It's Sunday again, and we are 36 weeks along. Friday was Valentine's Day so Daniel (5) has valentines on the mind. He made this little heart during church and said, "This is for Abigail."
It's moments like this that I remember how incredibly blessed we have been as a family. When we announced our pregnancy to the kids, they were all excited because they love babies. It's precious to my heart that they see a new addition to the family as cause for celebration.
We were all hoping for a girl, but the boys were the most vocal about it. Sad to say, it might be partially because of well-meaning friends and strangers saying things that make them feel incomplete without a sister, like, "Are you hoping for a sister this time?"
Even after we broke the news that Abigail would ultimately become an angel for our family, the level of enthusiasm for Abigail hasn't diminished. Finally, they have a sister. And even though she isn't staying long, she will always be their sister. They know we get to keep her forever. I'm grateful for that sure knowledge.
This afternoon we put the finishing touches on our birth plan and printed a few copies so the whole birth team can be on the same page. Once that was done, we worked a little while on the funeral program and I asked my parents to sing one of my favorite songs for the event. All of this while Abigail Réileen makes her presence felt with kicks and punches in my tummy. I love her so much already, we all do.
The guiding principle of our home right now is hope. We know what can and probably will go wrong when Abigail is born. There is no false hope, but there's a kind of hope nevertheless. It's a hope that is born of our love for her.
We hope everyone will get to meet her who needs to, and that we will be able to make memories with her after her birth.
We hope to celebrate her life with music and prayer and poetry.
We hope she will always have a place in our family and never be forgotten.
We hope that knowing her and loving her changes us in all the ways she would have it do.
We hope this difficult goodbye brings all of us closer together.
We hope in Christ we shall all be reunited in a higher, holier sphere where none are sick or wounded and all are restored to perfect health.
I have struggled against hope throughout this journey, this past week especially. I have cried and cried out because the waiting seems unbearable. Not this waiting for her birth, but the promise of more waiting after her death. I have wondered aloud to my husband how I can go on after such heartache.
In answer, I have heard the voice of God saying, "Live for the Lord," and I have been humbled because I am a selfish creature. I always think I know what's best.
I told how I had heard the hymn in my head before realizing the painting's title was from that hymn: "Blessed, Honored Pioneer." Today I went to church and the opening hymn happened to be this song, titled, "They, the Builders of the Nation," Hymn #36 in the LDS Hymnal. Each verse's chorus is slightly different but ends with the line, "Blessed, honored pioneer." No wonder I had thought it was the hymn's title. As we sang it today, I realized that I revere my pioneer ancestors exactly for the incredible faith they showed while suffering the deaths of so many beloved friends and family members, while facing death themselves. And I realized that to future generations, we are the pioneers. Suddenly the song became a call to action for me, like the words I had almost seen in my mind's eye written on my bedroom wall: "Live for the Lord."
My eyes went to the bottom of the hymnal page and I knew I had to read the scripture associated with the hymn.
It is Doctrine & Covenants 64: 33-34
I couldn't help the tears that formed in my eyes. This must have been a scripture that gave comfort to my ancestors. They had to have been so tired of being persecuted, driven from place to place, and despised wherever they went. They had to have been weary of the daily work that never seemed to be enough, while many of them lost their children or husbands or wives to mob violence, disease, exposure and hunger as they crossed the plains.
In the super convenient modern world, I had found myself complaining to my husband that I am tired. And I am. I am so tired. But there is no way I could be more world-weary than they were.
"Be not weary in well doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great."
Abigail is a very small thing. She is tiny. But she has carved out a large space in our hearts that drives us to be more than we were, to be worthy to see her again. And that is a great thing.
Verse 34 reminded me of the message I felt like I heard or saw, to "Live for the Lord."
"Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind." It ends with the promise of good things to those who give their all.
There's another scripture that comes to my heart as I ponder on these things: D&C 122:8
"The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than He?"
Of course, even these gifts of understanding don't make me totally okay or past my grief. In fact, sometimes they are met at first with bitterness. But I can't deny they are gifts. They are the grace that is sufficient to the day. They teach me line upon line and give me strength to take the next steps in my life. They give me that precious ingredient for a life of joy:
Hope.
