For Better or Worse

Today is Eric and my 8th wedding anniversary...or is it "Eric's and my"?  Okay, today is our 8th wedding anniversary! Haha.  

In Sunday school this week, we watched a video on family and marriage, and they interviewed a bunch of couples.  One of the questions they asked was "Did you know what you were saying yes to when you got married?".   The question was answered with a smile and a resounding "No" by most couples.  I was actually reflecting on the same thing last year on our anniversary.  Though we wholeheartedly meant our vows when we said them and went into our marriage knowing that not every day would be puppies and rainbows, we had no idea what the years would bring us.  I never would have guessed that in five years, we would go from this:

to this:

(By the way, both were unusually gorgeous days, Pittsburgh weather-wise!)

I hesitate in categorizing Joy's life as "worse," as there was definitely good that came out of her short existence, but I also feel pretty safe in saying that it's hard to categorize the death of a child as "better."   [Of course, I'm not suggesting that we're the only ones to experience the "worse" part of "for better or for worse."  Just thinking of a close circle of friends, I can think or couples who have faced infertility, cancer, the death of a parent, and a devastating house fire.  I'm sure none of those couples stood at the altar and imagined those difficulties in the first decade of marriage.]

Though we had no idea what the future held when we said "I do," I'm glad that Eric has been the one to walk with me through this.  I've read that men and women tend to grieve quite differently, and that has been true for us.  Of course, our journey has not been without its bumps, but I think we have complemented each other well as we have processed our loss.  I tend to be more introspective and quiet (though this blog certainly implies otherwise!) while Eric is able to compartmentalize things (in a good way!) and is much more willing to engage others in discussion about our situation.    He truly was a solid rock for me as I dealt with the daily reality of carrying a child that we knew would not live.  Most importantly, his firm conviction of and reliance upon God's sovereignty even in the midst of our difficult situation helped me to cling to those same truths even when they didn't match my emotional state at the time. 

So, happy anniversary, my dear. I have no idea what other "better and worse"s (wow, this post is full of questionable grammar!) our future will bring, but I'm glad we will weather them together.

Magnolias

[I'm getting ahead of myself again, but wanted to write this post while the magnolias were blooming.]

Magnolias remind me of two of my favorite people, both of whom are in heaven: my Grandma Miller, and Joy. I'll let my grandma's words speak for herself from a letter she sent me: "Grandpa and I want to do something in Joy Marie's memory.  I had thought of having a magnolia tree planted on your property.  It seemed appropriate because it is such a beautiful and delicate flower and we look forward to its blooming each year even though we know we be able to enjoy the blossoms for only a short time." 

After some discussion, we decided that there just wasn't a place in our already tree-filled yard to plant another tree.  We literally were going to have to cut a tree down to plant a new one, which seemed silly.  They ended up buying us a beautiful matching set of a necklace and keychain with Joy's footprints engraved on them instead.

But I'm kind of happy with the way the tree saga turned out. Because now instead of having a single magnolia tree planted in Joy's honor (and the responsibility of keeping it alive), I now think of every magnolia tree that I see as Joy's tree (and my grandma's too!),  Strangely enough, when I worked downtown, I walked past this pair of very realistic magnolia tree sculptures  a block from where I worked at Heinz Hall: 

Each time I see those pretty pink blooms I'm reminded of Joy's short but lovely life. So this spring (or anytime if you're on Penn Avenue), when you see a magnolia tree, join me in remembering our sweet girl and being reminded that life's value isn't measured by its length!

What's in a name?

After we found out that our baby was a girl, one of our next items of business was giving her a name.  When we were expecting Liam, we didn't know if he was a boy or a girl, so we had both a boy and girl name picked out.  We only briefly considered giving that "leftover" name to our first daughter, but decided that we would rather save that name to use if we were ever blessed with another daughter in the future.  Some people might disagree with that decision, but it felt right to us.  I think that if we had known before the diagnosis that she was a girl and had already given her that name, it would have been different.  But we felt that our special girl deserved a special name.

Honestly, I don't remember exactly how we came up with the name Joy. We're pretty sure that it was my idea, because Eric remembers that he didn't like it at first! When I suggested the name Joy, I was thinking of a kind of generic definition that had to deep with a type of deep satisfaction that went beyond circumstances.  Joy's middle name is Marie, which is derived from the word "bitter."  It also happens to be my mom's middle name.  I loved the combination - a sad happiness. Bittersweet, if you will, which is one of my favorite words.  After a few days of debate, it was settled. The little one growing inside of me was Joy Marie.

While I think her name suited her from the beginning, it was cemented in my mind as perfect during her memorial service.  During the eulogy, our pastor used this definition of joy, one that I have heard him repeat several times since: "Joy is the sense of peaceful and exuberant well-being that comes from the knowledge that God's purposes are being worked out in one's life."  Isn't that beautiful?  Because I happen to think that that's exactly how her life was - joyful! I hope that you'll agree as I continue to tell her story...

...From Life's First Cry to Final Breath...

Happy Easter!  I'm going to jump ahead a little in the story, because on this day of Christ's resurrection, my mind was frequently on my sweet Joy.  Don't worry, I'll backtrack eventually...

I'll confess that prior to Joy's life and death, I naively (substitute foolishly or stupidly or shortsightedly here if you prefer) never gave much thought to heaven or the afterlife. I was young and healthy and optimistically hoped that I had years to go on this earth. You know - heaven is great for grandmas and grandpas but I was more concerned with the goings on in the here and now!  

Of course, having a child die makes you ponder things like heaven much more seriously.  In theory, I was always grateful for the promise of eternal life, but suddenly it meant so much more. Heaven was no longer a theoretic place for me someday in the distant future, but a promise of a restored body and eternal life for my own child! 

In many ways, parenting and marriage have shown me just how selfish I really am!  But in this particular case, the opposite is true - I am even more glad for God's mercies towards my daughter than for myself.  I'm so thankful for the cross of Jesus Christ in which there is life and hope and restoration for my sweet little girl. (I guess maybe that's selfish too - I feel better knowing that she will be whole and healthy?)

These thoughts are often on my mind whenever I hear teaching on or ponder Christ's glorious gift of eternal life.  Our closing hymn today was one by my favorite songwriters, Keith and Kristyn Getty, "In Christ Alone."  The last verse says:

 "No guilt life, no fear in death - 

  This is the pow'r of Christ in me;

  From life's first cry to final breath, 

  Jesus commands my destiny.

  No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man

  Can ever pluck me from His hand;

  Till he returns or calls me home - 

  Here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand. "

The line about life's first cry and final breath always gets me - I naturally think of Joy's painfully brief life.  If you happen to look closely at me during church when we sing this song, you might see tears in my eyes during this verse.  But what comfort - every moment of her life; every detail of her destiny, like yours and mine, was commanded by Jesus.  So on this Easter, I am grateful for the power of the cross, which allows me to have no fear in death, whether my own or that of those I love who know and serve the Lord.  Happy Easter indeed!