Little is much when God is in it...

Marriage.

If you didn't hear the infamous line from the Princess Bride in your head when you read that word, we can't be friends.

The hardest guttural laughs I have ever had in my life have been while married. Let's talk about some, shall we?

An absolute favorite memory of mine was the file cabinet. Jeremey had been wanting a nice, pristine file cabinet for so long to file his nerdy things. We had been shopping for some in store and on-line, but guess what? Apparently they line file cabinets with gold and precious stones, because they are as expensive as all get out these days.

So our go-to? Everyone's go-to: the "For Sale" sites on-line. We were checking Facebook and Craigslist everyday to fulfill his filing joy, hoping that we could come across something that didn't lead us to the dungeon of a serial killer.

Behold, our prayers were answered. A gentleman just a few miles away was selling a "like-new" file cabinet FOR JUST $10. We scrolled through the pictures depicting this curvaceous cabinet that met the hopes and dreams of my organized husband. Why this man was tossing this puppy for ten bucks, I didn't know, nor did I care, all I knew is that we were saving money, which meant we could afford to get the 80/20 ground beef at Aldi this week instead of the lower middle class 70/30. (This is a joke, please don't e-mail me about this, I won't respond.)

So we made a date of it. We would pick up our metallic beast on a breezy Tuesday night, and celebrate our Craigslist treasure with a drive-thru at a blessed Dairy Queen. Thank the Lord again for His gracious gift to our precious family.

We pulled in the driveway of this stranger's beautiful home. "Do you need help, babe?" I asked, like the adoring wife I am. "No, I bet he'll help me carry it to the car, you just wait here." How exciting! I waited a few minutes for my dear husband to join me back in our Equinox, with our soon-to-be own cabinet of the filing kind.

A few minutes passed.

I noted a shadow emerging forth out of the garage. The first feature I saw was of despair and disappointment, as Jeremey came forth holding a small, miniature filing cabinet. It was beautiful, it was like-new, but it was sooooooo compact.

I tried to hold back my loud, obnoxious guffaws, but as Jeremey opened the passenger door, because we CERTAINLY no longer needed the entire trunk for this tiny, tiny filing cabinet, I cried out in screeches of laughter, with tears streaming down my cheeks. "Don't-" Jeremey said as he opened his car door and slid inside. "Why...did you..." I tried to blurt out through my cackles, "pay...for this..."  "BECAUSE I WAS TOO EMBARRASSED TO TELL HIM THAT HIS DISHONEST PHOTOGRAPHY MADE THIS LOOK LIKE A NORMAL-SIZED FILING CABINET, BABE. THIS IS FOR INDEX CARDS!"

That was the best night ever. That filing cabinet is still in our garage. It's empty, as we haven't found anything small enough to file in it.

I love that memory. Don't mention it to my husband, he doesn't love it as much.

A few weeks ago, Jeremey burst through the door of our home. "Babe, babe, babe......TAKE A LOOK AT THIS." Jeremey had a new-found love for copper kitchen items, and had been eyeing a few sets of copper pans to add to our home collection for a while now, but again, being the Goodwill psychopath that I am, was trying to find what I like to call, "a real steal of a deal."

There, in the light of his iPhone, lay a set of gorgeous copper pans on a daily deal site-

-everything he had been hoping for, at his fingertips, for the low, low price of just $30. "Shall we get them? We can replace all of our pans once they come with these beauties." Sure! Why not? That's amazing, and I'm a woman who knows her place, so new kitchen equipment is always welcome. (This is a joke, please don't e-mail me about it, I won't respond.)

A few days later, it came. Jeremey walked in the door with the package of copper prizes. The box seemed a little small, but with advanced shipping technologies these days, you just never know.

We opened the box, and behold, itsy bitsy teeny tiny copper pans emerged from their indwelling cardboard cave. I gotta admit, they were beautiful, and if we ate portions small enough to feed a family of ants, they would have been absolute perfection.

I tried.

I did.

I swallowed it back.

But it still came out.

"Do you still want to replace all of the pans in our house with these? As well as.....OUR FILE CABINET?!?!"

Don't laugh that hard after giving birth. You may experience an incontinence episode.

I love that memory.

Don't mention it to Jeremey, he doesn't love it as much.

Our expectations really got the best of us during those moments. We were expecting something to complete some of our heartfelt desires, only to be disappointed by the fact that they fell very, very short. Literally.

This happens so often in my own life. In marriage, motherhood, friendships- having too-good-to-be-true expectations that often can't be met, or are nearly impossible for other people to meet, and being disappointed almost every time. Why do we do this to ourselves? We are so busy imagining the perfect life, the perfect job, the perfect family, the perfect EVERYTHING- we forget that we are involved in the equation- you don't get what you want or what you imagine in your head- YOU GET WHAT YOU CHOOSE.

Choose joy, choose fulfillment- laugh at the disappointments, they become memories later.

Diners, drive-ins, and diapers.

“Why does my newborn dislike me?”

“What should a baby’s poop look like?”

“Are you sure that the poop should look like that?”

“Why is there so much poop?”

“Are you sure my newborn doesn’t like me?”

My Google search has been ridiculous these past two months. Not only do they send you home after an anatomical trainwreck with a child whose language you do not speak, have never spoken, and will have to learn immediately, but the nurses and doctors prepare you for nothing at the hospital when it comes to parenthood.

“Can I bring you breakfast?”

“Would you like me to refill your water?”

“She’s crying….how about I take her to the nursery so you can get some rest?”

DO YOU KNOW THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN WHEN YOU GO HOME? MY WATER WENT UNREFILLED FOR 72 HOURS BEFORE I REALIZED THIS.

Then, there’s this adorable little torture expert. She believes that the moment she enters the world, her job is to sleep deprive you, Guatanamo Bay style, as well as sleep deprive the husband, the dog, and anyone within a 50-foot radius of her living quarters for at least the first week. My sweet angel went from sleeping soundly to a pterodactyl’s cry within 2 seconds. My hearing still hasn’t fully returned.

But then there’s this moment where you look at this kid and you are overwhelmed by the fact that you would all of the sudden risk your life, risk everyone else’s life, jump off a building, hijack an airplane, not sleep for days or weeks in order to protect this little eating, sleeping, pooping human. This human that coos at daddy, grandma, and grandpa, but takes one look at you and all of the sudden she’s this hangry beast who is consumed by a voracious lust for formula, despite having a stomach the size of a Jelly Belly.

I’m so grateful, every day, for this creature. A newborn makes the beauty of having a Creator come alive, while at the same time stirring within a new mom the desire to curse like an inappropriately eloquent sailor 20 hours out of the day. I love it, it’s frustrating, it’s awesome. It feels amazing! It hurts.

I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago about the insanity of my birth story, and she said something I won’t forget—

“Wow! It was not at all like you planned! Have you had time to grieve?”

What? What does she mean grieve? I’m a new mom, I’m supposed to be singing on a mountain like Julie Andrews before the Nazis come!

“Grieving that your birth story wasn’t like you had in mind. It’s still a beautiful thing, but it’s hard when you had this amazing expectation and it becomes a traumatic moment, even though the end result is your awesome baby.”

I loved that.

That’s not something to be ashamed of.

I’m not talking about a “snowflake” grief, where everything is a sob story and I need some “safe space” to give my emotions a gentle pat on the back because “life is hard and people are mean,” but grieving moments in your life, making sure you take the time to grieve those situations and indulge in a profound loss in order to embrace what came from the agony.

I don’t think Christians, or people in general, discuss grief, or dare I say, accept it.

Our view is often that it is a short time in our lives following a tragedy…where you wake up after no more than 6 hours of grief and everything is fixed and better because time heals all wounds and life goes on, and you are completely done with the sadness, with that “chapter” in your life.

Yeah right.

I have talked to so many people who have experienced tragedy or hardship in some way:

The loss of a parent.

The loss of a child.

The loss of a spouse.

Facing unemployment.

Domestic abuse.

Sexual abuse.

Be it present or be it past, these people have expressed the pressure to “put it all behind them” and “move on.” It’s not that easy, and it shouldn’t be shameful.

I miscarried last year.

I haven’t told a lot of people the story about my miscarriage. In my head I pushed it away because so many other women have experienced it. Or worse. I didn’t want to wallow in something when other people have suffered what I have or more than I have. So I tried to move on quickly.

We found out we were pregnant (for the first time, ahhhhhh!) shortly after Thanksgiving. It was early,  and we knew people recommend waiting until the first trimester is over, but we were shocked and ecstatic. It was Christmastime, and it was the perfect time to tell our families for Christmas. The greatest gift! 

Christmas was exceptional. Every surprise was perfection, the grandparents, the aunts, the uncles, they were all excited for us. This child came at the perfect time, and its due date was our anniversary. God did this. Perfect timing, as always.

Our first ultrasound, I remember little one popping up on the screen. My stomach dropped. There was no movement, just this tiny floating being in darkness. My husband squeezed my hand, I could feel him crying tears of joy. I knew what this meant, he did not. I cursed my medical background in my head. I couldn’t look at him. I knew what was coming. I let a tear slip down my cheek….my baby! Our first baby.

The tech was gracious and kind. She brought the radiologist into the room, who explained that no movement and no signs of life were there. Our baby was not alive.

My OB was empathetic. He said she was probably a girl as her heart did not fully develop, which statistically happens to females more, and he thought we should name her. So we did. Lillianna. I loved the name. I said it over and over and over in my head. Lillianna, my sweet baby that left us here with so small a memory of her.

I couldn’t do the procedure. I couldn’t. Doesn’t make it wrong, doesn’t make me right, I just couldn’t. I told my OB that I would pass her naturally. He told me what I already knew- Ibuprofen for pain, it can happen in a week, it can happen in four, we just don’t know, just try and go about things normally, but “rest in my distress.” Sure. Whatever you say.

My grandma passed away the following week. I drove out to Danville for her funeral. I sat there in my seat with my husband next to me, overwhelmed with shock. I just couldn’t stop the thoughts from flooding my head and breaking my heart-my grandmother lay dead in front of me, and my baby lay dead inside of me. I didn’t know how to express it, I didn’t want anyone to know that I was trying my best not to feel anything.

A few weeks later I went into labor on a Sunday morning. It was just as I’d imagined, the painful contractions. They lasted all day. I sat in church, in my Lifegroup, timing them. Tears occasionally slipping down my cheek. I went home. Tried to eat. The contractions grew strong and I passed what I was supposed to. When they ended, I went to bed. Woke up, went to work. You’ve got to move on, you can’t grieve someone you didn’t even know.

Tuesday afternoon, I got off of work, went home. I was standing in my kitchen when I felt a downward pressure. I ran to the bathroom and it happened.

I thought I had passed her on Sunday.

But there she was.

This tiny little creature.

To anyone else, she might’ve looked like an alien. To me, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was devastated. She lay there on a tissue, and I just sat there. My husband was upstairs working, having no idea what was taking place down below. I just held her. I couldn’t stop holding her. The tiles of the bathroom floor were so cold. I wanted to get up, but I couldn’t. At the same time I never wanted to move, because I knew I would have to stop holding her forever.

The months that followed were hard. I threw myself back into work, picking up overtime. I didn’t want to talk about it with my husband. I was desperate for friendship or for someone to reach out, but anytime someone did I told them I was fine. Why would I grieve something that happens to so many women? Why would my heart ache when my friends have had stillbirths, or have buried their child at a young age? My tragedy is mild compared to some, therefore my grief must be as well. God has a plan, yada yada yada…He knows our future, blah blah blah…I continued to tell myself these beautiful truths, but in a way that caused them to mask my aching heart.

How sad that we deprive ourselves of an emotion so important! This depth of our grief depicts the very depth of our love. It is not a feeling to run from, but to hasten towards! As a hospice nurse I made the unfortunate mistake of not following my own advice- to allow myself to embrace that death, for this grief accompanies the unfathomable bond of a relationship, and its complexity that is not easily consumed or left behind is a sign of strength therein.

There is nothing that can withhold our healing or bolster the joy that comes alongside of it than denying ourselves the opportunity to mourn something or someone. You are not weak, you are not wrong, you don’t have to be ok. Grieve.

I encourage you to embrace grief in your life. Yes, the Lord has brought me beauty from ashes. I love my child whom I held when I lost her, I love my child now whom I smile at when I hold her. One depicts a sorrow, the other depicts a miracle, but both have made me a mom.