Why I love my friends...

My friend offered to ask around about the insurance that covers burying stillborn babies.  Yes.  Only the greatest people offer to do these awful things for you.   But the greatest of the greatest get a response from another mutual friend that reads like this:

"So a priest and a duck walk into a bar and say this sucks. This is the website: ************.com

The baby is covered as soon as she is born. Even if she is stillborn (that's awful to write) so a duck... 

[Dad] will need to inform PSD and they will inform the casualty office. They will walk him through filing the claim. It's not a simple process but nothing about this is easy. 

The name of the insurance is [***]. 

I've made a few other calls to find out if there is anything else out there. The duck and I will keep you posted. Love you much."

I feel loved.  And amused.  Two great feelings....and "this sucks."

Thank you friends!  You make it suck a little less.

The Good Doctor

A Leader for our Journey

It's Tuesday.  That means we had another Doctor's appointment. 

The waiting room was full this morning.  Typically I'm one of two people there this early and we get in relatively quickly, but for some reason today was a longer wait.  I also brought a good friend with me as Jeff has his first day of orientation for graduate school today.  All around it was different.

In the shower yesterday morning I had an odd moment of clarity.   Over the past week my thoughts have all been somewhat jumbled and difficult to articulate regarding my last appointment and upcoming decisions.   Yesterday it all sort of came together in a moment of crystal clear thought.  I knew as soon as it passed I now had the words I needed should the question arise again during today's appointment.  And it did.

The doctor came in to the appointment room and went straight for checking the baby's heartbeat.  There was a light-hearted moment as the heart beat monitor caught Lydia's heartbeat and it sounded muffled.  I asked the doctor if it sounded that way because of the fluid around her heart.  He smiled a sweet smile and said it sounded to him like someone had dropped the monitor.  We chuckled.  I'm not sure why it was funny.  But it was nice to start the whole visit off laughing.

He mentioned again that he wanted us to make a decision about the upcoming weeks of viability.  And somehow I did it.  Somehow I mustered the courage to say the words I was given yesterday morning.

"I know you say that this child is no different than the rest of my children and default to what I would do if it were any of the rest of them, but this is not any of the rest of my children.  It is this child, the one who God prepared me in advance that I might lose and took away my fears about it's life and death.  God promised me He would fulfill this child's purposes and my purposes in carrying it.   I'm not sure what I will want to do if we find ourselves in a situation in which I'm here at the office when the child's heart rate seems to be slipping.  But I know that I cannot say today that I'm prepared to commit to the trauma of a c-section for me or the baby in addition to the grief of burying her.  I know that God has promised each day to give me strength, and I know that I don't have the strength today to make a decision about something that might not even happen in a few weeks." 

Based on the advice of a sweet friend, I asked him if we could get a referral for a consult with a neonatologist who could give us some more understanding about the child's condition and what to expect if the child is born still breathing.

He heard me!  He heard me and he was open.  And he voluntarily committed to praying about this decision and talking to his own pastor and admitted that this was not only stretching Jeff and I and our friends, but also stretching him.  He said that it's forcing him to look at things in a way he hasn't before. I promised him that I would continue to pray about it and I was open to God moving my heart still and I believe God will bring us to a place of unity about how to move forward. 

As he walked me out to schedule a consult with the neonatologist, he smiled and said he'd like to pray together at our next appointment and that he'd be praying in between now and then.

I hugged him.

I feel as light as a feather.  At this point, whatever decision he comes to, I know that He is not just a man of stances.  I believe he will seek God. He is a man of faith who prays and searches scripture and seeks wisdom.   So now I think I will pray for God to lead him and I'll pray that by our next appointment Jeff and I will feel like our doctor is now a capable leader on this journey. .I don't necessarily expect him to change his mind and completely agree with me.  I'm open to the possibility that my vision for how this will end is not necessarily right either.  But I expect confirmation in some way at the next appointment that our doctor will take good care of us, our child, and our hearts.  I just feel so much better.

When God Speaks...

Sometime in early March, shortly before we found out we were pregnant, I took a trip to Mississippi.  Though I did pray that God would use me while there, in fact I thought I was going on a business trip to learn more about running a small business.  I did that, too.  But as it turned out the Lord allowed me to be a part of a much bigger plan.  I got to spend some time with a dear friend who has poured into my life many times, and in this case I got to pour into hers and be apart of some amazing things God was doing—this is a different story and quite frankly not mine to tell, but it provides a backdrop.

During our conversations she mentioned a prayer shawl that she had been given.  She described what a prayer shawl was and recounted how she had received hers.  She had been wanting one, but the woman she knew in her church who made them for people didn't take orders, she simply made them for whomever the Lord put on her heart.  Resigned to the idea that she may never receive one as a gift, she had contemplated purchasing one but never did.   One day as she was sitting in the sanctuary and listening to the worship team rehearse, she bowed and prayed.  She prayed specifically to dedicate her next year to more fervent and frequent prayer.  As she was praying someone tapped on her shoulder.  It was the woman who makes the prayer shawls and she was presenting my friend with her latest creation.  My friend knew in that moment, since she had never shared with anyone her desire for a prayer shawl, and the impossible timing of the gift, that the Lord was speaking to her intimately and that He knew her heart. 

Of course, as she recounted this story, a longing welled up in me for such a sacred and intimate symbol of dedicated prayer, but I never voiced it.  It wasn't about me at all.  I have thought about it a few times since, but only fleeting thoughts because I know of no one who makes prayer shawls.  I wouldn't know where to buy one or even if I'd want to buy my own. In fact, this woman is the only woman I know who even has one.

Yesterday, a package came in the mail for me.   The package looked and felt like my packages look when I send out my baby blankets.  It was from my clinical supervisor for counseling.  I know she attends church but we don't speak about spiritual things very often, if ever.  We discuss my client cases and she is amazingly insightful and a wonderful gift to me when it comes to clinical supervision.  As I took ahold of the package, and felt it, I couldn't even imagine what she would have sent as she knows so little about me personally.

 If I'm being honest these were the thoughts going through my head:

"Please tell me she didn't send me a baby blanket for Lydia."

"No, she wouldn't have sent me a baby blanket."

"What gift could someone possibly give someone at a time like this that would actually be thoughtful?  Cards are wonderful, but a package??"

"Brace yourself, Erin, this might be really painful."

I ripped open the package (kind of like a band aid) so as to get the pain over with as quickly as possible.  I was confused at first as I pulled out what looked to be a blanket.  It was beautifully crocheted in exactly my favorite colors. It came with a card:

"May God's grace be upon this shawl...

warming, comforting, enfolding, and embracing.  

May this mantle be a safe haven...

a sacred plea of security and well-being,

sustaining and embracing in good times

as well as difficult ones.

May he who receives this shawl be...

cradled in hope, kept in joy,

graced with peace, and wrapped in love.

-the Prayer Shawl Ministry"

Stitched to the corner is Psalm 139.

My heart began to race. 

Even if you've read it a hundred times, read it again now for me.  If you've never read it before, please read it for me (and you) now.  I provided the link (which I had to learn how to do just now).  Scroll over the text "Psalm 139" and click the link.  Read it and see how incredibly amazing this scripture fits my current circumstances: me, the baby, the gift!  No one knew I even desired a prayer shawl!  I never would have asked for one.  And it came from the most unexpected person, and it had stitched on it a verse that applies in so many different perfect ways.

I need to tell this story because while there are difficult times in this journey--times of tears because of hurt and sorrow--there are also times of tears because of the amazing way the Lord lavishes His intimate love on us in times of darkness.  These times need to be shared, too.  I write about them because these are events in the story I desperately want to remember when I look back over this season of my life.  God spoke!

The other day as I opened this gift, He spoke to me!  He speaks to us!

"My plans for you were perfect even as I knit you together." 

"I know every thought and desire that is on your heart, even the ones you've barely thought and never spoken."

"I can and do fulfill my plans through the most unexpected vessels."

"Nothing in your life is, or ever has been, hidden from me."

And these last verses of the Psalm have a special meaning to me as well:

"Search me O God, and know my heart.  Test me and know my anxious thoughts.  See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting."  

I have prayed those last verses many times.  I know them by heart.  I prayed them a lot just before we got our diagnosis.  If you've read "The Prequel," you know that God tested me and knew my anxious thoughts--specifically regarding the baby-- and He saw the anxiety ridden parts of me that needed changed, and He had already led me in the way everlasting.  He freed me from fear before we even knew there was officially something wrong.  He answered that prayer.  He's continuing to answer that prayer.  He is so, so personal.

What a beautiful gift to receive.  I can't wait to tell my friend how God used her.   And I just love how I expected to be hurt and instead was given an amazingly precious gift.  I'm sure there's a lesson in that, too.     http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+139&version=NIV

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.