Kari's Letter

The following is a letter that Kari wrote for the baby she miscarried, whom they named Peace.

August 2, 2007
My Dear Baby Peace,
I still find it hard to believe that you're in heaven and not with us. I miss you so much. You are a part of me and I love you. I know that God works all things together for our good, so that we will be made more like Christ, which means that we will be made more like Christ, which means there is no doubt that God decided to take you to heaven early for a reason. I probably won't ever fully understand why, but I am certainly forever changed and I will never forgets you or any part of your little life.
We arrived in Morocco in July, and Papi didn't want us to have another baby during the year that we were in language school learning Arabic, so I agreed to wait, even though I was very ready for Baby #3.
By February, Papi agreed to start trying. I had conceived your older brothers, Eric and Ben, within two weeks, and I fully expected the same thing to happen again. However, the first pregnancy test March 12th was negative and I was disappointed.
However, I decided to take another test on March 25th, and was ecstatic to discover that I was finally pregnant! Tata Rachel helped me plan a night when I could take Papi out to dinner to an Italian restaurant like I had done with my other two pregnancies, and present him with the card that I made, announcing your existence. He was so happy, too.
I really wanted a girl, and Nana and Tata Rachel were convinced that you were a girl, but I also said, "If God chooses to give me another boy as sweet as the two that I have, that's fine with me, too." Honestly, I was just thrilled to know that you were inside me and that I was your Mami!
Soon after, Papi and I started looking for a house in Dar Bouazza. We made the trip by train the first two weekends of April and in between, while back in Fez, we snuck out to the doctor's office without Nana knowing so that we could find out when you would be born. (We wanted to surprise her and Papa with the news Easter Sunday.)
In that first ultrasound picture, you were so small we could hardly see you. It was too early to see a heartbeat, so Dr. Bentouri asked us to come back the following week. We agreed.
That Thursday we went back to Dar Bouazza for the second time, decided on a house in Jack's Beach, met with the landlord and signed the rental contract, all in a rush so that we could be back in Fez in time to celebrate Easter with Papa and Nana and your brothers.
Sunday morning we sat outside in our garden and Papa read from the Children's Bible and Jesus' death and resurrection. The purple wisteria was in full bloom, hanging above our heads, and it was the perfect place to celebrate Life...and that included your little life, too!
Papa and Papi hid all of the colored, plastic eggs around the yard, and Eric and Ben searched high and low until they were all found, including the empty egg to remind us of Jesus' empty tomb, and the two eggs in which I'd hid little pieces of paper that read, "Is it a baby boy?" and "Is it a baby girl?" Papa and Nana helped the boys open all their eggs, and I took a picture of them laughing out loud when they realized what the little papers meant! They were excited to welcome you, their fourth grandchild, into the world.
Well, Papi and I went back to the doctor's office the next Thursday, excited to finally see your heartbeat. Imagine how crushed we were when there was still no heartbeat in your ultrasound, just you, silently floating inside me. I didn't understand - didn't want to understand Dr. Bentouri when she said, "You're going to miscarry." How could that be? Our journey together had just started! I was in tears and Papi held my hand really tight. Both of us were hoping that we had misunderstood her or that she had somehow made a mistake in what she was saying to us in a mixture of Arabic, English and French.
As we left her office, I was really crying, but trying desperately to hold in the tears as we walked through the waiting area, past all the happy, round tummies of the other expectant mothers who were waiting for their turn to see the doctor. I wanted you so badly!
Unable to talk, Papi and I just started to walk, in no particular direction. He put his arm around me and we both just let the tears freely fall. "Peace," I told him decidedly. "I want to name our baby Peace if Jesus is going to take this baby from us early, because God's Peace passes all understanding." Papi nodded his head in agreement, unable to talk really because his mind was reeling from the shock as well.
Somehow we ended up at Bab Milleh, the place in the old Jewish Quarter where antique furniture is lovingly repaired and resold. A few weeks before I had seen a large square footrest, its comfy cushion covered in rosey velvet, and since no one had bought it yet, we decided to go ahead and buy it. I told Papi, "Whether we get to keep this baby or not, this will be a visible reminder of God's faithfulness to us."
Going home to Tata Rachel and the boys was hard. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, but Eric and Ben greeted us with their usual happy faces and big hugs. That was comforting, but at the same time it just made m want to keep you even more! I wanted to be able to hold you in my arms and hug and kiss you, too!
Papi and I were sad, but still hopeful. Maybe I had ovulated late. Maybe you were conceived late. We decided to proceed with life as normal, pray that God would allow us to keep you, and wait. Waiting has never been easy for me, and the agony of this time was definitely far worse than any previous period of waiting.
I left the next morning for the women's retreat in Aoulouz, down by Agadir. The other two women from Fez, Tata Rachel and I met up with the others, including Nana, at the Casablanca airport. One look at Nana and I burst into tears in her arms all over again. I had called her the night before so that she'd know, but the pain was still so fresh.
By the end of the weekend, I'm happy to say that God's Peace was reigning in my heart. I had called Papi to reassure him that everything was going to be all right, even though I didn't know what that meant, and I returned to Fez confident that God was in control, regardless of whether we got to keep you. Papi and I continued to go to school as usual, and both of us felt Peace.
That Thursday, during the break between my morning classes, I noticed some bleeding. My heart sank with the realization that God was indeed taking you home to heaven. Somehow the knowledge that He wanted you with Him made it easier to get through the rest of the afternoon and whatever lay ahead, even though I didn't know what to expect.
Before Papi and I went to the clinic to meet with Dr. Bentouri, I wrote a quick email to my women of prayer, asking that they be praying for all of us. I'm grateful for the overwhelming response of love and comfort that we received from family and friends, both near and far, over the course of the next days, weeks and months. Papa and Nana even drove down from Tetouan the very next morning. I was thankful for their helpful, encouraging presence.
On Saturday, Papa took Papi and me to pick out a little cedar box for you. As we left the house, Eric and Ben were crying, so Tata Rachel reminded the boys that Jesus had taken you home early, and that you were no longer in my tummy. Eric said, "Tell me more, Tata; I want to hear the rest of the story." And so she talked about how you were in heaven singing to Jesus. With excitement, Eric declared, "I know what song Baby Peace is singing! She's singing..." And with that he started belting out his favorite song: "How Great is our God." Bu partway through he stopped himself. "No. Baby Peace isn't singing like that, she's singing like this..." And he began again in a sweet, soft voice:
"How great is our God,
Sing with me, how great is out God!
And all will see how great, how great, is our God!"
A couple weeks later, a special gift of love arrived at our door: A beautiful bouquet of a dozen red-tipped yellow roses, sent to us all the way from Southern California by dear friends of ours: Jay & Rachel St. John, Nate & Katie Orr, and Jason & Kami Mandell. They wanted us to know how much they loved us and were praying for us. When the roses started to fade, I dried them and used the petals to cushion you in your little wooden box.
Tata Rachel had heard of another family burying their baby in the old cemetery of the Anglican Church in Casablanca, and we were granted permission to do the same. I know you're in heaven, but I wanted the memory of you to be close to me, where we could visit the memory of you often.
So now we've buried your tiny little body, and planted a rosebush above you, a reminder of our little rose who is in heaven right now. I know that when Jesus calls me home, you'll be there in His arms, ready to run to me, giving me the biggest hug and saying, "I love you, Mami." That day we are all reunited in heaven will be a glorious day indeed.
My sweet Baby Peace, I love you and will always cherish the memory of you.
All my love,
Mami