of them as a fun diversion. We don't often consciously connect them to the occult, however, they definitely fall into that realm. The Bible clearly speaks about the occult in both the OT and NT-- and they are always spoken of negatively.

Do not turn to mediums or seek out spiritists, for you will be defiled by them."   Leviticus 19:31

That's a bold statement. You will be "defiled". It doesn’t really fit in with our modern attitudes either – who thinks of their fellow humans as “defiled”? Do we even use that word anymore? It's so negative... 

This theme continues into the New Testament:

"Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God."   Galatians 5: 19-21


While this seems cliché: when we dip our toes into the stream of mysticism (which communicating with the dead certainly is) the chances of being swept away are much greater than if we had not wandered near the water at all.

We are talking about a presumed relationship with the children we lost, after all. How could we not get swept away when we believe we are communicating with them? 

There is nothing we hunger more deeply for than a connection to our children, but any effort at connection which runs counter to God's promises will always fall short of the connection we receive through the redemptive love of Christ.

We make the decision to pursue after-death theories contrary to His promise because we are attempting to turn the promise into something we have control over. We want to turn our children's absence into something we can manage. We have a difficult time accepting "no" from anyone -- especially a God who has "taken" our child from us.

But does this type of communication make them any less gone?

And how is God's promise honored when we refuse to acknowledge the reality of death?

Death is part of the Christian redemption story. Our entire belief system rests on the truth of the resurrection. The resurrection is meaningless without death. Without it, our religion crumbles and becomes myth. Without death there is no resurrection of the body.

We are all tempted to look away from the cross. This life seems so long, and the grief is just so deep. 

Just hold on momma. What He's got planned for us is so much better than anything we could imagine ourselves.

Next {and last} portion of this small series will be "All About Angels", about the nature of angels. I'd love to hear what you have to say about this, or any other subject related to grief, child loss, and Christianity.

{Disclaimer— what I am writing comes after a lot of soul-searching and going through the worst part of the bereavement process.

It's been five years since my daughter died. I have not always felt this way, and in the early stages of my bereavement I was very antagonistic to information like this. Please note that I am not attempting to guilt or push anyone into a premature reconciliation with God when they don’t feel open to this yet. See HERE and HERE for some early (poorly written) posts regarding the anger and mistrust I felt in my initial grieving period. Do not read this if you aren't ready for a conversation about deep theology. Don't read this if you are in a sensitive stage where every comment stings. You may not want to read if you're having a bad day, depending on where you are in your grief and how you practice your faith -- some may find this initially harsh but ultimately very comforting. Some may not.

This is a brutal honesty post. Last warning. }

I've been trying to work out some thoughts about the nature of death for the believer. This is what I've come to understand in the five years since my Beatrix left.

There is a big difference between Christians and others when it comes to the disposition of a soul after death.

While there are different Christian teachings regarding some of what happens immediately after someone dies (purgatory, resting state, etc.), we all believe that our faithful dead eventually end up in Heaven.

Because of this, finding comfort in some of the common themes shared by baby loss writers and artists can be difficult for devout loss moms. Our belief system doesn’t allow us to imagine our child as a butterfly landing on our shoulder, a feather on our doorstep, or a favorite song played at the moment we needed it most. Some Christian faith practices allow for a concept commonly referred to as “God-winks”, the claim being that God is sending these small messages to you. However, that concept is suspect and debatable – and even if your faith practice accepts this concept, the claim is still that God is sending the messages, not our babies.

We also can’t imagine stars opening holes in the heavens so our loved ones shine down on us, we have no belief that our babies become angels (this is actually a belief unheard of by virtually every world religion – angels are separate beings from human in almost all faith practices, Christian and non-Christian alike), and babies aren’t coming back in future pregnancies.

Once our babies are gone they are gone.

So what does Christianity have to offer the grieving mom?

In the immediacy of our initial grief it seems as if we would be left bereft of comfort. Christianity and God seem like heartless realities to those who don't understand them. Often, we are so blinded by our emotions that even welose sight of the big picture – the picture which gives us a {perfect} antidote to our sadness.

Sometimes we forget that true comfort only comes at the foot of the cross.

The cross promises us tomorrow – eternity – unlike the here and now centered beliefs elucidated above.

The cross promises:

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." {Rev. 21:4}






I read a quote long ago by Pope John Paul II which even non-Catholics could identify with:

"Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”

Would we give up the forever of Easter, for temporal comfort here?

This is a harsh truth, and it doesn't promise to get any easier over our time on this earth. We may rationalize this love of Christ, but the human part of us just wants our babies.

I know I want my baby back.

But I want her back. I want her back forever. I want her back the way I was promised her -- perfect and alive.

"For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ; who will transform the body of our humble state into conformity with the body of His glory, by the exertion of the power that He has even to subject all things to Himself." {Phillipians 3:20}


"So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." {1 Corinthians 42-44}

While no one must believe this {truth} who chooses not to, for those who do believe it holds more promise for the one thing which every single one of us loss moms want -- time.

While I could believe my daughter to be reincarnated in another pregnancy, doing so binds her in a finite life-cycle. It means she will die again, and this could be during the course of my lifespan, because we aren't promised a limit on suffering.

Reincarnation {her being born in a subsequent pregnancy} means I could lose her all over again.

In this dynamic we could both also be reincarnated into other families, or as a fox, or a fish, or a supernatural spirit, never to see one another again.

It also means I am not promised eternity with God, and in turn, with her.

If she becomes part of the natural world -- a butterfly or a symbol we see in rocks and trees -- she can be destroyed by wind and rains. Something as simple as a bird landing could disrupt whatever form she was in. If she were a star she would eventually burn out; her light would be permanently extinguished, and eventually her absence would be detectable to this world.

Being born into Heaven, even though I must wait to see her, holds the most promise. The promise of Heaven only seems cruel because we must wait to reap the rewards for our faithfulness. We want immediate gratification, but the promise offers eternal gratification.
In 2 Samuel 12: 23, after King David’s son died he stopped his weeping saying, “I will go to him, but he will not return to me”. This is a rough story, but it brings to point the reality of what our God promises. He promises those who have faith in Him an eternity in Heaven. Long after the world stops turning we will be with Him. I do not want my daughter to come to me in this world, because that means the promise is a lie. My daughter in this world means eternity does not exist. It means the Bible promises, the love of Christ, is just another fairy tale.

Because we can’t have it both ways.

God promises us heaven after death, not an amorphous existence hanging around the earth. If this promise is a lie, so is everything else He says.

Our loved ones will not return to us in this world. We will go to them…. and more importantly, to Him. That promise is better than anything this temporal world could ever offer me.




In my next post I will be talking about “Psychics and signs in baby loss”. I hope you join me in that discussion too!