The words of this song are my guidepost.

It reminds me that even when the world wants to overtake me;

I am safe with in His love.

I am unreachable by the waves of despair, depression and most of all fear.

They will not overtake me.

{Enter The Worship Circle Vol.3 – Karla Adolphe}

This video was made by Easton on August 27th, 2010.

I just found it again, and again it brought me to tears.

I have such and amazingly wonderful family.

I have such amazingly wonderful children.

(As you can see, my first attempt at making these was a real big fail!
I adapted this tutorial to get my final result)

• Step 1: Tear out magazine pages.(make sure they are the brightness that you are looking for in your coil.

• Step 2 and 3: Fold them in half length wise, and then in half again (this is the part I adapted because I found that folding them in half created a bulkier strip than I desired)

• Step 4: Cut the page along the folds

• Step 5: Fold the strips in half length wise, and then in half again.

(make sure your folds are tight.  At this point you will need to heat up your glue gun)

• Step 6: Get a toothpick and begin to coil the end of the magazine around the toothpick tightly, just enough to start the coil. (This is the part that I adapted because I found that a wooden skewer was too fat)

• Step 7: Remove the toothpick and begin to coil the strip with out fingers, winding it tightly. When you are finished hot glue gun the edge down.

• Step 8: Start with another strip and hot glue it down to the edge of the previous coil.  Repeat until you have the desired size of flower.

• Step 9: Cut out a circle (a little bit smaller than your flower) out of felt.  Hot glue gun the eye pin and the felt on the back of the flower.

• Step 10: Admire your recycled magazine pendant!

I have written on this subject so many times, yet I still need to be reminded of it daily. I need to be reminded that God only has my best at heart, even when He seems so far away. I have been rereading a book (Stones of Remembrance) that I bought when I first found out that I had brain cancer. Upon reading the things that I wrote in the margins, I wonder to myself “where did that girl go?”

The girl that had rock solid faith.

The girl that did not doubt, because she relied whole heartily on her Father.

The girl that trusted her God through the worst diagnosis and prognosis imaginable.

(won’t you join me for the rest of my story at {in}courage?)

When we first let Emma go, I was numb. I do not remember much of anything from the week that followed her death (and the rest of the month fades in and out). I do remember waking up the next morning in my bed, instead of the hospital bed where I had spent the last 4 months. I remember thinking “she is really gone, that was really it.” I remember going to the funeral home and looking at little heart urns. I remember the uncontrollable crying and the looking for her every day.

Every where I looked, I could see her. When I went to get in my car, I would stop and open the back door, the door where her car seat used to be. When I would pick up my house, I would find spoons (she loved spoons) in the places that she use to sit, and I would just leave them. I would find rubber bands with her hair still in them, and I would sob.

I missed her so much, I still do. Yet, over time the missing is “different”, more manageable in a way that only those who have lost someone can understand.

“The firsts”, people say, are the hardest. (Yet I have to somewhat wonder, what about “the seconds”, “the sevenths”) We have gone through the first birthday, the first thanksgiving, the first Christmas. Yet, I do not think that next years holidays will be any easier. You still miss them, you still cry over them, you still long for the day that you will hold them again.

It becomes easier, but still the missing isn’t erased by the space of time.

I wrote a post 7 months after she had passed. I wrote about the last time I ran my fingers through her hair and kiss her forehead. I was struggling with a lot of things when I wrote that, but the biggest thing was guilt.

I can honestly tell you that grief and guilt go hand in hand. Guilt is satan’s main tool to defeat, and he used it mightily when it came to me. He often reminded me that I was the one how told them to turn off the machines, I was the one who essentially gave up on her. That I was the one who walked away.

I struggled with that. I still struggle with that. But, I know that satan is the master of lies, and that I did everything in my power to make sure that Emma had a wonderful, love filled life. No one could love her the way I did. No one knows the heartache and anguish I experienced on that day, except for my Savior. He held my heart all the way through.

There was a time through my grieving process that I couldn’t pray. I had no words. I couldn’t bring myself to say what God already knew. It wasn’t that I was angry at Him, I just couldn’t go over it anymore. Then, I couldn’t pray enough, because I felt guilty (there is that nasty word again) that I hadn’t prayed.

I longed for people to talk to me about her, yet no one knew what to say. I was astonished at how everything in the world went on with out her. I longed for people to say her name, yet I knew when people would, they would look at me through sorrow-filled eyes.

People are just that, people. It is hard when you are grieving not to take everything personally. Others do not now what to say, and often times they say things that they shouldn’t. (For example, someone told me with a smile on their face “At least now you will have more free time.”)
It is so easy when you are in the middle of grief to become self focused and offended.

One thing I have learned since Emma died (and trust me, I am still learning) is that everyone is hurting, and no one persons hurt is more or less important than the other. There are degrees of “pain”, but they are all are still “pain” . I am reminded daily that there is a world of hurting people outside my front door that need to hear the story that will change their lives.

The story that sent an innocent man to die for sins that He didn’t commit, for people that didn’t believe He was who He said He was. A story that removes all guilt from the equation and replaces it with everlasting peace.

As I sit in front of the fireplace far away from home, I am reminded that it is okay to just stop. I relish this time spent with myself, yet do not take it very often because of all of the “me” my life takes away. I think about last Christmas, when she was here. I remember now, her laugh and silly face instead of her tears and pain. My mind carries me back to that last Christmas day, when we were all together, one happy family. I remember the carefree spirit that I held, and the joy that my heart carried.

I miss her this Christmas season. I miss her laugh and silly face.

But I also am relieved in a strange way. I know that will sound horrible to some, but it is my truth. My mommy heart is relieved.

She is finally able to sit on Jesus’ knee and tell Him “Happy Birthday!” in her sweet yet high pitched voice. Oh how I long for the day to be able to see her again.

Yet, that longing is not as strong as it once was. When I look around and see my precious children, still here; still growing, still in need of me… I realize that although she was my world, she is not my entire world. I realize that I have an amazing calling as a mother and wife, it is just a bit different than in the past.

But is no less amazing.

So this chilly morning, while I sit in front of the fire far away from home, I am reminded of what a precious gift it is to be alive, to breathe, to think, to enjoy;

When I came across this quote, I had to ponder on it for awhile. I had to let it soak in and drench my spirit. I had to be still and let the Lord whisper it in my ear.

We were at our dear friends house Monday when the wife asked Mark and I were we were in the grieving process with Emma. We both paused. I know where I am “not”, but I haven’t really thought a lot about where I “am” in the process.

When I look at the 7 stages of grief, I realize that I am somewhere between stage 6 and 7.

7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-
During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward.

Accetptance, because I realize that God is a sovereign God, and that His ways are not known to me yet… I have learned to lean on Him, even when I felt He wasn’t there. I have learned to talk to Him even when I felt He wasn’t listening.

I have learned that I do have the strength, through Him, to come through even this.

I am accepting the fact that she really is gone, but only in her earthly state. I dream about her dancing at the feet of her Savior, and singing real words to real songs. As much as I long for her to be here, I would never want her to leave there.

Which brings me back to the above quote. Perfect love. She is experiencing His perfect love at this very moment, with un-abandoned child like faith. He is absolutely “head over heels nuts” for her.

And me.

Yesterday evening Mark and I went back to the hospital where Emma passed away. When I looked over the Skyway Bridge and saw the ACH sign, I lost my breath. A flood of emotions came over me all at once. I longed to see my second family again, yet dreaded going into the room where she passed away.

When we got to the PICU floor and the doors opened, the smell of hand sanitizer and oxygen overtook my senses. It was like she was still there, yet she wasn’t. Mark and I hugged the nurses necks and walked around the unit.

Then we came to the room. The room where she lost her earthly battle. The room where she passed away.

We went in. (there wasn’t a patient in that room.) It was surreal. It looked a lot bigger without all of her equipment, yet it seemed a lot smaller without her there. Mark and just stood there, and cried.

Closure.

She was not in that bed. She was not hooked up to the machines that kept her body alive here. She was not in pain anymore, crying and pleading with her eyes.

Be still, my soul.

Mark and I hugged each other tight, and smiled.

She is home.

At that moment, the above verse came to my mind.

She was always His.

He ransomed her.

He called her by name.

He called her home.

When Mark and I were told about Emma before she was born, our decisions determined the path her life would take. When Mark and I found out that I had brain cancer, our decisions determined the path our families lives would take. When our family was told that Emma would not come home, our decision determined the path her body would take.

Yet the Lord’s will never changed. He was not alarmed nor was He shaken by the paths that He already had planned for our little lives down here.

I had a really hard time with this after the decision was made to turn off the machines. I doubted myself. I doubted my love for Emma. But then a friend asked me one simple question: “Heather, when you turned them off, did she live?” It wasn’t up to me whether she lived or died, God had numbered her days even before she was born. If it wasn’t her time, she would have still been breathing after the machines stopped. It took me a long time to come to that realization and accept the fact that I did the best thing for my daughter.

God never lost control. He never lost his breath. He never shook his head and said “what now”.

“We have been called according to His purpose.” -Romans 8:28

Not our purpose. Not our wants or desires. Not our selfish plans.

His.

We are never outside of His plan for our lives. So when those hard questions come, and trust me they will come, remember that we are never given over to “random chance” by our Creator. He is conforming and molding us into His likeness. He is refining our hearts, and with refining there comes pain and suffering.

We see the back of the tapestry with all of the knots and strings… He is in the front making His masterpiece out of our lives. In Romans, Peter says “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us“. God is going to reveal glory in His children. He is going to turn our mourning into gladness. He will wipe every tear from our eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.

When the storms come, and questions run rampant in your hearts, where will you hide? Will you hide in fear and hopelessness, doubting that that the one who holds the entire universe in the palm of his hand does not care about you; or will you take refuge in His sovereign plan for your life, hiding in His loving arms until the storm passes and you are able to stand up again.

You will have questions, you will have doubt, you will be angry.

It is what you do with those things that will determine your future stability and well being.

Where will you hide?

But then I look around me… {wont you continue reading with me @ {in}courage?)

A HUGE thank you to Lisa Boyd, the wordpress guru for installing Genesis for me and helping me with this new design! We still have a few things to work out, but I just couldn’t hold the excitement in any longer and had to make it live!

It has been 7 months since I told you goodbye…

I have missed you every second of everyday, yet the missing is getting easier with time. The tears are slowly being turned into laughter, and the memories are being welcomed again.

I loved you so very much.

I did my best to do everything in my power to make your life as easy as possible. I have no regrets, I would do it all again if given the opportunity. Yet, I sometimes doubt your dads and my decision that day… I dream that you might have made it, because you always did. But then I remember that look in your eyes, as if saying “I am done..” and I know that we did the best thing for you by letting you go.

That was our goal, our promise to you; to make your life as easy and enjoyable for the time that God allowed us to have you. I hope we accomplished that goal in your eyes, and that you truly, deeply understood how indescribably loved you truly were.

I am re-learning life without you down here, but when I think about you up there…. I realize that I accomplished my goals for you and your life. I realize that you are where you were meant to be, and nothing on this earth could stop you from going there.

Not even my love.

I miss you baby girl….

I was expecting the first birthday, mothers day, etc. to be hard, but its the “unknown” firsts that reach into your chest and suffocate your heart.

Then I think about her smile, and somehow my chest releases and I can breathe again.

About a month ago, I went back to her school. I “walked the cracks that she walked”. I walked and I cried. Pictures of her skipping down to her classroom filled my mind. I sat on the bench that she sat on. I touched the books that she loved. I hugged the necks of the teachers she adored.

I longed for the days when she was there.
“Just breathe”…

Grieving takes every ounce of your being, and leaves you with a feeling of hopelessness that you have never experienced before. It digs it’s claws into your soul with it’s relentless grip and if you allow it, sorrow will envelope you.

It is that exact moment that you have to make a choice. You can either choose to stay there and succumb or you can choose to live through the grief. That choice will become a pivotal point in your recovery.

Ask me how I know.

I have been thrown down and beaten up by satan throughout this last 6 months, and yet I am still here. I have doubted, cursed, and blamed; yet I am still here.

Yet, I know it has nothing to do with who I am.
It has everything to do with who I am in Him.

It took an act of God to get me back at her school. I sat in the parking lot and screamed. I hit the steering wheel with my fists, just like you see in the movies.

Then I got out of my car and took the first step. Then the next. Then the next.

Before I knew it, the very thing that terrified me became a blessing that I will never forget.

There is not a moment that goes by that I do not long to have her here with me, yet somehow I know she is where she needs to be. I know that it was not God’s punishment, but His grace, that gave her to me for the amount of time that she was here. I know that her death is but a stepping stone of the journey that He has in store for all of the lives she has touched.

I trust that He has a plan for all of these messy firsts..

And my trust in Him is well placed…

He woke up, and talked. He woke up and recognized his family. He woke up and could see clearly. He woke and was almost the same as before the seizures took hold of his body.

I struggled with that. I struggled with the why and the how. I struggled with feeling that I did enough or that I prayed enough for Emma. I struggled with knowing that God would allow one child to regain full cognition and allow another to become like an infant.

I struggled with God.

This family had enormous faith, just like we did. They believed that their son would be fully and completely healed, just like we did.

Their son was, our daughter was not.

I honestly thought, up until the last 3 days that she would be going home. I believed, up until the last three days, that God was going to heal her broken body.

When He didn’t, I was numb. I do not remember signing the DNR papers. I do not remember much of anything from that day, except for leaving and feeling like I left my heart behind.

But when I stopped and thought about it over the next several weeks, I realized that she was healed.

He had answered my prayers, just not in the way that Mark and I had hoped for.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

Gods goodness in one families life does not negate his goodness in mine. He had amazingly awesome plans for Emma’s life, she brought such joy and happiness to those who knew her and loved her. There are countless people that her story has touched in every continent. She was loved by not only our family, but families across the world. I know that He has big plans for the boy that I mentioned. He has a story now that he wouldn’t have had if this circumstance hadn’t touched his life and the lives of those who loved him.

Coming to that realization has been very difficult, sometimes unbearable. Realizing that God is not only graceful and loving, but also sovereign has been heart wrenching.

But in the end, He is still good.
In the end, He is still God.

And as much as I don’t understand His ways, I am so greatful that He is the one in control.

It was the last “piece” of her, the last “thing” that I had to do.

It felt…… final.

But, here is the ironic part:
“Hope” is the emotional state which promotes the belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one’s life.

I gave Emma’s clothes to Hope.

But this is where grief comes in. It wraps it’s tentacles around my heart and will not let go.

I know that, in the grand scheme of life, grief is such a small thing. But she was a such a constant in my life. She was constantly reminding me that, even thru the pain she suffered, her life was good. She showed me what “hope” really looked like.

She lived it.

She taught me that God was good. And the “grief” of this world is just a moment in time compared to the glory that awaited her {and us as believers}.

I am still learning that God is good, even through this pain. I am still learning that even though I have some hard, tough questions, He is still good. He is still there. He is still God.

And that I can still hope.

It is a daily moment by moment process, learning to live with this grief. When I think I have overcome, the tears appear. The memories are constant, like videos playing in my head. I find myself just stopping and relishing in them instead of pushing them aside.

That is progress.

Mark and I are going to Grief Share this evening. I cry just thinking about it. I want to talk about her, but I dont… if that makes sense. I want to keep her memories locked up inside of my soul, but I know that I need to release them so that others can marvel in God’s goodness in her life.

In Her Purpose.

In His Will.

In My Grief.

Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.
-John 16:22

You can read more about Mattie Montgomery here. He has a genuine heart for the lost. He has a true gift of reaching my daughters generation . I do not care for his music, {screamo} but his talking albums are pure awesomeness…

You can see more of his videos here

Then I realize.
You were still on your throne.
You were still looking down.
You were still there.
You were still God.

And through all of the heartache, death, sadness, anger; I have lost sight of what really matters. I have forgotten that this all ends well for me and that Heaven stands as my reward. I have leaned less on Your promises and more on my own understanding, or lack thereof

I am learning that I really never knew anything. I am learning that lack of control equals growth. I am learning to trust You again. I am learning that You are still the same God that gave my precious daughter to me for 9+ years. I am learning that grief is something I really never really truly understood the way I do now.

I am learning that through it all… I never left Your hands.

I have often been told that “the waiting” is the hardest part of anything worth while. I am not the most patient person in the world. I like periods at the end of my sentences. I like reading the last chapter of the book to see how the story ends. I like knowing more than questioning.

I am the same way with grief. I keep waiting for the period at the end of grief. I keep waiting for the last chapter to be written so can look ahead and see how it ends.

I keep waiting.

Tears come in ripples now, instead of waves… but that does not mean my grief is any less than the day we lost her. It just means that I smile more when I think of her instead of having the ugly cry that accompanied her memories.

Death makes heaven more real to those who have lost a loved one. I almost look forward to dying now, in a weird way. Not because I do not love every aspect of my life down here..

But because I cannot wait to be up there and see her again.

That is, by far, the hardest “wait” …