Angel Unaware

If you had the privilege of coming to Adelle's funeral, you might have seen a letter that was written by my father laying next to the box Jason made for Adelle.

Let me tell you a little about my earthly father. He runs his own Christian Apologetics ministry (visit his two websites here and here) and has a brilliant mind for theology and politics. (isn't that a great combination?!)

But to our family he means so much more. And especially to us, in this time in our life, more than anything else, he is Paw Paw, grandpa extraordinaire. This man holds such a special place in our children's lives. This is not only because he does their every bidding, follows them where ever they lead him, and spends hours devoting nothing but personal attention to them, but it is because he loves them with his whole heart. His attention is sincere and heartfelt, and he is devoted beyond measure to making sure they feel loved and adored.

It meant more than anything to me to have my sweet Adelle be able to meet her Paw Paw. To hear his voice, know his touch, and spend time wrapped up in his loving arms. And I can honestly say that the time she spent with my father had to be a small glimpse of the feeling she would soon encounter: the warm embrace of her Heavenly Father.

Here is the letter my father wrote in response to Adelle's birth. I hope it touches you as much as it did me. I love you, Dad.



ANGEL UNAWARE II

by

Bill Crouse



The word most often translated “angel” in the Bible is also the word for “messenger,” and indeed that seems to be one of their roles. The angel, Gabriel, may be the best example. I also believe there are two kinds of angels: those that are invisible and dwell in the spiritual realm, and those in human form. The later are just as much messengers of the Divine though not always recognized as such. Early in the 1950’s, popular movie stars, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, had a baby girl with Down’s syndrome. Robin only lived about one year but brought untold blessings to their family and friends. Dale Evans then wrote of her special life in the best-selling book: ANGEL UNAWARE. Its publishers recently came out with a 50th anniversary edition. I highly recommend this book today as human life has become so cheapened since little Robin’s birth.

Early this week my youngest daughter gave birth to Adelle Marie, another messenger from God. From modern technology we knew that she would be anencephalic and would live only a few hours. This precious little 3 pounder was more than we expected, as she surprised everyone and lived almost three days. From our perspective, she was a gift from God. We don’t hold God responsible for her birth defect for the natural world is not now in its normal state. The original creation was all that the creator planned for it to be but the entrance of sin changed all that. Now it “groans” and awaits His redemption. I fully believe that our loving creator was grieved by Adelle’s defect. But being the God that he is, He can still use her as his messenger to her extended family of his love and grace. The world would like to degrade and wipe out such defects before they’re born, but for the Christian, human life has inherent dignity no matter if it does not meet the world’s standards. Adelle was “fearfully and wonderfully made;” I marveled at her beautifully designed little fingers and feet. No, she could not speak God’s message but what she evoked from her family and other believers was what the creator wanted to see: believers, stamped with the divine image being Christ-like. What Mary and Jason (and family) witnessed was the Body of Christ acting as though it was Christ Himself.

As I was writing this there were times when I could not see my keyboard for the tears. At my age one of my greatest experiences is being grandpa. For little Adelle I will never be able to change her diaper and blow on her belly to make her laugh, nor will I have fun imitating her sounds or see her laugh as she takes her first steps. Little Charlie, her three-year old brother, may be more correct than we adults might imagine when he told his mommy that “Now baby Adelle is playing with Jesus.” That poignant picture of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel (18:16) came to my mind where Jesus was playing with the children.

Thank you my friends for doing what Christ would have done had He been here in person. The Body of Christ: what a beautiful thing!

The funeral will be Saturday, the 17th. It will be a worship service like no other.

Two weeks

It has been two weeks. Two weeks ago today I kissed my little girl and handed her to two women, that I didn't know, to prepare her for her burial.

Two weeks ago today, I watched the light slip from her eyes, saw her draw her last breath, give out one last cry, and the color drain from her face. In complete exhaustion I wept over her, knowing that from now on she and I had switched places. She was now whole, complete, and at rest, and I was broken and exhausted.

It felt that day, that with every breath she was drawing strength from me. Not just drawing strength, but sucking the life out of my soul. And then with the tiny bit of life, of energy, I had left in me, I had to hand her over.

I had to physically hand my little girl, my precious baby to strangers. It took only minutes, possibly seconds, to feel the ache in my arms form.

And today, two weeks later, it is still present...but changed. I can still feel her, the weight of her. I can see her precious fingers, feel them gripped tightly around my finger.

But in the last two weeks, the ache has changed. It hasn't dulled, it hasn't diminished. But there is energy where before, there was none. There is a small amount strength where before there was only weakness. Not complete healing, no, but hope. Hope that has stirred in me something so slight I can hardly identify it. But hope, nonetheless. Hope enough to get through each day, to fold the laundry, to feed my kids, to live each day.

Days like today, when I can feel the sadness and emptiness try to creep in from all angles, when more than anything my arms want to feel the weight of her again, when I find my mind wandering constantly back to that broken day, when the tears flow freely and fully...I grab desperately at that elusive hope, grasping at something my mind knows exists and my heart doesn't always feel. Praying that He, and He alone will sustain me for this day, and this day alone.

A Greater Glory

Jason and I knew from the very beginning of Adelle's diagnosis that we would carry her with us as long as we could.  We knew that no matter how long she lived, her life would impact us greatly, no matter it's length.  What we never knew, or even thought to pray for, was the resounding impact this beautiful little girl would have on the world around her.  Even now, we are amazed at how God has used the short life of this little one to bring Himself glory and esteem.  Perhaps a small speck of God's plan is now becoming clearer to us, although we do not claim to see it all.

But what He is allowing us to see of His plan, is becoming bigger than we ever thought or imagined.  And it is bringing with it sweet, healing comfort.

So we ask you sweet friends, family, Body we have never met...

If you have been touched by Adelle's life, prayed for our family, checked this blog for updates, and participated in the glorious life of my daughter, would you please leave a comment?  Tell us your city and state.  And if you feel comfortable, tell us how you came to know us, our story.  What a wonderful story to tell our children, and one day share with sweet Adelle in Heaven.

(if you do not have a google account, then you can use the "anonymous" tab to leave the info.  And feel free to pass this post along to those you know are praying.)

Navigating the Path Unknown

This life on Earth is simply part 1 of forever. As a Christian, that knowledge gives me comfort, for I know that when part 1 is complete, the remainder of forever is paradise. But in the meantime, part 1 continues, and lately it’s been anything but paradise.

For 32+ years now, part 1 has been unfolding, and each uncovered layer possesses its own unique character. The substance of the most recent layer reminds me of fish. I know what fabulous meals can be made from fish, but until such a meal is made, fish just plain stinks!

As I sit enjoying the simple peace of a beautiful day in my backyard, I feel much like the lady bug must feel crawling along my arm as I write this. This tiny life never asked to be placed on a hairy arm on which walking for such a creature is surely difficult at best, but, nevertheless, that is where she finds herself. I’m sure her ignorance is an excellent metaphor for my own as too often I wallow in it despite being gifted with the ability to fly to a more comfortable position by relying on the wings of God’s provision. But alas, for now she appears smarter than I as her wings have spread and given her over to flight.

Several months ago now, I was blindfolded and then forced onto a train whose destination is, to this day, still unknown to me. Oh I have arrived, mind you, at my destination that is. It’s just that my blindfold was never removed along the journey, and no one told me where I was going. So even though I’ve arrived, I have no idea where I am. As I look around my foreign environment, I am pushed and pulled at the same time as I witness the mystery of beauty and despair in concert. But, in spite of my intrigue, I am keenly aware that I cannot stay. Time, that ancient, unstoppable force, is leading me toward a path unknown, and I am powerless to resist its leading. As I am drawn to stay, I desperately search for options, unsure of my comfort in taking this path, unlike the great Robert Frost whose options were indeed limited, but who was graced nonetheless by the power of choice before he took the “road less traveled”.

Resistance, as they say, is futile. This path, my friends, is the path of grief. It is the continuance of the path of life after watching one you love go home, leaving part 1 behind, with you still in it. Our Adelle has moved on to the next phase of eternity with her perfect Father, and I, her part 1 father, am envious as I celebrate her arrival in heaven.

Though I do not know what each mile of this enduring path holds, I am holding tightly to the bittersweet company of the beauty and despair I found when I arrived at its head. Her life here, and her eternal life in heaven, have shown me the beauty of God’s love, creation, joy, peace, encouragement, comfort, and assurance, and it’s this beauty which has made bearable our witness to her struggle in life and to her parting, and it is also this beauty which has so wonderfully sustained us through the despair of our anger, frustration, selfishness, sadness, guilt, and regret.

I marvel at the paradox of God’s providence, and did so when I realized that my own Lord was the one who forced me onto that train. I know, beyond a doubt, that God loves me, but as a resident in a fallen world I also know that suffering is a very real part of this stage of eternity, and that the ways God is glorified often come out of situations that have caused us to suffer. My Lord is, and has been, leading my family and me through this journey. He is our Guide on the path unknown, and whatever we encounter, we encounter with Him as our Sustainer, Counselor, and Protector. I have already seen lives touched in such amazing and wonderful ways by our God through Adelle’s life, and I can’t hope for anything greater than for His love to be revealed through my beautiful daughter.

Jason

Homesick

Music has always been something that has been really important in my life. I don't play an instrument, or really sing all that well. But, there are definitely times when the words and music combined in a song are able to express something you never could with words. They combine emotion and word to reach someplace so deep it is often unexpressable. Songs have begun doing that for me in full force lately. While Jason and I were out of town this weekend, he revealed to me a playlist of songs that he titled "Adelle's Songs." The CD is full of songs of grief, trust, love, hope, and so many other things. It was precious to listen to, especially together. One of the reasons it was so important is because I know there is a piece of Jason in every song. All of them are wonderful, and I will try to share them with you all. This one has been playing in my mind and heart in the last couple of days. It expresses so well the combination of hope and grief for every believer...

Homesick

by Mercy Me.
(pause the music at the bottom before playing)



You're in a better place, I've heard a thousand times
And at least a thousand times I've rejoiced for you
But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry
Is how long must I wait to be with you

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now

Help me Lord cause I don't understand your ways
The reason why I wonder if I'll ever know
But, even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same
Cause I'm still here so far away from home

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now

In Christ, there are no goodbye
And in Christ, there is no end
So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have
To see you again
To see you again

And I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
Won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
Won't you give me strength to make it through somehow

I've never been more homesick than now

Normal?

What is normal for grief? Anything, everything? I am struggling with what is normal. This, world I find myself caught in, feels anything but normal, and I am trying desperately to right myself in it as it tosses me too and fro. Everyone has warned me, but I guess you never really know what to expect until you are neck deep in it. As always, I am bouncing between the two extremes:

*When people are always around, I feel drained. When no one is around, I feel lonely.

*I wait for the phone to ring to have someone to talk to, but hate it when it rings off the hook.

*When the boys go to bed, and the evening stretches out before me, I feel that sitting around reading or watching TV is wasteful, but indulging completely in my grief by writing, crying, holding her things, etc. is exhausting.

*I get tired of talking, answering the question, "How are you?", and other times, I desperately need to talk about what I am feeling and experiencing.

*I feel warm, healed, and full when my boys hug me, kiss me, and love on me, but when they are pushing the boundaries my patience is quickly fleeting.

*I feel the overwhelming need to sleep most of the time, but when I do I wake up frequently and don't feel very rested in the morning.

*When I am happy and I spend moments not thinking of her I feel guilty, like I am not loving her or missing her as I should, but I know that life must go on, and it is good that my heart is healing. But healing terrifies me, because I don't want to "move on" from her.

*Half the time I think I cry too much, and half the time I don't think I cry enough.

So is this normal? I am sure it is. I have been told 200 times that whatever I feel, whatever I need to feel to heal, is OK...is normal. But let me tell you, what I am feeling, feels the farthest thing from normal that I can imagine.

Plus, I am dealing with the guilt that my boys seem more effected by this than I expected.

Charlie has started to be "scared" at night, crying out in what sounds like total fear, clinging to me, and begging that the door be left open and that I hold him. And Max is permanently attached to me. He acts like if he steps away for one minute Mommy and Daddy might leave, and he might be shuffled from family member to family member like he has been in the last 2 weeks.

Saying that this whole thing was "harder than I ever expected" sounds stupid. What was I expecting? Saying "I miss her more than I ever expected" sounds just as silly. I watched her die. I watched them close the lid to her casket. What was I thinking? That I would just enjoy her time with us, give her back to God, smile that she is in Heaven, and just move on with life? That this wouldn't be the most gut wrenching, horrific thing I would ever have to do? Honestly, I don't know what I expected. How could I have expected anything? I have never had to do anything even remotely like this in my life. You can say that something will be "hard," but you won't know exactly how hard, to what depth, with such mixed levels of joy and pain, until you live it.

To say this is hard, is an understatement. To say I am so happy to have held my daughter, and to have loved her, even when I had to give her away, sounds superficial. To say my arms ache, is not just a saying, it is a physical pain.

So is everything I am feeling normal? I sure hope not. I sure hope this is not the new normal.

Adelle's plants

We felt very strongly that we wanted to save all of the beautiful plants that everyone got in sympathy and support of Adelle. So here are our efforts to place and pot every beautiful plant we were given. Thank you all for sending them to us. We will think of her every time we see them, care for them, water them, and enjoy them.

Adelle's Slideshow

Here is the slideshow a dear friend put together for us for the funeral. Everytime I watch it I am so touched and moved. (ok, let's be honest, I weep) It will be something we treasure forever.

(scroll to the bottom of blog and pause the music before starting the slideshow)

Late night confessions

My emotions swing with every hour. There are even moments I forget. Well, I don't forget, but I don't think of it. I don't think about the fact that I buried my daughter on Saturday.

But tonight, tonight I remember. As I sit in my living room, and the boys are asleep, the mood in this room is the same as her last night. I can hear her become silent, her breathing slow and stop. Then after what seemed like forever, I can hear her gasp, and a guttural cry come from her chest, as she jerked back to life again. As she desperately clung to life, refusing to die.

And I am not in the mood to be positive. I don't want to know that she is at peace. I don't want to know that I will see her again. I don't want to know that she is happy in Heaven. I want her here, with me. In my arms. I want to go back to that night, and instead of telling her to let go, to relax, to be calm, to run to her Father's arms, I want to tell her to fight. I want to tell her to stay, that I need her here with me. I want to feel the weight of her in my arms. I want to see her hold her Daddy's finger. I want to touch her face, kiss her nose. I want my baby girl. I want my sweet daughter next to me sleeping.

I want her, I don't want her memories.

The Walking Wounded

Today I feel like the walking wounded. Like I have some gaping wound that has barely sealed over. The kind where you are terrified that one bump could break it open, and the pain would be more than you could bear.

So, as I wander aimlessly through my house I am avoiding every small thing I think might break open my heart. And unfortunately, the little mines are everywhere in this house. The couch I sat with her on as she started to struggle breathing, flowers that are soft and pink, pictures of her, notes of sympathy, an outfit that still smells like her, her blanket, everything that represents her short little life.

So I tiptoe, quietly around her memories, desperately afraid that if I bump into something, my heart might break so wide open I won't ever be able to repair it.

So I have folded and put away the maternity clothes, organized clutter, done a load of laundry, and played with my boys....all the while avoiding the obvious memories and items that now fill our home.

I know there will come a day, maybe soon, maybe not, where I will want to sit, immersed in her things, in her smell, in her memory. But perhaps I ought to give the wound some time to heal first. It is fresh and hurting, and I just don't know that I can bear to explore it.

Goodbye sweet girl

Dear Sweet Adelle—

When you were born, we didn’t see any defects, no abnormalities, no problems.

The moment we saw your face we saw nothing but beauty. Your big blue eyes, your precious heart shaped face, your soft cheeks, and your perfect lips. All we wanted to do was to hold your tiny body and stroke your face.

Then over the next three days we became inspired by your spirit. You are a fighter. You didn’t give up, even when everyone else, including us, had begun to give up on you. No, you pushed forward, not ready to leave your family behind, not done with the life God had given you.

And we saw your deep trust. The way you fell asleep without ever doubting you would be held, and loved. The way your whole body would relax, trusting us to hold and protect you. You looked up at us, not ever once fearing what my happen in the future. You lived so wonderfully in the present. Soaking in the world around you, almost as if you knew it was your only chance to experience it.

You have made an impression on this world, my child. Our hearts are ever changed, affected by your short, powerful life. This plan God had for you, was deeper, and mightier than we ever could have known.

You will forever be part of our hearts, Adelle. You will always have a space in our family as our precious and unexpected gift from God.

We love you more than you could ever know, and will wait without abandon to hold you once again in heaven. Be waiting for us, sweet girl, your family is coming to be with you again.

All our love,

Mommy and Daddy

Service

Memorial services for Adelle Marie Young:

Trinity Fellowship Church
Saturday, October 17th at 11:30 am
Light Reception Following

Sorrow and Joy

After getting to enjoy, love, stroke, kiss, hug, hold, smell, and treasure 59 hours with our sweet Adelle Marie, she has gone to her Father's arms. We know the loving Father is holding her this very moment and loving her in our absence.

We are so grateful for every moment, no matter how difficult, that we got with her. Jason and I have already been storing them up in our hearts, and treasuring them.

And yet, only 2 hours after she is gone, our arms are aching and empty, and our hearts filled with sorrow.

Adelle is born!

Sorry to do this out of order, but I had to post those pictures as soon as I got them. They are so precious!

Adelle rushed into our world with tenacity and ease on Monday, October 12th at 8:48pm. God was good to answer every single one of my worries and concerns. Oh how little my faith is! I went into labor, didn't break my water until I was pushing, labor was fast, no tearing, and after minimal intervention at the bedside she pinked up and was ready to cuddle with mom and dad. Then, after only 4-5 hours, when she was still going so strong, we got to transfer to hospice care and take her home with us.

We marveled when she was alive after 12 hours. The second day we stopped waiting for something to happen and just enjoyed playing with her, holding her, and loving on her. She was taken on tours of our house, sang to by her big brother, hugged, held, poked on by her little brother, and given the same amount of hugs and kisses of any child over a normal lifetime. Her extended family has gotten to hold her and know her. She has gotten to meet some dear friends. She has known nothing but love.

We stood in awe when she had made it 24 hours. We were tired from little sleeping, but didn't care....she was still with us, and we weren't going to miss one tiny moment!

And now, after the second night...I stand even more amazed. God is good. Last night you could see her begin to struggle more. She is tired, most likely dehydrated. Her breathing is getting shallow, at times, I can't even see her chest rise and fall. But she is pink, and her precious, little heart won't give up. Despite what (must) be lowering oxygen levels, it is beating strong. It is like it refuses to give up, refuses to let her leave us.

And so we continue to hold her, watch her, and treasure every moment. Like a very special Mary before me...I am treasuring up every moment, storing them up in my heart and soul.

Pictures of my Baby Girl

Gorgeous, wonderful, precious, priceless, fabulous, invaluable, touching pictures done by my dear friend Christy Lafferty (from Now I Lay me Down to Sleep Photography). They will be my most prized possessions. There are a lot, but I could not bear to cut one out.