The Salve of Hiccups

"Here I am in one panel. I am in the line of danger, but I don't know it...In the next panel, seconds later, something is supposed to intervene. Superman swooping in... . But Superman never shows. I CAN SEE IT SO CLEARLY. IN ONE PANEL WE ARE SAFE AND STUPID. IN THE NEXT WE'RE ONLY STUPID."
Elizabeth McCracken in An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

Some of you thought the worst.
Some of you accurately assumed that my blogging skills and schedule are similar to how I keep up with old friends: I know I have lots to say and want it to be IMPORTANT stuff, not fluff; so I wait and wait and wait until it seems like it's been simply too long and there is just too much to fit in one conversation.
Some of you have trudged along, praying and hoping alongside us, counting down with us until the majesty of fall arrives.

I am, for those of you thinking the worst, still pregnant. 32 weeks and 4 days pregnant, with a kiddo who weighs about 5 lbs and likes to lay bottoms up and to the left and feet tucked in my right hip. Nesting is happening (mopping, washing windows, washing all of my neutral newborn gear...confident that if baby boy Kuhn is the one somersaulting in there, that he will also be clothed; this in contrast to his antithesis, baby girl Kuhn, should she be the one tap dancing across my belly, who will be overdressed for a solid 12 months thanks to big sister Tahlia's former wardrobe). Amnios and c-sections are being scheduled. I am OFFICIALLY no longer a maternal-fetal-medicine patient...graduate...woot-woot, and will, in fact, for the first time in 2 trimesters, NOT have an appointment with an MD this coming week (a first since week 11...the only since they'll see me weekly from 34-37 when I'm sectioned).

And, I am in a funny place. I am, statistically speaking, safe. This has worked. Everything Dr. Haney said was possible, was and is. I am pudgy 'round the mid-section, hungry, and have to pee. This is incredible. This is a miracle! Somewhere along the line, angels rushed in and have proven themselves to be conquerors this go around (may I add a reality-worn: "thus far." ?).

That is the place where we fell apart after Elianna...the angels and miracles and conquering part. It didn't happen. "Elianna" means: God has answered...a name chosen at the beginning of my pregnancy with her. A name whose meaning demonstrates quite a deep level of confidence...dare I say, faith. But the answer was not at all what we trusted it would be. Despite what we believed was deep confidence and faith in our Creator!, the answer was, "NO. No Superman for you. No angels. No conquering. And NO miracles." To this line, my mind added, "Haven't we been over this before? Didn't I already tell you?" This was darkness...this was the pit of my spiritual life. I can't tell you if I jumped in or got pushed there, but it was dark.

It might have been more tolerable for my soul, more understandable for my spirit, if I hadn't felt that I WAS TOLD OTHERWISE.

I was admitted to the hospital "for the duration" with Elianna on January 6th. I had a long ways to go to get to the magical number I still rely on in my NICU mind of "23 WEEKS GESTATION." 18 days...almost three weeks...January 24th...if I could JUST GET THERE.

And then I read it...a passage that I had fallen in love with years before: Daniel 10. It is essentially a very literal description of how angels work. Daniel is mourning, tortured, for weeks..."three full weeks" when an angel comes to him and says, basically: I'm trying. I've been trying since you first started praying. But it is HARD! There are demons fighting me off. I have to go back and finish this.

The passage says, "NOW ON THE 24TH DAY OF THE FIRST MONTH..." and that's when the angel shows up. Maybe you think I'm nuts for feeling like those words were written for me...apparently I was...but I did. I very suddenly KNEW that the God that I believe created and sustains me said that He was sending His angels...that there would be a miracle...that my baby would be saved.

Kevin and I even got greedy with our assumed miracle and prayed that the miracle that WAS SURELY coming was that I'd be healthy on bedrest for weeks and weeks and not that we'd have a precious micro-preemie in a NICU for months and months who would, obviously!, survive.

It would have been dark anyway. It would have felt like smothering and battery and despair whether I'd felt I'd heard directly from God or not. But this added a humiliating component...we felt fooled, tricked, lied to. Part of me still can't resolve that we weren't.

I hesitate to share these intimate details with such a spiritually broad audience...but I've chosen to anyway. What is MOST important to me is not that you see God in my story as the trusted Father who relentlessly cares for his kids (although I believe this to be true, somehow), but that you see God in my story for what He really has been to me...a mystery...missing at times...often choosing NOT to intervene...but not once leaving the picture.

At first I thought: Superman did show up...He never left in fact...He just sat in the corner of the panel and I don't get to know why.

Later, after re-reading Daniel 10 dozens of times, wondering how I could have misread it, searching for details I'd missed, I thought: maybe the fight was just too hard...maybe there are angels STILL fighting for me...maybe it's just not done yet.

Almost 2 years after Elianna died, I read a portion of Daniel 10:1 as if for the first time..."THE MESSAGE WAS TRUE, BUT THE APPOINTED TIME WAS LONG." I'm not a Biblical scholar...I'm not even good at straight up prayer. But this small statement was salve to my wound...a wound that undoubtedly will not ever completely heal.

But I'll take the salve either way...whether in the form of Scripture or sweaty two-year-old arms wrapped around my neck...or new baby's hiccups at the end of a long-winded blog.

Daniel 10:19
"O man greatly BELOVED, fear not! PEACE be to you; be strong, yes, be strong."