16 Babies

The following is an acronym for the names of each child I have had the privilege of carrying. Each with a name, each with specific memories, joys and emotions. Each touched my life in a unique way, each I celebrate.

God Sees My Joy & Ravaging Grief

(Grayson, Scarlet, Maverek, Josiah, Rosa, Gabe)

Such Exquisite Extravagant Obedience

(Sarah, Eli & Elissa, Olivia)

i am a

Beloved Daughter, Mother to

(Bella, Denley, Mia)

Chosen Children of God

(Cross, Caleb, Gunner)

Mia

This was written in the days following the miscarriage of a baby girl whom I called Mia, meaning "mine" in spanish. She was born into heaven during language school in Costa Rica, June 2007. As she went, I, on my knees in the bathroom floor, struggled to let go of the tissues and remnants of the child she was and the child I dreamed she would be. Ultimately, in the shower I washed her into the Costa Rican rainforst. This is a poetic version of that experience...

Mia

clinging to fragile pieces
of a child yet unformed except in my heart
reluctant to release
the only proof that she ever existed.
the potential of a life, of a dream
sighing a final breath of surrender;
leaving only canyons carved by tears
stained by blood

what plan or purpose can bridge
this yawning chasm, insatiable in it hunger?
but my God and his glory.
she was only mine for a moment
now His in eternity
embraced by her Creator
leaving my empty arms aching,
waiting, longing

again.

The World Goes Round

beginnings, endings
and so it goes
change makes the world go around

a joy, a triumph
crushing defeat
yet morning comes again

stoic grief or
raw open wounds
and the world spins on

grace that is free
but costs you everything
the sun rises and sets the same

childlike faith offering
extravagant sacrifice
both happening simultaneously

as the world goes round

Things unsaid

On the way to the hospital, pain was a constant companion that stole my breath and silenced me. Many things rattled around in my head but could not find a voice. Six years ago we had decided to trust God with our family planning. With repentant hearts and blind trust we determined to neither try to conceive nor prevent the conception of any child that God would give us. Since then we have carried and surrendered 10 children to the will of our Father. As I lay on my left side in the passenger seat of our Jeep Cherokee with blood spilling into my belly, Peace cradled my broken body.

We knew when we left the doctor's office that we were in trouble. Women still die from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. The fact that it had been two days since the rupture, two days of internal bleeding only complicated matters. However, the pre-eminent thought pounding with each beat of my heart was this: "If I died for trusting God...well, okay." That was it. Simple. Blissful. Trust. Is there any better way to die than in surrender to the One who died for me? I think not.

Leaving my husband in the hallway as I was wheeled into surgery, I wanted to say something significant. It did not escape either of us that this was a very serious situation. Unable to find words, we parted with a simple, "I love you, I'll see you soon."

In the operating room, several nurses came and squeezed my hand, ran their hands over my head in an attempt to comfort me. Instead I comforted them saying, "No, it's okay. You don't understand, I have had the privilege of carrying 16 babies. How many women get that opportunity? God has given me so much."

Then I called for Dr. S, my surgeon and friend. With the pain medication haven taken affect I was able to focus more clearly. "Are you okay?" Dr. S asked as we waited for the anesthesiologist. "Yes, I just wanted to ask you something. If things don't go as planned in here...would you please tell Kelly that it is only because God has a better plan for him and our children. God would not take me if He didn't have a better plan. Tell him that I love him." Tears dropped down on the surgical mask of the nurse on my right. As the bright sterile room began to fade, the doctor responded confidently, "Ah, kiddo, you'll be awake in a few minutes and can tell him yourself."

Little One

little one, little one
where did you come from?
where have you gone?
flitting, fleeting so happily away

too soon little one,
unknown by all but me and God
knit so carefully within my body
carved to perfectly into my heart

unexpected joy,
unanticipated pain
loss and gain all in a moment leaving
eternity sliding through my fingers

from my Father you came,
and to Him you have to return
oh, little one, little one
i will hold you again soon

Miles Apart in a Queen Size Bed

miles apart in a queen size bed
grief lies obstinately between the two

silent tears leap from her eyes and heart
while his are bound with lock and key

she wants to be held
he fears causing her pain

she needs to be kissed
he resists awakening desire

she aches to feel life coursing through her as she makes love to him
he rejects intimacy, unwilling to create a new life that could steal hers

she hungers for connection in the moment
he keeps his distance so he might keep her longer

she lost a baby
he nearly lost her

for now, neither talk about it
they remain miles apart in a queen size bed

Looking to the Cross

Looking to the Cross-
(lest I think God does not understand)

waiting an eternity for three minutes to pass
with heart racing, hands trembling
two pink lines form a tiny cross proclaiming,
positive. love has sprung to life.

celebrating a much anticipated son
an invisible thief grips body and soul
and as the blood pours out
another life is torn from my grasp

falling to my knees in surrender and pain
i look once again to my Savior who...

waited and eternity for three years to pass
with heart submitted and hands stretched out
two splintered beams form a rugged cross proclaiming
positive. love has sprung to life.

rejoicing over the only begotten Son
invisible God made into the form of man
as His blood poured out
new life was placed with my grasp.

Held in the midst of grief

As a wild bird finding itself suddenly in captivity, my heart flutters furiously. Raging against the confines of my ribs, throbbing in my chest, caged in grief, it is aching for release from a silent prison. Breathless tears lock away the torment of a dream lost, grief unknown, unclaimed.

Now, once again, I am learning to surrender. To be held in the midst of loss. On my knees trusting a God that I cannot see, whose plans I cannot understand. And overall, through all and in all, learn that His love, His grace is sufficient in this moment.

For His glory...and In His Grip,

Jenni Sue

Finding myself struggling with grief, I have looked online for someone else who has gone before. Someone else who can light the path, rekindle hope. In finding no one with a similar experience, I decided to start a blog. Perhaps it will fill a gap, perhaps only fill the emptiness of my arms as I wait and long for the answers that will only come in eternity.

On Tuesday, January 19th, I went to the doctor because of a persistent ache in my left side. The doctor, upon examination, suspected that the baby I had been carrying for six weeks was lodged in the fallopian tube and that the tube had ruptured. We went to the hospitial and in less than an hour I was sleeping deeply as a surgeon cut into my body. He found that the baby had died two days prior due to the rupture of the fallopian tube and took both my baby and future hope for another in a two hour surgery. The doctor reiterated 3 times that I had lost a "significant amount of blood" and that if we had delayed two hours more, the results would have been "catastrophic."

Under normal circumstances this is a loss worth acknowledging. I am bearing a grief that is touchable, tangible where my child is not. That it is my 13th loss only compounds the aching emptiness. In memory of a child we planned to call Gunner, I wrote the following:

Borrowed Child

a warrior child
knit together secretly
in the shadowy space within
not mine to hold
not mine to keep
only borrowed for a time

the span of life and death
a gulf narrowed down
to a tube a mere 10 centimeters
but he was not mine to hold
not mine to keep
only borrowed for a time

six weeks I carried him
until his home, savagely torn
forced me to give him back
because he we not mine to hold
and not mine to keep
only borrowed for a time

my body grieved clandestinely
blood and sorrow welling, pooling
filling the emptiness
until my heart could release
this child
borrowed for a time