Six years ago today, we had a beautiful little girl. We named her Faith Elizabeth. Faith because that is what it took and was going to take to walk the path that God was taking us on. Elizabeth because we believed and prayed for that child. Our Valentine’s Day will be forever changed because that is the day that we were induced to have a child that we knew God had taken back home. Thankfully, labor took long enough so she was born on the 15th.
I had to have a blood transfusion before they would induce me because my overall blood volume in my body was low. The day they put me in the hospital to have her, it so happened that it was a full moon, so everybody in Louisville was going into labor. It was interesting to have a doctor come in and tell you that you had to wait to have your child because they had to take the women who had “viable” babies first. I totally understood that, but it was still unsettling.
A week after Faith was born, I had to go back for a checkup. This was one of the hardest things I had to do. Needless to say, there were A LOT of women in for their checkup. I sat there and listened to some young (late teens) mothers complain about how they had to get up every 3 hours to feed their babies and how tired they were and on and on. I so badly wanted to point out to them how selfish they were being and how they should be grateful that their child was even alive! And how having to feed every 3 hours is nothing. Try doing it every 45 minutes with a premie! (Hunter was a premie and would eat that way because it wore him out so quickly. Can you tell I was angry???) I finally got called back to my room and my doctor had been paged for a delivery so I had to wait. Down the hall they had a mother having a Fetal Stress Test done, so for an hour I got to sit and listen to a baby’s heartbeat. I left the doctor’s office broken and hurt. I went and bought my first pack of cigarettes in 5 years. In my mind, at that moment, it was either smoking or drinking. So, I chose the lesser of the two evils, so to speak.
Over the next few months, I grew more and more bitter the more I thought about it and the things that I witnessed around me with new mothers. I couldn’t understand WHY God would allow drug addicts, young teens, irresponsible people (the list goes on and on) to have babies. I can honestly say that I was so angry at God that I hated Him. I was mad at myself and Tevis. Why was I having to go through this? What good could possibly come from this? I was at a pivotal point in my life where I had to make some decisions about the direction I was going to go.
It all came down to pottery. Potters have to do a lot of work to the clay to make it into what they are trying to shape. Pottery is made by forming a clay body into objects of a required shape and heating them to high temperatures in a kiln which removes all the water from the clay, which induces reactions that lead to permanent changes including increasing their strength and hardening and setting their shape. Prior to some shaping processes, clay must be prepared. Kneading helps to ensure an even moisture content throughout the body. Air trapped within the clay body needs to be removed. This is called de-airing and can be accomplished by a machine called a vacuum pug or manually by wedging. Wedging can also help produce an even moisture content. Once a clay body has been kneaded and de-aired or wedged, it is shaped by a variety of techniques. After shaping it is dried and then fired. (Wikipedia)
I was (am) a very bull-headed person. I don’t like being moved from my comfort zone. I like to be in control of things. It gives me security. What I learned through Faith’s death was I needed to be refined. And for stubborn pieces of clay, they take some extra work. Extra HARD work, because they are difficult. They have to be broken down to be able to build back up. Once they are finally workable and are shaped, the piece is then fired at temperatures between 1800 – 2500 *F. That’s hot! The product that you get in the end is one of treasure and durability. But it has to go through the entire process to get that way.
I can now say that I am thankful for the trial that we got to walk through with her death. The bitterness has subsided and I’m no longer angry at God. I still have those nagging questions as to why us but I understand a little better for what purpose. I have had the opportunity to talk with other women who have just lost or are currently walking through that same hurricane. He gives us each our own storm so we can bring hope to others going through the same thing. Though I am struggling this year with it, I know the good that can come of it. I just have to let the process continue and trust that in the end, the piece of pottery I will become will be something worth treasuring. The storms come and the storms go but God’s loving hand is always their even though we may not feel it at that moment. He’s crying when we cry, laughing when we laugh and He’s still always there, cheering us on. “Take another step my child. Trust me. Take another step.” So, on I walk. Praising Him through each storm He sends. =) Be Blessed!