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.

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.

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.

What love really means...

A friend of mine posted this JJ Heller video the other day.  I sat and watched it and cried.  What an amazingly written song.  It is so true of how God loves us just because He created us.  He knows us inside and out.  I am glad He loves me for me and not for what I feel like or am sometimes.  I can tell you that what I have felt or have been has not always been pretty.  I have learned that He can handle whatever my response is to situations.  He can take your anger, He can take your pain, your heartache, your disappointments, your questions.  Even when you can't.  Especially then.  If we let Him in to start healing us, His love will take care of all those things.  Only he can change anger, resentment or hatred towards someone into genuine love.  Only He can take a broken heart and really make it whole again.  
What about when God doesn't answer a prayer the way you were hoping He would?  I think we all have been there before, maybe many times.
What do we do then?  What about when our dreams or hearts lay in pieces at our feet, so many tiny pieces that it seems it can never be "fixed" again?  Honest answer?  His love is the only thing I have found that heals completely.  
What about when you put your faith out there on the limb, out for everyone to see, what if it doesn't work?  We have done that many times and I can tell you that we have not always gotten the answer we were praying for.  BUT, we have seen miracles.  
God hasn't always come through for us the way we thought He should have. So what then.
Did He not hear us?  Did He not care?  What questions run through your mind when your miracle does not show up the way you wanted it to or when you wanted it to?
My miracle did not come the way I wanted it to.  We prayed that Zoe would live.  
I did not have to try to hide my gamut of feelings from Him and believe me He has heard about them all!!  He just quieted the waves,  and held me.  Be still my soul, be still........
We had many others joining their faith with ours.  I am so thankful for friends that will stand out there on that limb with us!  
So where do we go from here in our walk of faith?
We keep right on walking.  One step at a time.  His love is always enough if we go to Him.
Nothing can change or heal hearts or lives like the love of my heavenly daddy.  
That miracle I have seen time and time again.
If you will reach out for Him, He will love you for you, just exactly how you are.  Change, if needed, will flow from that because when we have been loved by Him, it pours out of us.
Go to Him with your hurts, your brokenness, your dreams, your hopes.  He is there, let Him love you for you, it is amazing.  There is nothing else like it.