The Point

A few years ago, I saw a Grey’s Anatomy about a pregnant woman who fell and broke her arm. In true Greys’ fashion, she had not only broken her arm but the fall had caused her to lose the baby as well. There was a scene of the doctors watching this woman and her husband as they examined her new cast amidst smiles and laughter. Just before the doctor went in to tell them that they had lost the baby, a nurse said, wait. Give them a few more moments of happiness before you shatter their world. And so the next few minutes were spent watching this happy couple thinking everything was right in the world, complete with dramatic music that, on its own, would probably be enough to make you cry. The next scene was this woman, in labor, working so hard through the physical pain and yet knowing that the outcome would be her stillborn child.

I watched this years before I ever got pregnant with Mia. Yet I thought about it for weeks to come. I just couldn’t believe that you would have to actually give birth, go through the pain of labor and give birth to your stillborn child. It just seemed like adding insult to injury to me. I don’t know how I thought they would get the baby out otherwise, I had never thought about it before, but I was just so surprised that she had to go through all that pain and for what. To go home from the hospital empty handed. To walk into her nursery and know that for at least a year, there would be no infant lying in that crib. No baby dripping in pink or blue.

When I told Paul about it, thinking he would be as appalled as I was about the injustice of it all and the seemingly pointless suffering they went through, he just shrugged it off as another overly dramatic storyline of Greys. He’s not a big fan. Ok, that might be an understatement.

But these stories are real. They happen. To people we know. I have heard from so many people about how they delivered their baby knowing they had already lost her. Or delivered knowing that he would only live a few days. And what took me by surprise was that there is no bitterness in these stories. They all seem to have an underlying sentiment of gratefulness. Of being thankful for the opportunity to have the baby. To meet the baby. Even to just have the privilege of carrying the baby.

The last several weeks I have been wondering what the point of the journey is. I feel like I am being prepared for something. But for what? I think I am starting to see some of the possibilities of purpose.

I went to an event tonight with Joni Eareckson Tada (a quadriplegic from a diving accident who started the non profit Joni and Friends which serves people with disabilities and their families all across the world). Paul used to work at her organization and is now on the board. As we were talking, she said that one of the things about going through a cancer scare was how it brought her closer to her husband. She lamented about the challenges of suffering but stated that it is in those times that the splashovers from Heaven are seen. Meaning, that is when God is closest to us. It’s when we get a taste of him, his mercy, and his grace. We sang a song that goes “This is my story, this is my song. Praising my savior all the day long” and she stated that our life is our story but the point is God’s story being told through our lives. I think she’s right.

If suffering is what brings us closest to God, then it is in suffering that we can most closely know who God is – and if our goal is to be more like him (like Jesus), then, right there, is a good reason to go through suffering. The things that we go through develop character traits that, if processed correctly, can replicate the character of God. We can become more compassionate, loving, accepting, humorous. All traits of God’s.

I recently received an email from my brother that said thank God for God’s Hands. That’s it, I thought, that’s the point.

The point is Gods Hands. His hands that guide, that mold, that protect, that heal. It’s the whole idea about life being more about the journey than the destination. And just like the stories I have heard from other moms and dads who lost their babies, they are not asking what was the point. They are thankful, grateful for the time they had with their baby. Even if it was just for 9 months in mommy’s tummy. There is learning in that. There is suffering in that. And suffering is what brings about compassion and healing. Not just for ourselves but so that we can share it with those in our lives that will inevitably go through suffering too.

Just like when riding the roller coaster, it’s not about the end. It’s about the whole track. The scary parts. The parts that allow you to catch your breath. And the comfort of knowing that you are strapped in. Held. By God’s hands. Its exhilarating.

And what changes is you. Is me. The shaping that takes place. The learning that takes place. The walls that come down or the thick skin that is grown. That’s what’s important. Those changes are what grow us, develop us and make us the people we become. But we have to accept it – the whole thing. We have to accept the path. And we have to accept the changes. If we don’t, we protect ourselves with a layer of resentment which quickly turns into bitterness. Cynicism. That is certainly not the point of suffering.

It can be painful to accept the process of change in you. But it’s worth it. I think that’s why the moms and dads I have heard from are free from anger. From resentment. From bitterness. They have accepted it. Sure there are questions that they still have but there is also an underlying peace. They are choosing to rest in God’s hands.

Thank God for God’s Hands.

I couldn’t agree more.

Maybe these journeys are in preparation for something else. Maybe they’re not. Maybe it’s just to become a little more like our Creator - a little more sympathetic to those that miscarry, a little more compassionate to those that cannot get pregnant, a little more thankful for the family members we have already.

A way for God to tell His story through us. And His story is one of love, compassion, mercy, grace, and power. As our stories unfold and we allow his hands to mold them into his story, these are qualities that we begin to reflect. We start to share them with the people in our lives. And we all begin to live with more love, more power, more intention than ever before. It changes us, our interactions, our purpose.

That’s a good enough reason for me to go through a journey of any kind.

Dr Jekyll / Mr. Hyde

I told Paul recently that I feel like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. That either I will go into preterm labor, or it will be a dramatic delivery, or that there will be something wrong with Summer. When he asked why, I explained that it doesn’t make sense to go through all of this drama – which has actually only been theoretical - without an actual dramatic result. If I had never had an ultrasound, never knew about the twins, never heard about TRAP, or the possible complications…the outcome would be the same. I would still go on to deliver whenever I deliver and have the baby that I’m going to have. So what is the point of the last 6 months?

I have been trying to figure this out. Trying to reconcile the ‘why’ of it all. Is it just to add some flavor to my life? Was it to start a blog and connect with other who have been through something similar? Is is just because that’s life and life happens?

It’s like I am being torn in 2 different directions. What I know is not reconciling with what I feel. It’s the same division of heartstrings that were being pulled before- half of them excited to see Summer and half of them sad to lose Cayden.

Today’s appointment was great. I saw Summer, she is doing great – even saw her face in the 3D ultrasound (which, truth be told, are kind of freaky looking). The fluid pocket on her brain has disappeared. Her arm and leg bones are measuring perfectly. Her little hands are opening and closing and she was already sucking her thumb. She even had the hiccoughs – I had been wondering how she can kick me so frequently! Now I know why!

So the angel on one shoulder tells me to feel so thankful. I dodged a bullet! The drama is over! The fear and anxiety is relieved. I am now in my 3rd trimester and everything is looking good for the next few months! Great! But there is a nagging voice on my other shoulder…

Why do I feel so…hesitant? Why can I not accept the good news and forget about the last several months? Why did I ask the technician to show me baby b? And when she couldn’t find her, why did that make me sad? Like something was over? And then when she finally did find her, why did my eyes fill with tears that I quickly wiped away before anyone saw them?

It’s because…I don’t get it. I still don’t get it. What was the point? Why go through all of that for nothing? Of course it’s great that it is nothing but…I still don’t get it. I don’t understand the purpose. And of course I feel terrible for feeling that way since it makes me feel like I’m ungrateful for the good news. Which of course I’m not! I just feel like this journey was preparing us for something…for the procedure I didn’t have, or the burial we won’t have, or the preterm baby that we won’t have (hopefully). Again, I’m thankful that we won’t have these things, that has been the prayer the whole time, but I feel like I’ve been preparing…but for what?

It’s just a weird feeling. Like standing at the edge of a cliff with all the adrenalin rushing through you, ready to take the jump because you have a parachute and you are ready, but when you look down you realize… you are on flat land. There is no cliff. Phew… right? But what do you do with that adrenalin? With all the preparations you have made? I guess you try to figure out the lessons to learn….and I just don’t know what that is yet.

So I ask you, what do you think the point is?

What is the point of so much drama, fear, anxiety, sleepless nights, cumbersome prayers if everything was going to turn out ok anyways? (I feel bad even writing those words – like I am totally unappreciative but…)

Is there a point? A purpose?

Is it preparation for something that I might deal with in the future? A way to help others who have gone through it? Simply one of lifes events that I can choose to grow closer to God through?

Or is it that just life; bad things happen and hopefully, by God’s grace, you can dodge some of the tragedy – is that just the way it is?

I’m not asking why we lost Cayden. I can accept that. I’m just trying to navigate through the purpose of the journey.

Lights

I have flown hundreds of times in my life. And yet, every time the flight attendant explains the safety components, I put down my book and listen. I can explain how to buckle the seatbelt, blow up the life vest, put on the oxygen mask (and always to yourself first before helping another), and the other handful of explanations he gives and yet I still feel like I should listen. Not so much because I will learn something new, but because I feel like I am being disrespectful if I don’t pay attention. Do I think he will give me better treatment in the event of a plane crash because I listened to him? No, I’m pretty sure that if there is a plane crash, much of these safety tips won’t really matter… However, I did learn something new today.

On the lifejackets, there is a little blinking light. I don’t know if that’s a new thing or the first time I have ever heard them say it. Either way, it was a minor detail that I had never caught before. It immediately gave me the image of being lost in the ocean, in the midst of the big black sea at night and yet the tiny flashing light can be seen from miles around – including by the rescue boat.

One of my biggest fears is being lost in the ocean, hence the reason I am not interested in ever taking a cruise. And this fear is of course tied to my fear of sharks. And yes, both of them are irrational. (Although, I should point out that when in Florida last week, I read an article about a recent scuba diver who came up to the surface only to realize that he was alone. In the ocean. With the sharks. And that the tour boat that he was with had left without him. Just like the movie Open Water. So….it does happen).

I think the basis of that kind of fear (besides the obvious) is the being alone. The complete isolation that encompasses you. With or without a life jacket, you are alone. But that light - it dramatically increases the chances of being rescued. As I was thinking about that, we began our treck on the runway as we prepared for takeoff. It was early in the morning and there was a heavy fog. Visibility was not great but on that runway all I saw were lights. Blinking lights, guiding lights. It made me feel confident about our safety even without visibility.

It also made me think of all of you. In your own way, as Paul and I have been navigating this journey blindly, you each have been little beacons of light to us through your beautiful messages of encouragement, by sharing your own stories and wisdom, and of helping provide ideas for each step of the way. It’s like you have been those lights on the runway helping us stay focused as we keep going to weekly ultrasounds. Or maybe we are the ones wearing the lifejackets in the big sea of the unknown and you guys see the blinking S.O.S. lights and reach out to us to lend a hand, a word of encouragement. A laugh.

I have received lots of good questions from many of you. Here is an attempt to answer some of them…

TRAP Sequence and Baby B
Any negative effect that may have happened due to TRAP sequence, has already happened. Baby b is still there, growing but slowly. With your encouragement and insight, we did name her, Cayden Marie, and are thinking of ways to commemorate her after she is born. Thanks for all your great ideas!

Labor and delivery
I may still go into preterm labor but it will be because I am/was a twin pregnancy – not so much because of the TRAP diagnosis. And the reason I would deliver early would be because the amount of placenta providing nutrients to Summer is compromised simply because baby b is still attached. FYI baby b is attached to Summer through the placenta (not baby to baby.)

I have another ultrasound Wednesday and then begin my 3rd trimester soon! Seems like the longest pregnancy in the history of all pregnancies but I can see the end in sight and am looking forward to that! To meeting Summer, to having the unknown answered.

One thing that keeps me going is that every morning, Mia kisses my tummy and says baby ‘ummer’.

Well…she might also be saying baby elmo….we’re not quite sure!

Memories

Mia had her first haircut yesterday. She’s almost 2 but her hair grew slowly. It was short in the front and long in the back and was starting to look like a mullet. It was time to put stop to that. So Grandma cut a little bit off in the back – no more mullet. She (my mother in law) asked me if I wanted to save her hair. Part of me wanted to say yes. Actually I did say yes initially. But then as I thought about it, I realized that there was no point.

The reason I said yes was that I wanted to want to save it. I felt like I was supposed to save it – like it was the mom-thing to do. I was supposed to save it, put it in a cute little frame, and immediately transfer it into her completely filled out baby book once I got home. Except, that that would never happen. It would go into a zip lock bag, sit in my suitcase until I had time to unpack (which on average is about a week after I have returned home from a trip), and then end up in some drawer in my bathroom until I found it a few months later and put it in a pile of other items that have every intention of eventually making it into Mia’s baby book that I haven’t started yet. Yes, she’s 2 and I haven’t started it yet.

So with that realization and with my 2 sister-in-laws admission that they didn’t save their baby’s hair either, I threw the hair away before the haircut was even completed.

That’s not to say I’m not sentimental. In fact, I’m a little too sentimental and I save everything. But the problem is I’m not organized enough to actually put all this stuff in a special place. So it all ends up in a pile. I have programs from every funeral and wedding I have ever been to. I have movie tickets from nearly all the movies Paul and I went to the 1st year we started dating. I even have my 8th grade graduation t-shirt with the names of all my classmates on it! Why? Is it because I might find the time to scrapbook one day? Or what if Mia might want to wear that t-shirt from 1994?

Ideally I would have scrapbooks and photo albums and journals with the memorabilia complete with commentary on the dates, times, people and purpose. But that will never happen. However, the point behind keeping these items for me is the same point as it is for the Type A mother and creative scrapbooker that I will never be – to keep the memory alive. To be able to look at the wedding program and remember how the pastor said the wrong name in the ceremony and how my dad wore his sunglasses through the whole thing. To look at the seashells and remember the romantic date that Paul took me on at the beach. To be able to look at the hair and remember when Mia was 2 and in the bathtub in Florida with her mullet that was begging to be cut off. It’s all about keeping the memory alive.

Of course we don’t need that to remember – but we need it to remember to remember. In other words, if we don’t have that visual reminder, sometimes we forget to reflect and take time to think about these past memories. We miss out on the enjoyment of reliving them or even on learning from them now that we are seeing them with hindsight.

When I first learned about TRAP and that we had lost Cayden, I researched all the medical info I could. But eventually I just got to the point of wanting to hear real stories about it - not from medical journals. I started searching out blogs until I found a few that had the stories of people that had been through TRAP deliveries. Most of them ended up with pre-term labor and the delivery of at least 1 stillborn baby. I was most intrigued with the photos of the acardiac twin. Of their baby b’s. Though they were malformed and didn’t look like babies, there were photos taken of them. With baby hats on, a small body wrapped in a baby blanket, with booties if there was a foot to put a bootie on. I could see how special these photos were to the parents. So I asked Paul to call our good friend and photographer, Jeremy (www.studiothisis.com) and ask him to be ‘on-call’ so to speak. This was when we figured that we would be delivering both babies early. I wanted pictures of Cayden. I wanted that memory.

We have now learned that baby b is growing slowly enough not to cause high risk for pre-term labor, and that she will be delivered with the placenta – as part of it. Recognizable as baby b (a mass of tissue different than the placenta), but not something that would be given a burial. Therefore, not something that will have pictures taken of.

So today I spent some time talking with my sister-in-law about how to commemorate Cayden. I have been feeling lately like there must be something special that I can do. Some initial research provided ideas such as hanging a special ornament at Christmas, or planting something in her name, etc. But nothing I’ve read seems quite right. I think I understand now why people get tattoos in honor of someone – it’s so permanent, and so undeniable that it seems almost ceremonious. Reverent. Funny to use that word when I can name many people who think tattoos are the opposite of reverent. But when you think about it this way, it’s hard to disagree. I have a friend who lost her mom as a child and she has a teardrop on her wrist with her mom’s initials. I think that’s beautiful. I can see how that makes her feel like her mom is always there with her. And my friend who lost her baby – her tattoo is so full of symbolism that I’m sure when she looks at it she feels every emotion that eventually ends with the hope and promise that she’ll see him again. There is comfort in that.

I’m not really interested in getting a tattoo but I am interested in hearing other ideas of ways to remember Cayden. Something special. Simple yet special. To be that reminder of a beautiful girl waiting for me in heaven. Something that I can touch or see or think of when I look at Summer and get tears in my eyes imagining her twin sister. Or maybe something special for Summer to 'know' of her sister.

Maybe something to just help provide comfort during the first month after their birth.

I didn’t think I would need that until today when the tears, once again, came out of nowhere as we talked about delivering Summer.

And Cayden.

If you have any ideas or thoughts, I'd love to hear them.

And, once again, thanks for all your words of encouragement, prayers and thoughts!

Into the Beautiful

On the day that I found out that baby b, Cayden, had died, I remember driving out of the hospital lot in sort of a stunned silence. It was before I knew they were girls, had ever heard of TRAP, or even imagined that things would not continue normally. All I knew was that I had two babies and lost one. I called Paul and told him. I went to my parents to pick Mia up and told them. As I was driving home from there, I remember being stopped at a train. I looked down at the seat next to me and picked up the ultrasound picture – it showed both babies. I turned on the radio because the silence of my thoughts was just too much. The first song that came on had a chorus with the words….

"Take me into the beautiful."

As I looked at that ultrasound and saw the twins and heard that phrase repeated in the song, the tears finally came. I immediately had the image of my baby being brought into the beautiful, into heaven. Running into the arms of her Creator. Of her heavenly maker. And it was beautiful. Heartbreaking but beautiful.
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I had a dream last night that I was having another routine ultrasound. I was laying there, belly exposed, jabbering away about something unimportant and irrelevant. Until I caught the look in the technician’s eyes as she searched the screen. It took me a few moments too long to recognize that my biggest fear was being realized. I too looked at the screen and saw the beautiful shadow of my baby. Laying perfectly still. Too still. I saw her profile, her chest, her belly and her legs. And there, where the pumping heart should be, typically the most re-assuring piece of information on the screen, was pure stillness. Blackness.

In the next scene, I was driving out of the parking garage listening to the static of the radio get clearer and clearer as I reached ground level. Then, as I pulled out of the garage and into the light, the radio station picked up the signal and I heard that familiar song again. Take me into the beautiful. And this time, Cayden was there to greet Summer into heaven.

I woke up feeling very disturbed. Anxious. Spooked. It was one of those dreams that was a little too real. Like when you dream that your husband was mean to you and you wake up hurt. And you stay mad at him even though you know it was just a dream. But it was just so real that the feelings linger. That’s how this was. I woke up and laid there with my hands on my belly waiting for the kicks of reassurance and for my heart rate to steady. Once both happened, I had to mentally replace my panic with the truth.

It was a dream. Summer is alive and doing great. It was just a dream. Only 4 months to go and this will all settle down. It was just a dream.

And dreams aren’t real. But they do represent real things. Real feelings. Real ideas. Real fears. And I happen to be an excellent dream interpreter. Well, I think so anyways. And I think Paul would agree. (Although when I just asked him if he thought so he laughed and said ‘it’s always entertaining’. Hmm.) Either way, I also love what Sigmund Freud has to say about dream interpretation. In fact, that’s where my love affair with dreams began – high school English class.

My teacher was very unique and somewhat off center and I think that’s what made him so interesting. (He was also the only teacher in my entire educational career that ever sent me and a friend to the Deans office for talking during class. Maybe that’s why I think he’s off center.). Anyways, he was an interesting teacher so the topics he taught on were interesting and one of those topics was Freud and dream interpretation. I really became interested in why we dream what we dream. Of course much of it has to do with what’s going on in our lives, what inputs we’ve had lately (ie what we have seen, read or talked about), and our subconscious.

Whether or not I actually know how to interpret a dream with any accuracy, this last dream was easy to decipher…

Recently, my sister in law gave me the book Heaven Is for Real. It’s about a boy who died in surgery, went to Heaven and then lived to tell about it. He was only 4 and much of the stuff he began to describe in the months after his surgery made it clear that he couldn’t have made it up. (If you’re going to read the book, you can skip to the next paragraph so that I don’t ruin a part for you). One of those things was meeting a sister he never knew he had. Here's an excerpt...

One day Colton said, “Mommy, I have 2 sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn’t you?”

“Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?” Sonja said, her tone serious.

“She did, Mommy. She said she died in your tummy.”

Sonja slid off the couch and knelt in front of Colton. I knew what my wife must be feeling. Losing that baby was the most painful event of her life. We explained it to Cassie, she was older. But we hadn’t told Colton, judging the topic a bit beyond a 4 yr olds capacity to understand.

“What was her name?”

“She doesn’t have a name. You guys didn’t name her.”

How did he know that?

“You’re right Colton,” Sonja said. “We didn’t even know she was a she.”

Then Colton said something that still rings in my ears:
“Yeah, she just can’t wait for you and daddy to get to heaven.”

When Colton left the room, the tears spilled over. We had wanted to believe that our unborn child had gone to heaven. Though the Bible is largely silent on this point, we had accepted it in faith. But now we had an eyewitness; a daughter we never met was eagerly waiting for us in eternity.” (Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo)

Wow. That’s amazing. Makes you think about so many things – miscarriage, abortions, heaven. It’s obviously why I dreamed about Summer going to heaven and meeting her sister.

Sometimes the phrases we use about death and loss are clichés. But most of them are still true. We just don’t like to hear them because they don’t really make us feel better. He’s in a better place. She’s shining down on you. He’s your guardian angel (ok, that one might not be true, I’m not sure it says anywhere that WE turn into angels when we die). But one thing that we should not consider a cliché is the idea, or the reality rather, of Heaven.

Heaven is not a romanticized place that we tell kids that their pet hamster went to. Saying that the baby you lost is up in heaven is not just a sweet idea to make you feel better. It’s the truth. It is very much a reality. Like the title of the book says, Heaven is for Real.

Heaven is very real.

And I can honestly say that Cayden is in heaven with Ethan. And Tiffany. And Virginia. And Abigail. And your 11 embryos. And all the other babies that you’ve all told me about that were never named.

And they are there together with Jesus. And even as our arms long to hold them, and we feel as though we have been robbed of our babies, we know deep down that they are in arms even more loving than our own.

They have been taken from us, yes.

But, they have been taken into the beautiful.

Picture Perfect

It’s Wednesday and I spent the morning running errands and keeping busy prior to my doctors appointment. All the while I was keeping track of the movement in my belly. Ensuring that it was constant. That I could feel her twirl and kick and spin. My plan was to be able to confidently go into my appointment knowing that the heart beat would be there. And it was. In fact, the appointment itself was encouraging.

Baby b is there but just kind of in the background - not growing, not getting smaller. Summer is doing well and the high risk doctors said I don’t necessarily need to see them every week if my regular doc would take me back. That I would continue with them for ultrasounds but see my regular doctor for prenatal visits. However, they warned, it’s possible that your regular doctor won’t want to take you back because of how complicated this pregnancy started out as.

That kind of sums up this whole pregnancy – being somewhere in the middle. Not being totally high risk anymore but not low risk either. Not quite out of the woods but not quite in imminent danger either. The fluid on the brain could be this or that or it could be nothing. I’m just somewhere in the middle. And that’s a hard place to be. In fact, God himself even says not to be in the middle. Not to be on both sides of the fence. Pick a side and go with it. That’s better than just being lukewarm.

In these situations I can’t even pick a ‘side’ because I have been placed in the middle. But here, in the middle, I can choose what to focus on. And instead of focusing on what might be, I need to focus on what is. What I know to be already true. Not what the possibilities are but what is real today. Right now.

At this moment. Today, I have a husband. A daughter. Am pregnant. Have a job. A family. And way too much more to list. Those are things I can focus on.

A friend told me recently that she lost a twin. And at the unexpected times, that twin surfaces in her heart. When she sees her daughter dancing in front of the mirror – she thinks of the twin there. That’s what the 2 of them would have looked like together. When she sees her 2 boys and her daughter in the rear view mirror, she thinks of the twin and what it would have been like. But she also said something encouraging – when she sees her family portrait, it’s picture perfect. It’s just as it should be - nothing is missing.

That sentiment really touched me somewhere deep inside. It was that reminder that while the what could have been’s and the what should have beens can be so powerful in our minds, the WHAT IS, is what matters. It’s what counts. It’s what’s real.

My family portrait, if and when we have Summer, will look exactly as it should look.

My family portrait right now; me, Paul and Mia, looks exactly as it should.

Because it's what is.

And it's picture perfect.

Headlights

Life’s a journey, not a destination – that’s a line from an Aerosmith song that I loved in high school. (Ok fine, I still love it.) It’s also a common sentiment – that the journey we are on is what counts, not so much reaching the destination. Of course, that is a bit of a cliché and kind of devalues the goal in mind. But it does remind us that the changes that take place in us on the journey are important. Are irreplaceable.

But truth be told, we are a society that focuses on the destination. On getting from point A to point B. Sometimes literally, as in when sitting in traffic, point B really IS our only goal. But even within personal goals – getting a certain degree, a certain job, achieving something specific etc; these are all point B’s in our life that we work so hard to get to. For some of these things, the journey IS the best part. Take College for example – hands down, the best part of college for me was the journey. Those 4 years in Iowa City - meeting lifelong friends, creating memories that will literally last me a life time, and becoming much of the person I am today (which includes making some major mistakes – but it’s all part of who I am now). Oh, and learning a thing or two as well. Go Hawkeyes.

But in other situations, point B becomes more important to us than the journey. Grad school often becomes about that degree. The job that comes with it. The promised life of fortune and success. Or marriage – it has the expectation of a lifetime of love and happiness. Or having a baby; if we can just attain these goals... but no one told you that the journey included such hard work and sacrifice. For grad school, marriage and parenting. And when too much focus is put on point B, we are just setting ourselves up for disappointment. What if you don’t get a job offer after grad school and are left with nothing but debt? Or your marriage is way harder than you expected? Or you can’t ever get pregnant? Then what? Then you become riddled with bitterness because point B, and all it’s heightened it up to be, failed you.

But what about the times that we don’t know even what point B is? It’s one thing to know what your goal is and fail to achieve it (often by no fault of our own), but it’s another thing to not even know what you are heading towards. How can we enjoy this journey of life if we don’t know where we are going? But I think there ARE times in our lives when we don’t know where we are going. And that’s a hard place to be. Not only do we want to know what point B is so that we can get there, but we also want to know the exact distance, how long its going to take, how much it’s going to cost and what the weather is like there. We want the details.

Unfortunately, God doesn’t work that way. I say unfortunately but I’m sure God would say ‘fortunately.’ (if I can speak for God, which I probably shouldn’t). God doesn’t always show us the whole path. He doesn’t give us a nicely lit map. But he does give us His words. His promises. There are some Bible verses that I grew up learning but never really thought about. I mean really thought about. One of those is a song as well (I can’t read the verse without humming the tune...)

Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

It’s simple. It’s powerful. And the imagery is actually pretty cool. It makes me think of a cold, dark, fall night. No lights outside. But I have a lantern. A little lamp that I can hold at my feet. And it gives me just enough light to take my next step. And the next one. And the one after that. Eventually, this light has provided guidance for my entire path. From A to B. It’s all I need. Like headlights.

“Headlights have the purpose of illuminating the road ahead during periods of low visibility, such as darkness or precipitation.” (Wikipedia)

Isn’t that what God’s light (ie directions and guidance) is for? Especially during times of low visibility, when we are blind with sorrow, confusion, pain, bitterness, anger or whatever other emotion we all have felt? And during times of precipitation – when the storms of life are pouring down on us? Unemployment, illness, pregnancy woes, and so much more? Sometimes I not only want to be in a car with bright headlights but I even want to put on one of those helmets that literally has a light shining out of it, like miners have. Seriously! I might look strange but at least I would be able to see where I’m going! One of my favorite authors reminds me that we don't need to see the whole path...

It’s like driving a car. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” You don’t have to see where you are going, you don’t have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet in front of you.” (Bird by Bird, Anne Lamont)

Sometimes we know what point B is. We see it in the distance. Like Las Vegas – all lit up and beckoning us. And it provides that goal to work towards. Like a North star. But sometimes, all we have in the darkness are headlights – just enough light to get us safely to the next step. And while it’s sufficient, it takes faith. It takes trust.

“The most direct route between point A and point B on your life journey is the path of unwavering trust in Me.” (Jesus Calling Devotional)

By going off track, creating my own path lighted with my ideas, I’ll just be taking the long way. And it’s not the scenic route. Trust me, I’ve taken it many times before. But that verse, that quiet verse that speaks about lighting our path. It’s something to take note of. It’s worth holding onto that lantern in the middle of a world that can be so filled with darkness. It’s comforting to know that there is just enough light for my next steps. And that my footing will be secure on that path because He is leading. And I know He’s not going to lead me down the wrong path.

We don’t want to go overboard on either the journey or the destination. A little balance, a little focus on what’s important is needed. But maybe the focus shouldn’t be on either of those. Maybe its just on the next step.

Right now Paul and I don’t know what our point B is. But we know that we are on a lighted path. The whole thing isn’t lit up; just enough to keep moving forward. Sometimes slowly, but the speed is not important anyways. In times of low visibility and precipitation, slowly is probably best. It’s probably the only way that we will be able to learn from this part of the journey. By slowly but surely, taking one step at a time. By allowing God to light our path with his promises. Not focusing on point B. Or even the journey. But just on the next step.

God’s Word, His promises – they are my miner’s hat.

They are my lantern.

They are my headlights.