Few people imagine or anticipate their life being full of severe pain.  I’m referring to the kind of pain that follows you every moment, of every day, month after month, without an ending in sight. The type of pain that causes your life, as you once knew it, to cease altogether. The sort of pain that leaves you waking up every morning trying to figure out how to manage each moment so you can make it through the day, only to experience it all again the next day.  The kind of pain that redefines a person forever.

I never anticipated experiencing this type of pain in my life…until it pierced me directly in the heart. 

It was May of 2007.  My husband Drake and I had been married for over 11 years and blessed with two beautiful children: Judson and Jessie.  Our life did not look much different than the average family living in the states.  Of course we had common challenges, but nothing out of the ordinary.   At the time, Jessie was about 9 months old and Judson was almost 2 ½.    Like every parent, we were extremely proud of our kids; Judson, in particular, was a very bright and articulate little boy with a sweet spirit who endeared himself to anyone whom he had the pleasure to meet.

However, at the end of May, Jud’s vibrant, normal-functioning body began to unexpectedly and rapidly deteriorate.  Within just a few short weeks, Judson was losing his eyesight and ability to walk. 

When doctors informed us they needed to do emergency testing because the situation was likely very serious, my heart broke; I realized my world could be on the verge of unraveling.  I cried out to God in fear and anguish, but also recall specifically asking Him to make His presence known to me no matter what lay ahead. 

After weeks of testing, misdiagnosis, and a steady decline in Jud’s abilities, we were given horribly bleak news.  I vividly recall the Neuro-Genetics Clinic where they sat us around a conference table and proceeded to tell us that Judson had a leukodystrophy, and from my research, I knew this equaled “terminal”.

I sat there holding my beautiful, bright, vibrant, beloved boy as he played with his green pick-up truck on the laminate pine table top and suddenly felt as though he was slipping through my fingers, and as much I tried, I could not hold on to him.

And for almost four months I continued to try to hang on to my boy…but he kept slipping through my fingers…Jud’s whole body became paralyzed including an inability to hold up his head.  He went totally blind and mute.  His swallowing reflex diminished.  And though his keen mind and beautiful smile never faded, the critical functions in Jud’s body shut down, including his ability to breathe.  On November 7, 2007, Judson slipped out my grip completely.

Looking back on that wretched day after the Neuro-Genetics Clinic, the word “terminal” had kept floating around in my mind.  I recall sitting on the stairs of our house retching and throwing up as the thoughts of losing Jud plagued me.  I couldn’t bear to let go of him!!!  How could I possibly walk this path?!!??

But I had no choice — I had to bear it!  I had to face the reality of the road being laid before me.  I also recognized my desperate need to cling to the One telling me to trust Him, despite my circumstances.

Then something happened.

As Jud began slipping through my fingers, the fingers of my Heavenly Father intensified their grip on me. The Lord held me more tightly as I had to hold Jud more loosely.

I felt my Father’s grip through the notes, encouragement, prayers, gifts, meals, financial support and other unexpected blessings that upheld us in our tragedy.  Even more profoundly, I experienced God’s presence in our little boy.  God was clearly at work in Jud’s life as our sweet little man lived with incomprehensible joy during his suffering.  While Judson could still speak, he regularly challenged us, comforted us, and spoke truth in a manner that revealed God’s nearness.

I have heard it said that losing is a child is one the worst human experiences known to man (and watching your child suffer compounds the pain).  I know this to be true.  I have also heard that even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, the Lord is with me (Psalm 23).  I also know this to be true.  Our lives are filled with an intense, pervasive pain having had to let go of Jud, but I am convinced God has not let go of me…and so it is to Him I cling! 

Judson was born Christmas Eve 2004 and died November 7, 2007.  Read more about Judson and the Levasheff family at www.StoryOfJudson.com.

Christina Levasheff has a BA in Communication and an MA in Education, both from Biola University. She is currently on hiatus from her work as a college educator to stay home with her daughter Jessie and to write and speak publicly about her journey. 

It started at the mall—that moment I knew I was born to be your mom and that you belonged to me. Dad and I had decided to shop our separate ways—his, the hardware department; mine, the pharmacy, where I scraped $14.25 together, so I could tinkle on a wand.

20 minutes later, with new purchase in hand I watched, while the image of a plus sign announced your existence. 

I had the kind of smile a kid gets when Grandpa lets them keep the puppy he found. It was a good smile—a very good smile.

December 25, 1996 was the day to celebrate our God who—clothed in mere humanity—had come to be with us. It was also the day that you, my little one—merely clothed by the flesh of my womb—had gone to be with Him.

A wise Dr. Seuss once said, “A person’s a person no matter how small.” He may not be ‘The Great Physician’ but I do agree with the doc on that one. I believe that, like you, each one of my children were a reason to celebrate life. Some stayed for only weeks, one stayed for 5 months, and your big brother Brendan is still hanging around after 16 years. I know you’d love his funny ways, but sometimes he tickles too much.

I never knew how long we’d be together—I wanted a forever. And yet when I did lose you—your existence wasn’t any less significant. Nothing was wrong with your perfect form, your spirit, or soul. I wasn’t a fool for thinking it would last. No. I am glad that I embraced your life and declared your existence to the world. It was simply a matter of His divine orchestration. 

I’m grateful for a God who offers life, and by His Son—hope in the unseen things of this world. His Word teaches me that you are a treasure I hold, while reminding me that one day—one marvelous day—I’ll embrace you again.

For that short moment in time, I was a vessel that carried your fragile, growing little soul. Your days, though they were few, hold great purpose. You are, and always will be my child. —Love, Mom.

©2008, Darlene Schacht, editor of CWO

Darlene is mom to four on earth, and five born to heaven.

Visit her website: DarleneSchacht.com

When our first child, Allie, was a year old, I miscarried a pregnancy of 8 weeks. Generally, when we told people about it, they seemed to shrug it off, after all, it was only 8 weeks. We never let anyone know that we had dreams of this baby, and that secretly we had a name for her, Elizabeth. People wouldn’t understand how we could choose a name without knowing from the doctors whether it was a boy or girl, and they certainly wouldn’t understand how we could connect with our child’s spirit without it having more of a formed body. Because of the overall indifference, and refusal to acknowledge my early pregnancy loss as important, we hid it from people.

Sadly, for thee years, our little girl had become nothing more than a secret, but in November of 2007 that all changed. A friend shared with me the story of her own pregnancy loss, and with our common ground I felt compelled to tell her about Elizabeth. I never expected the feelings of peace that swept over me. As I spoke Elizabeth’s name, I released her from that hiding place, I set her free to do what she was meant to do.

Suddenly, I realized that other women felt the same way I did, isolated and hushed by the world about something that was so deeply a part of us. I wanted to make a way for these women to share their stories. These children were a part of them, and now they are a part of heaven. I found a flyer for a Bible-based miscarriage and infant-loss class, and I knew that I needed to do something. I contacted them to ask if I could donate quilts for some of the women who lost their pregnancy’s, as a means of showing support, and acknowledging the life of their child. After speaking with them, I decided I wanted to teach the class, but first I would need to go through it. I never expected the healing that was to come. In the Bible study, I found peace in places that I never expected, and it even went beyond my pregnancy loss.

For many unsuccessful years, I had searched for healing from the sorrows of my childhood, but nothing seemed to go deep enough to even touch it. Somehow, God began using our Elizabeth to heal me from the most painful memories of my life: an abusive childhood, losing both my parents, forgiving the mistakes of the people who raised me in their place, and letting go of my deep resentment for what I felt God had done to me. The miscarriage class was a safe place for me to say, “You know, God, it just isn’t fair, and I don’t understand it,” but I didn’t just stop there at the resentment, I went one step further and heard God’s response to that, saying to me, “I know you don’t understand all these things, but it doesn’t mean that the story stops with your sorrow, it goes even further to reveal your healing, the person you’ve become as a result of this, the difference I can make in other’s lives through your healing and your new life in Christ.”

After completing my pregnancy-loss Bible study, I was surprised to discover some wonderful news–I was pregnant again! After four years of infertility, a miracle had happened. The beginning of my pregnancy was terrifying. Since we had lost Elizabeth, all those fears of losing this pregnancy overwhelmed me. In time, I came to realize that God wanted me to put all my trust in Him, no matter where the pregnancy would take my life, I needed to trust that He knew what He was doing. So, I accepted His promise from Jeremiah 29:11:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

I knew I had to trust Him, and so I did my best. Well, it was more like the kind of trust where you say, “Okay, you can drive, but I’m still holding the map.”

When I first shared the news of the baby with my daughter who was five-years-old, she had some news of her own to share, “Momma, I have some bad news, some really bad news…I don’t like babies.” However, it wasn’t long before she changed her mind about that, and by the time I was 15 weeks along, she was nuzzling and blowing on my stomach everyday, and saying “Goodnight, Sammi!” Which, by the way, is what she named the baby. Although I’m not sure why, soon we were all calling the baby Sammi.

I was so excited when I first felt a little butterfly fluttering. I mostly felt it when Jack played his guitar, or when Allie came over to jiggle my stomach. I’d say, “Stop! You’re making Sammi dizzy!” And she would just laugh hysterically. Expecting the baby had become our new way of life. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as we planned. On September 5, we delivered Sammi at 18 weeks. And on September 18, we buried our Samantha Grace. We can’t tell you what happened, and we don’t know why. I can’t explain God’s plan or reasoning when He does things that seem so outrageously different then what we expected, but I do know that God’s peace is with me still the same. I know that somehow, I feel calm in the middle of all this.

Just a few days after I delivered Sammi, I was holding our 3-month-old kitten, which had fallen asleep in my arms. As I carried him into our room, I broke down when I realized how empty my arms felt, but not just my arms, my womb was empty, and then there is this hole in my heart longing for that baby to still be a part of me. I know that God still loves me, and I know that God loves our Sammi, and that Sammi’s life has a purpose. It was not some random senseless loss, and just because I can’t wrap my mind around God’s plan doesn‘t mean Sammi’s life and death have no purpose. Sometimes it isn’t about understanding God’s plan. Sometimes it’s just about accepting it for what it is, and letting God do what He needs to do. Would it change anything if we understood?

The Word tells us:

“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb…”–Jeremiah 1:5

“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together…. You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.” –Psalms 139:13-16 

I have no question as to whether or not my Elizabeth or Sammi truly existed. When someone asks me, “How many children do you have?” I have no shame in admitting that I have three daughters, only two are in Heaven. I know that before the Bible study, Elizabeth was simply a secret, and now, both my girls are touching lives everywhere.

©2008, Kristie Verret,
Mom to Alicen, Born to Heaven: Elizabeth, & Sammi

Web site: Born to Heaven