Friday, May 20, 2011

Butter colored beads...

Butter colored beads.  
But not just any bead.  Not really.  They are Baltic amber beads.  High in succinct acid...or something like that.  They apparently reduce inflammation for all kinds of things.  Including teething.  

I recently bought a strand.  

It arrived in the mail yesterday.  A tiny little necklace, for a tiny little girl.  Each bead carefully knotted in between, to prevent the risk of choking on a stray bead should it break.  Each bead, a beautiful butter yellow.  High in succinct in the color of a buttercup.  

I felt my heart breaking as it lay in my hand.  

The yearning to know.  To really know...that we won't lose her too.  

The crushing desire to be sure that I will get to screw the clasp around her beautiful little neck, complete with a small pulse to indicate life.  

The debilitating fear that comes with knowing what it feels like to hold a child with no life in it, and to know we are never immune to that cold reality.  

The panic that emerges when you realize, fully, just how much you love this little person you have never seen.  To know how deeply you need the smell of your newborn, the sound of her breath, the feel of her skin, warm against your own.  

Butter colored beads.  They look like pretty yellow beads to anyone else.  

They are draped over a picture of four of my sons in the yogic "tree pose" that sits on the upright piano in my living room.  It's a pose that symbolizes ultimate balance and inner peace, which is something I'm yearning for.  I draped "her" necklace over the picture in a prayerful gesture that begged the universe to allow her to join her living brothers in this bring us all peace and balance once more.  I whispered her name.  The name we've chosen.  The name the universe whispered into my husbands ear.  The name that has meanings in several languages.  Truth.  Noble one.  Protected by God.  Her name.  I whispered it to myself.  

When my husband declared joyfully that he wanted to shout it out to the world.  Her name.  I irrationally felt my chest grip with fear as I glanced over at the butter colored amber.  

And the tears erupted. 

Crushing his joy. 

Making him think I was still in doubt about her name.

Which I am not. 

Butter colored beads.   The healing force that Amber promises strung into a tiny necklace destined for a buttercup princess growing where twins died.  Growing.  Alive.  Moving.  Alive.  Thriving.  Alive.

I can only whisper her name.  I can only imagine how lovely she will be.   

I want to embrace that boundless joy my husband had..before I crushed it with fear.  I want to give it back to him with the promise that I will deliver his lovely daughter alive into his arms.  

But I can only whisper her name.  

Monday, May 16, 2011


Sometimes, or if I'm really honest, A lot of the is confusing.

Emotions are confusing.

Happenings IN life...are confusing.

Like losing a child.  It doesn't really make sense to my heart. 

And yet, it happens.  All the time.  Every day.  Every minute.  Every second. 


But not to everyone.  And not to most babies.

Most babies that make it past the first trimester are born. 

They really are.

I keep telling myself this as I feel my growing daughter moving inside of me.  (finally, I can feel her!)

I tell myself that she will be born.  That she will make it.

But I feel a twinge of fear whenever I see another pregnant woman.  I hear my thoughts..."Will her baby make it?  Oh please...let her baby make it to life."   I don't know who I'm begging.  I don't know why I keep talking to the air as if it can hear me.  I don't know why I have the compulsion to ask for miracles...for it really IS a  All of it.

And yet, there it is.  Asking.  Praying.  Begging. 

For life to work.  To emerge. 

My 7 year old asked me who God was the other day.   I know lots of people have ideas about this.  Whole religions even.   But I had to be honest.  I told him I didn't think God was a who.  I told him that I felt that God was a reality.  A wholeness. An everything.  I took him outside and we watched the trees in the wind, fruit blossoms with all their wondrous color and honey bees dipping happily into the nectar they possess.  I squeezed his hand and said, "Baby bear....this is all God.  All of it.  God's not a who.  God's an everything. God is within and without and intertwined and beyond anything anyone can ever understand.  God is reality. God is all of what you see, and even more than you can comprehend." 

He smiled and said "I thought so!" 

Then, for the first time in this pregnancy, he kissed my belly. 

I felt the tears well up in my eyes, because this little boy-child has been looking sideways at my belly ever since we told our sons we would be having another baby.  Looking at me with concern.  Worry that should never be seen in a small boys eyes.  I've been watching him watching me. 

But...somehow, with the idea that God was more than an almighty BEING...he felt safe again.  Safe to wonder about the world.  Safe to love a little growing girl nested in his mothers womb.  Safe from a God that mimicked the unfairness of the Greek Zeus. 

No, the comfort came from God being everything.  Everywhere.  In that, he could find enough peace to love his baby sister.  In that...he left his fear behind. 

God is real. 

It's just not an it.  Not a he.  Not a she.  Not an identity. 

God is Reality. 
And as my sweet husband wrote in his beautiful book, Being Ourself Ourself.