Stop! Your Beliefs are Suffocating Me!

She asked me, "Do you have any hope that she might survive and be okay?"  It was a sweet friend who went through her own significant loss not long ago. The question stings just a little because I know many people wonder the same thing and it is so closely related to a question which I had softly been rolling around inside of me for weeks.

"Why can't I bring myself to pray for a miracle?" and, "What kind of Mom doesn't pray for a miracle?"

One day I went to my room to get on my knees and deliberately pray for just that.   I asked my mom for a few minutes and stole away to a quiet place and just fell in complete surrender before God as I went to ask for a miracle.

But as soon as my knees touched the floor and I entered into His presence, I knew I could not pray for God to miraculously heal Lydia and deliver me a healthy baby.  Not because I don't have hope that He could heal Lydia.  Because I know he could, but the truth is, if God healed this child my faith in Him would not be any stronger the day she was delivered to me healthy than it is today.  I cannot pray for a miracle because I do have hope.

I believe that if Lydia dies, she goes straight to the arms of the King, the Jesus who loves her more completely than these arms ever could—to a King who grasps the confines of eternity in a way my mind can not and will not even try to fathom—to a King who designed and weaves a tapestry which would be ignorant for me to try to alter.  That is my hope and expectation.  I have hope in knowing that God is sovereign and His plans are good. I have hope that God is going to do some of His finest work through the suffering I endure in this trial.  I have a great deal of hope that somehow through my suffering God will glorify Himself and that those of you who I love most and who don't know the extravagant love and Grace of Jesus will somehow come to see His character in this journey.  That is my deepest, most excruciatingly painful hope. 

So when I go before God on my knees, all I can pray is, "Lord, my baby is sick.  Whatever you're doing, do it perfectly,   Oh please, God, I just want your perfect plans because I know they're so much more beautiful than anything for which I would ever ask!"  (However, when I pray I leave hanging prepositions, so it would actually be, "...much more beautiful than anything I would ever ask for."--I feel the need to be truly transparent.  My prayers aren't even close to pretty nor perfectly articulated nor remotely grammatically correct.)

And so today as we listened to a sermon on grace and the fact that what grace truly comes down to is that God the Father of Jesus had to allow His son to die so that the world could know Him, it started to become clear in an eternal way the reason I can't pray for Lydia to be born to this world healed.  I pray if my daughter has to die, that it would not be in vain. That somehow people would come to know Him through this suffering.  The world came to know God through Christ's suffering.  And I pray that if God performs a miracle and heals Lydia completely it is because one of you, my dear loved ones, needed to see God do something impossible to know He is God.  Because I don't need Him to do this for me. Don't get me wrong, I would rejoice and be overcome with unspeakable gratitude if He did.  I know that He can, even now, but I know that He is sovereign and whichever outcome reveals Him most clearly to those of you who do not know Him is the outcome for which I long.  Because having Christ walk with me along this journey leaves me so completely secure, and my strongest and strangest fear is for those of you who face these trials on this earth and do not know His amazing perfection.

My faith is not strong because it's something I have cultivated.   I do cultivate my faith through different means now that it has been given to me.  But ultimately faith itself is a gift that only God can give.  I asked and received.  Do not look at my walk and compare it to what yours would look like.  I am amazed by my own faith because it's a gift from God.  We should always be amazed by the things God gives.  I now realize that this is not prideful in anyway.  My faith is truly an amazing thing--especially to me.  My faith is God given and there for awe-some. I look at it in wonder and know it did not come from me.  I want it for all of you!  And if you want to know God, all you have to do is ask for it, too.  He literally does the rest.  There is no perfect outline or perfect prayer you have to pray.   If you want a faith like this, ask Him for it.  But know there is only one God.  There is no other God who produces a love like this. 

All of that said, believing and following Christ does not promise us an easy road this side of heaven.  I am living this Truth.  It's hard sometimes.  We are to "pick up our crosses and follow Him,"--words I have heard hundreds of times but never truly understood because I have never been called to my cross until now.  I would lay down my life if  it meant more knowledge of this amazing love for those I love.  I know now beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would. And I will lay down my daughter to Him for the same cause.  Because life with Him on this earth, though painful, is temporary and is far more glorious than the pain and suffering of the world without Him.  Glorious enough that I would die for you to have it.  And life with Him in Heaven is what I look forward to and is ultimately the hope that I have.   My hope truly is in eternity.  My eyes are fixed on it.  I have hope.  Oh, I do indeed have hope.

But with all of that said, I won't lie, there is a small part of me that hopes that some of you need to see Him heal Lydia to gain your faith.  I say this with a sincere, yet amused smile. 

If you know me at all, you know I don't boldly share my faith.  I boldly live it out, I won't deny it, but I don't proselytize.  I will not initiate the Chic-fil-a debates, or the pro-life/pro-choice debates, and if I had my way I'd never enter into them because the life of Christ is so far beyond political debates and government policy.  It's about knowing peace and joy in suffering and living with one foot in eternity even in this temporary and painful world.  I won't put any effort into trying to convince you to "be born again."  Because I know only God can reveal himself to us in His perfect way and timing.   I pray that my life and my journey and Lydia's life and journey would be a window for you to see God.  But this is my heart.  I want with all of my heart for you to know Christ like I do.  And I would give anything for it.  Even if my heart wrenches inside of me with pain, I know He is good.   And I want you to know His goodness, too.

"Do you have any hope?"

She asked me, "Do you have any hope that she might survive and be okay?"  It was a sweet friend who went through her own significant loss not long ago. The question stings just a little because I know many people wonder the same thing and it is so closely related to a question which I had softly been rolling around inside of me for weeks.

"Why can't I bring myself to pray for a miracle?" and, "What kind of Mom doesn't pray for a miracle?"

One day I went to my room to get on my knees and deliberately pray for just that.   I asked my mom for a few minutes and stole away to a quiet place and just fell in complete surrender before God as I went to ask for a miracle.

But as soon as my knees touched the floor and I entered into His presence, I knew I could not pray for God to miraculously heal Lydia and deliver me a healthy baby.  Not because I don't have hope that He could heal Lydia.  Because I know he could, but the truth is, if God healed this child my faith in Him would not be any stronger the day she was delivered to me healthy than it is today.  I cannot pray for a miracle because I do have hope.

I believe that if Lydia dies, she goes straight to the arms of the King, the Jesus who loves her more completely than these arms ever could—to a King who grasps the confines of eternity in a way my mind can not and will not even try to fathom—to a King who designed and weaves a tapestry which would be ignorant for me to try to alter.  That is my hope and expectation.  I have hope in knowing that God is sovereign and His plans are good. I have hope that God is going to do some of His finest work through the suffering I endure in this trial.  I have a great deal of hope that somehow through my suffering God will glorify Himself and that those of you who I love most and who don't know the extravagant love and Grace of Jesus will somehow come to see His character in this journey.  That is my deepest, most excruciatingly painful hope. 

So when I go before God on my knees, all I can pray is, "Lord, my baby is sick.  Whatever you're doing, do it perfectly,   Oh please, God, I just want your perfect plans because I know they're so much more beautiful than anything for which I would ever ask!"  (However, when I pray I leave hanging prepositions, so it would actually be, "...much more beautiful than anything I would ever ask for."--I feel the need to be truly transparent.  My prayers aren't even close to pretty nor perfectly articulated nor remotely grammatically correct.)

And so today as we listened to a sermon on grace and the fact that what grace truly comes down to is that God the Father of Jesus had to allow His son to die so that the world could know Him, it started to become clear in an eternal way the reason I can't pray for Lydia to be born to this world healed.  I pray if my daughter has to die, that it would not be in vain. That somehow people would come to know Him through this suffering.  The world came to know God through Christ's suffering.  And I pray that if God performs a miracle and heals Lydia completely it is because one of you, my dear loved ones, needed to see God do something impossible to know He is God.  Because I don't need Him to do this for me. Don't get me wrong, I would rejoice and be overcome with unspeakable gratitude if He did.  I know that He can, even now, but I know that He is sovereign and whichever outcome reveals Him most clearly to those of you who do not know Him is the outcome for which I long.  Because having Christ walk with me along this journey leaves me so completely secure, and my strongest and strangest fear is for those of you who face these trials on this earth and do not know His amazing perfection.

My faith is not strong because it's something I have cultivated.   I do cultivate my faith through different means now that it has been given to me.  But ultimately faith itself is a gift that only God can give.  I asked and received.  Do not look at my walk and compare it to what yours would look like.  I am amazed by my own faith because it's a gift from God.  We should always be amazed by the things God gives.  I now realize that this is not prideful in anyway.  My faith is truly an amazing thing--especially to me.  My faith is God given and there for awe-some. I look at it in wonder and know it did not come from me.  I want it for all of you!  And if you want to know God, all you have to do is ask for it, too.  He literally does the rest.  There is no perfect outline or perfect prayer you have to pray.   If you want a faith like this, ask Him for it.  But know there is only one God.  There is no other God who produces a love like this. 

All of that said, believing and following Christ does not promise us an easy road this side of heaven.  I am living this Truth.  It's hard sometimes.  We are to "pick up our crosses and follow Him,"--words I have heard hundreds of times but never truly understood because I have never been called to my cross until now.  I would lay down my life if  it meant more knowledge of this amazing love for those I love.  I know now beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would. And I will lay down my daughter to Him for the same cause.  Because life with Him on this earth, though painful, is temporary and is far more glorious than the pain and suffering of the world without Him.  Glorious enough that I would die for you to have it.  And life with Him in Heaven is what I look forward to and is ultimately the hope that I have.   My hope truly is in eternity.  My eyes are fixed on it.  I have hope.  Oh, I do indeed have hope.

But with all of that said, I won't lie, there is a small part of me that hopes that some of you need to see Him heal Lydia to gain your faith.  I say this with a sincere, yet amused smile. 

If you know me at all, you know I don't boldly share my faith.  I boldly live it out, I won't deny it, but I don't proselytize.  I will not initiate the Chic-fil-a debates, or the pro-life/pro-choice debates, and if I had my way I'd never enter into them because the life of Christ is so far beyond political debates and government policy.  It's about knowing peace and joy in suffering and living with one foot in eternity even in this temporary and painful world.  I won't put any effort into trying to convince you to "be born again."  Because I know only God can reveal himself to us in His perfect way and timing.   I pray that my life and my journey and Lydia's life and journey would be a window for you to see God.  But this is my heart.  I want with all of my heart for you to know Christ like I do.  And I would give anything for it.  Even if my heart wrenches inside of me with pain, I know He is good.   And I want you to know His goodness, too.

A Midwife's Misstep

I went to the doctor's office yesterday. They want me to go twice a week now to check for a heartbeat.  Our entire experience with doctors would require a blog all by itself.   Shenanigans.  Pure Shenanigans.

We saw a midwife that we hadn't seen at this office before.  She walked in apologizing for running late with a big smile on her face.  She greeted us with, "So you're twenty weeks!  You're half way there!" She fumbles through the chart chatting about my recent weigh-ins and any facts she can spew from her quick glances at my chart unknowingly acknowledging that she knows nothing about me.  I felt embarrassed for her. I couldn't figure out how long to let her continue talking before I broke the news.  It felt like forever, but I think I was sensitive about how long I allowed it to continue before, as politely as possible, breaking her chatter by wincing as I ask, "Do you know we're going to lose the baby?"

She looked up at me suddenly with a look of shock that told me she heard what I said and responded, "What?" 

I smiled compassionately.  For me, this was more about her moment than mine.  "We're going to lose the baby.  We're just here to hear whether the heart is still beating." 

"I'm sorry."  Was all she said as she picked up the doppler heart beat monitor and came toward me.  She said nothing else.   

It was kind of strange.   She heard my solid heart beat and I looked at her and said, "That's mine, right?"  She nodded and softly smiled but didn't move the monitor. She just listened and listened until she found the baby's heart beating.  Suddenly breaking through under my heartbeat came the rapid beating of Lydia’s heart, a steady 142 bpm beating solidly underneath my equally strong heart beat of about 78 bpm.    As I think about it now, it feels so symbolic and lovely--her heartbeat nestled snuggly and securely under mine.

"She's amazing.  She just keeps fighting." I said in a choked voice fighting back tears.  I looked at Jeff and he was smiling.  Still no words from the midwife.

She wiped my belly, I sat up and I asked her if she had any experience with this kind of pregnancy.  She said, "no." I asked her a question about carrying a baby without amniotic fluid.  She said she knew of no research that said it would feel any different.  I can already feel a difference, so I know there is one, but I can see she's anxious to see us out, and I know I can wait until the next visit with our doctor.

It occurs to me later that day that our doctor has not seen any of the pictures we have seen in ultrasounds.  All of his information has been passed to him in reports. I wonder whether he might not know the size of the cyst on our child's head.  That would explain why he thinks that after we don't hear a heartbeat we'll just head over to the hospital and deliver our dead baby naturally.  It suddenly becomes clear to me what was once a little confusing.  I don't understand why he talks like this would be a natural delivery, but I accept it as though he knows more than I do, and obviously he doesn't seem concerned so I probably shouldn't be.   He must know something I don't. But I can't shake the fact that I  can't see the feasibility of how this will work.  And I begin to swallow the fact that I might have to break the news to him what this child actually looks like and that this delivery might not be as simple as it seems.  And yet I still hope he does indeed know all of the facts, and he does know more than I do and knows that despite what I see, a natural delivery will be possible.  I am so, so hopeful for that.

It kind of makes me sad.  I can't even find words to describe all of the reasons why.  It's some disappointment in my healthcare (that carries over from other disappointments).  It's embarrassment for the professionals.  It's a feeling of loneliness and that when it comes down to it, I do have to take care of myself and trust God to lead me in doing so.  It just feels sad.

I talked to a few good friends yesterday.  It was the first day that I talked to more than one person on the phone or in person about my life right now.  It was very natural.  There was laughter.  It was matter of fact.  And I know I did sound good.  But at the end of the day, around 11:00pm when I received a short note from my cousin (the carpenter I was referring to in a previous post--who I never did call) letting me know that he would drop everything for me and for my child, I just fell apart and wept.  I wept, and I wept, and I wept.  I wept because it's just so sad.  And I wept because I have many people in my life who love me, who would drop everything for me if it would make even the tiniest bit of difference.  And when you start to absorb something like that,  I don't know how you can do anything but weep.

And weep. 

And weep.

I love you friends.  All of you who send notes and call and write and text I cannot thank you enough.  I don't get responses out to all of you, but you will never know how much they mean.

The Original Announcement

Many of my friends who I have spoken to know the full story, but for those of you following here, I feel it's necessary to share the time leading up to our diagnosis as a way of putting this whole journey in context.

Jeff and I were done having children after our second. But Jeff wouldn’t get a vasectomy.   He went for the pre-op but never went for surgery. This led to the birth of Abigail, a special and dearly loved gift from God.  After that I was open to having a fourth (all the wise people in my life say even numbers are better) but Jeff was done.  Again Jeff went for a pre-op appointment but didn’t follow up with surgery leading to this pregnancy.  However, before I even knew for sure that we were pregnant I informed Jeff that at the end of the month, if I wasn't pregnant I was going to begin the process of tubal ligation.  Jeff booked an appointment that week, that he intended to follow through on. 

I found out I was pregnant Easter Sunday.

Knowing that this would be our last pregnancy was extremely satisfying.  For me, being pregnant is like a long road trip.  I know the destination will be worth it, but I whine the entire time about how uncomfortable I am.  Anyway, every day that passed I could not shake the feeling that things were not necessarily right with this child growing inside of me.  I shared this with two or three close friends over the course of the first few months.  And I specifically asked Jeff, "If something happens to this baby, are we good?" meaning, if we lose the baby are we still okay with going through with the vasectomy?  We both agreed that this was all in God's hands and that we were confident God's perfect plan would work itself out no matter the outcome.  So we sealed the deal.  This is our last pregnancy.

Meanwhile, we were doing a Bible Study called "Breaking Free" by Beth Moore in my small group.  I had done this study before and found a few things in my life that were really tripping me up that I had to deal with.  So I was looking forward to going through it again and learning more about myself and the things that God still wanted to work out in me. I had been going through it for 6 weeks and was still not sure what I was supposed to be focusing on.  We finally got to the week that talks about "generational sin," which is another way of saying dysfunctional familial patterns that you've unintentionally embraced. 

I had called my Mom and shared with her that I was really struggling with fear this pregnancy more than I had with any of my other pregnancies and I wasn't sure why.  My mom said (not knowing what I had been studying), "Fear is a generational sin that I passed down to you that my mom passed down to me and it's not what God wants for you.  He wants your complete trust in Him."  We never use the phrase “generational sin” in conversation.   God was definitely speaking to me through Mom. She then walked me through some things that the Lord had showed her about how to deal with a sin she had struggled with for a long time.  In those moments I knew that 10 weeks of Beth Moore's Bible Study wasn't going to help me as much as what the Lord had taught my mother.

The next morning I agreed with God that fear was not his plan for me and that I didn't want it to have any part in this pregnancy or my life any more.  I committed to not allowing myself to continue down the road of fear but would trust Him if he brought to mind when I was experiencing it.  And He responded. 

He reassured me that the child growing inside of me was His and He would take care of us. Sure enough, it was never a struggle after that.  From that moment on, I believed with my whole heart that this baby was God's child that He crated according to His perfect plans and that He had good things in store.  Not a single part of me felt reassured that the baby was healthy and perfectly formed.  In fact, I wondered if we would have special needs child born to us.  But I felt complete confidence that I was living out a perfect plan and no matter what I was going to be okay, and so was my child—even if he or she was delivered to heaven.

Three weeks later we got our diagnosis.   I wasn't scared when we got it.  Nothing can mute the shock.  It was still shocking and unexpected to see my baby's deformities and struggles in an ultrasound.  It's actually quite awful.  And there's nothing more eerie than having an expert in his field tell you that it makes the most sense to end your baby's life yet know you have no intention of following his medical advice—not because you don't respect it or feel cared for—but because you know you've been told by a Greater Expert that He's got things under control.

After the diagnosis, for the first two weeks fear crept back in, but only when I allowed my mind to go down the hundreds of different roads toward the tomorrows that mostly would never come.  Unfortunately I allowed this to happen a lot.  I felt fear when I wondered what holding a deformed baby would feel like.  I feared I would not have the courage every mother "should" have, to be able to do it.  I felt fear when I wondered whether my marriage could withstand raising a special needs child for the rest of our lives if that's what God chose.  I wondered if my faith could take the trying and exhausting days of caring for a child with severe disabilities.  I prayed He would let that cup pass.  I worried about whether I could make it through healing from a C-section, burying our child,  and healing from the loss of a child at the same time without falling into a deep depression.  I worried about how it was going to feel for my last pregnancy to be this stinkin' sad.   I worried about the thousands of different endings this journey could take us, until I realized that this is why God's word says don't worry about tomorrow.  Because he promises enough strength for today.  And tomorrow, when His mercies are all new, He will give me enough strength for that today, too.

This is another lesson that I hope stays with me for the rest of my life.  Just as I am overjoyed by the knowledge I now have that my faith is real, and gives me life, I now know that fear and anxiety come when the strength that was given to me only for today's trials is being tied up trying to solve the problems of tomorrow and months down the road.  Somehow for a few weeks now God has given me the strength to shut the doors on tomorrow and to live out today with thanksgiving.  Because when I just look at today, I have a great deal to be thankful for and in which to find rest.

This is one of the ways I was referring to in the first when I said, God has prepared us for this journey in so many ways.  He had been working on me with my fear before we ever even got the diagnosis.  Only God can so gently and perfectly prepare you and walk you through a trial like this.  And this is also one of the reasons I cry just as much for those who endure a trial like this and have no knowledge of a Father in heaven who loves them dearly. I have no idea how you go through something like this without the Knowledge of God and the ever present Holy Spirit.

Talk of Caskets

I called the funeral home today to discuss caskets.  Yeah.  That sucked.  As much as you think it sucked?  It sucked.  There are no other words for it.  But I kept my composure.  I spoke in the same tone I used with the Yakima dealer earlier today as I priced the differences between the different models of hitch mounted bike racks.  It felt all wrong.  All kinds of wrong.  

Jeff and I had contemplated asking a family member—a particularly wonderful and gifted carpenter—to consider building Lydia's casket, so I called the funeral home to find out what kind of regulations might be involved in using a non-funeral home purchased casket.  She said there were none and went to get the proper dimensions so that it could fit inside the vault.  What in Sam-hades is a vault?--and I don't even want to know because I'm just getting steps further into the process of burying my still living baby—but I think I already know.  I get the picture. .  When she called me back she said there was one hiccup.   The caskets they use all come with vaults.  So if I want to use a separate casket, the vault we would have to use would be substantially more expensive than the casket/vault combo.  Really???  How does that make sense?

"I wonder why it costs more for the same type of hard plastic if it comes without the casket?" I asked aloud--again as if I'm discussing the paint job on bike racks. 

Compassionately the woman answered, "I know it seems like it doesn't make any sense, but the vaults that are sold separately are made of concrete, not plastic like the ones that come with our caskets."

Ew!  Casket.  I think I might throw this computer if I write that word one more time.  So I'm going to try to tell the rest of this story without it.  Here goes....

I got off the phone.  I'm still contemplating using our own [box], but now comes the part where I begin to ponder the phone call in which I ask my loved one to build the [box].  What would it be like to receive that phone call?  Oh, but a part of me would just love to go to his workshop and build it with him and laugh about the ludicrous nature of this entire situation and spend time with him and just enjoy his presence.   No, I'm never going to be able to make that phone call.

I text Jeff: "I hate sand" (I'm at the beach.)

followed by:

"I called the funeral home today and asked about [boxes]."

He texts back:

"Fun"

I chuckle.

The phone rings.  It’s Jeff.  I give him the details and then tell him I can't bring myself to ask someone who loves me to build [that thing] for us.  I suggest that "it might be fun for us to do it together."  Laughter ensued.  Yes.  I used the word "Fun" in regards to building the hollow object that would hold our daughter's body.   Jeff then suggested "cathartic" was maybe the word for which I had been searching.  It was.  We still laughed.  I just adore him.

And so that is where we are at with that.  I also realized that I completely forgot to ask about "plots" (another great word).  I think I've about decided I don't need to know anything about those until that day comes.

So that's that.  Glad that is over.

Diagnosis

We went to Boston for a level 2 ultrasound last week.  What is a level 2 ultrasound?  (We had to ask this question.)  It is an ultrasound consult with a doctor who is particularly good at reading ultrasounds.  We were told that this doctor was the doctor who actually discovered Cystic Hygromas (what our baby is diagnosed with).  This little tidbit of info seems hard for me to believe.  But I suppose it is a little reassuring that perhaps we can trust her expertise. 

Without an amniocentesis, it's impossible to say for sure what this baby's diagnosis is, but based on this doctor's conclusions our baby has Turner's syndrome.  It is a genetic abnormality in which the baby didn't receive a second gender chromosome at conception.  So essentially she is an XO instead of XX or XY.  My understanding is that they are born looking like girls but without the reproductive organs.  Babies who are typically 100% XO without other factors have a 0% survival rate which looks to be the case with our little girl.

The doctor could not give us any predictions for how long the baby would survive in the womb, but she did say that there was 0% chance that she would survive even 1 day once outside of the womb which has as much to do with the diagnosis as it does with the fact that there is no amniotic fluid.  However, she did say that the baby is under a lot of pressure right now because she is essentially "waterlogged," i.e. she has fluid everywhere in her body (around her heart, lungs, limbs, head, etc...)

So we continue the waiting process as we anticipate the unfolding of God's plans for this baby's life as well as our own lives.  I felt a surprising amount of relief after the ultrasound as I feel like the hundreds of possible directions this journey could take has now been narrowed to just a few.  And strangely life seems to be taking on the familiar rhythm of what it looked and felt like before this dramatic journey began.  I'm ready to start some old routines and get things back in order as we wait for God to bring this child's life to an end.  I do pray that it will end soon as the outcome becomes significantly more physically complicated as time goes on for both the baby and me.

One thing the Lord has definitely taught and supplied for me throughout these past 4 weeks is the necessity of living each day individually and not allowing yourself agony or fear over the unrealities of tomorrow.   That alone is what has sustained me.  He truly means,

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified..., for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."  I believe this with every ounce of my being.  I didn't know before that I truly believed it.  But He has proven my faith to me.  And for that I will be forever grateful.    

Her name is Lydia Grace.  I love that name.

We Received Sad News

 I read it to myself probably a hundred times after I wrote it because the Truth in it still ministers to me.  My mom informed me this happens to her and she assumes this happens when the Holy Spirit writes for us.  I have no doubt that she's right.  And the comments that followed from my friends were, and continue to be, such a blessing.

This is the note I wrote to my Facebook friends three days after we got the news of Lydia Grace's grave condition. I’m placing it here so that I’ll have it with the rest of the story later:

Three days ago we received news that our growing baby will likely not make it to term, and if it does, it would have many complications to overcome to survive.  There is no way to describe the moments in which you receive news like this.  They go on for eternity because it takes that long for the reality to set in, but it's actually just a few brief sentences as the ultrasound tech describes what you're looking at.

We told our children immediately after the appointment and gave them permission to talk about it with whomever they wished.  It is not a secret.  Children are amazingly resilient and most certainly take their queues from us.

It's amazing the range of political views that surface at times like this.  No one is pushing theirs upon me.  In fact, I am feeling nothing but deep compassion from everyone who chooses to share their opinions with me, especially those giving me permission to do the "unthinkable."  I won't speak on this topic.  But when you are in the midst of a trial like this, people's opinions are kind of like white noise.  You aren't pulling from your political opinions or considering other's political opinions or even "thinking" about your decision at all.   In fact there is no such thing as "the unthinkable."  You just do what is a part of you.  You respond from within yourself and  according to Whom you belong.  

The number of people who are hearing the news is growing, and I know many of you are concerned and want to know how I am.  I will give updates as I journey, but they may be long winded, so I will put them in notes form.

Here is an excerpt from a note I wrote to a close friend this morning:

I am doing amazingly well considering. I feel like God has quickly brought me into a rhythm of trust and thanksgiving as I play the waiting game for Him to fulfill His purposes in this baby's life as well as my own for this season. It is a very strange place to be--waiting for a child to die inside of you. But I definitely feel like God has prepared me in so many miraculous ways for this journey and that He is truly "proving" my faith:

"In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire —may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.  Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy" 1 peter1:6-8

I have always said that I do not know WHAT I would do or how my faith would endure in times of great trial. But in the midst of this I feel inexplicable, "inexpressible and glorious joy" because I now see that the Truth He has been instilling in me slowly and steadily over my life crystalizes in some strange way in times of trouble. And now it has become tangible and unmistakably real. And in a funny way I find myself fascinated by it, studying it, and mesmerized by it and amazed by this entity of my life (faith) that really is a separate thing all on it's own--truly a spiritual gift from God--separate from me, yet so deeply a part of me.

*My God is real

*My God is present

*My God is good

*My God is everything to me

*My God comforts

*My God speaks to me

*My God deeply and truly truly loves me.

*Jesus really loves children and heals them and carries them close to his heart

*My God binds up the broken hearted

*Nothing happens outside of My God's understanding and perfect plans

*I know God will glorify Himself and the world will know Him a little bit better because through this He will reveal Himself.

I cry sometimes. But the tears are definitely lessening.  And I am not afraid. My sleep is sweet and I have woken up the last two mornings just so thankful for the feeling of rest, peace, and trust.  Sometimes I cry just because I can't imagine going through something like this and not knowing God.  I cry for those who are missing out on this precious, precious relationship with One who knows us and how to comfort us perfectly.

I'm so thankful for my friends who give me space and yet are so completely eager and available to me for just the things I need. And I'm thankful for how God raises up parts of His body to whom I never was very connected that have linked with me during this time because they have just the information or connection or support that I need.  Every text, every note and every scripture sent is so special to my heart.

This scripture you referenced above from 2 Chronicles is exactly the verse God gave me the evening we got our news. Having been given it a second time, it is that much more special. I will memorize it: 2 Chron 16:9) “For the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.”

Thank you for your note. Thank you for carrying me so close to your heart. Please continue to do so. Everyone's prayers are clearly very powerful.

I'm thankful for every one of you.  I'm so sorry that many of you are getting this news this way.  I'm thankful for your friendships and your love.

May you know the love of God more deeply each moment of each day...

Erin

In the beginning...

I have been longing to write for quite some time.  I'm not particularly excellent at it.  It's more of a type of therapy for me than it is intended to be entertainment for anyone else.  So if you should find yourself lost in the endless words that you'll find on here, just feel free to happily click away. 

These last several weeks have led me to a place where I find that I need to write.  I mean that I need to write.  As in, if I don't write I think I might explode.  Sometimes it helps to feel like I'm actually communicating to someone.  I hate the thought that there will probably be some very exposed thoughts out here in cyberspace.  It kinda scares me.  But I will trust that the Lord will guide and protect me even in this. So I think I'm going to start posting the things I write and see where it goes. 

So be forewarned that the beginning of this blog will be the beginning of my first trip through The Refiner's fire.  It is by no means a comfortable place.  It will be real; and at times it will be raw.  Read at your own risk.