Friday, June 30, 2017

last doctor's visit

Dear Nahum,


Today was probably our last trip to the ob-gyn together. As you may have noticed, she's been having us visit her every other day since your due date, just to make sure you are safe and sound. Today she asked me what we had decided about induction — about trying to help you come sooner rather than later. I told her that we plan to start tomorrow morning at the hospital at 10:00am with the midwives and doctor there. She nodded her approval.

Our ob-gyn is caring, but usually she keeps some professional distance. However today, at the end of the appointment, she wished me viel Kraft for the next days. Then she stood up and gave me a long hug. It was not one of those quick, formal, "I-probably-should-do-this" hugs, but a heartfelt, sincere "I'm-doing-this-because-I-care" hug. You probably felt when she patted you and wished you well. The doctor looked a bit emotional and of course, I more than just looked emotional. I cried.

She is going to miss seeing you.
So am I.

We said goodbye and after I cried in the doctor's bathroom for a while, I headed outside. Just as I was unlocking my bike, I heard a friendly voice call my name. It was an acquaintance who has always cared about your situation and asked about you. Do you remember her? I've never run into anyone I know on that street, but today, when I was feeling extra weepy, I did. I think God placed her there to encourage me again.

As we enter what could be some of the hardest days of our lives, I am reminded that God puts His help around every corner. Literally — whether its a kind word from the doctor's receptionist, a long hug from the doctor, or a praying acquaintance appearing outside the doctor's office — He has shown up in these and 1,000 other ways in the last six months. And I'm sure He'll show up in 1,000 other ways in the days to come.

This is not the lot we would have chosen, but it's the lot God chose for us — for you, for Dad, and for me. Since He chose this path for us, we know He'll watch over all the details of the next few days.

Let's do this.

Mom

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

june 25

Dear Nahum,


After hearing your due date, it took us a while to realize that it was exactly one year from the date when we moved to our new city last year. On June 25, 2016 we packed up a big van, drove it 150km down some windy roads, and unloaded our belongings into an empty apartment in the heart of our new city.

Anyone who has known us for more than a year knows that it was hard for us to move (again) and to be the newcomers (again). At least, it was what we thought of as "hard" at the time. But by this year on June 25, 2017 we had come to know a different level of hard — a hard that made the hard of moving again seem not as hard after all. (Thank God that when He gives us a new level of hard He gives us a new level of peace to deal with that hard.)

So, June 25, 2017 has come and gone, and we don't think you quite understood what was supposed to happen on that day. You were supposed to come out and meet us! Every day people are asking us if you've come yet, but you're taking your sweet time. If you don't show signs of coming by the weekend, we're planning to ask the midwives at the hospital to start encouraging you to come. After all, Grandpa and Grandma can't stay here forever and they want to meet you, too. But wouldn't it be better if you just came on your own?

We sure think so!

Mom and Dad


"This God is our God for ever and ever:
he will be our guide even unto death."
Psalm 48:14

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

39+2

Dear Nahum,


We're so glad you're
still here
still kicking and rolling
still responding to dad's voice
still showing off your strong heartbeat
still making us giggle when you head-butt the doctor
(you little rascal)
...still here.

Remember when they said you might be born very early,
when Mom worried she might miscarry anytime,
when we wondered if your grandparents would get here in time...?

At 39+2 you've exceeded our expectations. You're still here!

Mom and Dad

Thursday, June 15, 2017

open

Dear Nahum,


One of the surprises of having you as our son has been how open strangers or near-strangers become with us when they hear about you. We would expect and hope that close friends and family would cry with us, or be open with us, but strangers? German strangers? We didn't expect them to be so moved by hearing about you that they would also share in our pain. Here are a few of the people whose eyes have gotten tear-y and red as they talk with us about you:

  • The lady who lost multiple loved ones in the last year.
  • A midwife when she talked about the strangeness of experiencing new life and death within a few hours.
  • A childless lady who told of weeping upon seeing strollers after finding out she'd have no babies of her own.
  • The older couple who told us their third child was stillborn many years ago; he died two days before they met him.
  • The coworker who told Dad how he still chokes up remembering how his daughter nearly died when she was six weeks old.
  • The doctor whose eyes got wet when she heard your diagnosis.
  • The local mom with a baby like you who sat on the sofa and cried with Mom even though they had only known each other for an hour. Her husband who met Dad for coffee and whose eyes got shiny listening to Dad share.

We feel honoured particularly that people who hardly know us would somehow enter into our suffering. Their openness is a precious gift.

Given the choice, of course, we still would choose to be the ones with a happy baby story and not a sad baby story. To be the ones whom people smile (not cry) upon seeing. But if we're going to be the ones with a sad story, we're glad for so many open hearts to share it with. Their tears and stories remind us that everyone goes through hard times, and that talking openly about those hard times makes the load a little lighter.

(Now, if we can just take care of the nosy cashier-stranger at the corner store, who pesters Mom with questions and pregnancy advice.... Thankfully there's only one of her, and many other kind strangers.)

You are beyond special, Nahum, and we're not the only ones who think so. You open strangers' hearts.

Mom and Dad

Thursday, June 1, 2017

birds

Dear Nahum,


On Sunday morning I woke up around 4am, like mommies with babies in their tummies often do. After my typical trip to the bathroom (do you realize you're pushing on my bladder?) I had a hard time going back to sleep. The minutes slowly ticked by and of course I was thinking about your birth — which is probably just a few days or weeks away now.

Dad was fast asleep, but he had left the door between our bedroom and the hallway open a crack, and he had also left the hallway windows open to let some breeze into our room. (Dad is smart like that.) As you and I lay there awake in the darkness, I realized that even though it was still nearly black out, birds were beginning to sing. One or two were giving a beautiful performance right near our hallway window, here in the centre of the city. Because the city was so still, I could hear one particular melody perfectly.

Last week we read the story of a prophet named Elijah, who needed food. God sent ravens to bring him food. Who has ever heard of birds bringing food? But these ones did, to show Elijah that God was very aware of Elijah's needs and more than able to provide for them.

God sent you and me birds too, Nahum, to remind us that even when no one else is awake, He's awake. He's is very aware of exactly what we need, and more than able to provide. He will give us everything we need until your birth, during your birth, and after your birth. And if we need more songbirds, He'll send those, too.

Mom