Putting the Crib Away for the First (Last?) Time

This was written last month. Sorry I'm slow getting things posted!

***

It's been a week of picking my jaw up off the floor as I am continually amazed at the growth in my children. All week they have been surprising me with new skills they have learned while I wasn't watching (or so it feels).

Jackson read words for the very first time a few nights ago and it blew my mind. I thought it was probably years off because I haven't even attempted to teach him to read, but that night he just started sounding out letters and putting words together from "Hop on Pop" by Dr. Seuss. By the next day he was saying words out loud to himself, figuring out how to spell them, and then writing them down! Also, after months of being very hesitant to try to learn any French, he also started trying to piece together entire sentences in French with me today. (It may be because I have let him watch an exorbitant amount of Paw Patrol en français in the past few weeks telling myself it's okay because it's "educational," but shhh about that.) My momma heart is soaring and amazed. It's also a bit of a wake up call. So they don't stay little and dependent forever? 

This week alone Addie has shown me she knows how to count to 10 and use scissors. She's been potty training herself - and not in a potty on the floor or on a potty seat - she has been insistent about sitting right on the toilet all by herself, with just a stool for help get up and down. She started dressing herself and talking in ways that left me feeling like I've missed some in-between steps with her somehow. How did she get here already?! This week has me realizing in a very real way that the baby days have left our home. And it has me wondering if they're gone for good.

This past weekend Addie had her last night in the crib. That bedtime was poignant for me as I rocked her and sang with her, and lay her down in the crib - the same crib that I've lain both my babies in over the past five years. The crib we had searched for and chosen with so much delight and anticipation when I was pregnant with Jackson. The crib I had so looked forward to laying our third baby in. The next day we took the crib apart piece by piece and for the first time since we bought it almost five years ago, it went to storage. My heart cried out quietly to God, "Is this the end? Are our baby days over?"

I've been surprised lately how my feelings have changed and how deeply a part of me increasingly longs to maybe try for another baby. And yet it's also accompanied by immediate fears too - what if I lose another? I feel like I couldn't bear it again. Any pregnancy from now on will be different. And there are also other more selfish considerations: pregnancy is hard on me and then there are months, if not years, of exhaustion that come with each baby. Can I really do that again? It's just starting to get easier with my oldest two as they gain more independence.

As we moved the crib out of the kids' room, I felt something like a whisper in my heart that it isn't over. I had a deep sense that it would be so much like my Father's character to graciously bless us with another child, another gift. He is so sweet like that. And yet, I don't know. I don't know what His plan is for us. He is just as loving and good if that was the last night I will lay my own child down to sleep in a crib. He knows what is best for us and many times that 'best' has looked far different than what I would have deemed best. I have learned many times that the best thing for me is not often the easiest thing. Many times it has been the hardest road I could have imagined and felt like it might snap me in two. But Scripture has been proven true over and over in my life when it says, "He works ALL things together for the good of those who love Him." The way He leads me I often do not understand and I often still resist, but I have lived through enough to trust it will be proven to be so rich and so good because He's taught me He is enough. He is what my soul longs formost deeply. It's in Him I find my joy and rest. And He will bring about good for me - a truer good than I aspire to for myself.

He has also just been so generous with me. Every day I get to be mom to the two little walking miracles He knit together in my womb and gave to me. I get to see them discover the world and grow every day. I get to learn from and with them about what love really is in the deepest way I've ever known. And I also got to carry another miracle inside me for seven beautiful weeks, and when it went to live with the One it was made by and for, my God lovingly answered my weeping prayers to be able to see my baby and hold it to say goodbye. In holding my seven week old baby I was changed forever. It is now so deeply real to me that I have had a third child. If there are any other children to come, they will be my fourth, fifth, etc. I have been blessed with three beautiful children created in the image of God and given to me to love. Two of them I am blessed to have here with me and the other one I will be with someday when I see Jesus face to face. So many people far more deserving than I long and weep for these blessings that I have received by the grace of God. It is all grace - wonderful, merciful, grace. It is who God is. He is so good and I have much to be thankful for.

So this week we put our crib away for the first time since starting our parenting journey. It may never be used again in our family. And I can embrace what has passed and whatever is before us with a joyful heart - even in the midst of pain at times - because I know Him who heals the brokenhearted and promises far far better is to come. One day when I die I will live in the presence of the One who has made me, chosen me, saved me, kept me, and walked with me every day of this broken life. My children, while great joy-givers, cannot ultimately satisfy me or fulfill me. The only One who satisfies the voids and longings in my heart with Himself is God because He is perfect in love. One day He will make me and all who trust in Him finally whole. And that changes everything about how I live today.

Life After Miscarriage and What to Say to the Hurting

I took an impromptu hiatus from blogging the past month. I've been soul-searching and sifting and life prioritizing. I've been trying to figure out if a blog can/should have a place in this busy season of my life with two little ones at home; and if so, what it should be about and how much of my time I should be devoting to it. I'd love to hear your feedback. Ultimately I have to prayerfully decide what the purpose of this blog will be, but it would be helpful to hear your thoughts on it. What do you get out of what I write? Is it worth continuing? What would you want to see more of/less of? You have all been such wonderful readers. I would love any feedback you'd like to give. I'm not fully sure what it will look like, but I figure for now I will at least put up a couple posts that I had already written over the past few weeks. 

*****

A glimpse into little life moments and thoughts as I carry on life after a miscarriage:

Thoughts of the baby come to my mind while playing UNO with my four year-old son. Immediately I feel the twinge of sadness, and right then, without knowing how much I need it, my boy lays down his cards and comes over to me saying, "Mommy, I want to give you a hug." Tears come in my sweet little boy's arms and I tell him how much he comforted me right when I needed it.

At our grandparents 85th birthday party we were talking about how there are exactly 50 in the family right now but it just keeps growing as so many are having babies each year. My heart sinks a little as I realize my sweet baby was supposed to be next to make it 51 in February, but no longer will.

I keep trying to do everything I usually do for life to run smoothly and happily, but cannot seem to light a spark of motivation. I don't feel myself. I am trying, but I feel so weighed down by an underlying sadness that is tinting life right now and making even simple tasks more difficult.

Walking through a store, I see the baby section. I feel numb, but also aware there's nothing numb about it at all. I'm just too tired to let myself tap into all the sadness inside. The question hangs in the back of my mind: Will I ever need this section of a store again? Do I ever even want to risk losing again?

A dear aunt asks me how I'm really doing and I can't help but cry again. She then tells me of the two babies she lost that I never knew about. It's life giving to hear someone else has been here and gives me permission to still be crying about it. 

When I take photos of my two living kids, it looks like someone is always missing to me now. 

I look back at the pictures from the short time I was pregnant with our sweet baby and both amazement and longing washes over me. "There the baby was with us!" Yet never again.

I'm making supper at the cottage on our vacation with my husband's family and it hits me that it was this weekend I was supposed to be going into my second trimester and would have reached the "safe zone" to blast the news far and wide that I was expecting. I still can't believe I found out just how right they are about those delicate first few months.

Sometimes before I fall asleep I lay on my back with my hand on my empty belly and remember how just a few weeks ago it seemed every day to be growing larger and rounder (your belly grows crazy fast when it's your third). I wonder if it ever will again ... and if I even want it to.

Seeing our friends' pregnancy and birth announcements are no longer only joyful. I'm SO happy for each one of them but they are also reminders of my own loss now too. And I hate that. I miss being able to give a completely joy-filled congratulations. And yet perhaps my joy is deeper for them now. I am more thankful to God with them than I could have been before because I know the life and health of our babies is not guaranteed. My congratulations may hurt a little to give now, but I mean them more than ever.

I'm playing with a puzzle with my son and he says he is thinking about the baby again. "Mommy, I'm sad. I really wanted to give it kisses and snuggle our baby. Why did it have to die?" Oh, my dear boy, I wish I knew the answer to that.

I can't seem to stop getting hit with moments of grief out of nowhere. I fear sometimes even my extremely caring and supportive husband will soon grow tired of hearing that I'm thinking about the baby again. I start to feel like I should maybe start to keep it all to myself more. That's also partly why I haven't been blogging recently. 

Holding my friends' babies is delightfully healing and yet achy all at once. How I longed for this with my baby. I wonder if I'll ever hold one of my own again. But yet I've never treasured these little lives more than I do now, no matter who they belong to. I breath in their warmth, feeling the tickle of their soft hair and thank God for life.

Somehow, though for a long time I didn't think it could, it seems time has helped and I seem to be coming out of the thick cloud of grief. I feel a bit more like myself again. I do still tear up and feel the loss often, but it's with a deep joy and a heart at peace now. I have a beautiful silver bracelet I wear that my dearest girlfriend bought for me on what we didn't know would end up being my very last day with my baby. It's made from a Victorian Rose silver spoon and I wear it to remind me of my little rosebud that never got to bloom. I can be found from time to time staring at it with happiness in my heart now, remembering my little one, knowing she's in the arms of my Jesus and I will meet her someday.

I wanted to share these snippets with you to help someone who hasn't been through a miscarriage understand a little of what it feels like, and to encourage those who have or are going through a miscarriage that someone else feels a bit of what you do. However, I don't dare pretend that everyone who goes through a miscarriage feels the same. We are all unique and will grieve and process accordingly. 

In many ways I have felt about as spoiled as I could be going through this. And I want to thank you, dear reader, for that. I have felt many things since the night I lost my baby, but I have not once felt alone in this. I am humbled, encouraged, and strengthened by the outpouring of love from so many during this time. I have received so many messages - each one so precious to me - from those who say they don't know what to say except that they care to those who have or are walking this road too. You have all been so sweet and encouraging as I open up and let strangers as well as friends into this painful loss in my family's life. 

For years before this happened to me I wondered how to best support and love someone through a miscarriage. I wondered what I would or should say or do if a friend were to go through it. I would read articles and tips for being sensitive to them. Then a friend of mine did go through it just about a week before I did. That week before I joined her, I floundered, not knowing what to say or not to say. I loved her and just wanted her to feel I was there for her, but I didn't know the best way to do that (and thankfully she was very gracious with me as I learned). 

Now having gone through both sides of it, I've realized that the most encouraging thing you can do for someone who is going through a miscarriage (and any form of grief really) is to 1) acknowledge that you know it happened and 2) that you care and are so sorry. You don't have to know what to say beyond that. Sometimes when we push ourselves to say something beyond that when we don't know what it feels like to go through it, we end up unintentionally saying things that can hurt that person a little. Mourn with those who mourn - it really is that simple. All the good purposes God has for suffering in our lives will be revealed to them naturally later. For now, just be there to listen, pray and support. I am so grateful to so many who have done just that for me.

Images from unsplash.com

One Month In

One month ago today we lost our third child when I miscarried at 7 weeks. The past few days I have found myself back in the thick of grief over our baby lost. Seeing newborn babies and pregnancy announcements have begun to sting a little. Thankfully it's not in the least of resentment, but of pain, longing, and an almost unbearable panic that I cannot undo what has happened - a reminder of what was going to be but now will not be. I cannot bring back my baby, the growing belly, the hopes and dreams held in that littlest baby lost all too soon. Some days this month I would almost make it through without thinking about the baby. But then it would flood back. A month ago my womb and my future held a third sweet baby I loved and anticipated cradling in my arms. That dream, when recalled, agonizingly slips through my fingers like sand to the earth. My heart is broken.

My first midwife appointment was scheduled for this Friday at 9 am. I was going to hear that sound of a heartbeat that is not mine yet is sheltered within my body. There is nothing like the first time you hear the sound of the heartbeat of your baby. It's always made me laugh and weep at the same time. So much joy! And now it rips through my chest that this baby's heart started and stopped with no one but its Maker to hear it. And though I'm not supposed to, I wonder quietly sometimes, "What if I did something to cause it to stop?" The baby was the size it should have been at 7 weeks so the slip on the deck stairs two days before I miscarried haunts me. I can't fault myself with what was an accident, but it grieves me to think that my have been the cause. What if I just hadn't walked out there that dewy morning? ... This thinking gets me no where but it's there all the same. What if? ...

Images of that night come to my mind out of nowhere sometimes. I had no idea how long a miscarriage could last. I bled three weeks, had a few days relief, and now it has started up again. Every sight of it is like a slap in the face, pulling me back to the freshness of the reality that I essentially gave birth but the baby is gone. All of it leaves me with a hollow aching, a pain new to my heart. How do you move forward from here? Sometimes people hint toward us trying for more children. How on earth do I either have more children or end childbearing on this note? Neither seems bearable to me right now. The empty spot in our family no further children could fill or make us forget. Nothing can replace that baby or fix this ache. Only heaven. There alone lies the Balm to this wound in my heart. 

Source

Oh Father, giver of life and breath. You number all of our days and You care for our sweet child now in Your presence. I know it is better where You are, but my momma heart is still aching, breaking. How do I move forward when in some ways my heart feels buried with my baby in that little grave? Life isn't what I thought it would be. It's somehow both better than I could have imagined and yet also full of more pain and loss than I ever fathomed could coexist with such joy. Thank you for Your comfort offered to the grieving, Your steadfast love that does not change, the peace You freely give in Christ, and the joy You have bestowed that abides deeper and more surely than mere circumstantial happiness. Please draw near to me and any others whose hearts are aching like mine today.

But now, this is what the Lord says --

He who created you, Jacob,

He who formed you, Israel:

'Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have summoned you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.

When you walk through the fire you will not be burned;

the flames will not set you ablaze.

For I am the Lord your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour.

Isaiah 43:1-3a

Permission to Mourn after Miscarriage

I know I haven't posted anything in a while. I haven't really known what to say. I have some posts I wrote a few weeks ago - thoughts about decorating my house or whatnot - thoughts that seemed worth sharing then but just don't feel authentic right now. To write about that would feel too much like I was pretending. 

But my fear in writing about what is real to me right now is that it would feel like overkill to many readers. There is a subtle pressure to move quickly through grief and out the other side, usually because it's difficult for people to know how to be around someone who is hurting. I can understand that.

However, as I've thought and prayed about it, I know I need to just write about what is on my heart right now. So that is what I'm going to do, understanding completely that for some it may be of no interest. But for the one who wants to, who needs to hear from another who feels what you do, I write for you.

*****

It's been almost two weeks since my miscarriage, and the strangest part is how quickly life goes back to normal. The sense of normalcy is almost enough to convince me that nothing ever happened. The busyness, the joys, the work, the routines; they are all playing out as before. In some ways the memory of that terrible night feels as though it may have just been a bad dream.  

There was a perfectly beautiful warm summery evening last week. I was making supper to the sound of my children squealing with delight as I watched them through the kitchen window as they splashed around in the pool with my husband.

Joy.

My heart felt like it might just burst from it. Not only joy, but love and thankfulness welled up inside of me - for these beautiful blessings in my life - my amazing husband, my precious kids, this beautiful house God provided for us, the food on our table. Yet in the very same moment, without even having to look in that direction, I had a constant awareness of the little garden plot where my littlest blessing lies buried with a piece of my heart. This is my daily reality since my miscarriage - the truest joy and the deepest aching pain. And I think the pain of losing that little life we loved has made the joy of all I do have all the more palpable. I can honestly say that I'm completely mourning and I'm incredibly joyful at the same time. It is a strange experience, but one that I find echoed in the Scriptures: "sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" (2 Cor. 6:10).

I have found that one of the traps you can fall into after a miscarriage is playing mental games to minimize the reality of what happened so you can move on as quickly as possible. It's easy to tell yourself that it wasn't that big of a deal because the baby was only a few weeks old and you never really got to know it, and so on and so forth. This tendency is often reinforced by the fact that most people assume this to be your experience. The reasoning is that, because you never knew it alive, it will be easier to move on quickly. It's not really like losing a child. And while some may find this reasoning convincing, the reality of what did happen is that we lost a child. I may have only known I was pregnant for three weeks before I lost my baby, but a mother's heart loves quickly and eternally (and thank God that it is so).

I got to hold my baby, unlike many women who miscarry. In one sense, it didn't feel like I was holding a baby. A part of me wondered if it even was the baby because it didn't resemble a baby at all (it was only confirmed later, after an ultrasound and a discussion with a doctor). But in that moment as I held it, wept, and felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest, I also sensed that I was standing on holy ground. I was overwhelmed by the great sanctity of life.  I knew then in a tangible way what I had believed for a long time: God knits each of us together in our mother's wombs and every human being - no matter how small, how short a life lived, how disabled, how shameful, how broken or lost they feel in life - has great worth in God's eyes and ought to in ours too. We have become a society that values usefulness and productivity to the extent that if a being cannot be a functioning member of society or might hinder that society's progress, they are treated as unworthy of our time, affection, sacrifice, money, and sometimes, unworthy to keep on living. This dehumanizing tendency in our culture can make someone who has lost a child through miscarriage feel as though the life they lost was not worth as much as another life.  

So to the mom who has miscarried a sweet baby, let yourself feel the loss. Of course we will not always feel the pain as poignantly as we do at first, but we will always miss the child we so deeply wanted to hold in our arms.

I need to mourn my baby, not only because I need it for my own emotional health, but also because my baby is worth my remembering and my honouring. There was life that ended in death, just like I too one day will die. "I will go to him, but he cannot return to me" (2 Samuel 12:23). I look forward to the day that I will meet my baby, and in the midst of the present sorrow, it brings me deep joy to think of it. 

(All images in this post from unsplash.com)

The First Day of Moving Forward

** I just wanted to express a deep, heart-felt thank you from my family for the outpouring of love, encouragement, and prayers from so many after my last post. We have felt the prayers of so many. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. **

Yesterday was Phil's first day back at work after our miscarriage and my first day forced into checking back into my life and responsibilities. I feel more thankful than ever for my children (we had a sweet morning making pancakes together, reading, and talking) and yet at the same time stuck in a mental fog that I can't seem to get out of. The demands, injuries, cries, and squabbles of my daily life keep me focused on the here and now, but in the quiet moments I also find myself drifting off, re-processing everything, and shedding tears.

The night of the miscarriage, I was surprised how even at only 7 weeks it felt so much like mild labour. I woke from a fitful sleep at precisely 3:17 AM to the sight of my baby. The air was hot and sticky and that moment - alone in the quiet stillness, holding my third child the size of a bean - was surreal and heart shattering, but it was also a direct answer from my loving Father to my exhausted prayers from the evening before. I had wanted to see my baby, to hold it, I needed that reality of goodbye - and God gave me that.

The next morning I could barely eat my breakfast. We dropped our kids off with our dear friends at church and headed to the hospital. Now I am truly thankful for hospitals, but I also truly dislike being in them. This visit was hours long, it was for some strange reason freezing in there (even though it was one of the hottest days of the summer), the procedures ranged from uncomfortable to excruciating, and only one of the half-dozen staff members I dealt with seemed to be blessed with the ability to show human compassion to a heart-broken patient. That’s maybe a bit harsh, but let’s just say I was hoping for at least a hint of compassion and a bit less incomprehensible medical lingo.

Phil and I buried our little one late Monday night. It wasn't anything particularly thought-out or ceremonial. We just kind of did it. It was late and the kids were in bed. It's a strange thing to do, but it seemed like the least awful thing to do, compared to putting it in the garbage or flushing it down the toilet. I’ve never had to worry about what to do with the tiny body of a little being that never quite got to start living. I felt everything and yet nothing all at once as the dirt covered that tiniest of boxes.

Jackson's tender little heart still is one of the saddest parts of this all. After a day in which looking at him you wouldn't guess it was affecting him at all or even on his mind anymore, last night he was playing quietly with his trucks at our feet when he said, "Mommy, I hope someday we could have another baby, and that it won't die. I don't want all the babies to die.” By which he means he doesn’t want ANY babies to die. My sweet boy. My heart aches for him. It's particularly hard to hear this because right now I can't imagine ever feeling ready to be pregnant again. Pregnancy has never been easy on me, but now I feel like it would be petrifying every step of the way. I don't know what God has in store for us, but that's how I see it now. However, I also realize it's only been a few days since our loss and feelings can change over time.

I feel strange now, not sure how or if I can move forward. My routines and goals that just a week ago brought joy and a sense of freedom now feel like dreaded chores or like clothes that don't quite fit right anymore. Last night I couldn't sleep because of the thoughts swirling in my head. Even this morning as I forced myself to at least get out for a short walk before the kids woke up, I found my mind consumed with what caused this or what I could have done differently to prevent it. The accuser is there pointing the finger. Did I drink too much coffee? Should I not have started running? Was it that little slip I had a few days before that I thought for sure couldn't have hurt anything? On and on it goes, more questions with no answers.

The truth I'm clinging to when the "why's" begin in my head is that God loves me. God Himself knit that baby together in my womb and He loves that baby even more than we do. He knows why it was best this way. He knows why He gave and why He took away. I am not God. I cannot see the beginning or the end. I cannot see the full picture. Some day I will see how all of this was woven into His good and perfect plan. But for today, I choose to have faith in this God who loves me and gave His child for me.

Jesus, I need you. Please put a hedge around my thoughts and my heart and strengthen my faith. Be glorified in this in my life. May an abiding sense of Your deep compassion and love be near any others who are walking through this today. Amen.

God is our refuge and strength, 

an ever-present help in trouble. 

Therefore we will not fear, 

though the earth give way 

and the mountains fall into 

the heart of the sea, 

though its waters roar and foam 

and mountains quake with their surging.

There is a river whose streams 

make glad the city of God,

the holy place where the Most High dwells.

God is within her, she will not fall;

God will help her at break of day.

Psalm 46:1-5

A Sadness and a Song

** Disclaimer : This post is about miscarriage and does use some graphic imagery that might make some people uncomfortable. **

I was looking forward to sharing a different kind of ultrasound image with you. One with a cute little bean-sized bouncing baby in it.

But I never got to see that ultrasound. 

Instead, I have this image, showing that my miscarriage is complete. In the sterilized language of medical professionals, "there is now no evidence of pregnancy." 

I saw my little chickpea and got to say a goodbye in the dark quietness of a hot, summer night. I never knew how much you could love a little life that still looked so little like a human and so much like an alien. Somehow that didn't matter to me at all. I never knew how a mother's love could lead you to sift through water and blood to find the one I had hoped someday to hold and kiss. Some would claim it was just a fetus, a "mass of tissue" without even arms or legs yet; but as the one who lost and held it anyway, I promise you it was an eternal soul and a human body. And I held it with as much tenderness as I would have a newborn baby. 

I'm sure there may be more to share in the coming months as my family and I process this loss and grief. But I wanted to share because I know there are countless others who have walked this path and others who will yet.  

The deepest encouragement to my husband and I through the night as we lost our sweet child was this song by Nathan Clark George called "Oh My Child". I pray that it might minister to any other hearts trembling through this kind of loss.

Oh my child, I don't even know 

if you are a girl or a boy.

Oh, my Lord, please, if you would,

give a name you might enjoy.

It's hard to let go just as soon as you know 

you've been given a life.

Your mom and dad are hand in hand

with your brother in my lap

praying,

 'Father, take our child.'

Oh Lord, be near us now.

The heart grows faint,

broken tears flow down;

in You there's strength.

Oh Lord, your promises of old

bring strength to weary minds.

And now for this new eternal soul

bring in the bond of Christ.

Oh my child, I don't even know

if you are a girl or a boy.

Oh my Lord, please, if you would,

give a name you might enjoy.

It's hard to let go just as soon as you know 

you've been given a life.

Your mom and dad are hand in hand

with your brother in my lap

praying,

'Father, take our child' 

praying 

'Father, take our child.'

We would appreciate your prayers. Jackson is old enough to understand what has happened. He was so excited for this baby and is taking it hard. When we first told him the sad news, he immediately said we needed to pray and ask God to heal the baby. When we explained it was too late and the baby was gone and with God now, he came to me later feeling sad and said that God hadn't done a good job of taking care of our baby. 

He is four years old and wrestling with possibly the deepest theological question we all inevitably face: "How can God be good when bad things happen?" Pray for us as we shepherd his heart through his own grief. 

I also want to thank every person who was with us through it - both in person, hugging me as I cried and helping with the kids; and those loving and supporting us with tender words from afar. We feel exceedingly blessed with beautiful friends and family.

And to our third little baby: we love you, miss you, will never forget you, and cannot wait to meet you someday.

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 

I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 

And I heard a loud  voice from the throne saying, 

'Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and He will dwell with them. 

They will be His people, and God Himself will be with them and be their God. 

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. 

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'"

Revelation 21:1-4