To the writer of this blog, just 68 days ago

The one and only picture taken for this little babe.

68 days ago I turned twenty-four. I proclaimed quite triumphantly to Ben "I had only expected one baby at this point! But now I'll have two!" It was a good day. I was feeling wonderfully, the medicine was helping, and my birthday was full. We celebrated my girl's birth the same weekend. I was gonna announce the babe in my belly that very week. Oh July, How I love you.

These 68 days have seemed like very long 68 days. The first month after the 20th crept slowly. The day of Eowyns birthday party-the day after my birthday, was the day we got the news of our miscarriage.

The weekend of my birth, I learn about my baby's death. 

Flash forward to the first days of fall, and I in all honesty don't even recognize parts of me yet. Growing a baby, even for a few weeks changes a person. Having a baby die changes a person quicker. In many ways, I imagine, its all part of the great big evolving into a  mother. From the onset, sacrifice is required. Sickness. Fatigue. So much change. But there's hope. Sometimes, there's not and it all seems bleak, but in my case: I anticipated the outcome. Baby cries. Silly giggles. The crazy joy I already  have manifested in flesh  napping in the other room. I thought I knew how this story ended, or rather begins.

As I just weeks to my big day, moaned in our bed that I was gonna die, (Sickness does not become me) Ben reminded me "just a little bit longer." So much anticipated goodness was held in this year of Twenty Four.

I keep thinking I'm done talking about 'it,' because somedays honestly the thoughts don't cross my mind. But then, I'll be in a baby store and I'll get hit with tears, or I'll look at my calendar and see a scribbled "20 weeks." and it just gets my heart so sad. 

So, with all that in mind, I wanted to write the writer of this blog, 68 days ago. Because I like to do weird things like that. 

September 26th, 2013

Britt,

Brace yourself.

Tomorrow is going to be perhaps the most confusing day of your life. You'll get to celebrate with all your friends the birth of your girl. You'll have a party for her that turns out exactly how you hope. Seriously, your friends are amazing. You'll go into the bathroom right as the party's end, and see something you're not supposed to see. It kind of makes you panic and you whisper to Ben that you'll be needing to go to the ER that night. You go to the garage and cry in panic. Breath. Breath some more, and then give it to God. You think "so many people bleed in pregnancy, this is nothing-CHOOSE FAITH" and you go back in. Ben's face will be mixed with fear and confusion, but the party must go on. It does. Your best friend stays back to watch Eowyn. She knows your fears , and she prays.

Several hours later, after nervous laughter and watching Big Bang Theory in a cold room you'll get the news that fears can be realized even for those that you just "prayed boldly to Jesus" against. You'll weep, and weep and weep.

The next several days will be the weirdest. You'll get the joy of spending time with Ben's family, and their presence will bring a sense of normalcy that makes you feel alright. But you'll find yourself waking up crying and its just...hard.

You'll question God a lot. You'll go through some emotions and say some things that if God were just flesh, he would surely leave you. But he doesn't Brittany. He doesn't leave. I wish I could tell myself that then. He won't leave, he knows youre thinking so many scary thoughts. Its okay to share with him. 

You wont want to tell him  your dreams for a while-scared he'll "smash them like he did this one." But you'll hear him whisper when the time is right. He'll teach you something: in death there's glory.

Thats where we get to the good part. Perhaps, in hindsight it all can be claimed good.

A few weeks later, after procedures and check ups are done. You'll find yourself-your heart-kind of new. You'll start reading books that show you how to open your hand, even to the stuff that will kill parts of you-and parts of you will die. God grows something new. You'll discover in friends the capacity to trust. They'll bring you little mementoes that ache your heart and make it rejoice at the same time. You get to taste community through the death of your baby-a holy community-much like he or she is already experiencing. People will touch you with knowing words that even now days later bring water to yours eyes and make you thankful.

You'll see a new side of Ben. There's a fear at first-that you won't grieve quite right. But, you do well and just give each other grace. Sure, there's moments. There's points when he doesn't quite understand how you can say so many ugly things about God-when we're surrounded by so many other things from those same hands that brought this. So many good things. He'll remind you-of Eowyn, of your marriage, of the overflow of joys. You'll slowly conclude: He's right. 

As job says: "You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" 

Actually, I'm pretty sure thats near exactly how your husband will say it. Ha. He'll make you pray to God when you decide you're never talking to him again. He'll make you "repeat after him." He'll become an even more incredible leader. He leads you back to Jesus.

Notice  how much respect for your husband grows in your heart. How he fights for you. Cares for you. Allows you-in the absolute mess you become-to be the one he loves. Celebrate that. It solidifies a deeper love that wasn't there before. It builds a trust.

You'll become a better mom. There's something about loss that-when done a certain way-makes gain sweeter. God is guiding you there. You've started to notice things you didn't before. "Look at how Eowyn's growing so fast? " (When before, she wasn't growing fast enough!) "Look at how well she expresses emotions!" When before-you would tell Ben in an-all-too-tired tone "She's sassy." 

Not to say you won't have bad days where you still think that her sass is too much, but it has a sweetness. Its the same sass you gave your mom (Hi mom, thanks for grace)-and its growth. Its life.

You'll become a better friend. Now that might sound weird for a person to pronounce themselves a better friend-but so many things you'll learn to understand. You'll learn how much heartache is caused when people try to fix problems with too simple phrases. "You can try again." or "In God's timing." or "For His reasons." You'll learn that truth, and delivery of truth are two very different things. (Every phrase that's been said to us is true!)  You'll learn the value of silence (perhaps for the first time in your chitter-chatter proned life.) You'll also learn to hear hearts not words. Because the hearts are what matter-and every heart is just wanting joy for you.

You see, all of this,-this dare I say gift-that came out of the hand of God will change you. Right now, the best thing you can do is be where you're at-which will be angry and violent-hearted to that hand. But even in that you'll learn how to pound on the doors without cursing his name. You'll learn-not without error-how to beg and cry and moan and break, without spitting in the face of the giver. When your worst fears are realized you'll say 68 days later "God loves me, and he cares. He's good." You'll see Jesus once again.

I guess its good you cant read this. Because if I read it 68 days ago, I'd spit in my face and tell myself to shut the  H up. Oh, P.s. you'll swear a lot more in your heart than you ever have. Sometimes *gasp* even out loud. You'll worry that you're getting worse, that your heart is somehow deteriorating. But its not. I think its kind of like a wound. It gets nasty before it gets healed. The whole "darkest before dawn." 

All this to say, 24 year old Brittany. Back 68 days ago there was much anticipated goodness for this year. It's proving to be true. God is getting glory. You have a deeper love for your family. You know Jesus in a way you didn't before. He did show up. He was there in the ER that day-and he is still showing up. He didn't act how we so desperately prayed he would-but he did act. He is acting and its a beautiful thing to behold.

You'll like who you are on this side of grief. Loss strips so much from us. But the beautiful surprise in all of this is that it stripped away so many things to reveal a much greater beauty. 

If we have to go through it again (Lord, please no.) we know the truth. We know that God , even when fears are realized, won't leave. May you, if anything remember that. He won't leave.