Tag: baby

Posted in eternity

What’s Right With This Picture?

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Over the past month, there’s been a particular word I can’t seem to get away from. It’s been in my devotions, in my Griefshare videos, in my conversations… it’s almost become comical. That word is perspective.

Perspective: a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.

I’m sure you’ve heard countless times how powerful perspective can be. While this truth is not specific to grief alone, I would dare to say it is a truth that grievers must be hyperaware of. Here’s what I mean…

When we suffer an unexpected loss, confusion and anger can be natural responses. We search for answers. We wonder all of the why’s. We pinpoint what we should have done differently. And if we aren’t extremely careful, we spiral…

We start to believe God loves us less. We convince ourselves that there’s no hope or happiness left in this world. We’re consumed with our sorrow. It affects how we think, interact with others, plan (or don’t plan) for the future… everything. We watch the calendar for any “milestone” days (holidays, anniversaries, etc.) and fill ourselves with dread, wishing all of that precious time away. We live in a permanent and inescapable state of pessimism.

Why? Because our perspective shifts. It becomes painfully distorted as we repeat the lies of grief and begin to shape our entire life around them. The worst part? We usually don’t even realize what’s happening until we’re too far deep in the hole of despair.

If I’m being honest, I’ve found myself in this hole more times than I can count. It seems to happen when I become too fixated on my grief – when all I can see is my loss. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Of course my perspective is going to be warped if all I can think about is death and disappointment.

So… what do we do about it?

I’m going to share a short devotion with you that I find myself going back to often. The title is “Eternal Perspective” and is found in through a season of grief by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard.

When you begin to see heaven as your true home, you can develop eternal perspective that sees all sorrows as passing.

“It is possible to trust God in all things,” says Dr. Joseph Stowell. “You may have a hard time getting there, but you won’t get there unless you believe in the world to come. If this is all you have, if it’s just this world, then bitterness is your only option.

But if you believe that there is a God who is higher than you are and wiser than you are, and He has a world prepared for you where all Christians will be together again and be with Him in absolute joy and bliss, then that brings strength to your sorrow.”

Place your trust in God and in His preparations and plans for you.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:1-3).

Lord and Savior, I trust that You will someday bring me home to live in heaven with You. For now, I need to try and look at my sorrows in light of eternity. The things of this world are much clearer when I have a higher perspective. Amen.

I know what you’re probably thinking. “That’s a lot easier said than done.” You’re absolutely right, it is. So, let me offer you a simple exercise to try whenever you catch your perspective doing the dreaded spiral.

Ask yourself – “What’s right with this picture?”

For me, I think about how right it is that my mama was spared from this world. No more pain. No more tears. No more burdens. Just pure heavenly joy. I think about how right it is that she made sure we were taken care of. I think about how right it is that I’ll get to meet my sweet Parker as soon as I enter heaven’s gates. I get to meet my child, y’all! Also, how right is it that my mama gets to worship at the feet of Jesus beside one of her grandkids?! I love to imagine that beautiful, holy sight.

If you can’t think of anything right with your picture yet, ask yourself again. Ask however many times it takes. Because I guarantee you God is not letting your pain go to waste. Even in the worst circumstances, there is something right with this picture.

**Dana, if you somehow come across my blog – THANK YOU for sharing this exercise in Griefshare. It was truly one of those pivital moments for me.**

Posted in Parker

Everyone I Love Dies.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

I’ve dreaded sharing this part of my story. Partly because I’m often still numb to the loss. But mostly because I just can’t make sense of it… why babies have to die.

*This post will discuss miscarriage. If you’re not comfortable with details – consider stopping now.*

Are you experiencing any bleeding or abdominal pain? It’s the routine question asked at every prenatal appointment.

I answered with little concern. Bleeding seemed to be my new normal since my pregnancy with Sadie. Having a 10 cm subchorionic hematoma means you see a lot of blood. You almost get used to it. You have to. Because of that, my answer didn’t scare me like it should have.

“Yes, I have been bleeding a little bit.”

For a couple weeks now, I had convinced myself I was pregnant. I was having all of the beginning symptoms that I had experienced with both Ellie and Sadie. I was just waiting for the test to turn positive. It finally did Sunday morning (Aug 11, 2024). This baby wasn’t planned, but I was already over the moon with joy. Three under three was going to be pure chaos. But it would be the most exciting, fulfilling chaos. I couldn’t wait.

After Mom died, I pretty much swore off the idea of ever having another baby. In my mind, I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world that she would never know about. I also couldn’t bear the thought of anymore loss. I told myself that as long as I didn’t get pregnant again, my heart would be spared from any possible pain of losing a baby. I was letting grief dictate how I lived my life and how I grew my family. I hated myself for it. But I was convinced it was the only way to survive.

So you can imagine my surprise when I started experiencing pregnancy symptoms. I was terrified at first. I started running through all of the worst case scenarios. But I quickly pushed them away with confidence that surely this was meant to be my healing baby. This child was going to be what pulled me out of my grief rut. In no world would the Lord deem it necessary for me to experience more death and loss and pain. Surely.

We immediately started thinking of names. Some people would think that’s crazy at 4 weeks. But it was par for the course with us. With each pregnancy, I wanted to be settled on a name right away. Having a name always made it more real for me. More meaningful. I loved being able to rub my belly and call them by name throughout the entire pregnancy. It reaffirmed the reality that God was entrusting me with a precious little life.

I called my midwife’s office the Monday after getting the positive test. They got me in for my initial blood test appointment later that day (Aug 12). This was just supposed to be the appointment that “confirms pregnancy”. Little did I know, that would be as far as I’d get.

The receptionist called the next morning to confirm I was pregnant and needed to schedule my first ultrasound. I took a sigh of relief. That relief lasted for a good two hours. A second call came in around 11 AM, but this time, it was my midwife’s nurse. She wanted to see if I was still bleeding or experiencing any discomfort. I told her yes to both. The bleeding wasn’t too heavy, but it was enough to need a liner. And the pain felt similar to a period.

She hesitated. There it was again. The hesitation I’ve become so familiar with. She informed me that my levels were lower than what is expected, so they needed to be checked again tomorrow (Aug 14). As of now, my HCG level was only 13, which was considered “borderline” for pregnancy. My progesterone was also low, sitting only at 3.59.

And so the spiraling began. I 10/10 do NOT recommend googling if you’re trying to stay calm or optimistic. But I couldn’t stop searching. Everything I read indicated this pregnancy would not last. How could this be? How was this happening? This was supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. But all signs were pointing away from that hope.

I went in Wednesday to get my blood drawn. The tech informed me I wouldn’t hear anything until tomorrow, so off I went to play the waiting game. I asked Riley that evening if we could name the baby Parker if I ended up miscarrying. It was gender-neutral, and I wanted to be able to honor the baby’s life with a name. Plus, I wanted to know what to call them in heaven. He agreed. I already knew in my gut what the results were going to say. All that was left was to hear the words. And on Thursday (Aug 15), I heard them loud and clear.

“Mrs. Walker, I’m so sorry to be the one to inform you that your pregnancy is no longer viable. There’s nothing at this point in pregnancy that can be done. You should be able to pass this at home since it is still very early. We’d just like to check your numbers again next week to make sure everything happens smoothly. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I was covering my mouth trying to contain my screams. I had to say something though. What are you supposed to say to that? I squeezed out the quickest response just so she knew I’d heard her. “Okay.” I hung up and hit my knees. For the first time in my grief journey, I was angry at God. Furious, actually. And I let Him know it.

“What have I done to You that is so wrong? You’re taking everything from me! Why is this happening? Everyone I love dies!“

Those next few days were brutal. Don’t believe the lie that an early loss is just like a bad period. It’s not. My body was painfully aware I was losing a baby… losing a life. I experienced minor contractions, severe pain, and heavy bleeding. The postpartum hormonal shift was very much there. I remember screaming at one point as I felt another contraction, “I am watching my poor baby come out in pieces!” That wasn’t entirely accurate, of course. But it definitely felt that way.

This seemed like the final straw. I had nothing left to give. I was confused, bitter, and broken. I closed my heart off that day. I was numb. What was the point of being faithful if God was just going to keep adding to my pain? All I could see in my mind was the “list of losses”. There was no hope or light for me. It was just darkness.

I lived in isolation from God for weeks. That doesn’t really sound like a long time, but I felt every second of it. Up until this loss, I had come to depend on Him for every moment. But I was in a tricky stage of grief now. I felt like I couldn’t trust Him. Parker felt like a betrayal… like a broken promise.

There were so many times I’d cry out, “I don’t want to be angry at You, God. But I just can’t get past this.” Parker was too personal. Riley and I were the only ones who would really grieve what was lost this time. With Mom and Bruce and Mamaw, so many others grieved. Each of them lived a life full of love and purpose. But my little baby never got that chance. And like I’ve said before, you can’t miss what you never knew.

I shared a piece of this in my post, Meaning Behing The Name, but it wasn’t until I heard a particular song that things started to shift for me. That song was none other than “I’ve Witnessed It” by Passion.

You’re good, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re strong, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re constant, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

You love, and I’ve witnessed it. You heal, and I’ve witnessed it. You save, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

There it was. The truth blaring in my ears. No matter how much I wanted to ignore it, I couldn’t. God hadn’t betrayed me. He hadn’t turned His back on me. He hadn’t broken any promises. God had been GOOD to me. Every step of the way. I had just been too angry to see it.

Look at my husband He has blessed me with. Look at my two living children He has provided and protected. Look at the home He has handed me. Look at the family and community He has surrounded me with. Look at grace and mercy He has shown me. Look at the love He has displayed for me on the cross and every day after.

God, even in my consuming pain, You are GOOD. God, even in my weakness, You are STRONG. God, even in my unsteady faith, You are CONSTANT. God, even in my anger, You LOVE. God, even in my brokenness, You HEAL. God, even in my sin, You SAVE.

So, where does this truth leave me? I still don’t have the answer for why babies have to die. I doubt anyone does. But that’s the beauty of Christ, isn’t it? He holds all of the answers. 1 John 3:20 reminds us,

… for God is greater than our hearts, and he knows all things.

While my grief is heavy and abundant, I take great joy in knowing I’m on the side of the One who knows it all. I pray you can too.

Posted in prayer

When I Couldn’t Pray.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

From the moment I received the call, I couldn’t calm my thoughts. It was like a broken record playing in my mind. I was constantly in a state of trying to convince myself this wasn’t real… she couldn’t be dead. I’d tell myself, “She’s just on a vacation on some tropical island with no internet or cell service. She’ll be back soon.”

That sounds delusional as I type it out. But I think I needed the delusion at the time. I needed to not face the facts. I was trying to keep my baby alive, and the truth was just too much weight to bear. Any time I let reality set in, I was met with sheer, uncontrollable panic. But as long as I lied to myself, I could keep going.

Being in denial is A LOT of work. Especially when you’re surrounded by constant reminders that your mom is, in fact, dead. My mind was working overtime to keep the lie up. It was almost impossible to focus on anything else… including prayer.

It’s not that I didn’t want to pray. I desperately wanted to. I wanted to beg God for answers. I wanted to ask Him for help. I needed to talk to the One who could heal this hurt. But I couldn’t. Any time I would try to pray, my mind was pulled in 50 different directions. I wasn’t able to get out more than a couple sentences before I was swamped with thoughts like, “You can’t think about this, Taylor. You can’t have a panic attack right now. You can’t burden your baby’s health with this grief. Just forget about it for now.” So, I stopped trying.

It wasn’t out of anger toward God. Because honestly, at the time, God was the only one I wasn’t mad at. I knew that He was the reason I would get to see my mom again one day. He was my glimpse of hope. I couldn’t be angry at Him.

I don’t think I realized it at the time. But I know now that I stopped trying to pray out of fear. Fear that prayer would ruin my delusions. Fear that prayer would make me aware of my new normal. Fear that prayer would hurt more than it would heal. I felt so guilty for not praying, especially at a time when I needed to cling tighter to God than ever before. But I was so stuck in fear.

The only way I could really communicate with God was through music. I would hear songs at church or on the radio, and I’d think to myself, “THAT’S what I want to say to God.” And a lightbulb finally switched on in my mind. I closed my eyes and said, “God, please accept my songs as prayers to You until I can get my thoughts together.”

And that’s what I did for about the first six months of my grief.

I would whisper an “Amen” at the end of any song I felt drawn to. When I found ones that pulled heavy on my heart, I’d listen to them on a loop and say, “Lord, this is my cry to you.” Some of my most played songs were Same God, Goodness of God, Hymn of Heaven, and My God is Still the Same (Go ahead and save those to your playlist – you can thank me later).

I’m not saying I took the best approach. It was messy. But I really believe the Lord offers us so much grace in our grief. Scripture is filled with verses about weeping and mourning and sorrow. Look at just about any chapter in the book of Psalms, and you will see those emotions displayed in great detail. The most captivating part about these recurring Scriptural themes is that God’s promise to listen and comfort always follows. And in that promise, I find peace.

If you’ve found yourself in a season where it seems hard to get your prayers out, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to try different ways to communicate with God. Romans 8:26 says,

The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.

Maybe you can communicate through songs of worship. Once again, the Psalms are a great point of reference, as the authors often tell us to sing to the Lord. We are told to use our voices to make a joyful noise and lift up praise to Him. This repeated command gives me complete confidence that the Lord hears the songs we cry out, and He knows the posture of our hearts.

Or maybe you can communicate through journaling. Many, including myself, have found it’s easier to stay “on track” with a prayer when you’re forced to put a pen to paper. It can allow time to pause when your mind may wander. When you’ve collected yourself, simply pick up where you left off.

Journaling prayers also gives a physical way to chart your “progress” with grief. Don’t mishear me – you’ll never get over your loss. However, I know there were days I convinced myself I would never be able to feel happiness again. But through journaling those intense prayers of pain, I have been able to look back and see firsthand that my joy and happiness was not forever lost like I’d thought. And that’s given me so much hope for the days and years ahead.

When you’re in the thick of grief, I think it’s easy to feel like you’re doing everything wrong. The way you grieve, the way you parent, the way you work, the way you pray…

Unfortunately, grieving doesn’t come with a “one size fits all” survival guide. We’re going to get a lot of things wrong in this season, but there’s one thing we can always get right – opening our hearts up to communication with God. He doesn’t expect it to be perfect. He just expects us to do it… in whatever way we can.