it took a year.

When we lost our baby Arrow almost a year and a half ago, I remember sitting in my bathroom alone and thinking I'll never be the same again. Of course it sounds melodramatic, and maybe it was to an extent - but I just couldn't get over the ache in my heart. I couldn't get over the emptiness of my hands, despite the fact that I already had three children on earth to fill them. I think all brands of baby loss are different, harder than hard, and incomparable to one another but what felt the hardest to me was almost seeing my kids and seeing the full potential of what we missed out on. Knowing, it wasn't a combination of cells or some tissue that we lost - it was a whole soul, a distinct laugh, a smell, a name, a future, years and years of looking in on a precious body sleeping in a bed and thanking God for the privilege of being their mama. We celebrated that life the best we could and celebrated the life Arrow now had with Jesus, but no amount of celebration made the ache any less. 

In the months that followed, I wondered if it would always be like this. I'm a feeler. A heavy processor. When would the processing of a miscarriage end? I weighed my pain and sadness carefully, carefully, carefully. Was it too much? Was it too little? Should I let it out and who with? My mom told me multiple times - give it a year. Go through all the occasions, all the feelings, all the celebrations, and feel all you want to feel. After a year, evaluate your grief, but until then - just let it be. 

Christmas passed and Nick got the beautiful arrow painting for me. A friend texted me and said, "I'm sorry you're living this christmas without him". I wrote about what it would've been like - christmas with him. The new year came and we moved and I thought about how we wouldn't have moved if Arrow had been born. This whole new season that we never saw coming wouldn't have come to fruition if we'd been distracted by a newborn. And all the things that came along with the move - Nick pastoring, our business growing, hosting a conference, etc. Those things wouldn't have happened in the same way if we'd been in babyland. 

April and May were dark. I feared Mother's Day like no other. Even with three precious kids on earth - I remembered Mother's Day 2011 too vividly and wanted that day back. That day where there were three kids and two pink lines. I was so sad Elias was sick on Mother's Day 2012, but breathed a huge sight of relief at being able to stay home with him, nurse him to health, miss out on the ugly crying in the backrow of church that would happen. 

And the anniversary days of the actual miscarriage, the first d&c, the second d&c - they passed and something interesting happened. The heavy pain that I kept buttoned up turned into a sweet regret that I held up to the Lord and He kept loving on it and redeeming it. 

Between January and June, a song that seriously messed me up was this one. The part where you continually sing "you make all things work together for my good". The way I sang it was always different. Sometimes I'd have to sit down in worship with my eyes shut tight and the face of my heart turned towards Jesus. I'd picture myself looking at Him doubtfully saying it. So badly wanting to scream it proudly, but instead just being truthful with Him. I want to trust that You're true in this, it's just hard. Then it shifted to a resolute declaration. I don't understand - but you make all things work together for my good. Your word says it. I see it and I don't. But I know it's true. 

But in June, after a year - my little hand started to creep back up in the air. 
Me. I'm raising my hand. Me with the baby in heaven and the three on earth. 
Do you see me?
I believe you. 
You make all things work together for my good. 
You make all things work together for my good. 
You make all things work together for my good. 

It took a year. And again - like all pregnancy + infant loss, it's all different. Maybe you've lost five or you lost one five years ago. It took a year for me. I still miss that baby, but I can sing with joy and less stinging tears running down my face now. I know that day will come for you, just keep holding it open to Him and letting Him love you in your grief. 
And keep singing. 
....................................

My precious friend, Melody, who makes the amazing nest rings has a deal to offer you in light of pregnancy + infant loss awareness month. Please oh please check it out. 

another precious arrow.

Last year on Father's Day, we lost a precious arrow to heaven. 
This year on Father's Day, we were hopefully, joyfully,  & tentatively beginning the anticipation of another one. 

We are overjoyed to announce that, Lord willing, there will be a fourth Connolly kiddo arriving in February of 2013. 

Because this blog is all about telling true stories, you can expect more details soon. 

Thank you SO much to Megan of Project 54:5 photography.  You're the best. 

the last I'll say for awhile

sweet baby Arrow, the baby we lost last year. All tucked safe & sound.

The story started in the Walmart bathroom, you know?

It was mothers day and I was taking a pregnancy test in walmart.

Just hours before I’d been writing and writing in Starbucks.

Thinking on arrows and weapons and how our children truly were them. I thought about how Elias’ life gave me a kickstart to seeing my selfishness and how his kindness teaches me daily still. I thought about Glory’s whole story. How no 23 year wants to hear her perfect daughter will mostly likely never live outside the womb and how no 26 year old wants to lie beside that same girl in a NICU three years later, watching her toes twitch and begging for her life. How the Lord taught me about faith through her. Big, capital FAITH. And Benjamin, even though it wasn’t him, but just the six arms and six legs and three mouths that suddenly filled my home and my heart. How that season of his coming and our family, how it led me to feeling utterly inept. And utterly overwhelmed with God’s ability when we failed.

They were weapons in our hands. In our unskilled, unwise, young little hands. But the Lord took those arrows and He did damage. He messed up our hearts and our worldview and our plans and I now am so comfortable with the idea that He used it in other people’s lives too. I don’t, I can’t boast for a second about those stories. But I’m learning that He sure does.

But there I was.

In Walmart.

Shaking.

There would be a fourth arrow. 

I can still remember the exact building that I was passing on the way home, jabbering and maybe crying a little, talking to my sister. She was saying, “It’s going to be great! It’s going to be great!” and all of a sudden, I believed her. And I said firmly back, 

“It’s going to be great. It’s. Going. To. Be. Great.”

Because the Lord had saw fit to give us another weapon to fight with.

And in return, we’d get a cuddly baby to hold.

And that’s where I operated from in that short pregnancy. There was no fear, no frustration, in my most private of moments, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. I felt special and expectant. I felt in love. I felt honored. I. I. I. I made it one of my new years resolutions to say “I feel” less and “I know” more. And here is what I know.

I know that though it is a temptation for me to operate out of insecurity over how much I have grieved over Arrow, my grief has never shocked the Lord. He has never thought I’m being overdramatic. When I’m private and alone and near to Him, I know that He gets it.

I know that they are right when they say it takes a year of seasons and events to process a loss. I know that twenty weeks was hard. I know that Christmas was hard. I know that his due date was hard. And I know that this season, the finding out on Mothers Day in the walmart bathroom and the losing on Fathers day in the hospital bed, has been the hardest of all seasons to approach. I know that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him and I know that we could not have moved to Indiana if baby Arrow had lived and I know that on some days, I want to pitch a fit and go back to the tiny house in South Carolina and the life that didn’t seem to be moving forward so much, and just have my baby.

But you know what?

The other day, I was hit with this massive realization.

Elias, Glory, and Benjamin are my arrows and they have meant so much to me and they are this huge chunk in my story – but they are each separate souls. With separate memories. Separate fears and hearts and lives. And I’m most definitely at the point in mothering where it is selfish to dwell on them in relation to myself all day.

Because they’re Elias. Glory. And Benja.

And I get to shepherd them and love them, but it’s not all about me.

And Arrow wasn’t all about me either.

I believe he has a separate soul and a separate story.

And I have been blessed by it and hurt by the way it has unfolded.

But it’s almost been a whole year since my story with him ended and his story is all about Jesus now. It’s all about worship. And truth. And light. And life. And Jesus.

And I want to learn that from him.

I want to be more like him.

My Arrow. 

And that's the last I'll say about him for awhile. 

newbies and a gift.

Hi friends. I hope you've had a good week. 
It's Friday! We made it! 
I only have a few things for you this fine day. 
A of all, I have a few new prints in the shop. 
Here they are:

psalm 34:8   proverbs 3:3  revelation 21 

Second, I'm a big old fan of vulnerability. 
I say a good mix of vulnerability, wisdom, women, and the internet is a good. 
But being vulnerable about my own grief is hard stuff. 
With anyone, much less the internet.


That being said, this past week I feel like the grief from our miscarriage has been so weird and renewed. It's not bitter, it doesn't leave me unable to function in society, just gets me down in the quiet spaces. Like the kid's naptimes and quiet times. All wisdom and reasoning aside, I just think about that baby and how far along I'd be. I think about the number four and how joyful I felt about four kids. And my heart aches. 


Earlier in the week I was having a normal morning, getting the kids ready for school and what not, and in the midst of it - I just had to collapse on my bed and cry for a bit. And thankfully Nick sat beside me and reminded me of God's goodness. Of how blessed our baby is to be safe with the Father. Of how blessed we were to have that sweet babe for a short time. 


And then, I found out that October is miscarriage/stillbirth/pregnancy loss awareness month. And I'm not sure what that means to people or what to do with that, but Nick and I just decided to renew our commitment to pray for our friends that have lost babies recently or a long time ago. And to send them some cards. 

And to do this: 
I've made this print and posted it in my shop, but I'm posting it as a free pdf here for you guys to download as much as you'd like. For your home, for a friend, for anyone you know who could use this promise of our God. If you'd like it printed/framed by me or shipped to someone you know, feel free to use coupon code EVERYTEAR off your entire order in my shop for 20% off. 


I've said this before and I'll say it again:
I love sharing my life with the internet, I hate that I can share grief with ya'll. I hate it for me and for those of you who know it! I wish none of us did. 
But I'm thankful we can know the comfort of the Father. 
love ya'll. 

i've known you both.

Sorry for any confusion, the picture below is not a current baby ultrasound, it's the baby we lost a few months ago. Not pregnant over here:) 

I went to bed the other night, clutching Arrow's blanket. 
I don't always sleep with it, unlike when we first lost him, when I looked forward (all day) to covering my face in it when I fell asleep. 


When people ask how I am after the miscarriage, how I'm doing now - I always answer honestly that I never imagined the Lord would heal so lovingly with time. I miss that baby more than any metaphor I could ever use, but the bitterness and the painful ache has surely been salved by prayer and praise and uplifted eyes to Him. 
I can have real joy in new babies and swollen bellies, in the hands of my children, because all life is created by Him. All life brings joy. And somewhere, deep in there, He has the ability to bring so much glory and praise from loss too. 
And time helps that. 


But the other night, I was just blown over by how excited I'd become for my birthday.
As soon as I found out I was pregnant, I realized I'd be exactly 20 weeks on my birthday! What a gift! Seeing if it was a baby girl or a baby boy! Seeing that sweet thing at all! And as soon as I found out I lost him, I just wept over that birthday. 
I never wanted it to come. 
But somehow, I'd gotten excited all over again. 
I've even gotten to the place that when I'm feeling really vulnerable and really faith-filled all at once, I'll beg Him to pour out His spirit and make this a year of harvest & blessing. 


And that night, I laid there thinking about both of you. 
The one of you who rubs her hand over her belly longingly. Or clutches the crib in grief. Or stares blankly into the children running around after church. Lost. Alone. Silent. 
Crying yourself to sleep or waking up crying or crying on the tombstone of someone who should've cried over you. I thought about all you gals who know me too. 


And I thought about you women with your hands full, who count your blessings and sometimes don't, who know that blessings can surely be hard to handle. The women that have been convicted for not being more selfless, and then being tested to the limit of selflessness before she stopped praying. The ones who. just. need. a. minute. I thought of my best friend, currently in labor at that very moment, probably pushing and fighting and dying to herself while gaining a blessing that words can't describe. And I thought about the women who see their children running after church, and see the women staring blankly, the ones that are caused to praise & ache all at once. 


I've known you both. 
I've been you both. 
I want to give you both a hug and love you better. 
And as I stare at my computer screen or place of worship, filled with both of you... or those of you who are like me, the combination women, and I wonder if we all couldn't take care of each other better. Push each other to Him better. 
Praise together. 
Because He's the giver of ALL good gifts.

Today

Today, I wanted to move on. 
I told a friend, I was so excited to just do the dishes. To feel well enough and healed enough, to stand at the sink and do the dishes. To smile at my kiddos while I did it. 


I wanted to post an amazing little vlog for ya'll that I made with Kristin during some of the better hours from this weekend. I wanted you to laugh and to show you, look! I'm doing good! God is mending me!


But that's not for today. 
Instead, I will be real & vulnerable with ya'll and will just cry out asking you to pray for my physical and emotional healing. I'm having some complications from my miscarriage and it feels like the Lord is just holding me here in the mending place. 
And the dumb vlog won't load. 
Sorry ya'll. 


So, maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'll do the dishes!
If not, God is still good and I'm sure I'll meet Him in the mending. 

baby day

I promise to not only write about loss and grief and miscarriage from now on all the time, but today is a special day. 

In all my pregnancies, I've always been overjoyed about one thing first and foremost: baby day. The day, however it looks, that you go in and you get that baby. I always wanted to have really natural labors and I love everything about homebirth, but since the Lord didn't write our story like that, I've tried to make the most of our little (sometimes long) hospital visits. I try to relish the crushed hospital ice, the nurses who help me nurse, the friends popping their faces in to smile and see that sweet babe. But most of all, the baby minute - the pinnacle of the baby day, where you hold that sweet babe in your arms and everything in the whole wide world flys out the window. Maybe before you were anxious about how to do it, worried about money, sad about pregnancy weight gain, mad at your husband (never me), sore from labor or about to pass out from blood loss. But there's always a baby minute, when you hold that baby, and nothing in the whole world matters except the inexplicable joy that comes from the gift in your hands. 

Today is Arrow's baby day. I won't get to hold him or cuddle with him or nuzzle him. I won't get to show him pictures of us together, like all our other kids are obsessed with seeing. But it's still his special day, the one that the Lord has written for me to stop carrying him physically and I'm going to try to celebrate that to the fullest extent that I can. Celebrate has three definitions according to the dictionary. 

- to observe or commemorate an event with ceremonies or festivities.

- to make publicly known, proclaim.

- to praise widely or to present to widespread

So since Arrow won't have a birthday or a graduation or a "hooray! we finally potty trained" day or a wedding day, 

I'm going to soak up this day. 
I'm wearing bright minty nail polish and curling my hair. 
I went to buy a new robe because I always buy a new robe for baby day's, but apparently they don't sell robes in the middle of summer in South Carolina. 

God gifted us with a child, that we totally didn't deserve or earn. 

God gifted our hearts with intense, intense joy and gratitude for a

season that we haven't felt really before. 

And He is meeting us in the loss of those things, with Himself.  

But I'm proclaiming today as Arrow's baby day, and I'm going to try and experience all the joy and sadness that will come from that. Thanks for celebrating and praising the Lord with us, through our trials and through His triumphs. 

(it can't go without saying that this day is made much sweeter 

by the faces that will greet me when I come home 

and I am intensely grateful for them. 

here are some shots of their babydays)

elias powell connolly 1.31.07

gloriana eloise connolly 3.14.08

benjamin haddon connolly 5.27.09

our miscarriage - a story about "arrow"

There are so many stories I want to tell you about "Arrow", the name we've given to the sweet baby we just lost. I feel like I could fill books and books on what I've learned about the Lord through this sweet baby's short life, not that I'm any wiser - but it's definitely been a thin place for us. A place where the Kingdom of God feels so much nearer to earth and the divide between the Holy & the normal is so much smaller. But these are the introductions to this story.


On Mother's Day, we found out we were expecting our sweet fourth baby. That's a story in itself, one that involves me sweating and freaking out in a walmart bathroom by myself. Shocked, surprised, thrilled, and shocked all over again. Just hours before I took the test, I'd written this. And I'd meant it, I really was just starting to see how my children really are nothing but advantages in this life. And now, by God's grace and no goodness or planning of our own, we'd have another advantage in this fight. Another arrow in our quiver. It only took a few hours for me to become overjoyed. I woke each morning for weeks smiling and tried to describe how different this pregnancy felt from others to friends. Puking and nausea didn't seem like such a big sacrifice and when I should have felt terrified, I didn't - I felt elated. Four children. Somehow the Lord has saw fit to give us, the most undeserving, four children.

My garden still bothered me. It just plain up stunk. I couldn't get anything to grow and I sometimes felt discouraged about my house. One night I had a dream that my friend who'd been trying to help me with my home & garden came over, and as I walked her to our front yard, we saw flowers overflowing out of the bed. Growing and expanding and just overtaking the yard. In my dream I said, "see, things shouldn't be growing, but they are!". And truly that's how I felt. The Lord was gracing us with a season of growth and life, even when we didn't deserve it. I did some writing about that and asked the Lord to preserve that feeling of praise, even when or if  He allowed pain instead of growth in our life. I asked Him to make me able to say like Paul says in 2 Corinthians 1 - On Him we will set our hope that He will deliver us again.

A few hours later I sat looking at an ultrasound screen of a baby that I knew was much too small and had no heartbeat. Nick said it was gutsy to pray that verse hours before an ultrasound. He was right.
.....................................

The next morning as the shock wore off and a shockingly hard feeling of sadness set in, my sweet aforementioned friend knocked on my door. She'd gone and bought beautiful flowers and miraclegrow soil. All I had to do was plant those bad boys. As I dug through the dirt and put those beautiful flowers in later, I wept and talked to the Lord. Why was this so hard? Was I being dramatic? Why does this feel like such a death? It's not a still born or SIDS, those sweet moms and dads really know pain. I shouldn't feel so sad. And then I realized I was spending too much time evaluating how broken I was, rather than asking the Lord to just meet me in it. Who cares if I was more sad than I expected and if this was harder than I imagined.

This is where the Heavenly Father that I believe in, and His Son that I would follow to the ends of the earth, and the Spirit that lives in me - this is where they do their business. In my brokenness and hurt. Only I was too busy figuring out if my hurt was "too much". So I stopped that whole mess and just let myself be really, really sad. I felt really really joyful about the time I had with that sweet arrow, but really really sad that I wouldn't get to have a life with him. I wept over not being able to tell the kids about his coming and I wept about not getting to hold him in the hospital. I wept about not being able to feed him or play with him and I wept that he'd never get to meet his dad on earth, the best dad in the world. Sometimes his dad wept with me, and sometimes I'd just wake up and find myself crying alone. The Father met me there, in that sadness and never once told me my brokenness was too much.
...........................

The dream still blessed and haunted me, all at once.
Things truly are growing everywhere still. Our kids, our marriage, our church plant is acting like someone just threw miracle grow all over it. But me, I am stuck in sadness and stuck physically - grateful to still have this baby inside me, even though it's not growing and won't ever physically. I'm terrifed about when the Lord chooses to have it leave my body - will the whole thing feel over? Will no one ask me to talk about the baby then? And also I'm constantly reminded of how sad I am by the slight extra padding I'm still carrying. I'm not growing, I don't feel full of life. I feel stuck and broken.
So why that dream, Lord?
It isn't Your character to rub it in, rub in the life all around me when you know I'm mourning the one that is gone.

At the conference we were just at, while there are all sorts of amazing words of life being spoken into our church and my husband - I try to sit as still as possible and keep my face as calm as possible. I want to start crying the second I hear worship music and I want to be prayed over by every woman that walks by me. I feel like if I make any sudden movements, this brokenness is going to leak all over everywhere. And let me say, I'm comfortable with the brokenness now, but is this the time? Is this the place?

At the tail end of the conference, a sweet leader's wife tells me she has a word from the Lord for me. When she heard my voice, she was reminded of the story of the man carrying two buckets of water. One perfectly functioning, one filled with cracks. And as the cracked and broken one feels discouraged for it's uselessness, the man reminds it - you might be cracked, but look at the beautiful trail of flowers you've left in your wake from leaking water! She says the Lord wants to use me, right now - right here, when I feel the most broken.

So this is how I'll start.
Telling you all about sweet Arrow.
Praise God for that baby who has truly been an advantage in God's Kingdom, who has brought us nearer to our Lord.

...................


Thanks for letting me tell you guys about our sweet babe. 
We'd appreciate your prayers for physical & emotional healing. 
I'm going to keep posting guest posts for the next few days and 
I pray they're as much of a blessing to you as they are to me.
Love ya'll, Jess