Tomorrow I’m going to be teaching at church. Often in my teachings I feel inspired to share pieces of the story of my life—and sometimes that will include the story of Malachi and Hope. I love talking about them to people. Early on Mandy and I both felt that their stories would be a testimony to God, and used to touch many people’s lives.
However, there is another side of this issue that I really struggle with. Basically, how much is too much? There are places in my heart, places so deep and precious and painful, that only a few have been allowed to enter. They are sacred places. Places I can go and be. Memories. Snapshots in time. These are holy ground in my heart. They make me feel close to Malachi and Hope on a very deep level. Many of these memories I can only talk about with Mandy.
One time last summer while trying to help someone I shared too much. I talked openly about some of the deepest detailed memories of those times. And it was a bad idea. It sent me into an emotional tailspin for the rest of the day and night, until I finally fell the ground and realized I had allowed someone onto that holy ground that wasn’t supposed to be there. At least not yet. Maybe someday all of these memories will be “open” to others, but right now they aren’t.
So I struggle. I wonder, how much is too much to share? And I also struggle because I want my motives to be pure. I’m not an idiot. I know when I share these stories they will move people deeply. In other words, I know they will be good material for my teaching. And that disgusts me on some level.
I don’t ever want the stories and lives of Malachi and Hope to become “good material.” You know what I mean?
So I struggle. I really do. I’m pulled between wanting to honor their memories through sacred silence, and wanting to honor them through the power of testimony that can change people’s lives.
Tomorrow I’m going to share something I’ve never shared with the church before. A part of my heart. It’s real. And I think I’ll be ok. It’s certainly not the deepest parts. And I really think that the deepest parts would be inappropriate to share with such a large audience. But it is a deep enough part that just planning to use it caused me to spend some time crying tonight. I hadn’t visited that specific “place” in a while.
So I …. struggle :)
I miss them. I really do. It still amazes me how deeply I can miss two people I never had the chance to “know” in the way we think we know people. However, I also feel that I know them on levels that are so deep that they transcend words and shared experiences. And the promise of God is that someday we will be fully known. And that excites me – to fully know them both.
It is so cool, something I never would have expected, is that I have intense fatherly pride for them. I have that for my four living children, but I didn’t know what I would feel or experience with Malachi and Hope. But I really do have pride for them. I am so proud of how their testimony has already touched so many lives so deeply. I know it has.
And tomorrow I pray that as I allow others to tread some sacred paths of mine, that their testimony will indeed touch lives again.
Tonight my goal was to go to bed early. I am very tired and I need to stay up late tomorrow night working on my teaching for Sunday. However . . . I got distracted.
There’s an outside chance I might get to play at one of two benefit concerts that I know of that are coming up soon, and I have had some ideas for songs I’d like to play. One is a song for Malachi and Hope. I had a couple ideas, but I think I found the one. Ironically, after tonight, it doesn’t even matter if I get to play it live. It was definitely worth it.
I found this song, by an amazing artist named Fernando Ortega, and I knew right away I wanted to learn it. I don’t want to give too much away, because I want it to be a surprise if I do get to play, so….we’ll just say it wasn’t well known enough for anyone to have written out guitar chords for it. So I had to figure it out myself.
This is something I’ve never in my life been able to do. I’ve tried it several times, and it always ends in me being totally frustrated. I hate it. It seems like something I should be able to do, but I just can’t make it work.
So tonight I tried again.
I listened over and over again. And I tried to just play the notes on the low E string. When I thought that I had them figured out I realized they were like C#, D#, and weird things like that. I couldn’t even play them to check if I was right!! (Frustration mounts!)
So then I had the idea to transpose to chords that I knew. Amazingly – this worked! After some trial and error (ok maybe an hour or so of trial and error!) I figured it out! At least I think so. I mean, it sounds good to me. Maybe a better guitarist will notice some nuances, but it works for me!
And the best part was, I was actually able to sing this song. There’s something about playing and singing a song on your own, rather than singing along to someone else. It just is powerful. More from the heart maybe? I don’t know. But it was really good for me. It was a really good time to connect with Malachi and Hope, to think about them, to miss them.
Whether or not I get to play this for anyone else, at least I got to figure out my first song. And I’m excited that it was done in honor of my two beloved children who I believe somehow can see me from heaven. I know that learning and singing this song has touched their hearts, and let them know that their Daddy is missing them.
Two years ago today we held our second stillborn child in our arms and said goodbye.
Her name is Hope.
I’ve been contemplating what to write all day, honestly, and the words just aren’t coming. We visited her grave today. I listened to some music that reminds me of her. We talked as a family about her life now with Jesus.
It was strange, I felt myself almost missing the deep intense form of grief that comes in the weeks and months that follow a loss. I’m still grieving now, but it takes different shapes and forms over time. But there’s something about that immediate grief that almost feels more “connected.” Maybe it’s because I never had the chance to create any living memories with her, but that grief makes me feel closer to her somehow.
In therapy I have walked through every moment of that day, and the day two days prior when we found out. When your life is so completely shocked, you lose some piece of your innocence. The feelings that good things happen to good people, that things happen for a reason, that bad things happen to others…all of these came crashing down. And what’s more, most of them have remained down even after two years.
Because of Hope, I see the world differently. I see my faith, my relationship with my kids and Mandy, my relationships with others – all differently. Hope has taught me to value and cherish, to the best of my ability, every single moment with the people I love. Because nothing is guaranteed. And that scares me to death. One way I’ve chosen to respond to that, is to purposefully live every moment and every relationship to the fullest.
My kids will know that I love them. Mandy will know that she is first in my life. I will make room for the important things in life, and try to minimalize the unimportant’s hold on my time and energy.
Hope. She never spoke a word to me, kissed my cheek, or even breathed in my presence. And yet she has forever changed my life and my worldview. I’ve committed to living my life worthy of knowing and being the dad of Malachi and Hope. I can only pray to live up to it.