One year ago...

It amazes me how time can heal almost any wound. A year ago, I had just come through one of the hardest seasons of my life...

It was a regular OB appointment. I would meet with the midwife, she would check the heartbeat, give me a glowing report of the growth of my baby, and I would finally get to schedule the sonogram appointment (the one where you get to find out the gender of the baby). I had no reason to worry.

Even though I had lost two other babies, I was 4 months pregnant...past the "iffy" first trimester. I had already felt this robust baby move. OTHER people had already felt this little one move. The midwife and I had joked about the spunky personality of this little one. I was envisioning a hefty football player. A little brother for my two little girls.

I layed back so the midwife could move the little wand over my belly, finding the heartbeat. But she was having trouble. "Yeah, you've had trouble before," I reminded her. "My uterus is retroverted." OH! Okay, then I'll just try it this way. She repositioned her instrument.

Nothing.

"Christin, I'm sorry but I'm not finding anything. It's probably just me being dumb. But I just want to check with a sonogram."

Panic. But just a bit. I mean, what reason did I have to worry? I just felt the baby...what was it?...a week or so ago? Oh. huh. My thoughts turned. I hadn't been feeling the baby recently, but I figured it was just because I was only 16 weeks. Doctors don't expect you to even feel the baby before 17-20 weeks. I had no reason to worry. right? I called my husband to ask him to come for the sonogram. Just hearing his voice caused me to cry.

I still remember it. I saw it before the sonographer spoke one word. The baby. Perfectly still. No heartbeat. No movement. I can still see the way that baby was laying in the uterus.

My hand flew to cover my face. Everything went blurry. Nothing made sense. She was saying something in soft, hushed tones. Surely this was not happening. Surely there was some mistake. MY baby was hearty. MY baby was fiesty. My baby was not dead. But the image on the sonogram screen said something different. I wanted to scream. to vomit. to pray for resurrection power over my child. But I did nothing. I just went numb.

They wanted to schedule the operation for as soon as possible. Alright. Sure. Whatever you say. I went through the motions. I called the hospital, I answered their questions. I endured an operation where the physician was so callus and cold that just watching "Grey's Anatomy" gave me sudden panic attacks for months afterwards. I was advised by the midwife to write a letter to the hospital, explaining the way I was treated during the operation to remove my baby. But I wasn't able to even think about the operation. So I couldn't bring myself to try and write an intelligent letter.

We named the baby Asher, after God kept telling me that was the name for this child. He kept telling me to go look up the meaning. Asher means "blessed". I didn't understand.

God gently said that He wanted me to be a "cheerful giver." Back and forth my emotions went. From "I will cheerfully give my child to the Lord." to "Why me? Why do we have to lose yet another baby? Why on earth would you want the baby to be named 'blessed', God!?" Extreme emotions became pretty normal.

A month later, I started having horrible stomach pains. An ambulance came and took me away. The hospital did a round of tests. Everything came back inconclusive. They gave me two options: get an operation tonight to remove my appendix. Or go home and come back tomorrow. Seriously? Those are my options? Surgery or rest at home? Man, you guys don't deal in the gray, do you? My husband refused to take me home. An emergency appendectomy was scheduled for the early morning hours. My surgeon said it was a good thing that we didn't go home. My appendix was hot to the touch. Good thing my husband had more sense than the ER interns.

Immediately following my surgery, other things happened. Horrible things involving other people's personal lives that I won't go into...which, in turn, impacted my life like an earthquake. I can't explain or fathom even to this day.

A month after the appendectomy, I found out I was pregnant with Raegan. Doubts and fear became a normal part of my existence. None of the normal "good signs" were good enough for me. Because our last pregnancy had been jammed full of all the good signs. I lived in a constant state of "what if?"

...Now, a little over a year later from when we first knew we were expecting Raegan....

I look at Raegan in awe. Knowing that had Asher not been taken to heaven, I would not be holding this precious little one. I look at the scripture, Matthew 6:20 a lot differently.

"But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

I miss my three little treasures so much that, at times, it hurts. Our family doesn't really feel complete without them. I try to envision my home with three more little ones....
But I know that I will see them again. I will hold them in my arms. And I trust that God knows more than I do. that he sees things I cannot know this side of heaven. And I KNOW, without doubt, that my treasures ARE stored up in heaven. Waiting for me...

A friend of mine, who also experienced miscarriage, once said, "When I get to heaven, I want to hear two things. 'Well done, good and faithful servant.' and 'Welcome home, Dad'."

Me too...
Seren, Jordan, Asher, I love you. And I so look forward to the day I can finally see you. talk to you. embrace you, my heavenly treasures, in my arms.

I've come a long way in the past year. God's grace has covered me. And though I still don't understand...I know that I may never understand this side of heaven... I do trust.
And because of that, I am blessed.