Life, Death, and Hope

The last two years have been one of the most vulnerable, challenging, and yet, beautiful of my life. As I worked non stop on a new album, I wrestled and dug deeper than ever before to write the most authentic songs I could find. I learned a lot. But I think, most of all, I learned that there’s is so much inside that I’m unwilling to face. Pain, hurt, fear, insecurities, love, so many things. And I thought when the album had finished that I was done with the depths. But I guess there’s deeper to go still. Not deeper into music, but into life. And not the fun fluffy part either. The dark, crappy part. 

As I write this, my eyes are filled with tears, and my heart heavy with a strange concoction of sorrow, and some sort of deep mystic peace. 

My wife and I have three beautiful kids. And now we’re expecting #4 (I know, we’re nuts). We’re 18 weeks in, and today we found out it’s a boy (we thought for sure it was a girl - guess you never know). Since we found out we were pregnant we have been overjoyed, and kind of tripping, at the idea of FOUR KIDS! When we found out we were pregnant, we were crazy shocked, but really excite, and were in great anticipation as we arrived at our first scheduled ultrasound. Everything seemed perfect. We saw the baby kicking, moving, and he even hiccuped on cue! Everything looked normal. Until we came to the baby’s head, and something wasn’t right. After deep examination and another ultrasound, the doctor informed us that our baby has “Anencephaly" - the absence of a large part of the brain and skull. It’s a tragic birth defect, that only ends in death. Often the brain will form (and work) as usual (hence the normal movement, hiccups, heartbeat, etc.) but without the full skull to protect the brain, the baby cannot survive outside of the womb and will die at birth. Many choose to terminate the pregnancy which, on some level, sounds like a reasonable thing to do, knowing that the baby has absolutely no chance of survival. But it’s impossible for us to wrap our brains, and hearts, around the idea of us being the ones to “pull the trigger”, as opposed to letting nature, through God’s design, take the baby when it’s time. 

So what’s the next five months of our life supposed to look like? And how are we supposed to deal? No clue. There’s no handbook for this stuff. And there’s no cute Hallmark card to make us magically feel better. There’s just reality. Sometime in early January 2015, a beautiful little boy will be born. We’ll name him (something lovely I’m sure), we’ll hold him, we’ll kiss him, we’ll weep with him, and we’ll say goodbye. That’s a sentence none should every have to write. It’s not how it’s supposed to be. I honestly can’t imagine the pain this will cause us, nor the pain that will come with seeing my wife walking around with a big pregnant baby belly, knowing that we’ll never bring that baby home. Or how it will feel to have people ask us when we’re due, what we’re having, or what we’re naming the baby. There will be no baby shower this time around. There will be no infant car seat in our car as we pull up to the hospital to give birth. The last several weeks have been very hard, and we don’t expect it to get any easier. Since the moment we got pregnant we had the overwhelming feeling (more than any other time) that this baby was an absolute gift strait from God. And he is. It is still a miracle to see a baby formed from a little tiny nothing. And even today, seeing the baby kicking and moving his little fingers. It’s a miracle. And it’s beautiful. But still, it hurts. Bad. I dread the thought of our kids seeing a baby growing in mommy’s tummy, only to know that they will never hold him, play with him, or talk to him. I hate that my wife has to deal with all the side effects of being pregnant, and has to be nauseous everyday, and will probably have to make more trips to to the ER because she’s dehydrated again from vomiting too much. And then to go through all of the agony of labor, only to to give birth to a baby we will never take home with us. A baby that will die in our arms. Pregnancy sucks for my wife (as for many women), but there’s always an amazing joy filled experience at the end - holding your beautiful (living) baby. But not this time. It’s tragic. And yet, as weird as it may sound to some people, we really do believe that God is good and that His love is never failing. And we feel it. Like for real. More than ever. But life still sucks sometimes. Sometimes real bad. Jesus said, “In this world you will have much trouble. But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” Someday, all things will be made right, and there will be no more sorrow, no more pain, and NO MORE DEATH. All will be overcome. And all will be made right. But for now, like King David wrote in his song “Even though I walk through THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, I will fear no evil, for YOU ARE WITH ME”. There’s something beautiful and rich about feeling the presence of God in the deepest, darkest pits. There’s something down here in the depths. Something I’ve never experienced when I’m on the surface where there’s rainbows, and pretty little flowers. And the presence - it’s everything right now. We honestly can’t survive without it. Without the real presence and comfort of the Almighty. He is the only thing that is bringing us deep peace (and even joy). It’s beyond the natural. And we’re thankful for it. We also know that we often don’t get to know “why”. And we’re ok with that. So we trust and surrender.  We choose to not surrender to depression, fear, or anger, but surrender to trust, to love, to peace. Seven years ago, when we miscarried twin boys (Zion and Hezekiah) and my mom said something through her tears: “Dom, our job as parents is to get our kids to Heaven someday. So, good job son.” It’s so sobering to think that HALF of our kids will be there together before us. Death sucks. The scriptures call death an enemy. An enemy, that when the Kingdom comes, will be defeated. There will come a day. And I long for that day. The day that death is no more. And her companions, sorrow, and fear, are no more. Come that day, come that day.