a good strange

Dear Nahum,

Today we went to see a doctor who specializes in helping little people like you come out of their mommies' tummies and into the world. We told him your story and then we asked if he would be able to help you come into the world. We heard that both he and his team are kind, and that out of all of the hospitals in our city, this one would likely be the best place to welcome you. The doctor has to tell us his final decision after he talks to some other people, but from our conversation, we think he would like to help you be born.

When the doctor was asking us questions, we couldn't really tell what he thought about our situation. We thought maybe he wondered what kind of strange people your parents must be. He must know better than we do that not very many babies with anencephaly get the chance to live and be loved as long as you. It seemed a bit strange even to us, that somehow we know your diagnosis but (some days) we are still about to talk about your birth matter-of-factly.

There was a sentence on the wall in the entryway to the hospital which explains our strange behaviour. It said in a clear font, "Wir haben einen Gott, der da hilft. Psalm 68/21". (In the English Bible it would be Psalm 68:20). Literally translated from German, that phrase means something like, "We have a God, who there helps". As in, a God who helps us right there...right in the place where we need it.

We can mostly calmly talk about you and your birth because we have a God, who there helps. He's helping you, and He's helping us, right where we need it. Even there, in the delivery wing of the hospital. Especially there.

If we're strange, we hope it's a good kind of strange.

With all our love,

Mom and Dad

PS - We're not sure if you've noticed, but this whole winter has been pretty dreary. That's typical winter weather in our part of Germany, but probably after your diagnosis it felt greyer than it actually was. Yesterday was super windy, and this evening there were strong winds and rain again. But this morning, when we had to ride our bikes to the hospital, it was sunny and calm — the warmest weather we've had since your diagnosis. God gave us a sunny day for a sad task. God helps, even in the small things.

i wanted a baby, not a pregnancy

Dear Nahum,

I have a single friend who says she's "so excited to be pregnant" someday. I had never considered being excited simply about being pregnant. The only reason I would be excited to be pregnant would be because a baby of my own would come from that pregnancy. Pregnancy — with it's sickness and soreness, stretch marks and weight gain, hormonal changes and awkward conversations, and let's not even mention childbirth — was not what appealed to me. You were.

I wanted pregnancy for the joy set before me: you.

When the doctor told me that with you all I will have is pregnancy, and no baby to show for it, the blow felt enormous. Pregnancy...but no baby? I thought of the pregnancy itself as mostly a chore to get through, to get to the goal of having a baby in our family.

But now as my tummy bulges with the wonder of you, I realize that even pregnancy is a gift. Once in a while I think I feel your long legs kicking. They tell me that you're bonding with me already, even from inside, and I am bonding with you, too. When I see you on the ultrasound machine's screen, I'm always reminded that an incredible miracle is happening inside of me — a handsome little boy is being formed out what seemed like just a tiny speck.

I am sorry I thought pregnancy was just a chore to get through, too, because I realize that many women would love to even experience pregnancy and because of their own particular brand of sorrow, they cannot. I am "so excited to be pregnant", Nahum, no matter what comes next.

This is a precious pregnancy,
because you are a precious baby.

Mom

bottled tears

Dear Nahum,

Last night I cried and cried in my bed when I was supposed to be sleeping. I don't know why exactly I was crying. Eventually I remembered that yesterday was exactly two months since we received your diagnosis. Maybe two months of sorrow about your condition was just getting too heavy inside of me and a tear dam burst. I cried so long and so hard that it woke Dad up, and probably woke you up, too.

I needed a happy thought to set my mind on, instead of all the sad ones, so that I could stop crying. Dad spoke of you going to Heaven to be with Jesus, but that didn't make me happy because I wanted you to have more time with us before going to Heaven. Dad spoke of Jesus of loving the little children and gathering them on His lap, but I love you and I wanted to gather you onto my lap. I cried some more.

Then I searched for a verse that has come to mind several times during these two months of tears:
You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.

Maybe by then I was just getting tired of crying, but those were the thoughts that slowed down my tears. Thinking about you going to be with Jesus just makes me cry even more right now. But thinking about how not one of my tears goes unnoticed by God reminded me that God cares for me. He cares for Dad too, and also for you, Nahum.

I don't know how many tears we have shed for you, because they run down my cheeks and into my pillow and I cannot count them. But God knows the exact number. I wonder what He does with those bottles of tears. Do you know? Maybe you'll get to ask Him before I do. Thinking about that makes me get teary again.

Mom

PS: Today I got two unexpected bouquets of flowers — one from each of the ladies I know here in Germany who had babies with conditions just like yours. Neither of them know each other or knew that the other was sending me flowers. After a night so full of tears, I was reminded again that God cares for us.

a house of mourning

Dear Nahum,

Today these words from the ancient Jewish King Solomon crossed my mind as I was putting away the groceries I brought home:

It is better to go to a house of mourning
than to go to a house of feasting, 
for death is the destiny of everyone;
the living should take this to heart.

We still believe God could intervene miraculously and heal you, but we also believe we need to be prepared to make some decisions if He does not. That means that as we enter this second half of our pregnancy with you, we're having more conversations about funerals and burials.

As anyone could guess, we'd much rather be planning a happy baby shower than a tearful baby memorial service. From an earthly perspective, feasting is much more enjoyable; but from an eternal perspective, Solomon says that mourning does us more good. A house of mourning gives everyone a chance to reflect on his or her own death someday, provoking a kind of sober attitude that it is hard to find time for in a world that delights much more in feasting and entertainment than in discussing serious matters.

No matter what happens to you — whether we feast or mourn at your arrival — your little life has already made many people "go to a house of mourning" in their minds; you've helped them to think about things they need to think about. You've helped us to think about things we need to think about, too.

You're doing us a big favour, Little One. Thank you.

Mom and Dad

your name

Dear Little One,

We chose a name for you. Somehow in your situation, we felt we needed an extra-special name. Your name is probably not one that would have been on the top of our list had this pregnancy gone exactly as we had hoped. But in this situation, we think it suits you perfectly.

Your name is Nahum John. 
(Nahum is pronounced NAY-huhm, or we say it more like NAY-um)

And since the doctor says your days will be short, we want to start calling you by your name now. Here are a few of the reasons we chose to call you, our firstborn son, Nahum John.

• Nahum means comfort. It's a shorter form of the name Nehemiah, which means comfort of the LORD. 
• Nahum was a prophet, or a messenger from God, and carried a message that was not necessarily people wanted to hear, but it was what God knew they needed to hear. We know your little life carries a message from God to us and to others, too. 
• The most beautiful verse of Nahum's prophecy speaks to our situation now: "The LORD is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; and He knows those who trust in Him" (Nahum 1:7).
• When the books of the Bible are listed, your name comes right after your Dad's. Micah, and then Nahum. (Don't tell your future siblings, but the next name if we keep going in order would be Habakkuk 🙈).
• John is your maternal grandpa's second name, too, and we wanted to bless him by naming his second grandson after him.
• John means the LORD is gracious. Even in the difficult circumstances surrounding your life, we still know God is gracious and we want to proclaim that.
• John was "the disciple whom Jesus loved" and we know Jesus loves you, too.

In the Bible, people were always given meaningful names. Today people name their babies after their favourite shampoo or their favourite actress, and there's nothing particularly wrong with that. But I have often wondered if God sees the names we give our children as a prayer — a sacred moment when we get to tell God and the world what our prayer for you is. We pray for comfort for you and for us. We proclaim that even if your life is short, we know God is gracious.

You are a prayer for comfort to a gracious God.

We love you more than you know, Nahum John.

Mom and Dad