His Grace Abides

Just Maybe...

2011-09-05T00:18:00.001-05:00

This post, as well as several others have been floating around in my head for some time now, and this one in particular needs to be released! We have been sooo busy lately. Not the usual busy, but a different kind of busy. The reason for our new found busy - ness will have to wait for another day... another post. (This time I will try not to let 6 months pass between posts :) This is a story that needs to be told - a story of God's gifts.

The setting: A family reunion weekend in my hometown. A weekend filled with hugs and laughs, questions and stories, and just a special time to spend with aunts, uncles, nephews, siblings, parents, and other relatives.

The time: Archer turned one the wednesday before, August 3rd, but we weren't able to celebrate his birthday yet, with a cake and candles and the hoopla that is so fun with a first birthday. We had hoped we would find time over the weekend with family, but we also had a big family picture, and we didn't know if it would all work out.

The characters --- aka - the people: My family. I have three sisters and one brother. We are all married with 2, 3, 4, and 4 children. Paige is my littlest sister and she is only 14 - needless to say she is not married or with child, but she is the coolest aunt any of the 11 nephews could ask for, and a pretty sweet aunt for the two nieces in the group. She is also a pretty special sister, and she closes the age gap between parents, siblings, nephews and nieces better than anyone --- playing with the youngest and keeping up adult conversations with the oldest. Such a fun dynamic for any family to have. My mom married my stepdad after my dad passed away when we were all younger. With all of the sorrow and confusion of losing a parent, I am not sure that his transition into our family was an easy one, but I have thanked God many times for the gift this man has been in my life.

The place: My family's farm... really a big house in the middle of farmland, much of which is farmed by my brother and stepdad. A beautiful spot with a view to the East that is usually breathtaking, but especially so in the summer with the fields full of life --- waves of grain, there is a reason it is called "the heart of the country."

The realization: I miss her more when we are with our whole family. When all are accounted for - each with his or her respective family. It is at these times that I miss Amelia the most. It is as if I am aware of her absence in a different way. I don't know why really. I mean, I am used to our family now. The three boys, P and I. It is familiar. We miss Amelia... we always will. But it feels normal. Sad but true, it feels normal. I am used to it.
As we were each lining our families up for photos, and placing people and moving this one over a smidge - you sit, no - stand here, scoot a little further in..... smile everyone - look here --- CHEESE!

The clouds: As soon as we headed back towards the house these clouds are building... and building... and pretty soon it is a massive wall cloud that everyone is ooohing and aaahing at. I have never seen anything quite like it.

The party: So the pictures ended and we all head back into the house for cake and ice cream. We will have time for Archer's birthday cake and singing after all, and we are also going to sing happy birthday to a couple others who recently had birthdays as well. But first --- to Archer. I mean, it is his FIRST birthday, and he was also borderline sleepy because it was nearing his bedtime. So on with the party

The backstory: So we called Archer our rainbow baby, and you can read about why from this post, when I first introduced him to you on this blog - http://hisgraceabides.blogspot.com/2010/05/introducing-our-newest-love.html When I think about Archer, my heart swells. Each and every day I feel blessed to call him my son. I love all of my children, that goes without saying, but the past year with him has been precious. He has the sweetest demeanor - so content. And at the same time a ham. What a precious gift - a precious rainbow baby, now filling our lives with so much joy.

The answered prayer: After the birthday song is done, and the candles were blown out (by Owen before Archer grabbed the flame) Archer is diving into his cake, and we are passing out cake and ice cream bowls. Someone looks to the East out the wall of windows at my parents' house and there in the sky, where the dark clouds had been was not one rainbow, but TWO. Arcing over the horizon in majestic form, I tried to not let the tears fall. I tried to smile - because how can you not smile when you see a cake covered face of your baby, and frosting smushed between every finger, and him grinning from ear to ear. Slowly, I look around to see faces caught off guard, some tear filled eyes, and more love in one room, so much so that my heart hurts. My mom says, "I prayed that God would send us a sign of Amelia today, during our pictures". She is missed not just by P and I when we are all together - the whole family. God answered her prayer, and His timing is perfect in all ways at ALL times. And if you could have seen those rainbows, you would agree with me that God is a bit of a show-off. Oh how He loves us.

Pictures hardly do justice to the naked eye view of things, but you can see the span of the rainbow in the top photo, and you can catch a glimpse of the larger second rainbow on the picture below. Thank you Jason and Cindi for the photos :)

The gift: This is the part of the post that has kept swirling in my head, and swirling and swirling.... and I'm just not exactly how to write it. I tried to tell my friend Jane about it the other day, and she "got it" because good friends do even if it doesn't make any sense when you say it, and even if you can't talk right because you are crying. Thanks, Jane. You see, the gift of a child in most peoples' minds starts from the very beginning. When you find out they exist, even before you know when they will arrive, before you know if they are a boy or a girl, your mind starts thinking about him or her. You imagine diapers and blankets, and giggles and cries. You think of all the things you can teach him or show her, the talks you will have, the memories you will make. The gift of a child is all the joys that you will have when raising them. The funny things that are said, and the cute faces that are made.

The gift of Amelia was harder to understand. It took awhile to see that even her short life was a gift to us. As short as it was we were blessed to have known her, to have prayed for her as her heart beat within me, and to have felt her kick, and to have seen her move and roll on the ultrasound screen. All things that we would never have wished away. Better to have had her for a short time than not at all. To most people we are a family of all things boy, but we know there is a sweet little girl who holds a very special place in our family. A touch of beauty that we were only able to hold for a little while - born sleeping in our arms, living in heaven this glorious day.

It is so impossible to explain, but just maybe, her gift to us is unfolding... little bits at a time. A quiet moment that P and I have in a bustling room filled with wedding goers and joyous hugs and smiles, and we miss her. Our eyes wet as tears dare to fall and our throats burn. And we share a closeness, a moment that I can't love him anymore than I do at that moment, and just maybe that is another gift to us from the One who made her. Just maybe she was never meant to jump and play in our home, but to bring us closer to eachother, to help us love our boys better.
I stand in my mom's living room and I peer at the double rainbow outside in all its beauty and think, just maybe... this was the gift we were meant to recieve. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I think --- this is a gift. We dreamed of the gift of giggles in the hall and squeals at dinnertime. Of curly pigtails and dresses and sparkly shoes. Those gifts are truly gifts - we are sure, but we are also sure that Amelia has allowed us to recieve gifts a plenty if we would only wait for them, and realize them. A gift to sisters and a mom who live states away from eachother, and yet we share tears and hugs at the sight of a rainbow-filled sky. Our differences melt away with hugs and smiles as heaven is brought close. As we share a sorrow, we receive a gift of closeness.

I think about heaven more.
I think about what our lives mean here on earth more.
I think about what God wants of me this day - for His kingdom's purpose.
I talk about her and I mention God and heaven to people I may have been afraid to before.

Just maybe the gift of a child is sometimes not what you dream of at all. Just maybe the sickness or death of your loved one is not what you feel is the best plan for your life or his or hers.
Sometimes life is not anything close to what we imagined it would be. I am still learning about our Creator and His love for us.

I will always be thankful for the gift of Amelia, the gift that is still unfolding in our lives.

The bottom line, I trust the Gift-Giver. The Giver of all things.

I put it on a shelf.

2011-03-14T12:29:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I throw them in a drawer, stack them (neatly) under my bed or on a shelf, occasionally I put them in a tote, or slide them in a closet. They are things I started, but have not finished. Some are books, others are crafts, most are papers or bills that need to be shredded or filed away... This inability to finish things is quite menacing. There are things that I do complete. Usually because I have to, or I really want to or need to. I am a happier person when I can see my counter tops free of dishes and papers. This is why I will finish cleaning the kitchen, or at least to the point where I can see the majority of the counter space. However, my habit or personality trait which causes me to leave things undone is not desirable. Because, the fact of the matter is, I eventually have to finish the "project" whatever it may be. And... it is ALWAYS more difficult to finish it later than to just be done with it near the time it started. The hiding of things, or putting it up or away for a short time alleviates the stress of having it sit right in front of you, and allows a temporary break from the project. Some people put projects up, to revisit them later, because that is what you have to do sometimes. Some things can not be finished in one sitting.

My problem arises more because that which I put up, to do more of later, almost never gets done later. It gets done... sometimes never. I have some new thing which comes and fills my time. As a mom, often times it is something I didn't plan for the day, but is nonetheless worthy of my time. Those things like cleaning up messes, sitting down for an impromptu "rocket star" concert, or looking for a boot that has gone missing, and that sort of thing. Usually I put one thing away to get to something more fun, and less taxing. This is why there is an unorganized stack of papers laying on top of the filing box, and an array of papers squeezed in between the wall and the shredder in the closet, and I have little problem saying, "I'll get to you later". I will get to it later... when I can't stand it anymore, when the sight of it I can take no longer, or when it is time to do taxes, or when I can't find an important paper, which needs to be found. Whatever the reason, I do eventually have to deal with the "put away" thing.

I know that grief is ongoing work. I knew this early on. It was so huge in my life, I had to deal with it. It would be like if the mound of dishes on my counter ---- I HAVE to deal with them, or I can't function. But now it is smaller. I don't trip over it everyday like I used to, I can look around it, or put it on a shelf.... for a while. I always know it is there, but sometimes I want to get to the more fun things. I (usually) have the choice now, almost two years later, whether I will get the tote of pictures and mementos out... whether I will pull up her pictures on my computer, and gaze at her sweet red hair. Most of the time, out of necessity I do other things. I hold Archer's rolly polly legs in my hands, and I pull the smell of his peach fuzz hair into my nostrils and breathe deep. I hug Ev and wonder how he got so big, and how he knows that the planet closest to the sun is really, really hot. I run my fingers through O's hair, and wonder when he stopped twisting it. I can't remember the last time I have seen him do that... has he grown out of that? already? Sigh...

I think about the first months after we lost Amelia, and how my arms were so very empty, and all I could do to get by was to pull her pictures out and look at the flowers and plants that were given to us, and fight back hot tears when I thought of all the hopes I had for her in our family, as our daughter, as the boys' sister. I think of how I planned on nursing her, holding her, rocking her, playing with her, filling my days with...... her. I still swallow a lump sometimes when I see a little girl about her age, and wonder. But now, I can put it on a shelf for a little while, and I can choose not to go there in my mind, or to get the pictures off the shelf. But sometimes it falls on my head, and I curse at it, wondering why it fell out of nowhere when I wasn't planning on getting it out. Sometimes I can just remember that it is there, that she is gone, and that she is in a glorious place, with her heavenly father, the King... and she has no tears of pain or sadness. I remember what almost always dried my tears, even in the earliest days after losing her. I think of Christ. I think of His sacrifice, and my cross seems much more bearable. If not for Jesus's sacrifice and His love for me, I wouldn't have the peace I have now. The peace that comes knowing she is waiting for me, the peace knowing I am forgiven, and I have a day to look forward to. A day and a place where everything is as it should be. Praying that His peace comforts you in your trials, and that His sacrifice changes you.

And some days I have to look at her pictures, and savor the sweetness of having her in our arms. I have to go there, to that place of missing her like crazy... again, and I have to live with the sadness and the joy all together - pell mell.

These Women on Wednesdays

2011-02-02T12:56:00.001-06:00

Sometimes a good practice for your marriage has something to do with other women, and your spouse isn't even there.... Just a filling of your spirit, a refreshing of you.

For several months now, I have been going to a Bible study on wednesday mornings. With three littles, a head full of busy and nothing, at the same time, a house full of laundry and dishes (mostly dirty), a car full of cracker bits and milk splatters... it is good to fill your heart with what really matters so that you can let that which is both life giving and spiritually enriching overflow into this life of mine... and into the lives of those so very dear to me. I try and find quiet time here and there to feed my soul, and refresh. It is sooo very hard it seems, although maybe that is just an excuse sadly. And on this wednesday morning, with no school... again (snowday # 2) and with no Bible study, these women have found a way to fellowship without being face to face. Oh how they bless me. This is my practice. This is what helps to fill my cup, this is what helps me to be a better wife to my dear husband.

Normally with food and smiling faces we meet, but today I turn to their encouraging e-mails, the verses that have touched them this week, and as I open my inbox, feeling a little drained, the Word is powerful, and those verses encourage me. So fitting, the verses today are focused on how God wants us to be better wives to our husbands, His sons, and in turn love those littles better who spend every waking minute with us.

All because of a string of wednesday mornings spent with some of God's girls. I feel God encouraging me through them.

And I can better love my partner, my beloved, the way God intended me to.

Because everything is from Him

2011-01-24T15:57:00.000-06:00

I'm linking up on this Monday of multitudes, because every gift is from God, and I don't thank Him near enough.

This is the start of the list for me...
and it's about time....

1. Jesus. He is really the only thing - person - savior - everything, that could be number one on my list...

------ and everything comes from Him...

2. chunky baby legs.

3. boys playing with knights... filling my house with miniature battles.

4. sweet baby cheeks - specifically --- these baby cheeks.

5. a picked up house.

My goal is a hundred things I am thankful for - and then a thousand - and in the words of a famous disney character around here, "to infinity and beyond" - will be the list of things I am thankful for.

I'm still here

2011-01-23T23:23:00.000-06:00

A new year, a new start?... I can't believe it has been so long since I have done a blog post. Things are going well. Archer is growing so fast, and the older boys are full of energy and also full of vinegar, as my grandpa would say. Very soon I am planning on re-vamping my blog in a way. I want to be able to have things be a bit more transparent, and open. I know that many of my readers know me personally, and even if you don't, and even if you happened upon my blog after skipping through five others, I still want to personalize things more. I know you may be thinking - more personal? You just shared your innermost feelings in previous posts with anyone who has internet?! I know, I know, but I am wanting to have a record sort of, about things going on in our lives, including videos, fun things we talk about, and I don't want to have to go through and check - "did I forget to take their real name out?" A silly thing, a little thing maybe, but it will be fun to properly introduce you to my kiddos, and give the bloggy place a new feel and look too.

So ---- looking forward to being on here a little more regularly, and in a little bit of a new way.

Hope your new year is full of fresh starts and good things. Each day can be a new start... even if it's not technically January 1st - have to remind myself of that tonight, as I haven't worked out in a couple days. Have to convince myself not to "throw in the the towel" yet :-)

And a picture - of boys in their pajamas (aka underwear) - just for fun.

I can't go to bed...

2010-12-03T00:57:00.001-06:00

Do you ever have those nights where you just can't go to bed? It's like I have gotten my second wind, and finished what I wanted to, but just can't get into bed... So I have been going through all the blogs I follow, and even peering into new ones. It really is ridiculous, because I know I only have about 4 more hours before a baby will want to eat. I mean, he has already been sleeping for four hours...

Usually this is not my dilemma. Normally I fall into bed and manage to be sound asleep in seconds, literally.

And when it is late, and the music is playing, I find myself enjoying the rare moment of being alone. I am smitten with our Christmas tree. The one that the boys so dutifully helped trim this evening. Ev saying, "I'm tired of hanging things..." Only to get a quick reply from Dad, "I get sick of it at the end too." And then followed by, "Ev, you need to get that on the tree. You're going to bend it if you lay on it like that. One - Two"

* silent chuckles as I think about it *

I love it. I just look at our tree and am filled with thankfulness for the four little hands that hung the ornaments, a daddy who helped unwrap and hand out the ornaments, a warm living room for it to sit in... And most of all for a savior, came down to earth as a tiny babe, born in an unsuspecting place, to save us all, to save - me, a sinner. I am thankful to celebrate this most mysterious and glorious event. The event that changed the world, but more importantly the event, the God that still changes hearts, mine included.

With a grateful heart, a quiet house, and a cat still sleeping in the exact same spot as the above photo :)

a hop! and a scotch? make two boys in motion

2010-11-12T07:39:00.001-06:00

Admittedly, these were taken a while ago - look at the last pic, and you will know it was a while ago by the baby bump, but I wanted to link up to "Boys in Motion" over at Erin's blog today.

Please excuse the fact that they are only wearing t-shirts. That is all I will say about that.

Who says boys can't have a little fun playing hop-scotch!?

It starts with the chalk!

Gotta love the shadow!

A child's perspective, in pictures

2010-11-04T08:33:00.001-05:00

A fun little post today...
O-dog didn't have any room left on his little fisher price camera that he received for a birthday gift when he turned 3. I usually just went through the photos, deleted all the ones taken of walls, feet and the floor, and he was good to go again. However, he didn't want me to delete ANY this time, so they are now saved on our computer, YEA - not so enthusiastically. However, I have enjoyed finding some of them, because they are of moments that I would never have had my camera out. I'm not saying I always love the condition of the house when some of these photos were taken, but I do like the randomness and realness that they depict. There are also several pictures taken at our little rental house in Franklin and some of me pregnant with Amelia, which I don't have very many of. So without further ado, here is a child's perspective... in some not-so-focused, not-so-centered, from a low vantage point - fisher price pictures!

Did I mention our Franklin house doubled as a hunting lodge?

I hope I was pregnant in this pic :) no head, no feet, just what is at their eye level.

Franklin house dining room.

View from Daddy's lap.

Franklin kitchen

Franklin again. "Mom, but we did put the puzzle together... once."

Taking pictures of eachother!

Train bin, with some overspill.

Dad and the cat

supper

Aunt Rebekah, who has gotten more than one "Are you my mom?" from my sons at family gatherings. Too funny.

Another of Aunt Rebekah

I love this one... it is in the porch in Franklin.

pregnant with Amelia

"A perfect set-up. My favorite chair as close to the tv as possible."

Oh, brother.

Oh, brother. Oh, mom.

Finding that a lot of what he sees all day ----- is me.

Ev figured out how to work the camera.

Ev figured out how to work the camera, again.

Here's my face.

Here's my foot.

"I don't know who took all the books off the shelf, Mom?"

Railing. Eye level.

Daddy working in the yard for Mom.

Mom watching Daddy work in the yard for Mom.

"Come on, you can make it."

"Wouldn't it be cool to take a picture of the movie we are watching?"

Dad holding the cat again.

huh...

"I don't climb on things. Only when I really need something." - Ev
"She's going to know it was you - because I'm taking a picture of it." - O

our cat's eat-in kitchen

"What does focus mean?"

Improvement.

Archer and Ev

I hope you have a great thursday!

Amelia Grace

2010-10-21T14:03:00.000-05:00

Why does it mean so much? Why does it touch my heart when someone, a mere acquaintance really, says her name?

The picture below is the marker that is currently at the cemetery. This is the only thing we can have out there until we get her headstone installed (since it has been more than a year). So this is what has been marking her grave since May.

I went there today. I have been meaning to call Sharon, the lady who (with her husband) takes care of the cemetery, because I needed to ask about the installation of a headstone.

And who happened to drive in while I was there?
Her smile was as gentle and as sincere as it was the day we first visited with her. That day we had asked her questions about putting our precious daughter's body in the ground, in the ground she cared for. It was a nice spring day. A little windy. We told her how we were unsure of putting our baby in one of the larger cemeteries in town. She told us of how her teenage son was buried in town, in one of the larger cemeteries... and she wishes he wasn't. You could tell she has had guilt over it. But she now has peace about it, has forgiven herself, resigned to the fact that her mind (as any newly grieved parent) was lost during those first days after he died. At that time she was not involved with the Yankee Hill Cemetery, like she is now. "You do the best you can," she said. Now... She answers the phone for them, she mows the grass, she meets with people, and SHE is who touched my heart today. Sometimes a touch can break what is fragile at the moment. And sometimes breaking isn't a bad thing.
When I spoke with her and told her we were ordering Amelia's marker, do you know what she said? She smiles, and looks me in the eye, and says, "Amelia Grace is getting her headstone." Then another wide, soft smile and she says, "I think about her when I mow."
- Sigh -
My first thought - awe, she used her name... I love that. My next thought - there are so many people buried here, does she think about everyone? Not only does she sweat and toil over the ground as she mows with her large straw hat, but she is mentally and emotionally connected as well. That would be me. I would have a thousand day dreams of who these people were and how they came to be in this same square of land. All from different eras and of all ranges of ages. Entire families wiped out within days of eachother - maybe it was an illness or maybe a fire or a flood... A young man in the service who died in a battle... in another country? A mother who died giving life to a child, leaving others behind. A baby who lived two days. What happened little one? Do you know my "Millia", as Ev calls her still?

Now the part that I didn't "get" until a mile down the road.

She remembered her middle name.

She said Amelia Grace. Her lone marker has only had "Amelia Heath" on it for 5 months now, for most of the mowing season! I should have thought of this before leaving the cemetery, because now my eyes are filled with tears and I can barely see to drive.
Oh...

the simplest things that touch my heart...

that break it...

in a good way,

again...
Thank you, Sharon.
I'm thankful that my daughter's body lies under the earth in the corner of the world that you take care of. I'm thankful that you remember her and that you think about her.
Thank you, God, for reminding me that you are so very aware of my aching heart, and that you know what my heart needs to hear - to heal. Thank you for being BIG in the small things.

Remembering your "Grace" today, even more so, because someone remembered ours.

The groom

2010-10-11T22:59:00.001-05:00

As a little girl I dreamed of my wedding day. A day full of flowers and a white dress, a beautiful shimmering white dress. A man in a black tuxedo, waiting for me at the end of the aisle. A father on my arm. A warm day. A day of excitement and love. A day to remember for always. The beginning of a new life.
So every wedding I went to, I watched and waited for her to appear at the back of the church. Waiting... glowing... beginning her "float" down the aisle. No one actually walks down the aisle on their wedding day - they float. You didn't know that? This is common knowledge to young girls :)
I would stare at the back of the church, first a bridesmaid, and then another, and then a glimmer of white from around a corner, or down a hall, through a door or across a ranch's graveled drive, and then she was there. I would gaze at her in awe. I would imagine myself in the white dress, making my way down the aisle, smiling, glowing, sparkling... Even after I was married, I still looked for the bride. What does her dress look like? What flowers did she choose to carry? How will her hair be done?

Several saturdays ago, as I sat in the church waiting for the ceremony to begin, my eyes wandered not to the back of the church, but to the front. In the past I would only look at the groom when the panorama of my vision included the groom in addition to the bride. However, this time was different. Maybe it is due to the fact that my wedding day seems like eons ago, and my focus has changed over the past few years... A focus from girls - to boys. Maybe it was the addition of our third son, or maybe the absence of a daughter, or that when asked what the "high" of his day was, our second son said, "I got to sit by my girlfriend" (the one with the heart on her backpack), or maybe just because... I'm not sure what had me looking for the groom. In the past, he has somehow just sprung up from the floor. I never watched him make his entrance. For those of you wondering, he actually walked out with the minister. Maybe this is customary... I honestly don't know, because this is literally the very first time I have looked to the front of the church, and watched for the groom.

I don't typically cry at weddings. Sometimes a hallmark commercial can get me choked up, so I'm not sure why weddings don't have me weeping into my sleeve, but they don't. That saturday, I watched a young man, maybe 23 or so, wait for his bride to round the corner with her father by her side. He smiled nervously, he shifted his weight quickly, he fidgeted with his hands, and he fixed his gaze at the end of the aisle. He was standing tall, and he was handsome, but I could see him for a fleeting moment as his mom may have seen him... I could see him when he was 5, waving goodbye to her as he walked into kindergarten... I could see his face as he turned around after his first strike out in little league... I could see his grin from ear to ear when he opened his favorite Christmas gift... I could hear him ask for one more story at bedtime, and look at her with those eyes... She knows the eyes, the eyes she just can't say no to... the same eyes that are now fixed on his bride... floating down the aisle towards him. I could see him if only in my mind, as his mother might have seen him a thousand times in a thousand memories prior to that day... And I cried. I cried because I had never really thought about it before. I had never really thought about all of the moments that led up to that day. I had never really thought about one of my sons, ready for that day. The day that he was mature enough to take someone as his bride, to take care of her, to provide for her...

Sigh...

The wildness and silliness of my boys keeps me on my toes, stresses me out and brightens my days. It is good to be reminded that even though they are young now, I am raising men. Sooner than I realize, they will need to provide for someone else, they will need to have strength of character and an understanding of how to treat the beautiful white glimmer at the other end of the aisle. This is a noble calling. I thank God everyday for my boys, and I pray that I would be reminded - in between diaper changes, mud on my carpet, and balls flung at my head, that a noble calling is before me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

"There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son

that transcends all other affections of the heart."

Washington Irving

Be Still My Soul

2010-09-29T17:10:00.000-05:00

We arrived at church on Sunday (a couple of sundays ago now), dropped the older boys off at sunday school, and then headed into the service. Which, I might add, had not started yet. Pretty good for our first trip to church with Archer along. We sat down, and I flipped through the bulletin as usual. I noticed right away that the celebration choir was singing a couple of my favorites, and then I turned further and saw one of the later hymns... "Children of the Heavenly Father". I am sure I had heard it before, but because it was one that we had at Amelia's funeral, it will always evoke strong emotions and memories for me. I don't think it was something that P would notice, but I didn't point it out. He may notice that my shoes don't match my outfit very well, or that the wall hanging is a little too high or low, but a specific hymn, not so much. However, as we sang the second hymn, I stopped singing, my mouth couldn't form the words, and I didn't have the air to push them out. I didn't expect it... Maybe I had never paid attention to the words before - I mean really paid attention. Soaking up the words and their meaning.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
================================================

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

--------------------------- and then these words-----------------------

Be still, my soul, though dearest friends (my daughter) depart

And all is darkened in the vale of tears;

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
================================================

As much as I hate the pit in my stomach from grieving, and the missing that is so painful at times, I must say that God was tender. He was tender and close. His love for me evident, despite the hurt I was experiencing. I don't think I realized it at the time. I was probably still confused and mad about everything. I am a little passive aggressive though, even with God (pathetic, I know). You know - when you say, "no, I'm not mad at you", and then you are quiet and sulky despite 'not being mad'. I prayed to Him, I sobbed and hung my head, I pouted my lips and asked why, but I still said, "no, God, I'm not mad at you." I didn't understand why us, or why her, and even though I will never know why --- at least I'm not mad anymore. I will still look at other people and wonder why us and not some other family... but then I will also think of how close He was to me during that time, and I will crave that forever. I am thankful that He was close to me. I will know His heart in a way I couldn't have before. I will know His love in a way I was incapable of before. Just as the hymn says, "I better know His love, His heart," AND I DO. He did, "soothe thy sorrows and thy fears" too.
It is not my job to understand how He chooses to- as the hymn says, "order and provide" and it is okay that it is a mystery to me, because He is a mystery. A loving and just God who orders the heavens and earth and knows when a sparrow falls, and yes, is still a mystery. He is a big, HUGE, almighty God, and He chose to come close to me... as close as my own skin. I miss my daughter, I always will, but later in the service when I sang "Children of the Heavenly Father" I didn't cry. I didn't cry for her, or for us who live without her on this earth. This time it was "Be Still My Soul" that brought the lump in my throat. Because those words were my experience exactly. He was all of those things to me. He was so very real to me during a time when I wanted to look the other way, when I wanted to ignore Him. However, it is impossible to ignore your own skin. It's there, all the time, and you live in it. I get to live everyday with His spirit in me, but those days when the outside world was foggy and my head and heart were wounded from grief, the Father was close, so very close to me. I miss only two things about those early days. One - everything about Amelia was more fresh in my mind, and two - God's tenderness and closeness.
And during a time of turmoil and restlessness in my heart, He stilled my soul, as only He can.

Two babies: one in our hearts, one in our arms...

2010-09-11T01:17:00.000-05:00

When I started looking through pictures of Archer, and seeing him welcomed by his brothers and dad, it was such a blessing to see their joy. Joy that was anticipated a year ago with Amelia, and stopped short when she arrived. I have these two pictures that are similar, and yet so very different. How we talked about her arrival for weeks and months prior, telling the boys how things would change once she arrived. Not just "the boys" anymore...

Nothing prepares you to try and explain birth, a new sibling - now in heaven, and the realities of death to an almost three and almost four year old. It is impossible to hide your emotions, nor should you try, I guess... I remember the tears rolling down my sweet husband's face when he showed Amelia to O-dog. I'm not sure my heart hurt more than at that moment. How different it was this time around. We will never forget, but we can't let that overshadow enjoying every minute with our youngest.

This time around it was such a joy to share Archer with them. They asked questions and just stared at him. They told strangers about him, whether or not they wanted to know or not. A man in the elevator gets the full scoop on their new brother. "His name is BABY" says O-dog. "And his middle name is BABE" adds Ev-babe. My mother telling me how they just beamed as they told the man about their new brother, who was named "Baby Babe" at that time, apparently. In some ways I feel that the addition of this new sibling, alive and well might be a healing balm for their hearts. I know that O-dog certainly doesn't hold back from telling Archer how much he loves him. They both hug and kiss him, and practically smother him with their ~~bodies~~ attention. He is almost 6 weeks old, and he is still getting oodles of love.

As for me... There are times when the grief seems to hit me like a ton of bricks. One minute I am beaming at my new son, and then wham-O. I never seem to know when it is coming, and I guess that is just the way it always will be. The other day I was checking for a stinky surprise in Archer's diaper, and I was blown away by the fact that I didn't ever change Amelia's diaper. I know she had one on. A tiny little pampers swaddler, with a yellow stripe down the butt. I took it off and put it back on once. Did she have the same one on the whole time? Was it the same diaper she wore under the dress she was buried in? Why didn't I check? Why would you? I don't know... There are just things that I never thought about before, but now that I have a newborn in my arms, I think about them. I forgot about all of the squeaky sounds, the sharpness of their little nails, and how their legs don't seem to unfold even when you pick them up. It is healing for me to hold our sweet little Archer, to dream about the days ahead with our three sons. And yet, while he is in this newborn stage, I also can't help but think of our daughter, forever a newborn in our memories. Forever the child who is very much a part of a family, yet is present only in our hearts.

I miss you, baby girl. You have a little brother, now... you are a BIG sister...

I know you know.

Archer's story... part 2

2010-08-24T11:34:00.000-05:00

So... we went up to the labor and delivery floor after parking in the garage, and found ourselves in an eerily similar position as we were a little over a year ago. I was in tears, and a little neurotic. They asked if I would sit down and answer questions, which I promptly answered "no" to and said I would like to be hooked up to a monitor immediately. Last year, with Amelia, I sat through over 4 pages of questions and information receiving - things like, "when you take your baby home, you will need to... blah, blah, blah..." and "you need to sign this, so that we have the information right for the delivery of your baby... blah, blah, blah..." I just knew I might punch someone in the face if I had to sit through that again. So they had a nurse take me into a room to be monitored - the same room as last year. The same monitor, the same bathroom, the same... almost everything. Almost everything, because this time, she found his heartbeat, not without some skepticism from me that the heartbeat was indeed his and not mine. (They found mine last year, and thought it was Amelia's for a little while --- because mine was racing) She also found mine, and said that mine was indeed slower than his, and that there were two heartbeats present. So everything was not the same, my nightmare, although fresh in my mind, was not going to repeat itself this time. I still had not felt him move since I had gotten there, but his heartbeat on the monitor was a relief, and his lack of movement was most likely because of the constant contractions which were evident on the monitor as well at that point.

The boys were troopers. After abruptly being awoken from their slumber, they managed to transform themselves into chatty little boys that acted as if they always get up at 3 in the morning. Ev-babe was full of questions about everything in the room. O-dog was more reserved, and his memory of that room was probably similar to ours. Ev was likely too young to remember a lot of the emotion that was in that room last year.

I was put on some iv fluids to get the contractions to slow down, which they did somewhat. If I was going to deliver vaginally on my own, they may have sent me home. But when the called my doctor, he said to plan on keeping me, and delivering in an hour because the OR was open and I was already there, as long as P and I didn't have a problem with it. Uh... no. We were more than ready to have this little one in our arms. My c-section was scheduled for friday morning anyway, and since it was tuesday, and I was contracting regularly, it was a go.

I didn't feel baby move until almost 4:30 am, and for the peace of mind alone, I am so glad we went in when we did. I would have been an even more frazzled wreck by that time.

My friend Julie was able to take the boys. What a blessing her friendship has been to me. She was even able to get the chatty boys back to sleep. :)

My nurse last year, the one that was first to try and find Amelia's heartbeat with the doppler, the one that held my hand as I found out there was no heartbeat on the ultrasound, the one that prepped me for surgery, and cried with us - complete strangers... was on duty that morning. She had been busy with a delivery earlier, but stopped by to tell our nurse she was there and wanted to see us.

That morning was full of so many emotions. Similarities and differences between what we experienced last May. I can't even describe the roller coaster of feelings I had. The sounds and smells of the OR, and the routine procedures leading up to the c-section. I am thankful for the memories of O-dog's birth too. His birth memories, mingled with Amelia's, and now Archer's. Everything went well. He was born at 6:07 am, and his cry was the sweetest sound. Garbled at first, and then escalating - music to my ears. Praise God, our son was here.

August 3rd... sweet Archer's story... part 1.

2010-08-21T10:15:00.002-05:00

I slept for the first couple of hours of this day, in my own bed after supper out with my hubby. The rest of it was an emotional roller coaster, ending with a sweet baby boy nursing in my arms, with a quiet hummm of hospital sounds.

I woke up at about 2:20 am and as I frequently did, I had to go to the bathroom, but before I ventured out of bed, I waited to feel little one... a move, a kick, something... nothing. This had happened before with him, and usually I would talk myself into "everything's okay" you are just being a worry-wart, and eventually I would feel him, or at least have enough peace about it that I would be able to go back to sleep. I don't know if it was my escalating hormones, or the fact that I was having braxton-hicks so frequently, or maybe it was just my memories of Amelia. I was beside myself. I have a doppler, but it was not a comfort as I didn't know if I was finding his heartbeat or mine. I knew that mine was fast, and his (if it was his) seemed slower than normal. Possibly because he was being squeezed by constant contractions. Paul was awake already, and knew something was bothering me. I will admit I cry at odd times (I am a woman) and because he is the most perceptive male I have ever met, he knew this was different. To be honest, I think we were both ready for this little one to be here, and both of our nerves were shot (a few months ago, actually). He said, "let's go in". I didn't hesitate, and with boys in tow, cute as bugs in a rug, asking from the backseat "why aren't we sleeping?" we were off.

Okay - back up ten minutes... This is not only Archer's story, not only the story of our rainbow baby, but it is God's story too. I had a moment when you just know it's God, because it could ONLY be God.

I would like to say that God knows. He knows, He always knows. Before I officially woke up Paul (he was already awake wondering why I wasn't getting back into bed), my phone buzzed - a text message. Seriously? At 2:31 am, at the exact moment I was up and crying and worried sick in the middle of the night, I get a text message from my big sister who lives two states away. This is what it said,
-------------- "Praying for you:-) and your boys". -------------------
I know God knows me, I know He knows my story, my every need before I know it, but sometimes He shows me He knows it. I love it when He does that. I love how He knows each one of us. When we doubt He does, and when we wonder if He is even real, He knows... and loves us anyway.

I guess this is the end of part 1, because I haven't figured out how to nurse Archer without using atleast one of my hands, nor do I have the patience to type with only one hand.

To be continued...

When your heart beats outside your body...

2010-08-08T19:43:00.000-05:00

I am smitten.

Absolutely beside myself,

IN
LOVE... again.

It feels so good to look at him, to hold him in my arms, and to see our family holding and loving on him... I almost have guilt. Why is it that my eyes cannot stop gawking at his goofy faces, wondering why he raises his eyebrows, why he has the biggest pouty lips, why he grimaces with pain, and then smiles all in the same 13 seconds... and all without making a sound and all with his eyes closed. Aaaah... newborns... our newborn... our son.

Born screaming and flailing around at 6:07 am on Tuesday, August 3rd.

We are blessed.

Introducing, our fourth child, our third son:

Archer Samuel Heath

8 lbs.

20 1/2 in.

I will do another post soon which will have birth details, and more pictures. His first name was something that we liked. His middle name brought tears to my eyes when I read the meaning, knowing I would always think of his life, especially the beginning, being covered by prayer. Samuel means "God has heard" or "God is listening". We know that God is always listening, and he always hears our prayers. We also know that just because He hears our prayers doesn't mean that the answer is yes. Sometimes it is no, sometimes it is yes, and sometimes it is beyond yes. We thank Him for his "yes" to our prayers for Archer, and we hope that his life continues to reflect God's love and hope.

I will never forget when we told my grandma that we were expecting this new little one. With tears welling in her eyes she told me that she had been asking God to send us a new baby, "unless He had a better idea". I am in awe of her faithful and disciplined life. Always aware of who calls the shots, and who she is bringing her humble requests to. I thank God for her witness to me.

We knew that this new life was covered in prayer and that many people were praying for him before they even knew he existed. In our opinion, the meaning of Samuel reflected the fact that these particular prayers brought before our God were heard and answered, and to our delight, with a yes. God always hears our prayers, and even though the answer isn't always a yes, it is good to remind ourselves that the answers are always what is right for our life, and that God always deserves the glory, no matter what the answer is. May God always get the glory for Archer's life, and my uneventful pregnancy.

A Time To Mourn...

2010-07-30T00:19:00.000-05:00

A belated update...

Grandpa Art's heart stopped beating on July 13th, 2010, in the minutes before I finalized my last post. I found out only a half an hour after I finished writing it.  He was not suffering from dementia or alzheimer's. He was himself, even in the end. He was ready to meet Jesus, and to take his first peek at heaven. He told everyone in his hospital room the night before that he was leaving, and that he would see them all later. He also talked about just seeing beyond the "corridor"... not a typical word for this South Dakota farmer.  He was ready to go home.

He chose the scriptures that were read at his funeral, one from chapter 14 of John, Psalm 23, Psalm 121, and Ecclesiastes chapter 3.

I'm not sure how I might convey to you the kind of person Grandpa Art was, but I would like to try.  I will give you some snippets from that weekend, and from the years earlier, when I first came to know him.  The weekend of his funeral was spent celebrating a life well lived, and mourning our loss... our great loss.

As I stood in his kitchen, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for O-dog, a kitchen that was small and familiar, all I could do was think of the first time I had toast in the morning after staying at Art and Alma's. Grandpa Art was so concerned that I didn't want peanut butter on my toast. He asked once, and then again...

A: "Sherri, here's the peanut butter for your toast."

me: "I don't put peanut butter on my toast. Jelly is enough. Thanks, though."

----- five minutes pass, a couple conversations about the day, a news story on the t.v. -------

A: "We've got plenty of peanut butter here, Sherri, you'd better have some."

me: "No, really, I'm fine - peanut butter isn't usually something I eat in the morning."

A: "Well, if you change your mind - here it is. It will be a while before lunch" (said with a teasing smile)

I don't know why this exchange came to mind this last weekend, but it reminded me of how intimate breakfast at their house was. How you couldn't sneak peanut butterless toast by this man well into his 80s at the time. And how special you felt to have one of the seats at their table, in their home, even as a visitor, the
"new girlfriend" of their grandson.

To be honest, I always felt like my grandparents set the gold standard of grandparents (and they do), so I was caught a little off guard at how my husbands' grandparents (all 4 of them) seemed just as genuine and loving as mine. I have been richly blessed in that department, and as they each age with every passing year, as we all do, and we keep having to let go of one more, and then one more... I find my heart overwhelmed with gratitude and pain. It is so very difficult to let go of them. They lived in a different era. One where honor wasn't a medal or a badge, but how you lived. An era of honorable men, and dedicated, classy women. I think of my own grandpa Alvin, who is still living, but has struggled with some health problems. How the stoic farmer can be both stern and tender. He feels deep, and he loves even deeper. He portrayed a picture of Christ's love for me, one of affection and tenderness, when I needed it most.  After my dad died when I was 12, I needed him not in a disciplinary-dad figure, but one of open arms and tenderness. He never withheld his whiskery cheek for a kiss and a hug. I still love the fact that when I take my babies to meet him, he will never shy away from holding them or just sitting and watching them, listening to them coo. I truly believe that God provides for our needs, using people that may not even know they are doing His work.  When I met people at Art's visitation - people I had never met before, it was evident that he had served a purpose in many peoples' lives. He sowed seeds of good into peoples' lives. He was a servant of the Lord, and we were all blessed to have been a part of his life.

As I sat in the church pew during Art's funeral service I was reminded of a Christmas eve service, sitting in between Art and his grandson, my hubby. The same pastor who talked about wisemen, camels in the desert, and baby Jesus in a manger on Christmas eve, now tried to make it through scriptures and a eulogy without letting his emotions get the best of him (key word being tried). Poor Pastor Augie, doing his best to honor the memory of Art, his friend. It was a beautiful service. Across the aisle sat more than a dozen veterans who were part of a color guard, honoring Art not only for his acts of bravery in the military, his years of service in the same color guard, but also for his friendship.

I thought of the first time I had seen him since Amelia died. I was just sitting in the living room, and the boys were watching a cartoon on t.v. He cleared his throat, and went on to tell me me how often he thought of us, and how he wasn't too good at writing notes to people, but that he wanted me to know how sad he was when he heard the news about Amelia. She had impacted him, and he wanted me to know.  If there is one thing that has become glaringly obvious to me in the past year, it is that no one likes to talk about death, or mention people who have died, especially young people, particularly babies - it is scary, it is horrible, it is to most... unmentionable. I get it. I have been there, on the other side, unsure what to say, or how to say it - scared into silence. I now understand that it is an impossibility to cause the bereaved person more pain. I also understand the awkwardness, and I try to assume that people think about Amelia, and they just don't ask about her or say anything out of fear. I will never, ever forget when he mentioned her to me. I know that Art was a brave soldier, evidenced by the honors and medals he received in WWII (from Gen. Patton), and by the fellow veterans who stood to honor him both at the church and at the cemetery. To me, however, his bravery never shone more brightly than the moment he mentioned my daughter's name, recognizing her life, even though it meant he would have to risk seeing my tears.  It was brave, simply put. Although I didn't shed a tear that day, the tears roll down my cheeks today - touched by a few simple sentences he didn't have to say, but did anyway. It was honorable.

Throughout the cemetery service, the color guard stood there stoicly in a line next to us, their eyes focused elsewhere, their minds surely thinking of the man who stood next to them for so many years, honoring others who had gone before. Art felt it was his duty to honor the men who had served this country, to be a part of that same color guard - something he respectively did for years, sometimes more than once a week. The veteran who brought the flag to Glenda and Fred, like several of the other veterans, was in his 70's, and as he approached us with the pristinely folded flag, his breath was labored, sweat dripped from his brow, and he honorably choked through the few sentences he had to say.

The gunshots rang in my ears, followed by the sweet sound of trumpet taps, floating in the deafening silence. I sat on a folding chair, thankful that I didn't have to stand in the sizzling heat 36 weeks pregnant... and thankful to be 36 weeks pregnant. I sat there with my feet upon the all too familiar green indoor/outdoor carpet.  I thought back to sitting at their kitchen table for the first time, not knowing for sure I would marry their grandson, not knowing for sure I would ever be back again, not sure which direction was south, not sure I would be able to convince Art I didn't really want peanut butter on my toast, and that I would make it until lunch time without it. All the things I wasn't sure of then... and yet how sure I was that even though a stranger, the newest person at their table, I felt special. Even though I was not their grand-daughter, I was welcomed and made to feel important.

At the cemetery I was feeling special to be under that tent, to be holding one of his great-grandsons on my lap, and to be honoring his memory, his life.

"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace."   Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Thankful for 35 weeks and 94 years

2010-07-13T13:49:00.000-05:00

I don't think there are many people who don't know what we are having, but in case you are in the dark, we are expecting a boy. I am a little over thirty-five weeks along, and have been going in for weekly non-stress tests for a few weeks already. I will continue to go in every monday until August 6th, which is our planned c-section day.

I know that God has the number of our days planned before any of them come to be, and as 36 weeks nears, I can't help but think about Amelia's last moments on earth. I would be lying if I said I don't worry as that day approaches with this baby. I wonder how long his heart will beat upon this earth. I think about the sweet man who turned 94 last month, the man my husband calls "Grandpa Art". The man who is ready to go home... his heavenly home, and yet his heart beats here. I think of this little man inside of me, and I worry that his heart won't beat another 4 weeks, and I don't know why I worry... Maybe his heart will beat for more than 94 years. Maybe he will have the chance to marry a Godly woman, raise children for the Lord, hold and know his great-grandchildren, and minister to his family for decades, like Grandpa Art.

Art feeding Ev-babe, at the young age of 90.

Only God knows what is in store for Art and baby boy, these two that I have been thinking of so much lately. And His ways and thoughts are higher than mine, and more importantly He is faithful and trustworthy. So I will not worry, but pray for my own lack of trust, and rest in His plan for each of these men.

Baby boy

35 weeks and 1 day

You have to look around the grey blobs in front of him, but it is worth it.

Love these sweet little lips - can't wait to kiss 'em!

I could stare at this little smirk all day... I am going to feel bad when his birth actually happens, because I am going to throw his peaceful, happy little world upside down. (Okay, so I will only feel a little bad, or in O-dog's words - "a tiny, piny, peeny" bit bad)

There are so many emotions swirling around his arrival, and I know that it is only by God's grace that I am able to experience the unabandoned excitement for his tangible entry into our world, into our arms, into our home... It doesn't happen every moment of everyday, that I am able to feel so much anticipation for him without reservation, but when it does, I admit I embrace it whole-heartedly. I have to. He deserves that - this little man...

I am thankful for the 35 weeks and 2 days I have had so far with this little one, and how my heart aches for more, and is ready for years to come with him. Nonetheless, I am still thankful, for today. I am also thankful for Amelia's 36 weeks. Thankful I am her mom. Thankful that her heart beat here for 36 weeks, even if it broke mine.

And as for Grandpa Art, who just turned 94, the one in the hospital bed a state away, I can only pray that we are all so blessed to touch as many lives and hearts as he has. If you knew this man, you would know that he is still touching lives, and there are probably nurses who just met him who will remember his spirit for a long time to come. We all have our God-given jobs to do, and he knew his. He was as focused on the heavenly prize as anyone, and no matter when he is made whole and healthy again in heaven, and his heart stops beating here, we can all be thankful for the gift... the treasure of however many years we knew him of the 94 he had on this earth.

Because of these things...

2010-07-08T12:54:00.001-05:00

I see life differently.

My perspective has changed.

After hashing out location, size, color, cost, and words for a monument to honor your daughter, you see things differently.

In case you were wondering, I think this sketch will be the monument we will choose to have put up for Amelia.

It will be a combination of white granite and pink glass (shown below sketch).

Interesting how our current reality has affected every part of our lives.

Because we have to see some things, we will never see other things quite the same.

Because we drive across town to a cemetery, and put pink flowers by a tiny plot of land...

I am different.

I will always see things different than someone who has never had to do that.

However, it is not as isolating as it sounds. I am also more aware of other people who are suffering.

I am not perfect, but I am more sensitive to the struggles of someone else. I have not had to walk down some very difficult roads that they find themselves on.

A road to a hospital, a road to a place of therapy, or to a jail.

My road just happens to include a cemetery across town.

This little man's road also includes that drive, and this view.

I wonder how he will see life differently.

Different from other little boys that have their sister here on earth.

He asked me the other night when he could see Amelia.

Oh baby boy, how I wish I could say something different....

In heaven.

Fast food for your soul

2010-06-29T09:24:00.000-05:00

It has been a while since I have posted anything, and I had great intentions to share some of the things we have been up to lately, but this devotional spoke to me, and I wanted to share. Maybe a reason I haven't posted anything for a while is that "I really have too much to do", and this was a good reminder of what is important. Apparently blogging is important today! :)

I hope you are all feeling blessed and loved today - because you are!

-------------------------------
Author: Elisabeth Elliot
Source: A Lamp For My Feet

Time for God's Will

One reason we are so harried and hurried is that we make yesterday and tomorrow our business, when all that legitimately concerns us is today. If we really have too much to do, there are some items on the agenda which God did not put there. Let us submit the list to Him and ask Him to indicate which items we must delete. There is always time to do the will of God. If we are too busy to do that, we are too busy.

Lord, help me to take your yoke on my shoulder, not a yoke of my own making. May I learn from You to be gentle and humblehearted. May I find that your load is light.
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I love that I get these devotionals on my phone. It feels a little like fast food, but for your soul.

Girls' Weekend

2010-06-16T23:57:00.001-05:00

We have been anticipating this weekend for almost six months. A two-day Christian women's conference, a nice hotel bed, continental breakfast, restaurant dining, traveling to a different state, to a big city.... A GIRLS' WEEKEND!

We each opened an unsuspecting envelope on Christmas eve at my parent's house, and then looked at eachother as we opened them. In December we knew, this date would have our fellowship, our late-night girl-talk, our laughter, our tears, our smiles, our spirits, our growth, and our hearts- all over it.

My mom has four daughters, and the sweetest daughter-in-law. All six of us, each different and yet the same, each learning a little more about the other, and trusting the other more and more. As we talk of our lives, some hundreds of miles from the other, each containing much of the same. We talk lightly of fun times and goofy things. We talk deep and long of our hurts and our joys, all intertwined in our lives. I cannot speak highly enough of these women God chose to be a part of my life.

These women's conferences, they know just how to reach us. As each woman spoke, we poured over God's word, we sang praise songs, we sat and listened to their stories, their insight, their hope and dreams for us. As women of God, we are blessed. We each have broken dreams, broken hearts, and hurts, but we also have hope and encouragement from our creator. We also have resources, as small or insignificant as we feel they are, we have to use them 100% for His purposes. If we hold back, we are not truly allowing God to do His work through and in us. It takes some risk, but that is what faith is, is it not? He wants us to trust Him - to lean on Him - to know us, so that in turn we would know Him. So that we would really know His incredible love for each of us. So that we would realize our need for Him. So that He could be our knight in shining armor - so that we would dream of the day when He says to us, "darlings, precious daughters, come home to me."

Some of the speakers used their talents to inspire us to do more, to be more diligent in our daily tasks, to be a better ___________. They throw in tid-bits that resonate with all of us. How we fight with our spouses, and even plan retaliation; or how we have ugly thoughts about our neighbors, our friends, our family, and we struggle with our own insecurity. They make us laugh because we have all been there. We have each had similar experiences in different circumstances.

At one point, towards the end of the conference, I couldn't help but be reminded of our deep desires, as women. The speaker's words dripped of a love story, of a novel that is mesmerizing. As I sat listening I thought ---- they get it, they know how the plot thickens and is complicated with obstacles, and yet how we all crave the perfect love story with the dreamy ending. We all want to be sought after, dreamed of, and wooed (if that's even a word). God is for everyone, His story of love is for each person that He created. However, it is a talented few who can take His story, and remind us that our creator designed us a certain way. A way in which our hearts would go pitter-patter for a love story, His love story, being written in the chapters of our lives is riveting. If we would each take a moment to think of how He has wooed us, how He has craved our attention and pined for our affection. Women connect with this story in a different way than men, and that is not something to be taken for granted. It is something to be celebrated.

My hope for you is that you are able to see the love story in your own life. That you are mesmerized by the savior who gave His life for you. Although I am frequently side-tracked and sucked into the mundane things of life, I am still in this story for the ending, for the perfect ending. I will endure the obstacles and shattered dreams, and I will always remember His great love for me, and the gifts He bestows all the while the plot twisting and thickening. I will choose to always see the loves He has put into my life, my hubby, my kiddos, my sisters, my mom, my friends, my in-law's, and yes, the material things too ---- like these darling purses that mom gave us. Thank you, Mom!

Some days...

2010-06-03T07:58:00.001-05:00

Some days aren't all days, and that is a good thing.

Most days - I live more fully, realizing the brevity of life and the need to live it more fully. I really enjoy the glow in my sons' eyes when they find some "amazing" subject to gaze upon... like a walk signal or a roley-poley bug. Most days, even at the cemetery, I am comforted by the thought of where my daughter is, her holy surroundings, her savior looking into her eyes, taking in the soul He created. Her death is sad, but it is also joyous. I mourn her even though I also celebrate God's gift to her and to all of us who trust Him. We will all find the same end. In turn, each of us will have an end that will be a beginning. Most days I feel Him close. My God has shown Himself faithful even in the difficult moments.

Most days are also not all days, and this was just one of those days... one of those other days, one of those some days.

Some days there is a pit in my stomach, a lump sitting in my throat --- yes, all day. I'm never sure when these days will come along. The only good thing is that they remind me of the rest of the days, when I am less emotional, less harried, less fragile in a world of "normal". The some days don't last, and I know that "this too shall pass". Not without pain, not without some tears, but it will pass, and a different day will soon be here.

No matter what "day" I am having, I am always going to be different, changed. I used to be normal, whatever that is, if it even exists. I used to be less affected by things.  I also used to feel less, slow down less, read less, pray less, listen less. I used to live less. I am glad, that she has affected me so. I am able sometimes to realize I didn't have a second to take her for granted, that I didn't once grumble as I got out of bed in the middle of the night to feed her. I didn't have a moment to get frustrated at the mess she made or a time to feel guilty because I left her in the swing for an hour and a half. These are things that I think about. As I anticipate this new babe, I will be able to hold him and love on him in a greater capacity. I can say that I am more patient with the boys, most days. I am able to say, "because she is gone, I will live better, I will make my faithful God known to more people around me. Her short life has enabled me to feel more and live more.

However, with my new normal comes the some day. That some day, was today.

Today I saw a baby girl in every grocery aisle. Some just so new that their mothers had dark circles beneath their eyes.  Others were older, babbling and squeeling, drooling on a rattle or their shoe. Their sweet faces peering at my boys, in my cart, at me, and then back to their mothers, and then a smile and a giggle... so sweet. Some days it feels as though I am a walking pity party. So pathetic when I think of parents who want a child and haven't been able to have one. So pathetic when I have two boys, and one on the way, not to be grateful. I am... I really am, most days. It is just some days. Some days... like today, when I see Amelia's picture and physically ache for her to be here, when I am almost sick with the thought of her clinging to my leg in the kitchen as I stand there making lunch. I wish I had an entire load of pink and yellow and orange, instead of a couple shirts of mine to throw in with the reds, blues and greens. I trip over her car seat, which has not had a home for over a year. It has been awkwardly placed in several different rooms, sticking out, reminding me that I bought something pink, something permanent, something in preparation for someone who is missing from our home. I have three dresses hanging at the end of the boys' closet. They have no where to go. I can't part with them, and yet, there they hang, looking odd and out of place in a closet full of polos, next to Superman costumes. It is a day like today when I am bothered by those things more than usual. I feel like I am always apologizing to God, for not being thankful.  It is also on these days when I am still asking "why her"? You would think I would be past this... I mean, it has been over a year. The many blessings I have, the family I have, the salvation He has given freely, these things I need to remember always. It is days like today, when I need to remember that even though I am suffering, I now have a tiny bit more in common with the one who suffered so great, who was scorned and hated, who paid the ultimate price for us, for me.

I know that most days I can be extra gentle with my neighbor, my friend, the stranger in the parking lot, for I do not know what his or her day has been like. Maybe they buried a sister, a father, or a friend today, or yesterday, or maybe over a year ago, and they are having one of those days. Maybe they just found out they have cancer, maybe they were laid off today, or were handed divorce papers yesterday, or last week. Most days I can take a step back, and with God's grace, get out of "the funk" I am in.  I can be extra gentle, and share some of the grace I have been given. The source is endless if only we would choose to ask for it.

Everyday I need His grace. Everyday He provides it. His grace was always present in my life, but now, especially some days, like today, I am more aware of it. As the title of my blog says, "His Grace Abides". This is my new normal, living ever mindful of His grace for me. Especially on a day like today, well, yesterday actually.

These things make me smile :)

2010-05-28T09:17:00.000-05:00

Self-taken family portraits on a random weeknight.

Ev-babe thinking that if he just says cheese, that he is qualified as a cooperating picture-taker. I have more than a few photos of him, with his big ole "CH-E-E-E-E-SE" pointed in my general direction, and his eyes gazing elsewhere.

O-dog wearing clothes. Here is the proof!

The boys making crafts at places like sunday school and MOPS. They are boys, and although they do the craft, rarely does it look as if they spent much more than one concentrated minute on it. What I do love, is how excited they are to give it to me, and on occasion, how excited they are to keep it. For instance, the lion masks below. A MOPS craft that was surprisingly "boy-friendly" which they wore for one picture at the pleading of their mother.

Ev-babe's facial expressions.

(I get quite a squirt in the head mili-seconds after this photo is snapped.)

Our cat. As needy and annoying as he is at times. He does make me smile.

This little kicker who squirms and stretches, expanding my mid-section daily.

This baby girl, forever in our hearts, who is referred to as "Millia" by her brothers.

Her brothers, who tell random strangers (like the cashier at Target) about her birthday balloons,

always with a smile on their face...

Summer activities, which I am praying make this summer full of laughs and fun, and leave less room for worry and anxiety :)

Introducing our newest love...

2010-05-20T09:28:00.001-05:00

Here is the new little lovey in our hearts, who happens to be residing in my womb until early August. We are excited, and anxious, all at the same time.

I can't help but see Ev-babe in this last profile pic. However, the other ones look more like O-dog to me, and to be honest when we were having the ultrasound done, when I looked at the first shots in 3-d, all I could see was Amelia's face.

A baby who was conceived after a baby that was stillborn, miscarried, or who died as a newborn is sometimes referred to as a "rainbow baby".

I found a post on babycenter.com that describes it beautifully.

"Rainbow Babies" is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn't mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope. ~Courtney

I know that this new little love is a gift from God, and that no matter how long we are able to hold this one, a gift is still a gift, and the joy and love we have experienced from this new little cutie has been a "rainbow" to us during our storm.

A long two-part post: MEMORIES, WHY, and HOPE

2010-05-12T14:42:00.003-05:00

Part 1

The emotions of the last two weeks and the on-goings of life have not enabled me to put together coherent thoughts or even a somewhat organized post. I am going to try today to put into words some of the things I have been thinking about lately, and also some of the things I have realized over the past year. Some of the things that I never would have been able to understand, except through a suffering heart and an enlarged soul.

My mind has wandered constantly to a year ago this time. Each day bringing MEMORIES of what was transpiring one year ago. Lasts, firsts, and onlys...

May 5th, the last day I substituted in Franklin, smiling as I walked down the hall with my round stature, meeting the questions of students about gender with a smirk, "it's a girl". Many knowing of the two little boys I tow around in a wagon around their quaint town.

May 7th, my last doctor's appointment with Amelia. The last time I would hear her heartbeat.

May 8th, our final MOPS meeting of the year. An emotional day for me. The last time I would feel her move inside me.

May 9th, a busy Saturday. One of cleaning, running errands, and getting the boys ready for a trip to a softball tournament in town. P's cousins were in town. We spent the day making a "Welcome Home" sign for our friends who were traveling back from a month long stay in Uganda with two boys, who would be two new sons / two new brothers to add to their family. I remember thinking how we would both make additions to our families in a short time of eachother. I also remember tension in my body over the last couple of days. Maybe it was the growing suspicion that she was moving less inside me, or with less pronounced movements. I chalked up those thoughts to paranoia, to the fact that she was nearly full-term and had less room to move.

That evening the small suspicion growing into a giant cloud of confusion and concern. I hadn't felt her move... or had I? Had it been hours? Had it been all day? I just needed to eat. I hadn't eaten anything substantial for hours. I made supper, sat and waited... I drank juice, laid down, and waited. The last time of hundreds before that I would push against her foot, smiling, knowing it was her foot. The only time she would not push back, the only time it would fall away from my prodding, into the depths of my womb. I knew.

Later that night, the last time I would drive my car with her along. I take her with me now, in my heart, but that was the last time she would physically be with me. I drove to the hospital. Not thinking, taking the car with the car seats, hoping against all reason that P and the boys wouldn't need to follow. That I would be home after a mere scare. That they would find her heartbeat, and I would come home, reassured.

It was not to be.

It was the only time I would see nurses try and hide the panic in their face as they each took their turn moving the Doppler side to side, around my tummy, pausing for a moment, picking something up, and then matching it with my racing pulse. My pulse racing so fast, it was disguised as an infant's.

It was the only time I would see her full frame, completely still on the ultrasound monitor, with no heartbeat. The doctor's words ringing in my ears, something I knew was coming from the moment I sat on my bed and felt her foot, which did not push back. He said, "It's not good."

I'm not even sure what he said after that. Maybe, there's no heartbeat, or she's gone, or maybe something medical-like, there's no cardiac activity. I really don't know. I think the nurses were waiting to catch me, to have me fall out of the bed, or scream, or flail my arms.

All I could do was let silent tears roll down my cheeks.

There would be many more firsts, lasts, and onlys throughout that weekend. Too many to mention. There are two that are at the front of my mind today.

The first time I would see her.
P held her close for me to see, with tears rolling down our cheeks. She was beautiful. She was ours.

The only Mother's Day I would hold her in my arms.

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Part 2

Sometimes the pain seems so fresh. Sometimes it is muted, sometimes it is distant, but it will always be there. The pain has caused me to look at things differently. It has proved to be a teacher and a constant companion. The pain is not caused by where she is now, for I know she is experiencing a joy we can not fully know yet. The kind that is beyond our imaginations. The pain is only because of what we are missing - for we know what could have been, if she were here with us. In our minds - we see her blow out candles on a sticky birthday cake, we laugh as she toddles around our living room, and we listen to her squeal at her brothers.

The pain is for a purpose. For the first time in a year, I read words that seemed to transcend all that I have struggled with.

I would ask God WHY, and never seem to get the slightest reason. I was waiting for a thorough explanation, and expected that during my quiet times with Him, He would lay out the answer. My frustration was with what seemed to be the most silent time in my life. The silence was deafening between me and my God. He was trying to send me a message, but I would push it away. I wanted more. I wanted a thesis on WHY.
I remember it vividly. I got out of the shower - a regular sobbing session for me - I dried off, and was dressed with hair still dripping. I paused before I left the bathroom, preparing to pull myself together before I faced the rest of the day. I paused, then sat down, and was frozen by an image. An image of me sitting on a shore, and there were no words spoken, but Jesus sat down next to me and put His arm around me. It drove me nuts - there was no message, no words. Just His arm. Just His presence. Just what I needed, but didn't want to admit.

I know that God understood that I could not get to the point of saying to Him, "I know you are here, and I trust you." I also knew that He would not let me go one more day without making it clear to me that He was with me. He was there in my pain ---- even though I didn't know why I had to have this pain.

Now, back to the words from a book I just finished reading. The author shares great insight about suffering and grief. Her name is Dee Brestin, and the book is called "The God of all Comfort".
Here are three insights she wrote that have meant the most to me, and I feel they are worth sharing. They continue to give me new HOPE.

First, "God does care. God does know what He is doing. He asks us to trust Him. He asks us to remember who we are trying to understand --- even when it doesn't make sense at all." "For if we actually love God, not for what He gives us, but for Himself, then our souls, instead of shriveling up in suffering, are enlarged. This seems to be a key reason God allows suffering."

Second, "Suffering helps us let go of this earth." "Suffering strips us of things that might have been keeping us from intimacy with the Lord."

Third, "Suffering has a purpose so deep we may not understand it on earth. But in the midst of mystery, we are refined. In the midst of questions, we come to a deeper trust in the One who knows every answer, in the One who laid down His very life for us." "God's spirit not only rescues and comforts us, but transforms us --- into expectant, longing, hope-filled children who are 'confident and unashamed before him at his coming'." (the last part from Jn. 2:28)

Our God, our creator, and the lover of our souls knows our pain. He may give us the desire of our hearts, but if He doesn't, we will survive, and if we allow Him - He will build our character, He will transform us.
Trust me, I will be the first to admit that I didn't want the transformation, I didn't want the character, - I wanted my baby girl, here with me. However, I knew that I needed God's comfort and His presence. I knew that He loved me. I also knew that He loved her - more than I ever could (impossible though it seemed).

I know we have all had trials and suffering in our lives. And, according to Dee, (and I sincerely agree) "Though nothing can fully prepare us for grief, those who have been strengthened in their love relationship with God before the storm arrives are more likely to make it through the icy waters."

I am sometimes still in icy waters, but I know I have a rescuer, a redeemer who loved me enough to lay His own life down for me. Jesus was forsaken at the cross, so that I never have to be forsaken, even though sometimes it feels like it. Today, I can say - outloud, I trust Him. I trust Him even when it hurts and even when I don't want to.

One small cord...

2010-04-26T12:29:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking about cords a lot lately. Not the kind you play on a piano or a guitar, and not the kind that you tie around your waist when you wear a choir robe... But the kind that connects you to your mother before you are born. The blood-pumping, life-sustaining, belly-button causing kind.

Shortly after Amelia died, we found out more information about umbilical cords than we knew existed about them. Some are short, some are long, some have three vessels, some only two, some are twisted, (like an old school telephone cord) some are fragile, some are thin, and some are thick and hardy. Some get knotted, some get stretched, some get wrapped around not just one, but many parts of the baby's body, while others may even snap under pressure. Amelia's was a little short, and it was inserted on the edge of the placenta instead of in the middle - not ideal. My placenta was also a little low - also not ideal. Both of these factors likely contributed to some compression at some point while I was sleeping. Thus causing a shortage of oxygen, and ultimately her death. This is all educated speculation after talking with several health professionals, one having studied stillbirths for over 25 years.

I am 24 weeks pregnant, with baby number 4. We are very excited, but we are also anxious. I will wake up and not feel anything, and wonder --- did it happen again? Then I feel a flutter, and then a roll and I am reassured that everything is okay, for now.

I have wondered... hoped... wished... ~~asked~~ begged God... that we'd be able to see this cord on the ultrasound, and that it would be the right length, in the right spot, and would be the life sustaining vessel for however long it needed to be in order for us to bring this new little miracle home.

As of last friday's ultrasound, I have thanked God and praised him for the appearance of a strong cord, attached in the middle of a placenta that was up high. I know that I have no guarantees of bringing this little one home, but I have hope... again. Not without worry, but also not without prayer.

Amelia's sweet tummy, and her cord.

If you have any prayers or comments of hope - I would appreciate them.

Thanks for stopping by.