repeat the sounding joy.

Yesterday Victor and I had the privilege of dedicating Ezra Joy to the Lord in front of our church. With family surrounding us, and our church community as witnesses, we declared that we would raise her in the ways of the Lord. A baby dedication is a curious event that contradicts everything we think we need to do as parents. When everything else in our culture says control, plan, and micromanage, the Cross says surrender.

Mom culture perpetuates that if we just (fill in the blank) enough, the kids will be alright. Use the right diapers. Breastfeed, bottle feed, formula feed. Baby led weaning, stage one puree recipes, diy pouch kits, organic everything, natural fiber clothing, ethically sourced, ethically made baby products, renown preschools and elementary education, specialized high school and higher education degrees. Messages rooted in fear and anxiety demand mothers to work harder, strive for better, and never EVER make a mistake or it will be at the endangerment of our child’s well being.

In a strange way, I have been given a special gift in motherhood through our son Xavier. In no way am I saying losing him was easy, as my heart aches each day with him not here. But that whole experience, as painful as it has been, taught me one thing among many others: our children are not our own.

Choosing to Believe, Clinging to Joy

I carried that sense with me throughout my pregnancy with Ezra, from the first day we saw the positive pregnancy test to the third week of December last year when we saw the little grayish shadowy figure that would grow into our feisty little girl. This spring when my water broke, even through the tears and anger, I faced the fear with the certainty that I was not in control. I could not will my daughter to stay inside my womb and live. If she were to survive, it would have to be by His doing. There was literally nothing I could do. Day after day on bed rest I held onto the truths of His mercies being new every morning, and of Him being good to me. Every day I had to choose to believe that He is for me, and I had to cling to joy when the clouds of sorrow loomed so closely.

After her birth Ezra Joy spent 3.5 months in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). Being a NICU parent puts a whole different lens on this idea of our children being on loan to us from God. Once she was born, I saw her for about one minute before she was taken away from me and cared for by an entire team of doctors, nurses and specialists. Once they moved her into her room, she was constantly monitored, and access was limited to medical staff and approved visitors. In order to see Ezra, my own flesh and blood, I had to follow so many rules! Parking rules, visiting rules, hand washing protocol, requesting to hold her every time until she was in an open crib (April –July). I would tell Victor numerous times that it felt like we were going to check up on a lab experiment more so than visit our own child.

Early on I wanted so badly to protect myself from the possible hurt of losing another baby, but I couldn’t help it. I loved her. I loved her instantly. It was hard to show at first, but soon enough I was all in. Taking care of her by changing and weighing her diapers, taking her temperature, reading to her, singing and playing music for her, and reaching in the isolette giving her as much physical contact that the two port holes would allow. Once she was more stable and I could hold her more often, I would sit for what seemed like hours and hold her inside my shirt, careful not to pull off one of her monitors. She would often place her tiny hand on my chest; her fingers felt like a salamander tail. I would tell her how so many were praying for her, and I would sing hymns over her. I would pray prayers of thanks, in awe of the fact that this time I was getting to parent a living child.

He Has Filled the Hungry

So much of my heart is captured in the song of Mary, also known as the Magnificat (Luke 4:47-53), where she declares, 

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior…for he who is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name. And his mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.…he has filled the hungry with good things…”

I am so thankful for this good thing: the opportunity to mother Ezra Joy, and to be entrusted with her life. Each day I ask the Lord to give me just enough of what I need for today to be a good mama to her and a good wife to Victor. I don’t get it right every day; in fact, most days I end up asking for grace upon grace for all of my missteps. But I will continually thank Him for adding her to our family and allowing me the experience of being her mama.

I am finishing up this post as she naps on my chest nestled in my ring sling; I love feeling her weightiness against me. It’s an opportunity that was cut so short with her brother. Being both a bereaved mother and mother to a living child seem like they would contradict one another. But that’s just it. Sometimes joy looks messy. It looks like the broken dancing with the beautiful. Like a family of four who will always have an empty chair at the table until Christ returns. But oh, what a difference the end of that sentence makes--that Xavi’s chair will be filled once more!

What hope that brings this mama.
What love Christ showed to us all.
What peace rests upon my heart.
And what a joy is the gift of motherhood.

This third week of Advent, I pray you feel the joy. Sweet, beautiful, soul-saving joy that shines Light in the darkest of Dark Places. 

Joy to the Earth, The Savior reigns;

Let Men their Songs employ;

While Fields & Floods, Rocks, Hills & Plains

Repeat, repeat the sounding joy.