Dear friends,
First off we apologize for the delay in keeping you all
updated on the events of the last several months. I especially want to say how
sorry we are that we have not gotten back with those of you who have reached
out and expressed your love and sorrow with us. Each and everyone one of you means
so much to us and we will never be able to let you know how much your support has
comforted us in these times.
In the days that followed Jackson's birth, Sara sat down and
wrote a letter that explained our experience in a way that I would never be
able to. Here is his story:
_________________________________________________________________
Jackson means, "God is merciful."
We had our 20 week ultrasound on Saturday, July 2nd.
I remember when the ultrasound tech told us it was a boy, I looked over at
Josh, and gave him a smirking smile - he had been convinced it would be a girl!
He just grinned back at me.
And then the radiologist came in the room. I’ll
never forget when he told us, “your baby’s
brain is not normal. It looks like anencephaly.” I nodded my head
automatically, he didn’t explain more, they already knew I was a nurse, and I
didn’t ask him to. I knew what it was. I knew what it meant. But Josh didn’t
know, and one of the hardest things was explaining to him what it was and what
that meant for our baby.
Over the next week we had another ultrasound, a
meeting with a specialist, calls from doctors and nurses. But it didn’t change
anything. Nothing magically went away or changed, as I knew from the beginning
it wouldn’t.
I don’t know if I am going to explain this very
well, but I’m going to try. I know God can do anything. I really do. But I also
know that doesn’t mean He will. Oh, you can bet I asked Him to change things;
I’ve ever understood Jesus better when he prayed, “if You are willing, take
this cup from me,” but he didn’t end it there; he put God’s will ahead of his
own when he also prayed, “yet not my will, but Yours be done.” It’s a choice,
to ask for His will over your own, not necessarily a desire of your heart.
Jesus did not want what he knew was
coming, and asked for it to not
happen, but he also knew it was God’s will for it to happen, and he chose to
submit to God’s will over his own.
One of the verses that has brought me comfort and
peace since that day we found out, is Lamentations 3:22-24 (I like the ESV
version for this verse).
The steadfast
love of the Lord never ceases,
His mercies
never come to an end,
they are new
every morning;
great is Your
faithfulness.
“The Lord is my
portion,” says my soul,
“therefore
I will hope in Him.”
Love. Mercy. Faithful. Hope. I could go on about
each one, but I won’t. Each one has comforted and blessed me, and still He is
so much more than these.
I love how Jackson’s name reminds me of God’s mercy.
He has shown me mercy in so many ways throughout this. He has made decisions
for me that I didn’t want to or just couldn’t bring myself to make. I don’t
know why our time with Jackson was cut short, but I know it was somehow a part
of His mercies.
I had the privilege of carrying Jackson for all of
his 208 days. I felt all of his jabs, pokes, kicks and rolls; I rubbed my
belly, talked to him and shared him with his daddy and brother. He liked to lay
on my right side, and did not like it
if I laid on my right side; he would poke and kick me until I rolled to the
other side so I could sleep without being prodded.
Until one day, I didn’t feel him move any more. It
was too soon. I wasn’t ready. But, then, I don’t think I ever would have really
been ready.
When he came, he came quietly, with his daddy right
there to be the first one on earth to hold him. And I was the last. He spent
the night snuggled in my arms, and as I slept off and on throughout the night,
every time I opened my eyes I got to see his little face. I couldn’t get enough
of his round, hairy little cheeks. They were so soft. When it was time, I
kissed his cheek and told him I loved him. And then we left the hospital with
empty arms.
“The Lord is my
portion,” says my soul,
“therefore
I will hope in Him.”
Where would I be if I was without hope? My hope is
not just in Him, it is Him.
Never have I been so thankful for my Savior’s
sacrifice as I am now. He not only died to save me, but He gave Himself up for
my children. His death paid the price so that my babies could be with Him. Not
even for a second have I wondered or worried about where Jackson was; I know he
is safe in the arms of the One who made him and loves him.
In 2 Samuel 12, King David’s infant son becomes sick
and dies. David’s servants are confused when they tell him his son has died,
and he gets up from his fasting and praying, and eats. David replies, “While
the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord
may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ But now that he is dead, why
should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not
return to me.”
I know Jackson will not come back to me, but
someday, I will go to him.
