I spent this week writing out all of the emotions I have been feeling (good and bad). I also wrote down a list of promises and things I know to be true from scripture. Eventually, this poem began to emerge and I couldn’t think of anything more fitting to share on Miriam’s birthday.

I can’t do this anymore
I’m tired of the pain
This world is just too broken
There’s so much guilt and shame

I wasn’t made to feel like this
It’s hard to walk each day
But every time I give up
I hear my Father say:

I built you for this season
I’m walking by your side
Trust Me with your brokenness
In Me, you can abide

I made you for perfection
But this world has fallen short
My desire is that you live each day
Declaring me your Lord

I know that you will struggle
And it always breaks My heart
But I will bring redemption soon
And we will never be apart

I stare up into Heaven
As tears fill my eyes
I thank Him for His promises
And tell Him I will try

I want to keep on going
By walking steps in faith
When the fear is overwhelming
I will take it day by day

I trust that You are with me
I trust Your Word is true
And, while I miss my baby,
I’m thankful she’s with You.
💜

I am so thankful for Jonah’s willingness to share his grief journey. I wouldn’t want to walk this road with anyone else.
– Grace

—

Blog By Jonah Gibson

I’m not sure if anyone can relate, but I often have a reoccurring dream that goes like this:

I’m on road trip. Everyone I’m with is excited to reach our destination. But inevitably, we always encounter obstacles that slow us down along the way. It finally gets to a point where it seems like we’ll never make it, and then, of course, I wake up.

I’m always annoyed by these kind of dreams. I’m not even sure how many times (if ever) I’ve had such a dream that ends at my destination.

So why do these dreams persist? Why am I caught up in the feeling of being on a journey that never ends?

I look at our lives the last few years and the application is not hard to find. Ever since our first pregnancy, I’ve felt like I’m on a road towards fatherhood. But with our losses, it feels as if I’m on the road trip that never ends.

The parallels are eerie, but perhaps the interpretation is a little superficial and gloom. While reflecting on these dreams, I have chosen to focus on a more hopeful meaning.

The one thing that stands out to me about these dreams is that, when I wake up, I can never seem to remember where we were going in the first place. And perhaps therein lies the significance. These dreams are never really about the destination. I feel like I’ve allowed myself to view fatherhood as the top of a mountain that I’ll never be able to climb instead of viewing it as an honor bestowed upon me each time I take a self-sacrificial action for our children.

I write this on the first Father’s Day since we lost Miriam, and I am thankful for all the ways she has changed me and made me a better man. I’m thankful for the realization that fatherhood isn’t about reaching a precipice but about the growth you experience along the way.

Have you heard of the “Five Love Languages”? I’m a big fan. Jonah and I grew so much in our relationship when we discovered that he thrives on Words Of Affirmation and Physical Touch while I feel the most loved through Acts Of Service and Quality Time.

It’s difficult to speak different love languages. In fact, it feels impossible sometimes. I have spent whole days cleaning the house and planning out a distraction-free evening for Jonah and I to enjoy together only to have my gestures go completely unnoticed. In the same way, there have been many times that Jonah will hug me from behind as I’m making breakfast or ask me to dance with him in the middle of doing laundry. I often see it as a distraction and tend to get annoyed rather than realizing that he is trying to show me love.

As difficult as it is to express love to someone who speaks a different “love language” than you, it doesn’t even compare to trying to express love for someone who has died.

And that’s the struggle I face every single day.

I was looking through some old social media posts from when I was pregnant with Miriam and I found one that absolutely brought me to tears. I posted, “We got to hear Miriam’s heartbeat at our appointment today! It never gets old…I love being pregnant but I cannot wait to hold her in my arms. <3”

For 36+ amazing weeks, I got to love on my baby girl every single moment of the day. She was always with me. I could feel each wiggle and hiccup and I enjoyed every bit of it.

But, all of the sudden, she was gone.

No “slow fade”.
No “We need to monitor her for a little while…”
No warning whatsoever.

She was just…gone.

And all of my love…every fiber of my being that cared (and still cares) so deeply for my daughter…suddenly, it all turned into grief. From that moment on, all my love could only be expressed through tears, pain, and a longing to be with her again.

For the past 11 months, I have had a constant internal battle. On one hand, I want to be “strong” and prove that I have “faith” and show everyone that I am trusting God through all of this. On the other hand, I just want to cry. I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to turn back the clock and bring Miriam home with us instead of laying her tiny body in a casket that shouldn’t have to exist.

It’s impossible. Each day is impossible.

But I have learned something recently that is slowly becoming my motto. It’s okay to experience the pain of the present while still having hope for the future.

I don’t know why these things have been so hard for me to intertwine.

With every “hope for tomorrow,” comes this twinge of guilt that I’m not honoring Miriam’s life and death as much as I should. With every bit of pain and grief, comes the shame of not having “moved on” with my life.

I have finally come to realize that guilt and shame do not come from God.

God himself experienced grief all throughout the Bible. When Jesus was on earth, he also grieved the death of his friend.

Here’s what I have come to focus on recently: we were designed to live in a place where babies don’t die. We were designed to live in a place where grief, pain, and tears are unnecessary. We were designed for perfection. But, after our first parents sinned, God–in his infinite wisdom and mercy–gave us the unspoken 6th love language, grief. He gave us grief as an outlet for our love. And my grief will be ever-present until the day I am reunited with my baby girl and my heavenly Father in perfect paradise.

To the mother who lost her baby unexpectedly and wishes more than anything that she would have had some sort of warning…her situation is the worst.

To the mother who found out about a birth defect in the very early stages of pregnancy and wishes she had the innocence of a worry-free 9 months with her baby…her situation is the worst.

To the mother who just lost a baby and discovered she is pregnant again only to be filled with doubt, worry, concern, and anxiety over the possibility of losing another one…her situation is the worst.

To the mother who prays every day for a positive test, only to be met with disappointment month after month…her situation is the worst.

There is no comparing these four situations. All of them are equally heartbreaking and all of them are somebody’s reality.

Reading through these, it might be hard to imagine what could possibly make these experiences more difficult. But there are a few things…one in particular that I would like to share. It might seem simple. It might seem insignificant. It’s just two small words but the pain they bring on top of the already grieving mother is nearly unbearable.

The two words: “At least…”

Suppose for a minute that you and I are having coffee together. We are seated outside enjoying the beautiful spring weather and catching up on life. Someone begins to approach and acts as if he knows you. You are puzzled at first but, as he gets closer, he smiles and you suspect he must have something to say. He arrives at the table as you look up to smile back. With no warning, he punches you in the face. He immediately runs away after grabbing the purse on the back of the chair you just fell out of. You are beyond confused, surprised, shocked, terrified, angry. You have no idea what to say or do but you slowly begin to stand up and take your seat again. With the shock still clear on your face, you turn to me for some sort of help or comfort. I look you in the eyes, put my hand on top of yours, and say, “Well, at least he didn’t shoot you.”

This story is a little bit on the dramatic side, I’ll admit. Of course, no one would ever react that sort of way. But, here’s the thing…if we are meeting for coffee, and I’m telling you about my babies, you can bet that I do not need to hear, “Well, at least you can get pregnant.” Or, “At least you are still young. You can always try again.”

Devastating. Not to mention, it discounts God’s plan of complete restoration.

The Bible does not speak in “at least” terms. One of my very favorite verses comes from the book of John. It says,

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33b

It does not say, “In this world you will have trouble. But at least it’s not worse.” Or, “At least it will be over soon.” Or, “At least you don’t have to die on a cross.”

The Bible says that Jesus has overcome the world. In other words, He is going to make everything right again. See, God’s original design was for a perfect world. He never intended for sin, sorrow, pain, or death to be part of it. However, Adam and Eve sinned and passed that sin nature to the rest of us. But God developed a plan to save us from our brokenness. He did just that when He sent Jesus to die for our sins.

He didn’t die so that we could face our problems with a flimsy “well, at least it’s not worse”. He died so that we could be completely restored to His originally intended plan for us.

“At least” is not God’s plan. Perfection is.

This is a lesson that Jonah and I are still learning together. In the few days and weeks after losing Miriam, we each would find ourselves playing the “at least” game only to be left with empty feelings of shallow trails of thought. Nothing that we could cling to. Nothing that would anchor us.

Instead, we have found that we should focus on the many blessings in this world that are given from God. Even in sorrow and pain, God shows up in unimaginable ways.

So here’s my advice.

Do your friends a huge favor by paying close attention to the things they mention they are thankful for and then rejoice in those things with them. Here are some clues:

• My husband and I have grown so close during this time.
• I found a support group that has really been helping me process my grief.
• My family is constantly looking out for me. They text me and check in all the time.

Also pay attention to areas where they might be struggling. Listen for clues about what you can pray about and then let them know when you are lifting them up in prayer. Here are some clues:

• My husband and I are grieving a lot differently. I’m having a really hard time expressing how I feel to him.
• It seems like nobody understands what I am going through. I am so overwhelmed.
• My family keeps telling me to stay strong. It’s hard to be around them when I feel like I can’t be myself.

On this Mother’s Day, don’t water down God’s plan of perfection and restoration with the phrase “at least”. Instead, choose to give God praise for the blessings—the glimpses of Heaven—He has provided and ask for His comfort and mercies as you and your loved ones face the brokenness and pain of this world.

To all the parents grieving the loss of a child…
To all the children grieving the loss of a parent…
To anyone and everyone who has experienced the pain that this fallen world brings…

Know that God has a plan to make all things new.

With so much love,
Happy Mother’s Day.

💜💜💜💜

Meet. Fall in love. Get married. Have a baby. That’s the story I expected for myself. That’s the story I watched in others. Instead,  we met. Fell in love. Got married. Lost a baby. Buried a baby. Lost another baby.

I was completely unprepared for this.

When we were told that Miriam’s heart had stopped beating, I remember feeling so alone. Completely isolated. Jonah and I both felt like there was no future beyond that point. But there was. There has been.

Sharing Miriam’s story has been a huge part of the purpose we have found in her death. We never want anyone to have the feelings that we had of loneliness and isolation if they experience a loss similar to ours.  We want them to think of us immediately and to know that we will be there for them in their grief.

But, the truth is, we were never alone. Scripture says in Psalm 139 that God goes before us and follows behind us.

You have enclosed me behind and before,
And [You have] placed Your hand upon me.
Psalm 139:5 AMP

When I look through our pictures from the hospital, I am so comforted knowing that God was in that delivery room before we ever arrived. He was there throughout the birth. And, when we had to leave our daughter’s lifeless body, He stayed behind.

💜

Bonus Content:

Over the past four weeks, we have experienced a season of global “social distancing” that I fear could cause many feelings of isolation. There is so much pain and heartache in this world. Experiencing grief on top of being required to distance yourself from people who can support you is absolutely impossible.

If you are experiencing these feelings, please reach out to someone you love and trust. And if you know someone that might be going through a hard time (hint: we all know someone that is going through a hard time), text them. Call them. Pray for them. Encourage them. We were not meant to do this life alone. We were created to be connected. We were meant for community.

I’m here for you. (And so is Jesus, FYI.)

And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.
Matthew 28:20 NLT

Have you ever been afraid? It’s a terrible feeling. It’s filled with doubt, anxiety, pain, distraction, and all kinds of other unpleasant emotions. Fear robs you of your security. It steals your peace.

But where does fear come from? What is the source?

On July 27, 2017, Jonah and I were up bright and early with incredible anticipation for the day. It was a Thursday and we were on our way to get sonogram pictures of our first little baby. We were both giddy with excitement. The whole way to the appointment, we discussed how we would share the news with our families.

I was expecting a much more interactive appointment but the sonographer simply took pictures in silence and quietly left the room. Jonah squeezed my hand and a concerned look fell over his face. I commented on the fact that the technician was very business-like but then moved on to how and when we should tell his parents.

The technician came back in the room accompanied by a nurse.

“Have you had any cramping?” the nurse asked.

“Nope!” I replied cheerfully.

“Any bleeding?”

“No.” I was confused by her line of questioning. “I have been feeling nauseous in the mornings but I haven’t had any other pregnancy symptoms.”

She looked at us and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and, in the plainest voice she could muster, she stated, “I’m sorry. There is no heartbeat.”

I didn’t blink. My eyes were dry and then suddenly wet.

I could not understand. I could not process. And then it happened. Fear entered me.

So, what was the source? Was it death that caused fear? Was it a doctor’s office? Was my fear simply a result of anger or confusion?

In the gospel of John, chapter 13 tells the account of Jesus serving his disciples by washing their feet. It’s an incredible example of what it means to lead with a servant’s heart and I’m thankful Jesus provided that illustration for us. At the end of the chapter, he begins to explain that he is going to be leaving the disciples. In verse 36, I see fear enter Peter.

Simon Peter asked him, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus replied, “Where I am going, you cannot follow now, but you will follow later.” Peter asked, “Lord, why can’t I follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.”

– John 13:36-37

In this scripture, Peter is basically telling Jesus that he will do anything to avoid being apart from him. He says he is even willing to die to avoid separation from Jesus. But look at Jesus’ statement starting in the first verse of chapter 14.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

– John 14:1-3

Peter was telling Jesus, “I need to know where you are going, I need to go with you. I need to be in control.” And Jesus (with truth and grace) told Peter, “You don’t need to be in control. I have a plan. I have shared my plan with you. You know my character and you know that you can trust me. Give me control and do not be afraid.”

Fast forward to January 17, 2019. I was 11 weeks pregnant with sweet Miriam. We headed to the doctor’s office to get our first sonogram. My fists were clenched tight enough that my knuckles had turned white. I was filled with fear. The moment we heard her tiny heart beating, I burst with tears of joy. I couldn’t believe it. We had made it into the “safety zone.” Our baby was alive and well.

A few weeks later, I began to feel Miriam move for the first time. I felt so fortunate to have the constant reminder that she was doing well. I had conquered my fear. Or so I thought.

One particular Monday evening, I finished my nightly routine and climbed into bed. I put my hand on my stomach and started talking to Miriam—telling her goodnight. I was still for a few minutes, waiting for her to move but she didn’t. I remained silent and began to concentrate trying to pay attention to even the slightest flutters. Nothing. I woke Jonah and told him she wasn’t moving. It had only been five or six minutes but it felt like an eternity. He asked if I wanted to go to the emergency room and I stood up ready to go. The moment my feet hit the floor, Miriam did a little flip and began to move around again. *insert sigh of relief*

I laid back down and began to pray. My prayer started out thanking God that Miriam was safe and asking for His help to calm my nerves in the future. However, my prayer turned rather quickly. I don’t remember the exact words but I said something along the lines of, “God, if you are planning to take Miriam from me…don’t. I cannot lose her.” If I’m being honest, this statement was meant as a threat. I placed my hand back on my stomach as Miriam continued to move and, ever so gently, the Holy Spirit whispered, “Why do you think she belongs to you?”

I tried to dismiss the thought but I couldn’t. I realized that my fear was still present. Still permeating every aspect of my pregnancy. I was completely overwhelmed. I remember playing out every worst case scenario and feeling desperate to rid my mind of the anxiety. I had no control. There was nothing I could do to ensure Miriam’s safety in my womb. And, even if there was, there was nothing I would be able to do to ensure her safety after she was born. I was helpless, completely and utterly helpless. I felt as though I was drowning in burden when I heard the Holy Spirit whisper again, “Why do you think she belongs to you?”

This time, the question was different. The Holy Spirit was reminding me that my baby girl belonged to my Heavenly Father. The fear, anxiety, and burden I was experiencing was never meant for me. As the tears fell, I surrendered everything to God. I prayed that His will would be done in Miriam’s life and that He would receive all the praise and glory. I knew I could not live the rest of my life in fear and I asked instead that God would give me a spirit of humility and reverence in the knowledge that:

God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.

– Romans 8:28

I think about that Monday evening often. I think about my surrender. I think about what God has done in my life through Miriam and in others’ lives as a result of her life and I am so incredibly grateful. While my plan was nowhere near God’s plan, I have experienced His presence and His love in unimaginable ways.

I miss my babies every single day. I wonder if I will ever have a living child to love and raise on this earth. But I don’t fear (or I try not to…still human over here). I have realized that God is faithful in His promise to never leave us or forsake us and that is my constant hope.

While fear grasps for control, humility gives control to the Creator. You can find rest in His hands today.

I stared out the car window and casually mentioned, “I’m literally ready to go anytime.”

“What do you mean?” Jonah asked.

I hesitated for a second and then answered, “I’m just so done with this life. I’m ready to see Miriam again. I want to be in Heaven and I seriously do not care about anything in this world anymore.”

Jonah remained silent for a few moments before he stated plainly, “I get it.”

This was a difficult conversation for me to have with Jonah. It was difficult for me to admit out loud. But it was true and I had been thinking about it for weeks.

Unfortunately, I didn’t share these thoughts with God right away. Of course, He already knew I was having them but I was cowardly refusing to talk to Him about them. In fact, I began to consider myself very ‘godly’ over the next few weeks. After all, look at what the Bible says in the book of Colossians:

“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.”
– Colossians 3:2

That is exactly what I was doing. I no longer cared about earthly things, rather my focus was completely on Heaven. Right?

But the Holy Spirit interrupted my life in a way I never saw coming. He used a simple quote in a book I was reading by Billy Graham:

“Heaven doesn’t make this life less important; it makes it more important.”
– Billy Graham

Wow.

Satan had blinded me beyond belief. He had enticed me to read and interpret scripture incorrectly which was leading me down a path of total destruction. (This might sound dramatic but it is 100% true. Every single thing in my life now is a result of what the Holy Spirit revealed to me in that moment.)

God has me on earth for a purpose. Because I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior, satan can NEVER take that away from me. However, he CAN distract me. He can discourage me. He can tempt me to give up on the purpose God has laid out for me. And, as a result, he can eliminate my potential to impact eternity.

Again, wow.

I was <    > this close to letting satan convince me that my life on earth no longer matter.

And I have to wonder, how close are you? Has satan whispered the same lie?

When I think about the things I would have missed out on if I had believed satan’s lies, it scares me. And I don’t want that for you either. YOU have a purpose. YOUR LIFE MATTERS.

Colossians 3:2 is not about setting our minds on Heaven and ignoring the world around us. It’s about aligning our views of this world with God’s, realizing the brokenness, and taking action to live out the purpose God has for you while you are still here.

Will you join me in asking God to do amazing things through us?

One of the ways Jonah and I have found purpose in our pain, is volunteering for Bridget’s Cradles. We just worked together on a project that portrays the journey of a cradle and all the hands that touch it before a family receives it. If you are looking for something meaningful to do in your free time, I would highly recommend you #jointhebcjourney 💜

bridgetscradles.com/journey

July 9, 2019 – 11:40 a.m.
The doctor searches for a heartbeat but can’t find one. Instead, silence.

We sit in the delivery room. We can’t manage to speak. Silence.

July 10, 2019 – 5:42 a.m.
I feel Miriam’s head. I push. The nurse lays her on my chest. Silence.

We hold her and take pictures. We stare at her beautiful face. Her eyes stay shut; her mouth doesn’t move. Silence.

We drive home. There’s no baby in the backseat. Silence.

We step into her nursery. Silence.

We fall asleep and wake up in the middle of the night; we are desperate to discover this was all a nightmare. I wrap my hands around my belly. I wait for a kick. There’s nothing. Nothing but silence.

The silence is deafening.

I cannot explain what it is like to experience such silence. The first few days that we spent in our house tormented me. One night, I laid face down on the carpet in Miriam’s room. I cried so long and so hard that there were no tears left. And that’s when I noticed the silence. Or…I guess I should say, that’s when I noticed the opportunity that the silence brought.

For days, I had been filling my time with noise. I was so averse to silence and to the reality that my baby was dead, I couldn’t handle being alone with my thoughts. I was afraid of the dark places they would take me. I was afraid of the guilt, and the shame, and the pain they would cause.

I laid on the floor with nothing to distract me. And the thoughts began to come. The thoughts I had pushed down. The thoughts that were secretly eating away at me. The thoughts that were keeping me from opening up about my grief.

But, all of the sudden, I wasn’t alone. My thoughts were being interrupted by the Word of God.

“Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will not be shaken. – Psalm 62:5-6

In that moment, I realized my enemy was not in the silence. Just the opposite. My enemy was in the noise, and the distractions, and the fear of sharing my grief. God was in the silence.

“My victory and honor come from God alone. He is my refuge, a rock where no enemy can reach me. O my people, trust in him at all times. Pour out your heart to him, for God is our refuge.” – Psalm 62:7-8

All that time, the enemy wanted me to believe that I had to avoid the silence. That I needed to stay busy and distracted. He made me believe that my refuge came from the things of this world.

When I began writing this blog, I discovered another passage in the book of Psalms that really spoke to me.

“Unless the Lord helped me, I would soon have settled in the silence of the grave. I cried out, “I am slipping!” but your unfailing love, O Lord, supported me. When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.” – Psalm 94:17-19

Oh, how good our God is to support us and give us comfort and hope when doubts fill our minds. All we have to do is be silent in His presence and allow His word to speak truth into our life.

That’s the thing about grief. It doesn’t end. (At least not on this side of Heaven.) Every day brings new challenges, new pain.

But each day also brings hope and healing.

Jonah and I have had the privilege of meeting so many bereaved parents who have experienced loss similar to ours and the thing we are most astounded by, is parents who have felt pressure to grieve in silence. Talking about our grief and remembering our baby girl has been so incredibly healing. We can’t imagine going through it on our own.

Here’s what we know that has allowed us to share so openly.

God has an amazing way of bringing purpose out of pain. Satan’s ultimate goal is to cause us to waste the purpose that God has intended and the easiest way for him to do that is by tempting us to remain silent. So I’m begging you. Resist that temptation.

What better way to share about Heaven? Jesus? Salvation? What better way to portray the love and faithfulness of our God? He has stood by our side through all of our grief and we are a testimony of his unfailing comfort. He is writing an extraordinary story for each and every one of us and it’s not over. Your pain might feel like the end. Your grief might feel like the climax. But, if you give your story to God, the Bible says he can “do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” Ephesians 3:20

All glory to God.

P.S. For those of you who haven’t seen our story, you can watch it here: newspring.org/stories.