Samuel's Birth Story

Hello friends.  It has surely been awhile hasn't it? The last time I posted in this space, we had just lost our second born to polycystic kidney disease.  It saddens me to say that shortly after we lost Caleb, we were blessed with another pregnancy, with another child, who would also carry the genetic marker for polycystic kidney disease.  We lost our third son Samuel two months ago. Slowly we are healing.  Projects are being started. Changes are being made to our space that will bring more light and life into our rhythms.  Changes. So many different changes.  I have missed this space.  Missed sharing in this online journal of all of the creative endeavors that have been happening in our rhythm.  I tried to start an entry and write about what we have been up to lately... but it just didn't seem right.  To move on as if our third son Samuel had never existed in this little virtual pocket of space that I claim.  So I'd like to share with you his birth story, of the blessing that he was.  It is listed below if you have the heart to read it.  

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Samuel’s Birth Story

Samuel, it would be impossible to tell your birth story without speaking of your brother Caleb.  For your lives are so intertwined with each other my sweet boy.  The lessons you both brought us so different and yet so the same.  So much heartache and so so much love. 

            We lost your brother Caleb Keaka on July 10, of 2016.  My pregnancy with him was smooth, there was no reason to suspect complications.  I gave birth to him back home on the Big Island at North Hawaii.  He came early, 36 weeks and 6 days.  When he was born, he couldn’t cry.  He just curled up on me and looked so tired.  When they cut his chord he started to turn blue.  The staff took him away to the nursery to try and help his oxygen levels increase.  Your dad followed him out of the room.  I wasn’t worried for him.  I knew that the Lord would keep him.  For five hours the staff there labored over him.  They couldn’t find out what was wrong.  Why his lungs wouldn’t work.  I walked out once to check on him and the stress level in the hall from the staff was so tangible you could taste it in your mouth.   It was a palatable panic that clung to you.  Settled on you like a layer of sweat.  Your brother was connected to several breathing apparatuses; his lungs were pierced with needles in attempt to relieve pressure.  Blood was drawn several times.  His poor little body went through so much.  And yet he fought.  Oh Samuel, your brother was a fighter.  Like you, his heart was so strong. 

            Five hours after he was born, his strong little fight gave out.  His heart stopped.  A part of your dad and me stopping with him.  

            Your dad told me that your brother had passed away.  “Baby didn’t make it,” he said. Your father looked so broken.  Caved inward.  We held onto each other.  Two parts lifting each other up in an unsteady upright position. We held on to the single most comforting thought we possessed within ourselves – the Lord knows.  Even if nothing else made sense.  Even if it seemed that everything that was solid and stable were somehow reversing polarity and coming undone.   The Lord knows.  And we trusted in that.  Were carried by that.

            When we went home, everything was empty and confusing.  Anticipated homemade newborn baby clothes and spaces were put away and rearranged. 

            There were so many questions. 

            Your brother Caleb taught us to accept.  To accept that the Lord’s will would be done in our lives.  Your dad and I woke up every night to pray for the grace that we would need in order to accept.  In order to endure.  You see, there was such emptiness afterwards.  My body, which had carried your brother could no longer feel his kicks.  My arms were so empty.  They longed for the weight of him.  My body hurt to take care of him. 

            I remember the moment that I wished for you.  A few months afterwards I cried out to the Lord for a child of comfort.   A child that would comfort the empty.  A son that we could train up to lead and serve Him.  I told the Lord that if He answered me I would name him Samuel.  Because we ‘asked of the Lord’.  That we would raise this child of comfort for Him.  That we would return this child of comfort to Him. And you know what little one?  He answered me.  Three months after we lost your brother, He gave us you.  Your little life came into existence.  A small light in the darkness.  The emptiness was filled with hope. 

            I carried you with the knowledge that our God was your creator.  That He would form you for the work that He had for you.  I knew with every fiber in my body that He could make you healthy and whole.  But a part of me didn’t know His intentions for you.   So I always spoke about you with hope, but I made room in my heart for the Lord’s plans to be different from my own. 

            I remember when you were twenty weeks old, your dad and I got into a fight.  I can’t recall what we fought about – some silly trivial thing.  But I sat in the living room upset and crying and I felt you flutter.  For the first time I felt you move.  My little child of comfort – comforting me in my distress.  Afterwards I remember being afraid.  As the days went on and I could feel you moving and living and growing, a fear gripped my heart.  I wanted to keep you so much.  I wanted you to be healthy and whole so bad that every fiber in me burned.  As if I could create you into perfect health by my own sheer will.  That longing for you wasn’t of the Lord though.  I knew that I had to long more for His will in my life than for you.  That the only way my heart would survive His plans being different from my own was if I sought His kingdom first.  His desires first.  It didn’t stop me from longing for you – but by putting the Lord’s will in my life first, it helped me to keep my eyes on our Savior.  Our anchor. 

            I started memorizing parts of Psalm 139: 13-16

For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
¹⁴ I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.^[a]
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
    the days that were formed for me,
    when as yet there was none of them.

            I would repeat this over and over again whenever the panic came – out loud.  So that we would both hear it.  It was a reminder that the Lord was forming you for a purpose.  Every part of you belonged to Him.  That I was just a steward that was being entrusted with you.  And those thoughts brought me peace and helped me stay focused.

            Because of your brother passing away from PKD, a genetic kidney disease, your father and I were driving to Hilo for our ultrasound appointments for you. Every time they checked you, my heart would beat so fast. At 29 weeks we were told that you carried the same disease as your brother. That we would have to relocate to Oahu in order to wait for delivery. You see, they had doctors who would be able to help both you and I.  So when you were 33 weeks we packed our things and flew to Oahu. 

            We stayed with the Lewis family and attended the assembly in Kaneohe.  They were such blessings little one.  Taking care of us and teaching us so much about generosity and hospitality. As they took care of us I was constantly reminded of the Israelites wandering in the desert.  Although the Lord took them through a 40 year trial – He provided for their every need.  The sandals on their feet never wore out.  And He fed them bread from heaven and provided water from impossible sources. 

            I would wake up early with you.  Once at two o’clock and then at five o’clock.  At two o’clock I would sit in the dark and pray.  Pray for you – for all that I wanted for you.  Pray for your daddy who had to carry so much. For your brother Liam, who was watching us and learning from us during this time of trial.  And the Lord would bring such peace Samuel.  You caused me to spend so many sacred hours with our Lord.  Learning about Him.  Learning to walk with Him. After I prayed and sang for you a while, I would crawl back into bed and we would listen to praise songs on my phone.  One earphone for me and one for you.  You loved music.  You would flutter and dance. 

 At five I would get up, and sit outside with my coffee and bible and start the day with you.   Reading to you of the Lord’s promises.  Praying for you.  Singing to you.  Thanking the Lord for you – for everything that you were giving me.  Even before you were born Samuel you were teaching me things.  You were giving me opportunities to learn and to walk by faith.  I am so humbled by your life.  By your ministry. 

You were a breach baby.  Your head resting under my ribs and your feet near my left hip.  Some days were so painful I would have to lie down for most of it.  But I would put my hand on your head and pray for you.  I loved you and treasured you even during those moments of discomfort.  Because I knew the days that I had with you were limited.  And I held those moments of your heart beating and your flutters and your kicks and your hiccups all so close.  Treasuring them and putting them to memory. 

Because you were breach you had to be delivered via c-section.  I must admit that I was scared.  I had never had a major surgery and I prayed so hard that you would turn.  But it seemed like the Lord was wanting us to go this route.  When we heard what it would take to turn you, or to deliver you breech– my heart didn’t have it in me.  Thinking of everything that you might have to endure once you were delivered – the medical procedures you might have to go through – it brought a stillness to the fear in order to go through the c-section procedure.  If I could make your journey into this world a little easier with a c-section then it became such a small easy thing to do.    

Our c-section was scheduled for when you would be 37 weeks and 1 day old. So many people from home were planning on coming with us. But just like Caleb, you wanted to come at 36 weeks and 6 days.  It was a Thursday evening. After dinner my water broke and we went in to the hospital.  They checked me and were surprised that I was already 6 inches dilated. Things went fast after that.  It seemed like it wasn’t even an hour and then we were prepped and wheeled to the OR for surgery.  C-section was like a dream.  Like I was going through it outside of myself.  The NICU doctor and team were there in the room with us – waiting for you.  I could hear your little cry when they took you from me and were working on you.  Before the surgery was finished Dr. Walker, your doctor, wheeled you over to me and told me that your lungs were tight.  That you would probably not survive.  Then he touched my head and looked at me with such kindness and compassion in his eyes.  And then you were wheeled out and daddy went with you.  It took a while to come out of surgery.  And when I did grandma Aurea was with me. 

I was worried for your dad.  He suffered so much with your brother Caleb. But our God provided comfort and grace and although no visitors were allowed with him in the NICU, Brother Lonnie was able to sit with him while they worked on you.  I didn’t know about Brother Lonnie being with daddy until later.  But don’t you see God’s mercies through it all sweetheart?  Once again providing every grace.  

Daddy and Dr. Walker came in after a while and told me that your lungs were too under developed to grow.  That we could put you on a breathing machine but all it would do would be to breathe for you.  Your lungs wouldn’t grow.  Wouldn’t change.  Daddy and I had prayed about what to do at this point.  And we were convinced that the Lord wouldn’t be pleased if we tried to hold onto you for us.  Instead we would hold you and love you and prepare you to return to the Father who formed you and knew your days. 

The staff at Kapiolani hospital were so giving.  They arranged a large room for us to recover in, where all of those who had gathered to support us could be with us when you were brought to me.  Shortly after I was settled in the room, the NICU staff came in with you. They gave you a shot of morphine to make you comfortable. You had a breathing tube and one of the nurses pumped air for you while they placed you in my arms. 

You my son, were very beautiful.  My eyes drank in every detail – tracing you into my heart.  It took me a while to find my voice.  But when I could, I started singing to you about our God. About desiring to behold His temple.  And Samuel, my sweet sweet boy – you opened one eye, and then the other – and you looked like you knew me.  You watched me sing to you for a while and I sang all of the songs that were in my heart for you.  I held your hand and daddy held onto your little foot and we sang to you about our Great God.  How He is mighty and strong.  I read to you from Psalm 139.  And both of your grandmothers were able to hold you and pour their love into you and say goodbye.  And then when we were ready to take your breathing tube out, everyone there held hands and Brother Lonnie prayed for you. 

And little one – just like your brother, your heart was so strong.  Even after you stopped breathing, your little heart beat for a good while.  And I held you close and your warm body was so comforting that I fell asleep.  Daddy held you close and when you left this earth you were warm and comfortable and wrapped in all of the love that we could give. 

Everyone stayed with us for several hours.  Daddy told me later that he was able to wash your hair so that we could take a strand of it to remember you by.  The staff there was so loving and they spent as much time with us as they could in helping us to prepare you and to say goodbye. 

I woke up and we all joined hands again and Brother Lonnie prayed for us.  And then the family went home and grandma stayed with me in the hospital and daddy went to be with your brother. 

Samuel – my child of comfort.  The comfort that I longed for wasn’t what I had imagined, but the Lord’s ways are not our ways son.  The Lord brought a deeper comfort.  Being able to say goodbye to you – being able to pour our love into you and watching you be comfortable and free of panic and pain – that was comfort.  The grace that the Lord provided during all of the trials leading up to that point, was a comfort.  The comfort that you brought wasn’t anything that the world and this life could ever give us – but a spiritual comfort.  A spiritual hope.  A spiritual joy. 

Your ministry was so short – but it burned. Like slow moving lava, burning bright and changing everything that it touched.  For little one you changed us.  Gave us such a deep understanding of how to be afraid in the Lord, how to hope and to trust in Him.  The Lord used you to mold us into something useful to Him.  We don’t know that purpose yet – but we are starting to understand more and more. 

Samuel Maikalani.  Samuel means ‘asked of the Lord’ and Maikalani means ‘from heaven’.  My son whom I asked for that the Lord gave me from heaven.  My child of comfort.  Daddy and I are grateful for you.   And even if we had a chance to choose –  we still would have chosen you.  Just as you were my perfect little boy. Thank you my sweet sweet son.  For all that you have done and all that you have given us.

To God be the Glory.