New Life, but what if?

The talk of more babies is in the air...In the past few months I have heard many friends thinking and planning another addition to their families.

Something I so badly want. I wanted to have a large family and I do have one in a way I guess. They are just not all here with me. My heart is beginning to stir, like the tiny new buds in spring on the trees.

Dare I begin to hope again...can I do this again?

Up until recently, I knew I wanted another baby, I just was not sure my heart was ready. I have been working so hard to get my body ready because I know I want to be able to have another baby, I just was not ready YET.

Some friends it is almost as easy as sitting on a toilet seat for them to get pregnant.

Some are able to plan according to ovulation calendars. For me it has not been that easy. Not at all.

I have tried, but it just has not worked out that way.

Now I feel the stirrings in my heart that it is soon time. I refuse to let my mind settle and stay on being afraid of having another miscarriage. Again, I am back to simply trusting. Trusting that whatever happens, God is going to be there with me. Trusting and praying that THIS time it will work. That THIS time we will hold a live, breathing, warm and wiggly baby in our arms.

Do I dare to believe? Some would say it will never happen if you don't believe. They say you have to first have a dream. Well I have a dream, in fact I have many, many of them. I have had dreams of rooms filled with babies, rows on rows of cribs lining walls, and all of these babies were somehow mine to love, care for and protect. I have had these dreams ever since I was a very little girl.

What if? The question that echoes in my heart and mind so much lately. How do I turn over all to Him?  I try to stand strong, to resist fear. I try to be the "good, solid christian" who does not allow fear in. I feel it's icy fingers more often lately. Loss brings fear, fear of the unknown, fear of that gut wrenching pain. I don't ever want to feel the pain of loss again...but what if...

Pregnancy and infant loss doesn't politely ask to become part of your life. It shows up uninvited, and robs you of the very thing you thought was sacred and untouchable.
I never thought it would happen to me personally, and I hear that same statement over and over from women around me experiencing loss.
Life is full of what ifs. If I am completely open and honest, some of them scare me. A lot.

A baby born alive after pregnancy or infant loss is called a rainbow baby. A rainbow is a symbol of hope and promise. Though our hearts desire a rainbow baby, the thought that remains in the back of our minds is, "What if we try and the pregnancy ends with a loss again?" Could we handle facing that pain again? Are we willing to take the risk? Can we be brave enough to try again? If we choose not to, can we swallow that empty spot that we felt was supposed to be filled? Even though the rainbow is a sign of promise, it may still have rain that accompanies it.

The weight of fear can become so great, I cannot carry it on my own. When I feel overwhelmed by it, I realize, it is not mine to carry. The yoke of it was removed from me long ago, if I would/could only give it over to Him. That seems easier said than done. It is a constant decision, you have to be able to catch fear at the earliest sign of it, and give it God. In the Bible it says that God has not given me a spirit of fear, but somehow I forget this in my humanity.

Next step, believing. Do I believe? Yes, I do. If I close my eyes, I can see our family. Our family has four, sometimes more, children running around us, but can it become a reality?

What is the key to making a pregnancy end successfully this time...is it if I believe enough, pray enough, have faith enough, am good enough, am healthy enough, am brave enough? The list could go on and on. But what it really comes down to is that I have no control over it. As much as I like to try and maintain control over things in my life I cannot control this. This is something that is completely out of my hands. So I find myself in the same position I was after Zoe was born, needing to trust.

Can I trust enough to do this again, acknowledging something I dare not speak out loud? In fact I don't even want to type it! What if? What if it doesn't work AGAIN?

My head tells me I can't take any more grief, but at the same time, my heart holds so much joy and so much love, I can't imagine not trying again. Many people refer to this journey as a dance between grief and joy, and it truly is that. There, amidst the most ugly, scary, horribly awful times, there is joy. There is peace. There is a sacredness because a child existed. A child was loved. So if my journey holds more grief, then I still continue this dance, after all, I am already here. My Dance Partner loves me and comforts me like no other. I know that despite my two left feet, He will guide me gracefully through and make my dance into a thing of beauty.

Reflecting on her birth day, 2 years later

***Warning, some graphic descriptions and emotions***

"There's a peace I've come to know
Though my heart and flesh may fail
There's an anchor for my soul
I can say it is well...
Jesus has overcome and the grave is overwhelmed
The victory is won, He is risen from the dead...
I will rise on eagle's wings, no more sorrow no more pain"
Chris Tomlin

This song is so close to my heart. My heart sings it loud...

This post has taken awhile to write, but for a few days now Zoe's song has been playing through my head over and over. Her second birthday in Heaven has just passed. We celebrated her birthday on August 2 by going down to the river where we held her memorial service and putting many different colours of rose petals in the water. Daddy bought his baby girl the best he could find. We thought there were only two colours in the bag, but as we dug deeper, we came out with more colours. The water has never looked so beautiful to me as it did that night.

We stood by the water's edge and sang Happy Birthday to our girl. The kid's voices ringing out loud and clear over the ripples as they sang their hearts out with love for their little sister. I didn't care who heard us. We were loving her the only way we knew how in this moment. Kyler blew his kiss at the end of the song.

I miss my babies in Heaven with every fibre of my being. I know I will be with them one day, but until then, there are empty spaces in my heart that they have left behind. Those spaces ache so deeply, there are not words to describe it. Tears filled my eyes so many times that day as I replayed in my mind all of the moments of that day two years ago. The rose petals floated away and as they did, some of them formed a perfect heart on the water. A quick reminder of His love that holds us through this. It was gone before I could get a picture of it though.

It was such a peaceful night. You would never know that just hours before, the sky had let loose a downpour unlike any we had seen since the night that a tornado touched down just outside Moose Jaw. On any day that has held significance to Zoe, it has rained...the day of the ultrasound where we found out her little heart was no longer beating, the day she entered this world, the day we went to the funeral home to make the arrangements for her little body to be cremated (It still turns my stomach to say that, a pen has never been so heavy to lift as it was the day I had to write her name on that paper and sign my name giving permission. It literally took all my strength), and the day of her memorial service.

As the day went on, I saw scene after scene in my mind. You can read the events of her birth that I wrote out a short while after she was born here:

Zoe's Birth Part 1 and Zoe's Birth Part 2

Right now, I write the scenes in my memories...
Waking up in the morning, heading to the bathroom. There was blood and my womb hurt...my heart sank and hot tears poured down my face. I knew she would be born that day. I wanted to hold her in my arms, but not yet, not in this way. I wanted to see her sweet face, but not this soon. The phone call was made to our doula. She would meet us at the hospital. My mom comes in, tears running down her cheeks as she walks through the front door. We stop to pray together before leaving. It is still not too late God. Never too late for a miracle. The breathe of life breathed into a tiny body restoring what is missing. She gives me a tight squeeze and tells me how much she loves me and this little one. Driving up to the hospital, my stomach was in knots. What would our baby look like? How would the birth feel? I knew that now, not only was there physical pain coming, but there was a raw, searing pain that was present. I could not get away from it. I didn't want them to take my baby from my body. She deserved to be born just the way she was supposed to have been in only a few more months. I was so angry with death. I was so angry for the life of my baby being stolen. I didn't want to think about them taking her away after she was born. Each footstep into the hospital was agonizing. I did it only because I felt I had no choice. I didn't get to have a say in this one. I wanted to turn and run. Talking to the lady at the admitting desk, I hear myself saying that I am there to deliver my baby who passed away a few weeks ago. What? Are those words really coming from my mouth...this can't be real.
We make our way up to Women's Health, the unit where babies are born every day. I cringe inside hoping desperately that there are none in the nursery we have to walk by. We are greeted by coldness.  I keep my eyes averted from the window that proudly showcases live babies. I know that without a miracle, my baby will never be joining them there. The nurse seems so cold and so uncaring about what we are there for. I don't know why. The bleeding is getting heavier, there has been no miracle. We are sent to another room to wait. T.V. making useless noise, I have no idea what is on or what it is talking about. The room feels small, too small. It is getting harder to even breathe. I want to leave. My Doula sits beside me, I ask her questions like does she know what the baby will look like when it comes out. She is not sure, but says another doula friend of hers said that the baby's are well preserved in their momma's tummy. As many times before in the last two weeks, I feel again that I am a walking tomb. I feel it now more than any other day, but yet I desperately don't want my time with her to end. At least if she is in my womb she is warm and safe. I am praying, God I can't do this on my own.
The time has come, the Dr is here. We see the him. More questions, do I even know the answer to these? I have to bare myself for him to check me, I am laid open to my very soul as I lay there on the bed. Vulnerable, heart broken, desperate, angry, lost, empty and scared and trusting that my God has me safe in His arms. I don't understand, not at all, but I trust.
When we are done with the Dr. we are told to come back when the bleeding gets worse or once the baby is born. He has been kind. He leaves and there is only more coldness from the one that I thought was supposed to be trained to support me as a patient. A patient about to deliver her dead baby any time. We are told we can go home. The time of birth is unknown. The rest of the day blurs with tears, many more tears than I ever thought I could cry, falling from my red and swollen eyes.
My heart is in agony. How does one "get through" this. What are the "proper ways to grieve"? How do I accept birthing a baby I will never bring home?  I don't have a clue! There are no guidelines or instructions for grief. It is what it is, it comes when it wants, it drowns you at times.
The late afternoon approaches, the contractions that have been sporadic all day start to become more regular, they intensify. As I prepare our meal, I stop many times to lean on the counter, rocking through contractions, knowing she is closer to leaving me until I meet her in our Heavenly home. My tears fall soaking sleeves as I pointlessly try to wipe them away. How will I bear this? God, How can I do this? I can't...I just can't. And yet I know I will, because I have to. Because He gives me strength, hope and love. We have finished eating, I could hardly eat a thing. I don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything but change events to keep my little girl growing healthy inside me.
The contractions are stronger and regular, though not as strong as with my other kids...I wonder how close I am to meeting my baby. I have to go to the bathroom. At least I think I do. My kids are laying on my bed watching a show. Oblivious to what was going on as I walk past them and into the bathroom. We had told them in the morning before we left for the hospital that probably today would be our baby's birthday. I didn't want them to worry.
With the urge to push, I can feel my baby's head ready to be delivered. I am scared. Really scared. With bleeding troubles after birth in my previous pregnancies, I didn't know what to expect. We called our doula again. Together we decided that probably by the time she got in to town, the baby would be born so there was no point in her coming. In my heart, I wanted her to come, but didn't want to inconvenience her. It was the wrong choice. I should have had her come in. She wishes she would have just come in. I did too.
We call the hospital. The unkind nurse answers the phone on women's health. She says some of the ugliest words my heart heard that day..."When you come to the hospital, bring the products of conception with you." WHAT??? These "products of conception" as you call them, is MY BABY!!! A BABY! Not just some leftover science experiment. My head is screaming. Tears pouring out. We reached out for help and support and found none from this woman. I am scared. the scenarios play out in my mind. Of course fear brings the worst images to mind.
If we deliver at home and I bleed too much, I could die. If I bleed too much, the ambulance has to come get me. How scary will it be for my kids to see mommy being loaded onto a stretcher to go in an ambulance if it comes to that...I don't want to die with my kids watching T.V. just outside the bathroom door. God please help me to not fear. Help me through this. Hemorrhaging is not something I have any interest in doing again much less having my kids see me in all that blood so we opt for the hospital just in case.

We get to the hospital, we are sent to women's health...would she still be working. I prayed not. As the elevator doors open, my hands holding the pink paper are trembling. I want to throw up. I want to close my eyes and scream. I want to scream until this all goes away and I wake up from this nightmare. I am trying not to move much, breathing carefully so as not to push the baby out while I sit in the wheelchair. The same nurse with coldness is working. She sends us away. "Go to Emerg. You don't belong here." There must be some mistake. Maybe all the rooms are full. A glance down the hall tells me no, they are not. We don't understand why we are being sent away so coldly but we turn around and head back to the elevator. I don't belong here...here is where they deliver  babies who will live, who will open their eyes. Babies who will go home with their parents dressed in a cute little outfit and snuggled into a carseat covered with a warm, soft, fuzzy blanket.
We get to Emerg. The doors open and we have to explain yet again why we are there. Inside my head it all sounds like a recording. Words without meaning. We are taken to a room. I climb onto the bed and our baby girl makes her entrance into the world "En Caul" which means her amniotic sac didn't break during birth. This is supposed to be good luck and mean that the baby will live a long happy life. Not this time. Good thing I don't believe in luck. They are having trouble controlling the bleeding again. The placenta will not deliver. Her umbilical cord breaks under the pressure they are putting on it, slight as it was. Fearful looks being shared by the nurses now. The atmosphere in the room changes. Staff are rushing, they keep pulling out chux pads and replacing them underneath me. I feel the warmth as the blood and clots still come. I am scared. Thoughts rushing through my head. What if I die here tonight? I would get to be with my babies in Heaven, but I would leave behind my babies on earth. I can't leave them, not yet. My Zoe is safe, she is loved, she is happy, she is dancing before her Heavenly Father.
If I don't make it, what is Greg going to tell the kids? How will they bear this on top of losing their sister? Will they remember how much I love them? Will they remember my hugs and kisses, my laugh, my mothering? Or will they only remember the sadness of the last few weeks...I don't feel like I said a proper goodbye to them before we came to the hospital because I didn't want them to worry.
So many thoughts. I pray for peace. I pray for comfort. I pray to push all of the worry and scared thoughts away. I pray that I will make it so I can hug them again and tell them just how special they are to me. So much blood again. The smell fills my nostrils and makes me nauseous. Hospital smell...the blood...the smells of that night are forever in my memory. I know He will never leave me nor forsake me. I know I am safe in His arms no matter what the outcome.
I am to be sent for a D&C to stop the bleeding. A stretcher at the door. A transfer to women's health. Then a message again, I am not to go there. She says again that I don't need to be there.
Another jab at an already bleeding and broken heart. Why is she so against me being there? Maybe it is not that, but it sure felt like that in the moments of dealing with so much more.
The placenta delivers and the bleeding slows...D&C averted. Thankfulness, peace, comfort, longing to hold my baby and see her face. It is time. What will she look like? Will she look like her brothers or sisters? Will she just be an individual all unto herself.
I feel a bit of the excitement of a new mom about to gaze on the beauty of and marvel at her newborn child like I have three times before. This mixed with the sorrow of knowing she will not move. She will not cry, she will not open her eyes.
The nurse opens the amniotic sac. "Oh, she is beautiful" the nurse says. "She is so tiny and perfect. Look at her ten little fingers and ten little toes!" I am watching Greg's face to see his reaction to her. I watch his heart melt as he sees this tiny creature, so perfect. I have seen that look 3 other times and my heart knew it well. The look of pride, love, awe and joy all mixed into one on the face of a man becoming a new father. I am glad that he loves her so much too.
The nurse hands her to us. We gaze upon the beauty of our child. She IS perfect. She is beautiful. She is ours. Part me, part her daddy. Hands, fingers, feet and toes so tiny and yet perfectly formed. The hot tears are mixed with smiles, as we are awestruck with the intricacy that God creates in human life. She is warm still. I snuggle her up to my shoulder, close my eyes and just breathe. I don't want this moment to end. I smell her scent, a mama knows this by heart within moments. My heart is torn between wanting to gaze at her memorizing every single detail of her face and being so that I don't forget her and wanting to hold her close to me and not lose a moment. To see a baby not move and be so flaccid is unnerving. It is foreign and seems so wrong, but this moment with her on my shoulder is so very right. She is close to my heart where her memory will forever stay.
I take her away from my shoulder and hand her to her Daddy. He holds her with such tenderness and gentleness, it brings fresh tears to my eyes. He doesn't keep her long, knowing how little time we have with her, I think he wanted me to have as much time as possible. I hold her tiny fingers on mine, and her tiny feet. Never have I seen something so small, yet so perfectly formed. We tell her we love her over and over. I tell her how much her brothers and sisters would have loved to have met her and held her. We sang to her. I want to sing the song that I had sang to her all those weeks in my womb

Psalm 23 (sung by Temple and her husband in this video)

I can't get the words out though. Every time I would try, I fresh tears would come again. I am not supposed to be singing this to her while she lays dead in my arms. This song was supposed to be a blessing of sorts to sing over her while I was in labor and when she was born. The words are still true, the promise remains the same, I just didn't think that the valley of the shadow of death would be so real and relevant.
Our nurse comes in to say she is done her shift and will be leaving. She says again that she is so sorry for our loss. A new nurse is taking over now. The new nurse comes in to introduce herself and see how we are doing. We nod, words won't come. My sweet girl, my little angel...oh how I wish this could be different. The time hands keep moving on the clock, but my world is standing still and spinning around making me dizzy all at the same time. Another half hour passes and the nurse comes in to see if we are ready yet. Ready for what? Oh yes, ready to give you my baby's lifeless body so you can take it to the lab. Ugh...my stomach is turning again. We have discussed autopsy and genetic testing with the Dr. and agreed to it. It seems so wrong to allow it, but she is not in this body anymore and we felt if it could give us some answers for next time, then it was what needed to be done. That didn't make it easy.
We say no, we are not ready. Not yet. A bit more time. Not that it changes anything, but I needed one more moment to try to etch the details into my memory forever. I don't want to forget. How do these tears keep falling? So many, I thought my body would have run out long ago. Another half hour, the nurse is at the door again. Are we ready yet? It is starting to seem like they are trying to hurry us along. Maybe the room is needed. Are we ready? What does ready mean, what does it feel like? I don't have a clue.
We each took turns and held her close to our hearts one last time, whispering I love you's and saying our goodbyes. The nurse is here waiting to take her away. So incredibly hard to hold her little body out to be taken away. It is done.
It is late and now I am sent upstairs to Women's Health for the night. I am utterly and completely exhausted, yet I can't sleep. I lay in bed watching the clock hands move. I hear babies cry and mommies try to comfort. I hear nurses moving about, I hear deafening silence in my room. No baby cries, only my own sobs. A big room, by myself, but it feels like the walls close in. It is again hard to breathe. They ask if I want something to help me sleep. No, I don't, but I take it anyway, just to escape from this night if even just for a little while. I look down at my gown, traces of amniotic fluid still on the shoulder. All I have left of her. No blanket she was in, nothing else to hold, so I hug the pillow tight. Oh God, please hold me. Please make this hurting stop. He tells me He loves me and will carry me through. Then I realize, for Him to make the hurting stop, I have to not love her still. I have to erase all of being her mommy from my memory. I don't want that, so I accept that this hurt and this emptiness in my heart is forever a part of me. Because I love so deeply, I welcome it to be part of my life from now on. In the emptiness and hurt, He is there and His tears fall with mine. His tears are tears of sorrow for me, but tears of joy as He watches her dance in His presence. He watches her twirl and sing and worship. What a beautiful sight. So with that vision in my head, I sleep.
In the morning I wake early, after only a couple of hours of sleep. I get chills up my spine as I hear the cold nurse's voice at my door. She tells the Dr she has no idea about where I delivered.
I just want this to be over so I can go home and be with my family. I am released to go home. She tosses my hospital card onto the bed carelessly. I get dressed and wait for my husband and kids to come get me. I desperately want to pack the gown into my bag and take it home. It may be silly, but it took everything in me to turn and walk out of that room leaving it behind on the bed. All traces of her existence will soon be washed out. I leave empty handed and broken hearted to go home and begin a new "normal" of learning to live with loss all over again. Each time has been individual to itself.
Now it is time to face the phone calls, the people and life. We are not ready, but by His grace we can and we do.

Zoe's Song

This song was written by my husband when our little girl Zoe was born. Daddy wanted to write a song for his girl. He sang it at her memorial.

She should have joined us in mid December
Maybe played Jesus in the christmas play
She left us too soon, but we'll love her forever
'Cause she left her little footprints on our hearts

Chorus:
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts
She left her little footprints, her tiny little footprints
She left her little footprints on our hearts

We wanted to hold you an tell you about Jesus
Now He can hold you and tell you about us.
Your mama's heart is breaking, so badly wanting you to hold
"Cause you left your little footprints on our hearts

Chorus:

Bridge:
Oh we'll see you soon I know
As soon as we get to Heaven
But you left your little footprints, your tiny little footprints
You left your little footprints on our hearts
Left your little footprints on our hearts.

This is not my home...

When we have a heart's desire, and it is so close to becoming a reality that we can almost tangibly feel it, it cuts deeply when it fades away and the answer is "No."
We all have a choice in that moment. we can choose to live in bitterness and anger, full of doubts and resentment; or we can feel all those things and still find something to be thankful for. My choice? To be thankful for the moments I did have with my babies. I am their mommy forever now, and though their time was short here on earth, I am honoured to have been given that time with them. Did I feel this way right away? Did I want to make this choice? No, it took me some time to be able to do it, even though I knew it was what I needed to do. The hurt was too deep and raw...
Am I glad I chose that? Yes. Without a doubt, yes. I don't think I would be where I am today without looking for something to be thankful for. I have found joy again in little things. I find that when I specifically look for things to be thankful for, I can see sunshine again. I feel more at ease, and the weight I carry in my heart is not quite so unbearable. 



I read this blog today.
Hormonal Imbalances - When God says No...

It brought back many emotions and memories of how I felt after the miscarriages we have had. After reading it, I felt God confirming in my heart that when I chose to be thankful even when it hurts, I am making the right choice. No matter what the difficult circumstances are that you are facing, no matter what your heart's desire is that has not become reality yet, there is One you can turn to when you feel hopeless. He will give you strength when you have none, hope when you are hopeless, glue when you feel like life is coming undone.


Here is a beautiful song...I love the line, "What if your blessings come through raindrops, what if your healing comes through tears."


The pain reminds me that this is not my home...

Blessings - Laura Story


We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe


'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights Are Your mercies in disguise

Mother's day with a new view

Can anyone really expect to recover from such tragedy, considering the value of what was lost and the consequences of that loss? Recovery is a misleading and empty expectation. We recover from broken limbs, not amputations. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same. There is no going back to the past, which is gone forever, only going ahead to the future, which has yet to be discovered. Whatever that future is, it will, and must, include the pain of the past with it. Sorrow never entirely leaves the soul of those who have suffered a severe loss. If anything, it may keep going deeper..."

~ Jerry Sittser


I Look To You - Selah
Tears fall as I hear this song tonight. When all my strength is gone...


What is my future? I have pondered this thought a lot lately. So many new adventures that excite my heart are ahead of me. For those who don't know, I took my Postpartum Doula training in fall of 2011. I just finished a Babywearing Educator course last weekend and at both of these events, I met so many amazing women! In summer I will be taking my Labour Doula training and then in fall of this year I plan to take my Baby Loss Doula training.
All three of these doula trainings will work together very nicely. I have found quite a deep passion for and am really looking forward to being a Labor doula; however my heart's cry is supporting women through baby loss. I don't know what that is going to look like in my neck of the woods, but time will tell.
In the quote above, Jerry Sittser says, "Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same." So, what will I do with my "beautiful mess?" (as I have heard this life after baby loss called)


My heart is forever changed, inside and out by my children. I will never look at pregnancy and birth the same way as I did before my losses. I will never look at a newborn baby the same. I have learned not to take those moments for granted because when you have to try to fit a lifetime of love into a moment, an hour, a day, a month, a year or even 3 years, it is an impossible task. There is so much that feels as if it is left unfinished, and can never be fulfilled here on earth.
Oh what I would give for one more hug, one more kiss on her little head, one more moment of time...
I laid in bed with my four year old while tucking him in tonight and watched him fall asleep. He had been kind of wild all evening because he was so tired. It took only moments for him to go to sleep and I laid there feeling his sweet breath against my cheek, watching the fluttering of his eyelids as he drifted off.
There is almost nothing on earth like watching a sleeping child. A child who, only minutes before had been driving you crazy with his silliness, now lays before you almost angelic. His cheeks flushed and his hair tousled from a day of playing, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. I put my hand on his chest and felt the flutter of his little heart, a heart that once beat in my womb, and I am convinced still beats with mine sometimes. How peaceful he looked. I leaned in and whispered into his ear, sweet murmurings of a mother's love. I thanked him for being here. For making it. How did he do it? Why couldn't the others? Hot tears splash the pillow. How very thankful I am that my life has been made so rich by my three children with me on earth.
Now Mother's day is almost upon us again. My heart breaks for so many mommy's I know that will not be holding their baby's on that special day. I know that pain and that longing...I also know a peace and a hope that never fail.
The end of this month, May 31st, marks my due date with Judah. My heart yearns for those moments of my body straining to bring forth new life, and then when that is over, nourishing a tiny, perfect being.  I literally dream of what those moments feel like. These tears are brought back afresh sometimes as ones close to me are due around that same day, and I am happy for them. To see the joy and wonder on their faces as they gaze at their newborn who smells so sweet, there is nothing else like it. 
Sometimes I get angry that loss taints so many areas of life. Sometimes I wish I could say I was spiritual enough, or strong enough or even oblivious enough to not feel the pain, but it is there. I feel it and learn from it daily. This pain has value in my life, only through choice. I have chosen not to let it destroy me. I have so much to learn about this life still, but in the meantime, I will use what I know and what I have experienced to help others. I will sit and get muddy in their puddle with them and show them that there is hope. Even when we don't feel it yet, there is hope.  Our babies stories have been heard and read by many and I will keep sharing about them. It is the only way that I have of being their mommy right now. I will honour them by keeping their memory alive.
So my angels, while I celebrate Mother's Day here on earth with your brothers and sister, know that my heart eagerly awaits the day when we will all be together again. I love you more than words can express Asa, April, Kane, Zoe, Ellie and Judah.

Who but You...

Take a listen to this song:

Our God by Chris Tomlin 

There is no one else like Him...

When you have a promise in your heart , a promise put there by your Abba Father , how long do you hang on to it?  Do you easily let it slip away or do you hang onto it with fierce determination no matter what obstacles get in your way?  It could be your marriage, a job, a wayward child coming home, a baby in your arms, a husband, a wife.  There is no person on earth that can seal a promise into your heart the way God can.  What is your promise?

One of my promises is a baby to hold in my arms again for longer than it takes to say goodbye.  I believe it with my whole heart.  Does it hurt to lose them?  Yes!  Do I give up?  Absolutely not!

Our most recent loss has brought people to ask, "Don't you think it is time to stop?" or some have commented:

"Maybe God is trying to tell you something here."
"How much more of this are you going to put yourself through?"
"You have three already, maybe you should just focus on enjoying them."
"You are getting older you know."

All those statements speak one single thing to me.  Give up!
I can't give up, the promise beats with my heart.  It is alive.  Does the loss hurt?  For sure it does, but love hurts sometimes and is worth the greatest sacrifice.
The promise of children has been sung in my heart since I was a very small child.  I cannot give it up.  Not yet.
In talking with a friend a short time ago she asked me, "So, do you have a perspective on this?"
At first I did not know how to answer.  What is my perspective?  I had not thought that through enough to put it into words. As we talked, it came out without me even realizing it.

The only thing that hurts me worse than a miscarriage, is giving up and ending my childbearing years with a loss. My family feels incomplete still.  I do not feel His peace about stopping here.  To stop here would only be me giving up because I do not want to take the risk of hurting again.  To give up now would be a betrayal of my heart.  It would be doubting His faithfulness.  It would be giving up hope.  Something I have stood so strongly against.  The words "never lose hope" have left my lips many times when encouraging a friend.  Should I not believe the same still for myself.  If I did not, I would be a hypocrite in this.  So, I press in for the completion of that sacred promise that I feel so deep in my heart.
We will stop when His peace floods our hearts with the knowledge that our family is complete.  When that will be, I don't know.  Until then we press on, one foot in front of the other, hanging onto hope with thankfulness to the One who loves us so.

Who But You by Mark Hall and Megan Garrett

This song washed over my spirit tonight, thank you Juanita. <3

Everlasting Love

Well here we are, almost the beginning of October. Wow, how have that many months passed already in this year. Today, I read with my children. I know that sounds basic, but we had such a great time. I sat on the couch and I had one child on either side of me and one at my feet. When I told my oldest son to choose his favorite comfy place to sit, he said, "I will curl up right here beside you. That is my favorite place to be mommy." MELT! What an opportunity to speak positively into their lives. We talked about harmony in our home and in relationships. We read scriptures (taking turns), we talked out scenarios that we have dealt with or might deal with, we made a craft that required cooperation and being a peacemaker. It was wonderful. Then we sat back again to read a story from Ten Girls Who Used Their Talents, and Ten Boys Who Changed The World. Then on to a DVD about the Galapagos Islands and more discussion on creation and evolution. It was a full fall day.
Tonight I was laying on my bed reading my dear-to-my-heart friend Denie Heppner's blog Sunshine Daze.
She had a picture on her blog entry of the ocean. It made me think of how my life feels right now. I know that sometimes, out where I cannot see it, the ocean roars and is furious with storm, but right now on my own little beach, it is peaceful. The water is shimmering close to the shore as the sun's rays dance across the water. There is a peaceful hope reigning over me, it sneaks up onto the shore and covers my toes as I curl them in the blessed coolness. I take a deep breath in, the air smells so clean and crisp. There is newness washing up with every wave.
My path is taking a new direction. I am beginning a new ministry here that I am confident will be a blessing to many, simply because I know how much it would have meant to me. It is going to be called Everlasting Love.
I will be a chapter of an organization called Holy Sews based in Arkansas. It was started by a mama named Regina whose baby Ryan is also in Heaven. I hope this link works, HERE is the story of the first time Regina hit the road to hand out layettes. So amazing how God looks ahead in time and works things together for good.
I am going to be making layettes for babies are born in the second trimester. I had nothing to dress Zoe in after she was born and what a blessing it would have been to have these little layettes available. Regina is such a huge blessing in my life. She has been so encouraging and patient as we develop this new road together (she actually is doing most of the developing). I am so excited about this and I welcome any volunteers to help. I am starting my list! The layettes consist of a fleece blanket, a flannel hooded blanket that ties around the baby with a ribbon, a teeny tiny hat perfect for their little heads, a small little fluffy bear that can be placed in their arms and a little tiny gown. Sigh.....to give dignity and honor to even the smallest, shortest life.

I will have my own section of space on the web linked from the Holy Sews website and I will have an email address directly associated with the organization. The tags on the layettes from my chapter, and the cards included with the layettes will have Everlasting Love on them in honor of Zoe. Since Zoe was born, I have searched high and low for a gown or gown pattern to make that would have fit her. I want parents to have something to hold, that was in contact with their baby, after they say goodbye to their precious little one and hand him or her over. I believe that these things will bring comfort and be treasured.
I have come up empty handed in my search until recently. I believe God led me to this ministry so that we can reach out to even more people in honor of our babies we didn't get to keep here on earth with us.
This is all totally God, how everything is falling into place so quickly. Within a few weeks, Regina now has 3 new chapters of her organization well on the way to being up and running.
As soon as things are closer to being ready, I will post again about it. Eeeek! I am so excited. Thank you God for the opportunity to show Your love to grieving families. I am humbled and honored to be a part of this.

Bold enough

This is a post I began awhile ago. I just re-read my last post and realized that this one is on the same topic. I guess it is on my heart often so please be patient with me :o)

I have thought a lot about the tears I have cried since Zoe's death. Now a year later, she is still very much part of my identity. Sadly, an invisible part. To many of you, I am just Kiara, Jinaea, Jaron, and Kyler's mom, but you are missing a name. I am Zoe's mom too. I cannot always say that to people and when I don't, I feel guilty for not mentioning her. Like I am not giving her the honor she deserves as my child. How do I make my heart move to the place where I don't feel that anymore? I don't know if I ever will find it.

A few months ago a girl I hadn't seen in a long time came to me a church and after a short time of  catching upon detail of her life, she asked about my kids. She asked about Jinaea and Jaron and said, "This can't possibly be Kyler!! He has gotten so big. Wow, and where is your baby? I can't wait to meet him or her! Did you have a boy or a girl?" I froze. What do I say? How do I tell her? Tears filled my eyes and the smile left her face. I told her that I had a baby girl. I told her a short version of what had transpired. Tears filling her eyes now too, she reached out and hugged me, "I am so very sorry!"

This weekend I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in many months. We were talking about babies and kids and she said, "You have four kids right?" Again, my brain raced, "How do I answer this? Here goes again..." I replied, "Our baby girl was born last summer but she was still born at twenty-two weeks."
A quiet, "Oh," from her, and then awkward silence. 

I will admit I have often had tears spring to my eyes  just from a simple "How are you?" This usually brings about an apology from the person who then feels bad for even asking and "obviously bringing up something that is painful" which then makes me feel bad for making them feel bad. There are times that my tears seem to make others just downright uncomfortable and I wish it was different. Grief is not easy or comfortable for us or for you. No one knows what to say or do. There we stand in that moment, you fidgeting and unsure of what to say now. The tears fall from our eyes and we try to hide them by wiping them away. You have done nothing wrong, your question has just punctures my "I am fine" mask and touched a soft spot in my heart. "How are you?" is an innocent question, in itself very commonplace. Really there are days where almost no matter what a person says, it can bring a flood of tears. Those are the days, I just need a hug, an understanding smile or a prayer. Maybe even all three.  I am not crazy, just hurting in that moment.

Partly the awkwardness is my fault because I too, am uncomfortable and don't know what to say. There have been and are days that I don't even know how to say what I feel. I know, for the most part, people mean well with the things they say.

I know I have some supportive, be-there-through-anything friends and the following things are not true of everyone. Please forgive me if any of this post sounds too presumptuous. I mean no insult. I found some of this list in a pamphlet on helping others through grief. It says what I have not been bold or courageous enough to say in those moments....

1. I wish you would not be afraid to speak to me about what is going on in my life, and to ask what you can do to help. Even if it means I may shed a few tears.
2. If I cry or get emotional when we talk about them (the person who has died), I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me.  The fact that I have suffered a loss is what is causing my tears.  You have allowed me to cry, and I thank you.  Crying is healing.
3. I wish you wouldn’t pretend that nothing is happening to me, because this is a large part of my life.  I need my friends and family by my side.
4. I will have emotional highs and lows, I wish you wouldn’t think that if I have a good day, my grief is over, or that if I have a bad day, I need psychiatric counseling.
5. Grieving and what I’m going through is not contagious, so please don't shy away from me.
6. I wish you knew that all of the “crazy” grief reactions I am having are in fact very normal.  Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and questioning are to be expected during and following what is happening to me.
7. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over if and when I appear to be smiling or happy.
8. I wish you would understand the physical reactions to grief.  I may gain weight or lose weight…sleep all the time or not at all…want to surround myself with business or be all alone, all of which may be related to my grief.
9. Birthdays, anniversaries of  big days, holidays, and the day I found out, are all terrible times for me.  If I get quiet or withdrawn, just know I am doing my best to cope. 
10. It is normal and good that tough times make us re-examine our faith, values, and beliefs throughout this journey.  We will question things we have been taught all our lives, and hopefully come to some new understandings, deeper, strengthened faith and a closer relationship with God. 
11. I wish you knew the only way I can get through grief is to experience it, and sometimes immerse myself in it.  I have to hurt before I can heal.
12. I hope you understand that grief and difficult situations change people.  I am not the same person I was before I experienced this nor will I ever be that person again.  If you keep waiting for me to “get back to my old self,” you will be frustrated.  I am a new creature with new thoughts, dreams, aspirations, values, beliefs and goals. Please try and get to know the “new me”…maybe you will still like me.

   And particularly in the situation where a baby has died or a person is having difficulty conceiving:

13.  I wish for those friends and family that are pregnant to understand that we are happy for them. Our sadness / perhaps odd or distant behavior during this time is not personal but just a part of what we are grieving.

14. I hope that you will not avoid or stop calling because you don’t know what to say. Show me that you care and I can lean on you.

15. I wish that you would not judge the times that I am sad or find it hard to deal with things. (like finding out a friend is pregnant and baby showers)

16. I hope that you will try to put yourself in my shoes. Stop for a moment to think about what you would do and how you would feel if you were in my shoes and use that as your guide to support me.

17. Above all (and I know I have asked for this lots!!) Please pray for me to have strength, peace and healing, especially on the days you can see I am having a hard time. I appreciate your prayers so much.

I know that without God's love and His presence through this, I would not be able to make it through and still smile. I believe that something beautiful can be made from even the worst of circumstances and situations. We have seen God's hand in both small and in big ways all through our lives and I thank Him for that everyday.
If you are going through something difficult I encourage you to reach out. Reach out to God, a good friend, or possibly even a support group. Do not try to handle it all on your own. I encourage you to write like I am. It feels great to air out your thoughts and feelings. It does not have to be on a public domain like this, but even just in a journal. I have had many comments and emails from people who have been blessed or encouraged by me sharing my heart. Yes, there have been some negative too, but now I quickly move those in the folder they belong ;o)  You never know whose life you might make a difference in!

Ultrasound report....

 I will bless the Lord forever, I will trust Him at all times
This is the song that played through the night in all my dreams on Monday night. I hold tight to these scriptures. I will trust Him at all times, He has made me glad. He is my strength, my shield, my portion.....

There is a silence that hangs in the room during an ultrasound when the technician knows it is not going to be the news you hoped for. It has become all too familiar to me. Body language is a giveaway as well.
They avoid eye contact, most of the technicians I have had, seem very uncomfortable with the tears that they think they will see. At least that is what it seems. There was no screen turned on at the end of the bed for us to watch the miracle of life unfold as the ultrasound wand moved across my tummy. I could slightly see the screen in front of the technician and was watching intently, hoping to see the little form of this baby we loved already. There was only black emptiness. I fought back tears as I laid on the table praying and telling myself I just didn't know what to look for exactly.....maybe the baby was just really small, please God, just let it be that.
I looked at the picture hanging above the bed. A showcase of Toronto Maple Leaf jerseys throughout time.
The picture is a familiar sight as well. It is the same one I stared at while I tried to quiet the screaming in my head when they told me Zoe had no heartbeat.
The technician speaks the same words we have heard with four other babies that have died in utero...."I need to go speak with the Dr and make sure we have all the pictures we need."
And again, when he comes back, the Dr accompanies him with sympathy in his eyes. "I understand you may have some questions about your ultrasound."
He then tells us that his previous diagnosis of a miscarriage was correct, the baby has already "passed" already and what had developed of the placenta is still hanging on. My queasy feelings and tiredness is most likely caused by the placenta still producing pregnancy hormones. "I am sorry we are here again."
I can hold back the tears no longer. We gather our things and head out to the car.
Now home to tell the kids. We pull into the driveway and shut off the car and sit in the silence. Greg tells me he has no words, he doesn't know how to tell them. I don't either. I have had people ask me why we tell the kids about the pregnancy early on before we know that it is a for sure thing.....well, do we ever know it is a for sure thing? In my world we don't, so we tell our kids early on so that we can all enjoy the happiness that comes with the announcement of a new brother or sister joining our family. We do things as a family, even when it is grieving. Imagine my kids confusion and questions if mommy was just all of a sudden in tears often. They would be wondering if it was something they did. In fact, even with knowing what has happened, one of my kids asked me if it was something they did to make me sad. No, I do not regret telling them. We are family and we share in joy, sorrow, thankfulness, blessings, love, celebration and yes, even grief.
So many things have not gone according to our plans for our lives that I have learned to not waste one moment of that which brings joy. Even if the joy is brief, it is still joy and I am glad we share it together. How else do we teach our children that grief is not something to be ashamed of and hidden. Our children learn by example and I want my example to them to be one of honesty and openness not one of shame and hidden truth.
We go into the house and Jaron meets us at the door. "How is our baby?" Tears fall again and we tell him what the Dr told us. Before my friend leaves, she gives me the tightest, longest hug she has ever given me.
I am thankful for her hug. Tears in her eyes too, she says goodbye and we are alone again, just us and our children here on earth. Jinaea comes up and says, "So, how did it go?" I just shake my head. Sadness fills her eyes too. She makes me a card that says I love you mommy. I am sorry about the baby.
Yes, here we are again saying goodbye to a life so briefly shared with us and looking forward to the time we will meet in Heaven. It is very hard to choose a name for a child that is already in Heaven. What meaning should we choose? Do I even want to choose a name again for a baby I will not hold.......I will, but it may take some time.

Christmas 2010

Well here we are, two days into the new year and I am excited for the things God has in store for us and our family.
Some significant dates and events have passed and emotions have run up and down.....I am thankful for the hope I feel and the contentment that God has given me.  Though this Christmas was filled with love, a missing part was felt as well.  There have even been moments I have longed for the missing sleep of those special middle of the night nursing times. I used to love those times with my other kids, in the peaceful silence of night, just me and my baby sharing an experience only ours. Memories of life with a newborn flood my mind.
Hot, happy tears run down my cheeks as I read the status on Dec 19th of a wonderful friend of mine (my doula) who was due the same day as I was:  

cannot find words to describe my yesterday. Last night I had the most amazing blessing of catching my son in my own hands - in my own room - exactly how I envisioned.

Wow, what a blessing and life changing event that must have been.....

As Zoe's due date has passed now, I no longer feel like I am still looking forward in anticipation to something that was supposed to happen.  Instead it is more the feeling of something being missing.  As we opened presents christmas day, Greg and I both found ourselves wondering who would have been holding her......it probably would have been Nana because she can be a bit of a baby hog when it comes to new grandbabies ;o) and how would our morning have looked with her here as well.
Before christmas, I had been on a long search for some type of ornament to represent Zoe that would hang on our big tree this year. We also wanted something special that we could do with the kids to commemorate Zoe's due date.  We had a little white christmas tree that we decided we would decorate with the kids, using little pink and silver ornaments.
Just how does one pick an ornament that accurately symbolizes the love for and sacredness of a baby who has died?  I am not sure there is such a thing......we searched and searched, finding many options of memorial ornaments but none of them quite fit.
I started to try and think outside the "ornament only" box.....what could we use?  We went to the baby section of a few stores with mixed emotions and ended up looking at little socks and shoes hoping to find something.  I was starting to think we were going to have to settle for something that was not "perfect."  We chose to settle on a set of little tiny newborn socks that I thought we could maybe write her name on.  As we turned to walk away I looked over and saw some little shoes that had been hung in the wrong spot.  I showed them to Greg and they were cute but not what I had imagined.  Then as I hung them back with the others of their kind, I saw at the back of the hook a little white, soft pink and purple pair of shoes with a little butterfly on them.  Instantly tears sprang to our eyes and I felt they were as close as I was going to get to what I had been looking for.  The butterfly is used symbolically to represent the short lives of miscarried and stillborn babies and how they will always be a beautiful part of the fabric of our lives.
Our search continued for tiny pink ornaments for our little tree.  We went to 6 different stores that day.  Finally I found some that were the perfect size and color of pink.  We headed home to Moose Jaw and mom (who had kept the kids for us while we had some alone time on her due date) met us there with the kids. (Thanks mom!)
After supper we called the kids and Nana to the living room and gathered around the little tree. I had also found little silver cherub ornaments that were on little tiny clothespins.We took turns pinning them to the tree and then we asked the kids what their thoughts and feelings were. They talked about things like how happy Zoe must be in Heaven and how they missed her and how much they had been looking forward to having her here at christmas.  We talked about how she was probably worshiping God right then.  Then we each took turns praying and thanked God for her.  It was another beautiful celebration of her life.
We kept the tree lit everyday throughout the holidays.
My mom wrote a beautiful letter to Zoe and I shut myself in my room, desiring privacy to read it Christmas day.  It brings comfort to me to know my mom's heart, to know how much Zoe meant to her, and how much she looked forward to meeting her. I stayed in my room for about an hour while the tears fell....my first breakdown since just before her due date. Zoe was very much a part of our christmas even though she was not physically here.  I am grateful that she is in my Heavenly Father's care and is hearing the praises of Angels as they sing. Merry Christmas baby girl, we love you forever and always.

I got this beautiful saying from another website but it had no author listed:

Precious Little One, We had you in our lives such a very short time, but we’ll hold you in our hearts forever.  It seemed like only a fleeting moment, but it was long enough to see you, touch you, hold you, love you.  It was long enough to know that your life was indeed a gift- no matter how brief, no matter how fragile, Your life was indeed a gift, and we’ll hold you in our hearts forever.

1 Peter 5:7
Cast all your cares on Him for He cares for you......
God, today I cast all my cares on you.   Not just the little, "I can't find my left shoe" cares but the really deep heart-heavy, unbearable-on-my-own kind of cares.
I am reminded that I need Your strength in every part of me.
My mind is consumed daily with thoughts of her, God.  My most recent hopes and dreams sit across the room from me in a tiny, angel urn.  What would you have been if you had lived Zoe?
What would you have looked like laying in my arms? What color would your hair have been? What would your giggle have sounded like as your daddy chased you through the house?  Would you have been quiet and a little shy like me or more outgoing and boisterous like your daddy?
I see a picture in my mind of a dark, curly haired baby with bright blue eyes that sparkle and whose smile can capture a roomful of hearts in a moment.
If I close my eyes, I can almost feel her in my arms.  What does she feel like in yours God?
Does she capture your heart with a glance?
Do You tell her about us?
Does she love to dance like her sister?  I know she must love to worship You like we do.
God please forgive me in my humanity when I search for answers instead of just trusting in Your infinite wisdom.  Help me to wholly trust in You always.
How is it possible to fall so in love with a little person we never met alive?
But fall I did......we did.....the moment that second line showed up on the pregnancy test.
We talked to her, sang to her, loved her.
God, did she hurt or was the warmth of my womb and our love the only thing she felt? I pray that she did not feel pain when her life ended.
  The questions play over and over again in my mind.
I remember back to the day we found out she was with You and the two weeks following that until she was born.
God I know you heard our prayers asking You for life in her little body.  Days later we stepped out in faith asking our Dr. to check for a heartbeat again.  He said he didn't want to make this any worse for us than it already was.  I told him we wanted him to anyway.  I waited eagerly for a miracle with hope and faith in You, knowing that no matter what the outcome, You would see us through. The Dr. could only find my heartbeat and I said, "That's okay.  It's still not too late."
God, thank you for strength in that moment.
We knew what we, in our human hearts, wanted.  To have her back here on earth with us.
It felt somewhat selfish at times to want her back here with us when she is healed, whole and complete with You God, but it hurts so much to not have her here.
My "mommy heart" is having a hard time letting go.  God help me to leave this in Your hands, give me the courage to do it.
Another scene flashes to my mind.  I'm standing in our camper out at the farm two days after the ultrasound.  We wanted to get away, out of the city. I am getting beds ready and my mom comes out to see if I am alright and if I need help with anything.
She sees my tears and pulls me into her arms.  I collapse into her, sobs shaking my body and in her arms I feel like a little girl again, desperately wishing she could make things better.  I say "I just want this to not be real, I want to be able to fix it, I want to make it better."
She cries along with me and says "I know, I wish I could take all the hurt away."
In that moment I realize she feels as powerless holding me, as I feel holding Zoe.
God you have done miracles in our lives before, is one more too much to ask?  I know it is not.  I know You can do it, there is not a doubt in my being.
Many friends are rising up around us, praying with us for a miracle. Some who would not have prayed that way otherwise.
God, I know Zoe is first of all Yours.  She is held by You as I am. I will trust Your plan and not expect my own. I will follow Your leading and not panic or let doubt and fear overshadow the opportunity before me to stand firm in my faith and conviction.
The reality is I am still carrying her and I will not give up on her before she is delivered in Your timing.
God You are still the same, You have not changed. You are our healer however that may look in this situation.
God I thank you for friends who came around us.  I ask you to bless them greatly for the meals, tears, love, hugs and prayers that were the greatest gift they could have given us.
God I thank you for Your open arms that wait for me each time I feel broken, empty and alone.
Just when people think I should be "getting better," "getting over losing her" it feels like it is getting worse again. It feels just as devastating as the moment we found out.  It feels like so much time has passed since and yet no time at all.
So, though I did not get the miracle that I was praying for in exactly the way that I was asking, even still, it happened somewhere else. She is healed, she is happy, she is loved where she is. If I were ever in the same situation again (God forbid), I would pray the same way, who wouldn't.  If there is a chance to see a miracle happen before your eyes, if it was your child the Dr. was talking about, I'm sure many of you would hope the way I did as well.
God, You bring me hope for a new day, a rainbow after the storm, and a promise that it won't always be this hard. Healing for me will come. Zoe you are forever and always my little angel and I am so glad I will get to spend eternity with you.

Be still my soul, be still

Music has always spoken so deeply to my heart and soul.  It can communicate so many thing to me and for me.  These are a couple of the songs that speak right now.....

How my heart feels today........
Evanescence - My Immoral


But this my heart knows.....
Kari Jobe - Be Sitll

Thank you God for reminding me to be still before You.....my heart so needs this.
It is easy to get so busy that we forget to be still before Him.  It is easy allow ourselves to get so busy so that we don't have to face the hard things in life.  Our sermon at church this morning talked about allowing God to make something beautiful out of the mess our lives can become.  The things we go through, the troubles we face, we can let them overtake us and drag us down, or we can use them to help and encourage others.

I have to admit there have been more tears again lately.  I have this deep yearning and ache in my heart to hold my little bundle of warmth.....to experience the birthing of new life that was supposed to be happening soon.  It has been so strong yesterday and today.  In fact if Zoe's pregnancy had gone as Kyler's did, she would have been born this past Wednesday.  I even had a flood of tears tonight when Jinaea dressed our cat in a baby sleeper and brought him to me to hold......he is small enough it feels a lot like holding Kyler when he was a new baby.  She looked at me and hugged me, she said, "Are you ok? (Then a few minutes later) I know mommy......I wanted her to be here too.  I was really looking forward to having a baby sister......I miss her too."
I know that there will come a day that I will hold her in my arms for eternity, but what I have until then is His promise that He will never leave me.  I have chosen hope. I have strength that can only come from Him in these moments. He gives me peace that passes all understanding even when the sorrow wells up again.  I choose to have faith in my God, and trust in His plans for me here, while she waits patiently with Him.
Whatever you are going through in your life I want you to know, there is someone who loves you without any stipulations.  Someone who will be there for you when everyone else fails you. Someone who never fails to come through (even if it is not the way we thought He would or should have). Someone who is talking to us all the time if we would only take the time to listen with our hearts and spirits.
Healing takes time, healing is a process.  It is not something that happens overnight.  I do not always "feel" Him with me, but I know He is there.  There is so much to be learned in the process.  I will never "get over this". There are moments I wish it didn't hurt so much, but it hurts this way because I loved her....that, I would not give up to not hurt.