Blog Archives - Sufficient Grace Ministries

Finding Christmas In The Broken

December 12, 2024 by Kelly Gerken

A couple days ago, a pure white blanket of fresh fallen snow covered the
earth, or at least my little corner of it. Today, rain has washed it all
away, leaving behind a muddy mess. What a picture of facing Christmas after
losing someone you love, or when your world for whatever reason, doesn’t
match up with the picture-perfect Christmas we envision. Facing Christmas
after your world has been torn apart, and the beautiful innocence
disappears like the pure fallen snow, washed away with a painful goodbye.
You are left with the muddy mess.

The heaviness weighs down on your heart, stealing joy. You watch others
rush around swept into the inertia of the swirling tornado of celebration
and preparation. You may even join in as well. But, your heart weighs heavy
with the burden of how. How to celebrate the holiday when all ideals are
held in front of us – picture perfect families and gifts, decorated homes, a
season of joy and laughter while deep in your soul the lonely ache howls
deep, and a pained smile is hard to muster.

You may wonder about this Jesus. This Jesus we celebrate, the One who was
born in a manger to the virgin and the carpenter. Where was He when the
rains of death came and washed your innocence away? And, where is He now?

My own heart weighed with the daily heaviness of the pain others endure
mixed with my own missing, wondered how. How do I speak of the beloved
Christmas storythe coming of our Savior, in the midst of a mothers broken?

How does the celebration of His coming mesh with the pain that keeps a
weary heart from lifting her head?

Who is the Jesus? And, does He see? Does He know of her broken? Did He see
her stand beside the tiny, cold grave? Does He see her now, navigating life
without her own mother, and a trail of broken from the generations before?

People want to speak for Him everyday, to paint a picture of this Jesus. If
we are known as Christians by our love, then we are often failing to allow
our Jesus to be shown the way He is. He is the One that loves us so much,
He will hunt us down in the deepest, darkest pit of despair.

Christmas isn’t found in the hustle and bustle, in the gifts, in the busy,
in the lights, in the merry-making, or in the perfect picture of all the
ideals we hold up as a standard. It isn’t in the perfect family or the
perfect memory or the perfect red dress.

The broken aren’t meant to hide pain behind a strained smile, wondering
what they are supposed to do with the pieces of life shattered and
scattered about.

Christmas is for the broken.

If you want to know my Jesus. This is my Jesus. This is why He came. He
came for you.:

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me,

Because the Lord has anointed Me

To preach good tidings to the poor;

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,

To proclaim liberty to the captives,

And the opening of the prison to those who are bound;

To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord,

And the day of vengeance of our God;

To comfort all who mourn,

To console those who mourn in Zion,

To give them beauty for ashes,

The oil of joy for mourning,

The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;

That they may be called trees of righteousness,

The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”

And they shall rebuild the old ruins,

They shall raise up the former desolations,

And they shall repair the ruined cities,

The desolations of many generations.

From Isaiah 61

He sees your broken. He saw it before you were knit together in your
mother’s womb. He saw it before He left Heaven’s glory to make a journey to
the cross He bore to rescue you. He saw your ruins, your former
desolations, the ruined cities, the desolations of many generations. He
saw. And He came. To comfort all who mourn, to make beauty from your
ashes, to offer you one day the oil of joy in place of your mourning and a
garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness that cloaks you in this
season of grief. He saw. He sees. And He came. To heal your broken heart.
To set you free.

He saw. He sees. He came.

Originally posted on the Sufficient Grace Blog by Kelly Gerken in 2014

WWY – Sibling Grief

February 11, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us over the years, for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven’t joined us our private Walking With You Facebook support group, and would like to, you are more than welcome. This week, we are sharing about sibling grief and the effect our loss(es) had on our children. If you did not have children at the time of your loss, please share about your own experience and the added layer of difficulty of not having other living children. Next week, will share about subsequent pregnancies (after the loss).

Timothy was two years old when we were expecting Faith and Grace. His little life was turned upside down by my extreme illness and constant vomiting. Then there was a long hospital stay and little contact from me. Of course, he was doted on by his grandmas (my mom and Tim’s). So much so that when I finally returned from the hospital, I had to peel him off my mom. He was getting used to the “spoiling!”

When Faith and Grace passed away, I told him as simply as I could, in language he could understand. He has always been a very perceptive person and a deep thinker. I told him that Faith and Grace were very sick and too sick to stay on earth, that God took them to heaven to heal them. (Some experts caution parents to be careful about saying that the baby/child/loved one was “sick,” as children may then fear that they will die and go to heaven when they are sick. It is important to explain that the body of the child who is going to heaven has an illness or a difference in the way their body is made that can only be made well in heaven. They could not stay here with us. If children get concerned that when they get sick with a cold or flu, etc. it important to explain to them – that is a different type of sickness than the one that impacted their brother or sister. They will be safe and get well.) I shared with Timothy that God gave his siblings new bodies in heaven, bodies that were perfect and they would never be sick again. He seemed intrigued about the fact that they would have new eyes to see differently than we do.

In the weeks following their passing, Timothy drew pictures of his sisters (stick figures with really big heads!). He would sometimes give me a picture when he saw me crying – to “make me feel better.” He knew instinctively how much I missed them. I ran a home daycare at the time and during the early weeks of my grief, I was not working. For Timothy that meant no children filling our house with life. Lonely and sad, sometimes he would stand at the window and say, in the saddest little voice – “no kids coming today”.

Timothy loved to talk about his sisters and look at their pictures. He didn’t seem to notice their brokenness. That was so refreshing to me. Because I didn’t see their brokenness either. As time went on, others grew uncomfortable or tired of hearing about Faith and Grace. But he never did. We would talk about what heaven was like and what they would be doing in heaven. On their first (and subsequent birthdays), we would celebrate together (with my friend Ginny sometimes) with cookies and cupcakes – pink, of course for our little girls. He would blow out the candle. We would talk about them playing in heaven and Timothy decided they would be wearing Barbie pajamas! I loved his child-like faith, and I loved his openness in sharing about his sisters.

Sometimes he would even run to get their picture when a visitor came, making others uncomfortable. I loved his lack of inhibition. Truth be told, I think we could learn a little from the way children experience grief. They live their lives and let out their feelings as they happen, with unapologetic honesty.

With Thomas, Timothy had already experienced loss. So, he knew that pregnancy did not guarantee a baby. It broke my heart that he knew that at the tender age of four years. He prayed for this baby to stay. He prayed for a brother. A brother, he was given. But we soon found out that this baby would not stay either. We told him that Thomas’ body was very sick, and the doctors say he probably will not be able to stay. He will go to heaven when he is born. It was so confusing, because Thomas was still alive in my growing belly.

He shook his head and his little voice sounded strangled as he choked out the words.

“So, I won’t get to hold this baby either. He will not come home.”

We told him that we could pray for God to heal Thomas and let him stay – that God could do anything. But, sometimes healing does not always happen on earth, only in heaven. And we needed to trust Him to take care of us no matter what. I hugged him. He was heartbroken but trying to be tough. As a mother, it broke my heart that I could not protect him from this pain, and it broke my heart that I could not give him a healthy sibling that would “stay.”

When Thomas was born, it seemed like such a whirlwind. As long as I walk this earth, I will regret not bringing Timothy to meet his brother when he was alive – not letting him hold him. Tim (my husband) was in so much turmoil, and I didn’t want to add to it. I did not know if it would be more painful or confusing to Timothy to meet his brother. However, that decision caused Timothy great sorrow, and I’m so sorry for it.

Not meeting his brother and holding him was very hard for Timothy, and he talked about that for a long time. I did bring him, privately, to the funeral home, and he touched Thomas’ cheek. But, his skin felt different than a baby usually feels. The experience was not a comfort.

We talked often about Thomas and what he would do in heaven also, and we shared pictures. Timothy kept praying for a brother. We started traditions, like giving a shoebox filled with presents every Christmas to the Good Samaritan organization in memory of each child. Timothy enjoyed helping to choose the items that would be included in the box each year. In the early years, we bought Christmas ornaments to remember the babies. They are still part of our Christmas Tree, as every Christmas Tree should tell the story of its family. We had birthday celebrations – sometimes just Timothy and I – for many years. I read “Mommy, Please Don’t Cry” and “Someday Heaven” to him. We loved to talk about heaven. And those talks were a comfort to my heart as well as his.

In the fall of 2000, God answered Timothy’s prayers and blessed us with another pregnancy. Timothy spent the time praying that this baby would stay.

He would often ask me, “Mom, do you think this baby will stay?”

I could never say yes for sure. I would say that I hoped the baby would stay – and that I was praying, too. We almost lost James. There were complications in the first and second trimester. I don’t think I shared those with Timothy. His prayers for his brother to stay were so heart-wrenching. He was six years old by this time. So young to have faced such serious truths of life and death.

His brother, James, was born on May 3, 2001. And, this time, he came to the hospital. He held his brother, with a sigh of relief. James came home, Timothy doted on him lovingly (for the first couple years, at least!).

When my mom passed away in October 2006, Timothy walked the path of grief once more. This time, as a young man. My mom was sort of “his place” where he was always adored…loved…accepted, just how he is. She was his person, you know. He would talk to her when he didn’t feel he could talk to me (and yes, I wish he never felt that way…but, sadly he did, during those adolescent years).

His grief now is more like a man, and he doesn’t share it with me as much. But, I know that it was heart-breaking and life changing to say good-bye to his grandmother. And, I know all of the loss he has experienced has shaped his heart and his life. He had to learn very young what most of us don’t know until we are much older. At a very early age, he lost his invincibility and his innocence. Sometimes, we do still talk about what life would be like with all five children here in our little house, and what they would be doing now. Even years after I originally wrote this post, as he and his wife prepare to have their first baby, Timothy mentions them from time to time. They are part of our family, part of our story.

I worried, often, about the impact of experiencing so much loss at such a tender age, for our son. While there was heartbreak and grief, there were also beautiful gifts. God often works that way, creating beauty from the ashes of our sorrow. Our son grew up knowing the preciousness of life and of loving others. He values relationships and telling people how he feels, and understands emotions more deeply than most people, because of where he walked and some of the loss that he experienced at such a young age. If you are in this moment right now, struggling with telling your child that his baby brother or sister will not be able to live long on this earth and must go to heaven, please know, that with your love and support, they will get through this. They will be impacted, and maybe even heartbroken at times. But, there will also be hope and beauty woven into their story, because every life leaves an imprint in this world. Your entire family will be changed, because your baby lived, even if his/her life is brief.

We have always focused on the hope of heaven…that we will see our loved ones again someday. And there will be no more good-byes. No more tears. Bodies will not ever be sick or broken.

And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them, and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me, “Write, for these words are true and faithful.” ~ Revelation 21:3-4

I just want to encourage you to talk to your children. Include them as much as possible in the process. Share moments and make memories with them that include your babies in heaven. Realize that siblings are grieving as well. Be available to talk and listen. Answer their questions simply and age-appropriately. Shower them with love and reassurance. Keep their schedules stable and structured. Routine can be reassuring. Share comforting scripture about the promise of heaven. Pray with them and encourage them to pray. There are things, as I have shared, that I regret. It is difficult sometimes to make the best decisions in our own grief. Know that God’s grace can cover some of our stumbling efforts, and that we do the best we can in these difficult moments.

Recommended Resources for Sibling Grief

The Story of Hope: Helping Kids Express Feelings of Grief and Loss

Mommy Please Don’t Cry

Someday Heaven

Tear Soup

Someday We’ll Play in Heaven ~ Strannigan (Standard Publishing)

Walking With You – The Ripples Flow to Our Relationship

February 11, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Walking With You was created to help support those who have lost a child. Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. Thank you to those of you who have joined us over the years, for courageously sharing your stories. If you haven’t joined us our private Walking With You Facebook support group, and would like to, you are more than welcome. This week, we are sharing the impact our loss(es) and how the waves of grief ripples flow to our relationship.

Tim and I were married very young and we had a two-year-old when we faced the loss of our twin daughters, Faith and Grace. I had endured a long and extremely difficult hospital stay that caused a great deal of stress and concern for my young husband. We were twenty-one years old at the time. Losing Faith and Grace was such a shock for us. We had prayed and hoped for a miracle. Quite honestly, I just didn’t think that our babies would be among those that didn’t make it. Maybe I was just young enough that I still thought I was invincible, and that covered my children as well. I don’t know what Tim thought at the time, and I was too absorbed in my own pain to ask. Just the same, we were shocked and devastated.

Some of the details are fuzzy for me, as time has marred the clarity of my memories. I do remember Tim missing me and worrying about us during the long hospital stay. It took all my strength to survive, so I didn’t feel the missing as much at the time.

He tried to make me laugh while wheeling my ridiculously large pregnant self to the specialist. I remember his smile when we found out we would have identical twin girls. And I remember the anguish on his face as the tears fell while he stood beside me while I held our baby girls and sang Amazing Grace. Once more, he tried to make me laugh and succeeded some hours after our daughters were born sleeping. He slept in the recovery room watching some random movie with me. I could never forget the ache of leaving the hospital with empty arms and a canyon of emptiness in my heart. Leaning on him for strength as we stood by their grave on that cold November day. The agony of sorrow when he went back to work. He held me often during those early days, as I cried.

Even while we were in the hospital, I knew that we were forever changed by the loss of our girls, that we had shared something that only the two of us could ever really understand. It separated us from the rest of the world and bound us more solidly as one flesh. I believe it drew us closer. He was quiet with his grief, having to remain strong. He needed to return to work right away to support our family and pay the mountain of medical bills.

There came a time when I knew my need to grieve openly and talk about the girls brought him pain, and I was grateful to share all my emotions and words with my friend, Ginny. I respected Tim’s need to protect himself and our family from the emotions in planning the memorial service, keeping it private. We didn’t want to add the family drama that often came with any event on both sides of our families to an already painful time. We weren’t prepared to have a funeral for our children. It seemed so unspeakable to us. And we both felt protective of our girls. It was important to me to respect his need to keep things private.

Months later, we began trying to have another baby, and I think Tim wanted to help ease the ache of emptiness for me, for both of us. I have often felt a great burden for the dads who grieve for their babies in a world that doesn’t allow them to express their feelings openly. They have to be strong. A father doesn’t just feel the weight of his own loss, but the pain he sees his wife enduring – a pain he can do nothing to fix. A pain he couldn’t protect her from. He couldn’t protect his family from this.

Finally, after many complications that left my body battling infection for about a year after the birth of Faith and Grace, we conceived Thomas. We felt relieved, apprehensive, and excited. Midway through the pregnancy, we sat in that room and heard the words “incompatible with life” in regards to our precious son. I looked over at Tim, and I saw the life drain out of him. It was as if the light went out and darkness filled his face. Hope left. I have never felt more darkness, myself.

I remember him convincing me to take the steps to leave the hospital. Next, facing “the choice.” He was quiet, but seemed relieved when I chose to continue the pregnancy. He supported that decision. As I watched him agonize over the fact that he was helpless to protect our family from walking this path again, I struggled with the burden of being “the one” who brought this pain on our family. I know that wasn’t really true. But, I felt that burden.

To this day, one of the hardest things, the thought that brings tears to my eyes each time I think of it, is the grief of Tim and Timothy; the fact that I couldn’t spare them of this pain. The sorrow it caused them to watch me carry our sweet Thomas, knowing we would have to say good-bye to him. The stress of that time was heavy on us. I wish I would have had the knowledge or support of those who had walked there, like so many of you. I did have the Lord, and He was enough. He carried me and poured out His grace on our family. But, sometimes, I think I could have done more to cherish that time.

I felt that my presence caused pain to my family. A reminder of impending sorrow. It may not have. They didn’t say that to me, but there was a distance. Mostly because of the stress of the situation. Tim was quiet and distant as the time grew near to meet our Thomas. The pain caused him to delve deep into a protective shell. I clung to the Lord for strength, and leaned on Ginny and Dinah, as he wrestled with what was happening within.

When Thomas was born, the pain was so great for Tim. I felt the joy of meeting Thomas, while Tim’s sorrow broke forth heavily. We leaned on each other once more in those early days. He respected that I needed to talk about and remember our children, and I respected that he often needed me to do that with someone other than him. After the initial days of grief, we talked little about the experience to each other.

This time when the desperate ache for a baby to fill my empty arms came, neither of us had the courage to say that we were ready to try for another baby. Fear of another loss was so strong. Tim was very protective of the threat of additional pain for our family. When we were surprised with James’ conception, it was a time of great trepidation and anticipation. I wanted to hold on to hope and joy, knowing that I would not get this chance again. I wanted to cherish every moment I was given with this precious baby. But, for Tim, all that we had endured had taken its toll, and the stress of watching me struggle through another pregnancy and the possibility of another loss was just too much. It was a very difficult time in our marriage.

God brought us through so many trials over the course of our marriage. He has healed our brokenness, renewed our love and strengthened our joy. We walk with Him and trust in Him together, now. But it was quite a journey to this place. There is so much about that time between us that needs to stay between us. But, I want to share a few things because I know that many of you struggle with the fact that men and women grieve differently.

Some of the main topics we are asked about are marriage concerns and grieving differently as a couple. Men and women are made differently (as you well know!). And we grieve differently. Every individual, actually, is unique in their grief. Your partner may be quiet, distant, angry, protective, or tearful. You may feel like talking about your babies, need to be close, may feel angry, tearful, or distant. You may not be feeling the same things at the same time. This can cause division and resentment when we do not understand that our spouse is still grieving, even if he/she is not grieving the same way we are.

Tim and I shared this sorrow, and this entire journey, but we rarely talk about it. We are able to talk about pieces of our story more now than we did years ago. He supports this ministry and all that we are doing. He is part of this ministry, and he helps make decisions, often reaching out in his own way to those who cross our path. We have always respected each other’s need to grieve differently and communicate that grief in different ways. It doesn’t mean that we did not offer love and support to each other. We did and we do. But, sometimes, I went to a friend to talk or share a memory that I thought may be painful for him. And we did not allow that to come between us.

It’s okay that he didn’t want to go to a special remembrance service years later. And it’s okay with him that I did need to go. I think it is important to recognize and free each other from expectations here. It will prevent being hurt when we feel that our expectations are not met. And it prevents resentment and division from forming between the two of us.

We are not some perfect example to be held up for display. Indeed, our path to the beauty we experience today was once covered in tattered ashes of brokenness. It is a messy journey, and we often didn’t “do it right.” We are truly bathed in God’s grace. I could write several statistics stating that there is no way Tim and I should still be married. We were married young, parents young, from divorced families (generations of divorced families actually), and we lost three of five of our children by the time we were twenty-three years old. And yet, here we are loving each other and the God that kept us through it all.

I do not say that as any great success on our part, but as a testimony to the greatness of the God we serve and the power of His grace that is always sufficient. We share a love today that is deeper and sweeter because of where we have walked. It is true that our God does “make all things beautiful in His time.”

Here are just a few words of wisdom we have gleaned:

1. Respect each other’s need to grieve differently. If at all possible, do not do things that may bring pain to your spouse. At the same time, do not deprive yourself of doing the things you feel you need to do to honor your baby your way. Find a way to honor your baby that also honors the feelings of your spouse.

2. Find time to laugh and do things that you enjoy together. Grieving is hard, heavy work. Find some time to keep it light.

3. Keep life as simple as you can. Try not to take on too much for your family schedule. Protect yourselves and each other from extra stress or things that may bring unneeded sorrow.

4. Find ways to honor the memory of your baby as a family.

5. Communicate with love and respect.

6. Take comfort in physical affection. Do not turn away from each other but turn toward each other.

7. Pray together and for each other. God is able to mend your broken hearts and keep your marriage. Guard your marriage and bathe it in prayer. You may feel too weak to pray sometimes. That’s okay. Saying, “God, help me…it hurts too much to even pray.” is still a prayer. It’s been a prayer of mine many times.

Two are better than one, Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, For he has no one to help him up. Again, if two lie down together, they will keep warm; But how can one be warm alone? Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not quickly broken. ~Ecclesiastes 4:8-12

Thank you again for joining us. Please let us know if we can support you in any way as you grieve the loss of your baby. I would be happy to send you a Dreams of You Memory Package and to pray for your needs. Also, it can help to share with someone who has walked this path. It is our desire to encourage you in your marriage…to pray for you…and offer any support we have to give. Next week, we will be sharing about how our other children faced their grief and ways to support them as they grieve their sibling. If you do not have children, we will also include facing another pregnancy after the loss.

Walking With You – The Sea of Grief

February 11, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: A time to be born and a time to die…A time to weep and a time to laugh…A time to mourn and a time to dance…

A Time To Weep…

Grief has many stages. It is different for everyone and seems to come at will with a life of its own. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason to the emotions that spill forth. You cannot predict when it will come, although there are certain triggers that you may come to know as you swim in this sea. It is a struggle to visit these places of early grief and to feel the weight of that great sorrow. But for those walking in that place of new grief, it is so important to know that there is a God big enough to carry us through this, that no matter how forsaken we may feel, we are not, that we are not alone, and that we will not remain tossed about in this relentless sea forever.

From a previous post: In the beginning, I felt as if I were drowning. The sea of grief was relentless. Soon, I learned to tread water, though, and the sea became less rocky as I stopped resisting the waves. One day, I realized that I had learned to swim in this sea. The waves of grief still rushed in at times, but I was learning to be a stronger swimmer.

It was a sea of grief that seemed to be choking the life out of me. I flailed about those first days. From the moment they wheeled me out of the hospital, past the nursery, and into the world without my baby girls, I felt like I was drowning. One of the first stark realizations was that life would never really be the same, that Tim and I would never be the same.

At twenty-one years old, we didn’t have a lot of experience with death. We had lost grandparents and that was difficult. But, grandparents are supposed to die. Babies aren’t. While most of our peers still partied through careless days at college, we stood over the grave of our babies. Words cannot describe the ache, the physical ache that began with my arms and went straight to the depths of my heart and soul. If you are walking with us, I don’t have to describe it. You know it well.

I cried buckets of tears. Cried by day and cried in my sleep at night. I would wake up already crying, still reliving the moment I said good-bye to my girls. I was too weak and broken to function. I didn’t leave the house for a couple months. I didn’t answer the phone or the door in the early weeks. Ginny, my mother, and Tim formed a protective layer between me and the outside world. Flowers came and I would sob. Christmas ornaments in memory of Faith and Grace (born in November). Ginny answered the door. I curled up in sorrow.

I struggled with going to church. I went, but it was so hard. We had been praying for a miracle, believing for a miracle. And the miracle that happened was not the one we had asked for. I wasn’t angry with God. It just felt so tender. The worship songs…the scripture…the prayers. Everything pierced my broken heart, welling up the emotions that were always waiting just below the surface. It was so painful to enter the world without the identical twin daughters that should have filled our household with the abundance of all things baby girl. That’s what we had been preparing for, hoping for, praying for. Not this emptiness…this silence. Not this agony of missing.

It may sound as if I were grieving without hope. The truth is, I was just grieving. I knew God was the place to go with my sorrow, and I went to Him. But, the hurt was still there. It didn’t leave right away. There was not a quick fix. It needed to hurt. The tears needed to fall. I needed to talk about my babies, to feel the weight of their absence. And, yes…even to wallow a little.

As Christians, sometimes I think we expect people to just always feel joyful, as if they are a failure when they feel sorrow; as if they are lacking faith. I really struggled with that. The thing is, our world had been turned upside down. We didn’t know which end was up anymore. I often felt guilty that I was so overcome with sorrow, thinking I was a failure as a Christian. When I did feel a moment of joy, I felt guilty wondering what kind of a mother laughs after losing her baby. I learned that guilt is part of the journey. Knowing that didn’t make it go away. But in time, God did ease that guilt.

In the last several years, I have learned a lot about grieving. I have watched many people walk through the sea of sorrow, and I’ve returned there myself a couple times. Today, I don’t judge myself or others and the way we choose to walk this path. There is no magic timetable for grief or a right or wrong way to do it. And, when someone is walking this path, it is no time to judge their performance. They are just trying to survive it. Trying not to drown under the tumultuous waves that continually crash into us, over us, and all around us. It is a time for mercy and grace. Not judgment.

If you are someone reading this and wondering when your friend will get over the loss of her child, the answer is – never. She will never stop missing her baby. In time, God can comfort her sorrow, ease her pain, restore her joy…but for as long as she walks this earth, she will have moments of missing her baby. She is forever changed. Don’t rush her. Don’t try to tell her she needs to move on. Do not assume that because she is grieving a certain way, that she is doing it wrong. Avoid telling her how she should be walking this path. She may feel sorrow. She may feel nothing. She may be angry. She may have peace. Or a combination of all of the above. Just let her and love her.

And, if you are a mommy in the new stages of grief, overwhelmed with sorrow…wondering if you will feel this way forever…please know this: You are forever changed. But, over time, those changes will become a beautiful part of the tapestry of your life. You will always miss your baby, but you will adjust to a “new normal,” You will not feel like you are drowning forever. You will laugh again and take joy in the pleasures of life again…you will. Your life may be different, but it is not without hope.

With our son, Thomas, my grief was different. I was so blessed and comforted in the moments I had as Thomas’ mother. Still glowing from the presence of Jesus when he carried Thomas home, my heart experienced so much healing. It meant so much to me to be the one to hold him as he left this earth. I was so shocked by the loss of Faith and Grace, so robbed of the chance to mother them, that the moments I shared with Thomas healed that broken part of me. I felt assured that my babies were with Jesus, and for several days, I just basked in the glow of that promise.

The other reason my grief was different was that I was a little rebellious. I steadied myself, digging in my heels in resistance when the first waves did indeed rush in a few days after Thomas’ funeral. My breasts filled with milk, and again, there was no baby to feed. As if my body were weeping, nothing would stop the flow. But, while my body wept, I did not want to give in to the depth of the sorrow again.

When sobs would threaten and waves of grief rushed in, I would start to cry and just shake my head, saying “NO!” over and over. I did not ever want to feel that out of control again. So, I would not allow the sorrow to completely overtake me. Not because I’m so strong or some great pillar of faith. Mostly because I just didn’t want to be at grief’s mercy again.

After Thomas passed, we were in the midst of searching for a new church. In a way, that made the whole church thing a little easier. It was a refreshing change to be in a place where no one knew where we had walked; instead of the small town we lived in where everyone knew and avoided the subject (and sometimes us!) like the plague. Indeed, I wonder if they almost did think that something akin to a plague had come upon us. I mean, let’s face it. No one wants to think that babies die, not even one baby. But three babies in less than two years. I don’t blame them, really.

If you are being too hard on those who stay away, think for just a moment of something that you haven’t endured: something that could be your biggest fear. Something horrible and unthinkable. Would you want to visit that situation, and look into the face of that sorrow if you didn’t have to? Of course not. We won’t get into the fact that people are often insensitive and just don’t get it (at least not in this post). We’re actually going to give that subject it’s very own post.

Another thing we will save for another post (next week actually) is the fact that couples grieve differently. And this can cause stress on a marriage. After losing Faith and Grace, Tim and I were drawn closer. But, losing Thomas was so hard on Tim. It just seemed like too much after losing Faith and Grace. A sorrow settled upon our household for a time. I delved into scripture…seeking the Lord’s comfort. Desperate to understand. I will share further on in this grief journey of the anger that came after losing Thomas, and the healing that followed. But…these were the early days. Messy and imperfect…just like grief.

He has sent me (Jesus) to bind up the brokenhearted…To comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion-To bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. – Isaiah 61:1b-3 Next week, we will talk a little about the struggles for couple who face grief. We will share a little about the father’s perspective and the strain on marriage after the loss of a child.

Walking With You – Naming Our Babies

February 10, 2023 by Kelly Gerken

Originally posted July 16, 2009

Welcome to Walking With You. Today, we are sharing how we chose the names for our babies and any special meaning behind them. I have previously written about the reason we chose the names for our babies in a couple older posts. While I feel it is important to share our stories, I want to remain focused on the hope we have in the Lord. We do not grieve as those without hope. Our sweet babies are alive in heaven. And I look forward this week, to sharing something special about them – something joyful.

Each of us gave our sweet babies a gift, a gift with meaning, from the heart. The gift of a name. A name we continue to hold in our hearts until we meet again. A name we long to hear – a name we ache for the world to recognize. A name that says this life mattered; this person was here.

It still blesses my soul when I hear someone mention the names of my Faith, Grace, and Thomas. Even so many years later, I long to hear their names spoken. Let’s face it, we moms love to talk about our kids. We love to tell funny stories about the things they do. We love to take pride in their accomplishments and seek comfort when we are concerned for them. We love to see them soar – to spread their wings and fly. I love to watch James slide into home plate, hit the ball to the outfield. Love to watch Timothy keep his cool on the pitcher’s mound and steal home. I love to watch the natural beauty of his golf swing. Love when they make good choices, learn lessons from not-so-good choices, and laugh their individual laughs.

It’s no different for my children who are no longer on this earth. I love to hear their names, to talk about them and wonder what their life is like in heaven. I love to see the effect their lives have had on others. It sort of feels like I’m watching them spread their wings to fly when someone finds comfort in our journey. Whether our little ones are with us or not, we are moms just the same. And each of our sweet babies have a name.

Faith and Grace

For it is by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. ~ Ephesians 2:8-10

When I was expecting our twin daughters, Faith and Grace, there were many complications. I lay awake in a hospital bed for weeks, praying, waiting, hoping, resisting doubt and fear. When we heard that we were expecting identical twin daughters, almost immediately, Ephesians 2:8 came into my mind. For it is by grace through faith you have been saved…

Grace has always been my favorite name, and that verse has always spoken to my heart. It was not something I did to earn salvation, but a precious gift from our Savior. So, it seemed fitting. They no longer were known as Baby A and Baby B, but Faith Elizabeth and Grace Katherine. I’ve been talking a little about names and what it means to have someone know your name. Their names had deep meaning, and more than I even realized. Webster’s definition of grace: “unmerited help given to the people by God….”. Unmerited. Undeserved. Given freely, not because of anything we did or could ever do to earn it. Grace that covers us. Grace that is given to us daily in a sufficient portion to meet our needs. Abundant, beautiful grace. Grace that saves…grace that carries…grace that comforts. I learned about His grace through being their mother. And I kept learning long after they left this earth.

At first, I thought that they were just beautiful names from a meaningful verse. When asked by one of our doctors why I chose the names Faith and Grace, I said, “Because it’s going to take a lot of both to get through this!” But even their situation – twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome made sense with the words in the scripture. Because in the condition of twin-to-twin the “lines are crossed,” so to speak. One baby, (Faith) gets too much fluid, blood flow, and nourishment, and the other (Grace) doesn’t get enough. In essence, Grace literally received her nourishment, her life…through Faith. And they were intertwined. Needing one another for survival. Interesting…It is by grace through faith that we are saved.

What I didn’t know is that there would be more. Carrying and saying good-bye to my Faith and Grace was only the beginning of learning about the faith and grace spoken of in these verses.

Thomas

Carrying our Thomas, we learned about true faith. Not the pretty word we Christians throw around…thinking it has something to do with us. Somehow, if we just have enough faith. Oh boy, do we miss the boat on that one. True faith is not some pretty little thing. It is found in the nitty-gritty journey through this life. It is not never feeling doubt or fear, but trusting in God anyway, when you are most afraid and filled with doubt and questions. Trusting when you don’t see. Believing without seeing. Believing when you don’t get the answer you want or when there seems to be no answer at all. Praising Him in the storm. Trusting Him to carry you. Surrendering to the arms of our sovereign God. Blessing Him when He gives and when He takes away.

It’s not about how much faith I have or how strong it is. It’s about how mighty, able, powerful, all-knowing, merciful and good my God is. So many times, we want to see the miracles with our eyes. We want proof that He is there. Proof that He hasn’t forsaken us. Proof that He lives. Proof that He will carry us. Proof that His grace is sufficient.

We want to see. Never have I ached to see Him more than when we heard the words “incompatible with life” in reference to our son Thomas. I have shared about part of that journey before, but today, I want to focus on the precious gift Thomas’ life gave to us…the reason he is called Thomas. His life taught us about “believing without seeing.”

Now Thomas, called the Twin, one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. The other disciples therefore said to him, “We have seen the Lord.” So he said to them, “Unless I see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.” And after eight days His disciples were again inside, and Thomas with them. Jesus came, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, “Peace to you!” Then He said to Thomas, “Reach your finger here, and look at My hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into my side. Do not be unbelieving, but believing.” And Thomas answered and said to Him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Thomas, because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. ~ John 20:24-29

ADDED: I just realized I didn’t mention how we chose the names for our two boys that are with us. Timothy James is our firstborn. He is named after his father and grandfather. His name means “to honor God”. James Henry is also named after Tim’s and my grandfathers. He is our youngest son. His name (although not at all chosen because this. I actually didn’t know the meaning until this morning when I looked it up online.) means “to replace”. Interesting. To us, it is just a biblical name that also honored our family. I also forgot to mention the middle names of Faith, Grace, and Thomas. Faith Elizabeth (just because I liked how Elizabeth sounds with Faith). Grace Katherine (because my mom’s name is Kathy). Thomas Patrick (because my father’s name is Patrick).

Next post, we will be sharing about the early days of grief. We will spend a few weeks talking about different aspects and phases of grief and its effects on the relationships in our lives. We will choose specific subjects to focus on for that week.