"There must be a reason for it all..."

"…Hurtin' brings my heart to You,
a fortress in the storm
When what I wrap my heart around is gone
I give my heart so easily to the ruler of this world
When the one who loves me most will give me all

In all the things that cause me pain
You give me eyes to see
I do believe but help my unbelief
I've seen hard times and I've been told
There must be a reason for it all…"
- Alison Krauss

This song brings me back to my core, a place of deep centering in Christ.  It fills me with a sweet sadness, an abiding joy, and an unshakeable peace…all at once.  It reminds me that often the deepest wellsprings of joy have been carved out by sharp experiences which leave the heart aching and sore…for a moment. 

A dozen years ago I learned that there are times when almost indescribable pain could actually be giving birth to a moment of profound grace. 

It's no surprise to regular readers of this blog that becoming a mother was, for me, a long and arduous spiritual journey.  Infertility, miscarriages, a collapsed adoption, and eventually the birth and adoption of our precious daughter had brought me to a moment of deep joy.  Prayer, surrender, yielding, hope, trust in God's love, and gratitude…were the true waymarks on this climb, and I was ready to enjoy the view from this summit of motherhood. 

She was "all of my dreams coming true".  Every day with her was a blessing wrapped in pure joy, pastels, and ponytails.  She often mentioned her desire for a baby brother or sister…like her best friend had…but expanding our family was not something we were focusing on.  It was about this time that I, quite by surprise, found myself pregnant once again.  Over the years I was aware that I had conceived a number if times, but usually lost the pregnancy by the third month. 

This time things seemed quite different.  By the fourth month I was still showing signs that the pregnancy was established and had begun to "show".  I held my breath as we shared our good news with family and friends.  I wore loose fitting clothes and became more confident each day as my belly swelled along with my hope. 

I was happy, but hesitant.  At one point I remember mentally rushing ahead and imagining myself holding our new baby in my arms and becoming the mother of two.  When a voice from within said, "Be grateful for this moment."  This message really resonated with me.  At different points while we were adopting our daughter, I would become so concerned with the endless International redtape, immigration details and steps towards finalization, that I was barely able to enjoy the fact that I was in Africa with our new baby…my dream come true on many levels. I didn't want to miss even one moment this time around...with this baby, or with our daughter who was so excited about having a new baby in the family. "Be grateful for this moment." I could do this.

In fact, this message became a way for me to remember to back up and re-focus on the moments at hand.  That year I really enjoyed Christmas as a family of three.  I appreciated walking my daughter to school and having one-on-one time with her…something that would change after the baby was born.  I relished not sucking in my tummy and enjoyed the small swell of pregnancy I could rest my hand lovingly on throughout the day.  I enjoyed the simple pleasures of pregnancy not as a means to an end, but as a very complete and satisfying moment…each moment.

One Sunday after our church service I was visiting with other members and visitors in the lobby when I started feeling very tired.  I excused myself and retired to a row of seats in the rear of the auditorium to be quiet and pray.  At first my prayers were a humble "please take care of us…please don't let anything happen to this baby sister for our daughter," and then I remembered, "be grateful for this moment". 

I looked around me and couldn't help but be filled with gratitude.  My heart whispered, "...be it unto me, according to Thy will" (Luke). I was sitting in our beautiful sanctuary, there were flowers on the dias, the sun was shining through the diamond-shaped panes in the windows that lined each wall.  The branches of the large pine trees outside were brushing the sky and scattering sunlight as it came through the glass and sent Tinkerbelle shadows flitting across the walls.  And it was quiet…so quiet and peaceful.  The thought came, "Well, it's just the two of us in here right now".  Not, "I'm here alone praying"  But, "the two of us…"  I hadn't let myself go there before.  But in that moment we were really an "us" for the first time in my head…since my heart had long-since loved her.

It didn't happen immediately, but as I continued to sit there enjoying our Us-ness, alone in that quiet church sanctuary, I felt, for the first time, a gentle flutter of movement under the curve of my belly.  I didn't jump, I wasn't surprised, it was as natural and sweet as having a butterfly land on your arm when you are in an English garden full of aromatic herbs and flowers.  The longer I sat there the more she gently moved...brushing a tiny hand or foot along my ribs as tenderly as an angel's fingers on the strings of a lute.  And I sat there for a long time.  I had never been this far along in a pregnancy.  As much as I had prayed, I had never expected to be this pregnant much less feel a child move within me. It was a gift.  And in that moment I wasn't looking ahead, I was fully in the moment of that experience.

Over the next weeks I continued to feel her move and stretch ever so delicately even though my tummy didn't seem to be growing quite as much as I had expected it would.  Then one day I realized that she had stopped moving.  I prayed and stayed as still as possible until one day she passed from me.

At first I was absolutely devastated, so deeply sad that I wasn't going to be able to share her movement, her life, and her joy with my daughter...and her dad.  I was afraid I had somehow disappointed everyone who expected to love her and hold her and watch her grow.  I felt like a failure.  What had I done wrong? Was I being punished for past mistakes? How could I have prayed more effectively, protected her, nurtured her, loved her...better.  My thoughts became darker and darker. 

In the midst of this darkness, when I thought I might just shatter into a million little shards of emotional glass, the thought came, "You never thought you'd ever have that feeling and you did…be grateful."

And I was. 

I know that my second daughter is as alive for me today as are my other children.  I trust that she is growing strong and learning the lessons of Love that God has always intended for her to learn in His care.

When I think of that time I don't feel sadness or regret…I feel great joy and gratitude. I am a very blessed mom with three amazing daughters to adore and cherish each day.  Because of that experience I have realized that the love I feel for our (now) three daughters is exactly the same searingly profound love I felt for that sweet baby under my ribs one sunlit morning in church…no different at all..it just grows deeper each day.   My peace came softly...and it took months to find solid ground again, but I learned so much from that pregnancy.  And when I am most uncertain of what my future holds or how something will work out, I can return to that moment in the back of the church and sit with my hand on my tummy and remember how it feels to be silent in His presence...and surprised by His love. 

I never expected to feel her move…it was enough.

"A mother's affection cannot be weaned from her child,
because the mother-love includes purity and constancy,
both of which are immortal. 
Therefore maternal affection lives on
under whatever difficulties."
- Mary Baker Eddy

with Love,
Kate

"Cause you'll be in my heart..."

"For one so small,
you seem so strong
My arms will hold you,
keep you safe and warm
This bond between us
can't be broken
I will be here
Don't you cry..."
- Phil Collins

When she was born I was nine…going on 10.  It was 1964, I had Beatles sneakers and I was the only girl in my fourth grade class who loved George.  Everyone else loved Paul.  I was different.  But the Beatles didn't define being nine for me. 

She did.  Lila June McCullough Black. 

She defined my ninth year.  She was born on a day in late March and I was in love.  She was perfect.  Downy tufts of soft blonde hair, black button eyes, and the crooked little smile of an elfin sage.  She was tiny and strong, alert and pensive...all the things a girl of "almost ten" would want in a new, carryable best friend.   She was the sixth child in our family of eight, which would eventually become ten.  When it was determined that our mother was too ill to come home following Lila's birth, Dad brought their remarkable gift of life and love home for me to help take care of while Mother recovered.   I remember him coming through the door and feeling so grown-up as he placed her in my arms.  How could something so light make me feel like I was holding the whole world in my hands?   I would do anything to protect her from lions and tigers and bears, flying monkeys, melting witches...and wizards behind curtains....if I could.  I was definitely in an "Oz" phase that spring.

That moment was the beginning of a bond that has survived all the emotional ups and downs of 43 years of sisterhood.  Bringing her with me to basketball games in high school,  having her next to me at my wedding and sitting outside our children's kindergarten classroom on their first day of school while we waited for them to emerge no longer babies.   And through it all I think we have come out stronger than I could have ever imagined on that clear blue March day when I first saw her funny little face and wondered what she would become.

One thing was certain.  Lila had a heart of gold.   This was the flawless truth I would cling to one winter night in 1995 when my heart ached for her as she and her husband Floyd grieved following a miscarriage .  All day I had reached out to God for something that would bring her comfort and give her hope.  But it wasn't until we were on the phone later that night that I would feel the complete peace I had been searching for.

Lila had confided in me her concerns that she may never become pregnant again.  I could understand how painful these thoughts must have been to her.  She was the most wonderful mother I knew next to our own mom.  She was kind, gentle, funny and smart.  But most importantly her heart and her home were warm places where everyone felt welcome.  She had shared her love for beauty and her effortless grace with all of us… her family, her husband, her son, and every child to whom she taught art with such generosity of spirit…that we all felt mothered.

As I paced the floor of our kitchen it occurred to me that it was absolutely incongruous for there to be any question about my sister's pregnancy…present or future.  Her womb was an extension of her heart and her heart was so open and generous that nothing could keep it from providing nurture and nourishment for a child…or children.  I could see with absolute clarity that this connection between her heart's open door policy to children of every age and the fulfillment of her desire to become a mother was as reliable as the law of mathematics.  Open, warm, welcoming heart plus desire to mother equals family.  Period!  And I told her so.  I felt such joy for she and her husband and their young son from an earlier marriage.  There just had to be a child "on the way."  There was nothing on earth that could close the door on her home, her heart, or their desire to parent. 

I felt such an abiding sense of peace.  As if God had audibly said,

"Shall I bring her to the birth and not cause her to deliver?"
and
"As the rain cometh down and watereth the earth
so shall my word be that cometh forth out of my mouth,
it shall not return unto me void,
but it shall accomplish the purpose whereto I sent it."

It wasn't a baby that God had sent into the world, but a mother's open heart and willing hands to serve His purpose in the universe.  Lila was already mothering (verb)…the baby (noun) would follow according to God's purpose and nothing could interfere with what He had established in her heart. 

God had breathed a sigh of benediction and "it was done."

When I hung up the phone that night I was certain that "according to the time of life she would be delivered of a child"…and she was.  By the following November baby Tatiana Quinn Jones would join our family.  Her sister, Hailey Fawn Jones, would follow two years later.

I've learned so much from my baby sister about motherhood.  Besides making the best desserts this side of Paris she's helped me see myself through the lens of her heart...and isn't this what motherhood is all about. Four decades ago she trusted my "almost ten" year old arms to nurture and care for her as a baby, and by her example I've learned to trust God to nurture and care for life's most precious desires by placing them safely in the heart where they can grow and take shape before being borne, like seeds of promise, upon the winds of love.

"...Cause you'll be in my heart
Yes, you'll be in my heart
From this day on
Now and forever more
You'll be in my heart
No matter what they say
You'll be here
in my heart always
Always..."
- Phil Collins

Dear Lila...I am so grateful for your example of motherhood...and grace...I am so blessed to have you as a sister and a friend...all my love...always, 
Kate