Nine months

This seems like such a huge milestone. I guess when you have carried and birthed four babies nine months becomes a very significant period of time.

I think the thing about losing Eden is that it never stops, I never stop "losing" her. She is always gone, always separated from me. I won't ever hold her in my arms and nurse her to sleep. I will never hear her giggle or see her smile. I can never braid her hair or dress her in frilly clothes. Every second of every day she is gone.

I was reading Psalm 119 to my kids the other day and could barely choke out this part of the passage...

81 I am worn out waiting for your rescue,
but I have put my hope in your word.
82 My eyes are straining to see your promises come true.
When will you comfort me?
83 I am shriveled like a wineskin in the smoke,
but I have not forgotten to obey your decrees.
84 How long must I wait?

The psalmist captures my heart and soul in that passage, my anguish and my exhaustion. My longing to hold the child I had to let go of far too soon...

Yet I cling to God for in Him alone can I and do I find the strength to smile and live and enjoy the life I have yet to live.

89 Your eternal word, O Lord,
stands firm in heaven.
90 Your faithfulness extends to every generation,
as enduring as the earth you created.
91 Your regulations remain true to this day,
for everything serves your plans.
92 If your instructions hadn’t sustained me with joy,
I would have died in my misery.
93 I will never forget your commandments,
for by them you give me life.
94 I am yours; rescue me!
For I have worked hard at obeying your commandments.
95 Though the wicked hide along the way to kill me,
I will quietly keep my mind on your laws.
96 Even perfection has its limits,
but your commands have no limit.

I know there is still so much work to be done. So much more to be dealt with. So much more grief to endure...but I am confident that my Jesus will carry my through and protect my bleeding and wounded heart.

Blindsided...and rambling

Sometimes the emotions hit me at the oddest moments...

They make sense in moments like yesterday when I took down my youngest son's crib and put it away, thinking the whole time that I should still be using the crib, not making room for it under his "big boy bed". When I look at a pile of no longer needed baby things and feel heartsick that I have to figure out where to donate them...

But just now, I logged on to write about the transition and found Nicky's comment unmoderated so never published, on my last post. And I cried.

I cried mostly because I don't do that. I don't imagine what would have been very often because it hurts just so much. And honestly, I am stuck with the imagining of what we would have done to announce her healing. That one I see so clearly. That one I see almost as a memory...but it isn't a memory. It's a dream.

Someone gave me an outfit for her shortly after the diagnosis...Embroidered on the front of a cute white onesie in pink letters "I am a miracle". I searched for the perfect pink pants to match in just the right shade...eventually Nicky found them. I packed them in my hospital bag, but at the bottom. I imagined putting my perfectly formed baby in that outfit and just having that picture flashed on the overhead at church Sunday morning. I can still hear the collective gasp and applause that would have gone out. I can still feel the warmth radiating out of all those euphoric faces. To be in the church where great and miraculous healings occur. I can hear the worship songs...

I imagine my pastor. A strong and mighty man of God beaming with reverence at the power of Mighty God, instead of forlorn and broken by the disappointment of a healing denied.

And these images haunt me sometimes.

I told my husband, driving down the 405 freeway towards the delivery that I believed 100% that Eden would be healed. I was giddy with the excitement of it.

I broke when he looked at me in the OR and shook his head, tears in his eyes. I just broke in that moment. I asked God to heal her still, but I knew we'd received His answer, and it was no.

I knew I had to choose to keep living in that brief second. Not physically, but spiritually. I knew I had to ask myself if I could still trust and hope and believe in all of who God was in that second. Upon choosing him he held together that which had broken in me... My heart, my spirit, and in someways... my faith. He began to repair it even then, but what was still broken He held.

I don't talk much about the really ugly parts because I want more than anything to allow God to be glorified in my life. In this experience. There are ugly moments though...and here are a lot of them.

I think in someways the hurt is harder now. It is duller and not as sharp and stabbing, but it is exhausting. To know that I will always grieve...everyday...somedays seems like too much. To know that certain worship songs will continue to stick in my throat for weeks, and months, and years makes me want to pull the covers over my head and just stay there.

I picture her in heaven a lot. Dancing in the flowers. Jesus giggling and smiling at her. And I am so glad she is with Him and I am so happy for her...I just wish we weren't seperated.

Missing You

Dear Eden,

I printed up a copy of your picture today.

It's a little overcast and the house is really quiet, the big kids are gone and the little one is taking a nap.

I wish I could curl up on the couch and nurse you and nibble on your fingers and toes. Smile at you. You'd be playing right along by now...

I miss all the things we never got to do. I miss memories we never made.

But I still smile almost everyday because I know I'll not only see you again, but that your life served a great purpose.

I know you don't read my blog, :D , but I just wanted to tell you today how much you are missed and how much I love you...and how you have impacted me as a person.

~Mommy

Better Days

Some days are so hard. Days like my last post...

Most days aren't. Most days the supernatural peace and grace of God surround me. I never know when it will be painful, but I know that God is always faithful to buoy me when my arms stop moving and I start to sink.

I am greatful beyond words to have been given Eden, even for the short season we had. I am grateful that God gave me, not only strength, but the support of a church family without whom I'd have fallen apart. Friends who loved my baby as much as I did. People as invested in a miracle as me.

Eden was a gift to many and the line to snuggle her and kiss her will be long in heaven. The people who never got to nuzzle into her sweet little neck but miss her all the same.

So days like today, when God has brought me through another patch of ugly, are truly a blessing.

One year ago today

I learned what it meant to be "a little bit pregnant". I knew what it was to have a wiggling, living, baby inside of me...and be told I would never love her outside of me. I learned what it felt like to be told the best thing to do would be to end my child's life.

My whole world turned upside down and I am not so sure it ever really righted it's self again.

I have grown and loved and felt joy in this last year.

I have also known pain that hurt so deep I could barely catch my breath. I know the ache of a mother's arms without one of her babies to fill them.

I know what it is to long for something I will never see or know.

God has been so incredibly faithful to me, held me as I wanted to crumble into a mess on the floor.

Today though, on a day motherhood is celebrated, it feels too big and I want so badly to wake-up and find this whole year was nothing more than a nightmare.

I rejoice over new babies and my heart breaks in every smile...I want my baby so badly today. I want to love her and kiss her. I want to hold her in my arms and nurse her to sleep. I want to pace the floor with her when she can't sleep.

It's hard sometimes, and a little overwhelming to know that I will feel all of these things every day.

Sacred

Today has not been an easy day. The last week or so my grief reached a familiar place, one I've been too before...or been near...and it's hard to be visiting here again.

Somehow, this time I feel more desolate. It is a far more difficult struggle...or maybe the difficulty hasn't changed, I am just growing accustomed to the better days...so the harder days seem that much more pronounced?

It is almost more difficult to admit this time through. I feel almost as if I am failing at something? I don't want to let anyone down. I want to still be standing in the strength of Jesus. Yet today? Today it is all I can do to sit here at His feet and weep.

I want to throw a mighty fit and beg God for a do-over. For another moment with my baby. Beg Him to let me wake-up from this. That it would all be a dream. That whatever God has taught me or shown me would have been impressed on me and now I get to keep my girl...

And even in this moment, here as I type, and admit the immaturity and ugliness, and see the parts of my heart I have been trying to hold back from God this week...even now He reaches down to comfort me and caress my tear streaked cheeks with his own hand. With His own tears He comforts me.

Every time I want to tell Him this isn't fair or ask Him why I see a glimmer of His plan...just a glimmer, as if through the fog, but I see He has not abandoned me and this was not something He allowed out of callous disregard...

I am so like one of my Children, anxious for "the end" not wanting to endure the lesson or wait out the plan.

Happy Half Birthday

I can hardly believe it's be only six short months since I first looked into the face of my precious daughter. Beautiful and perfect in her brokenness. Six months since I saw true beauty in ultimate heartbreak. Six months since a me I used to be ceased to exist. Six months since my faith was tested to it's limit.

It's overwhelming sometimes to think that getting here doesn't mean the grief is over, just that it continues to change...and change me.

I was telling my husband the other day that part of me was afraid that I was lying to myself everyday. That this new element to my relationship with God would shatter and I would see that, in reality, I was bitter, broken, and angry.

My growing closer to God has been very deliberate. I made a conscious choice to continue to magnify His name and to love on Him. To believe in His word. All of this a huge step of faith after my beautiful daughter was born broken.

I try my hardest to be honest with God about it because I want this to be sincere.

So last night I was at prayer and a song I have played continually this last year came on...

The enemy's been defeated
Death couldn't hold you down

I think I have said before, that I imagined, while pregnant with Eden playing that song in church as we beheld the sweet baby God had brought life and wholeness to.

When that vision wasn't to pass I would stiff often turn to that song to lift my faith. Satan was still defeated by God's supernatural peace poured out within moments of Eden's birth.

Last night I believe God spoke to me, just little me.

The enemy's plans for me were defeated. I was not destroyed by my daughter's death. I am not continually oppressed by my grief or my questions. I live and love my God every day. It is sincere and He knows it.

Clear Acrylic Cups

Yesterday morning I went to pick up a few staples from the grocery store but as usual got sidetracked by the $1.00 specials. I was delighted to find small acrylic cups for the kids so I picked up two each of the blue, green, pink, and clear. Pleased to be getting two for each kid and thinking that I knew who would naturally gravitate towards which color.

It wasn't until I got home and was unloading that I realized I bought two cups for each of my children...yet only have three children at home with me.

I hadn't particularly chosen cups for Eden... but I just picked up eight.

On another heartbreaking note my friend's twin girls died. She birthed them and held them and said her good-byes. She said they were beautiful.

Pray for her now...she and her family. She as two daughters at home... and has had to let go of two she never got to know.

Unprepared

I've just returned home form dropping my older kids off with dad for some much needed bonding time, my littlest is in his crib taking an afternoon nap. I was planning on settling in for a nap of my own but came online to check on a friend...

She is around 17 weeks pregnant and had an irregular test and was going in for genetic testing and a high level ultrasound today.

Just hearing her retelling of the day elicited a strange reaction in me and I am now suitably unsettled enough to not be able to take my nap. I want to pick up the phone and call all of my wonderful friends for comfort but at the same time I want to hide in the darkness of my bedroom and scream and thrash and cry.

The memories of Eden fade a little each day, I only knew my daughter for 36 short hours. But the memories of the day I was told that she would die, that I should end her life without ever getting a chance to say good bye... those memories are crisp and clear.

I want to say no one should ever have to go through that, but I feel like to say that discounts what God did through it.

Right now I am feeling it all anew. It's like the last year has vanished and I am right back there. And in some ways it hurts more because I know how the story ends. I know the answer to my pleading is met with a quiet, and heartbroken, no.

I see Him. I have such an image of my heavenly father weeping as He leaves the little body of my Eden unfinished. As He turns His head to say no. I see Him as his tears roll down His face looking at my heartbreak. Knowing His plan will hurt me in places I didn't even know hurt could dwell... What must it be to know you are doing what needs to be done, but know it will break the heart of your very child. Not to break the heart in discipline but to allow it to break for the furthering of a plan they might never see fully.

I wonder if I seem foolish to some, to turn my hurt and heartbreak over to the very one who allowed it in the first place? But where else would I ever find comfort? I can find no comfort but from He who has walked this road... God himself had to deny His own hearts cry and allow for the ultimate pain of watching His only son, not just die, but be beaten and abused by the very people He was laying His life down for.

My God and My Jesus are the only comfort.

Pray for my friend...her news was full of great joy...Twin girls...and great angst... they are sharing a sac and entangled in such a way as to make carrying them to term very dangerous.

Simple words

I want to be profound here today. I want to write words that will move you to your very core...that will gird up the faith of the faithful and turn the unbeliever to Jesus.

I want to chronicle the vast changes in myself, my husband, my family, my friends, and even my church that have come about in the journey of carrying and losing my beautiful daughter.

I want to pour out my very soul, wrapped in the love and protection of my perfect savior...

But really, I am just here to sit and remember. To let the tears flow in this place while I try to recapture what it was to love her in person. To hold her tiny and imperfect body in my arms for 36 short hours. To kiss her cheek and watch her slip into the arms of Jesus. to be so fully enveloped by the supernatural that the tragedies of the natural world seemed a million miles away even as they unfolded inches from my face.

I am a little hurt that there are people who think it's time for me to move on, and eternally grateful for those who remember with me. Who are still moved and hurting for me. Who don't expect or hope for this to ever "go away".

How beautiful and wonderful it will be to see my little one again someday... To have the immeasurable joy of seeing not only the savior of my very soul, but seeing Him holding my sweet girl. To be reunited with one I knew so briefly but loved so fully.

I miss my daughter and can't imagine that it's only been 5 months that I have carried the ache that longs to hold her again...

Four Months

I was very aware this last weekend that Eden's four month birthday was passing... that the days that numbered her all too short life were once again upon me.

I thought about what she'd likely be doing. She'd be moving on to pureed food and probably sitting up... if she followed after her siblings, she'd likely be sleeping for nice long stretches...

I wanted to write, just to remeber her. In the absence of holding her in my arms, I wanted to hold her in my thoughts and words...but the fact is, I was to busy to sit and formulate a post. Life continues to go on, the world continues to rotate and quiet moments get swallowed up.

I thought about Eden a lot. I missed her terribly. My heart did not break from the grief but she will be a missing piece of me until I stand before the Lord and he places her tiny hand in mine.

I have had the unique opportunity to become friends with another mother who found out shortly after I found out about Eden's anencephaly, that her sweet baby would also die shortly after his birth. It is a strange relationship in that we are in different countries and have never even heard each other's voices, yet we are eternally connected by this shared journey...

I wrote to her tonight and thought that these were the things I'd like to share here as well...

It's amazing isn't it? How completely upside down everything seemed and felt for those months we carried our little ones with the knowledge we would only have, if we were lucky, a few moments with them here on earth...and now it's so, relatively, normal? It seems to me, at times, to be both my greatest blessing and deepest heartache...that life is once again, so normal.

We are truly blessed, you and I. It sounds crazy, I know. But I do not feel cursed for what I had with my Eden. I feel blessed for the experience...not a blessing I'd ever hope for again, mind you...but blessed all the same.

This Sunday God brought James 1:2-4 to me. I hear James 1:2 all the time, but the latter verses spoke to me even more.

"2 Dear brothers and sisters,^[a] when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. 3 For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. 4 So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing."

I feel like a totally renewed creature. I know I haven't reached perfection yet but I stand on an assurance and faith I hadn't ever imagined attainable by me, now.

I have a confidence in who I am in God now, that I never knew before. I know I am not nearly where He desires me to end up...but I am very certain that I *am* on the path He has paved for me... and there is a blessing in that that overwhelms me.

Smiling through tears

It's late and I suppose it's tomorrow already but I couldn't close my eyes tonight without remarking on the day that has passed.

Three months have flown by in the blink of an eye, yet it seems like I have carried the memories of my sweet baby girl for my entire life.

I was struck this morning, as I went about my daily chores, with how unremarkable the day was. How dishes still need doing and floors still need scrubbing. How my children still need to be led and diapers still need changing.

Yet today was remarkable. Today I woke up, snuggled my babies, and spent time with God. I was truly content and joyful. Even with the heaviness of my great loss, I felt joy today. I remembered my girl, as I always do, and I smiled at the time we had spent together. Even more I smiled remembering a moment I have no ability to explain. A moment that changed me from the depth of my very soul. The moment that coforts me when heartbreak threatens to crush me. I reflected today, on my daughter's death.

I have never seen Jesus, not with my earthly eyes, But my spirit has. My spirit knew, felt, and saw God, himself, lift my baby from my arms. Remove the soul that had blessed so many from her earthly vessel. God lifted her and cradled her just as I had for the blessed hours we had spent together.

I miss my daughter, yes. I always will. My heart aches for the moments we will never share. The kisses we will miss. I will never know her giggle or her smile.

But she is clothed in glory. She sits at the feet of the Creator of the Universe...no, she is cradled by His loving arms. I will not mourn for her. I will mourn those missed moments, but I will remember her beautiful blue eyes as she saw the face of her savior.

And I will smile.

"Think of your child; then, not as dead, but as living; not as a flower that has withered, but as one that is transplanted, and touched by a divine hand, is blooming in richer colors and sweeter shades than those on earth."-
Richard Hooker

Holding His Hem

Has it really been nearly three months since I held my sweet baby? Three months since my world changed forever, in a way I couldn't imagine?

Tonight was a typical trip to the craft store. Just a quick trip for ribbon, but my oldest daughter decided to come along. She picked out crafts and ribbon and yarn that she would love to have...all of which stayed behind.

As we loaded into the van and began our short trip home we were laughing and joking and within minutes there were tears. A joke went touchy and my sweet girl began to cry. At first I assumed she was crying over not getting things her way, but then she broke and the truth came out.

We had gone to see Daddy at work today and, playing at the whiteboard as she usually does, she caught a glimpse of the picture he keeps of her sister. A picture we see everyday. Today though, something was different...and it broke her heart again.

It was hard to sit in the van with her and know she was hurting, carrying a burden that seems altogether too large for a little girl of seven. But at the same time it was beautiful.

It gave me a sort of sad joy at knowing that she had gotten a chance to trully love her sister. That she had known and held a very real little girl in her arms. That she had seen a glimmer of a smile on the face of the sister she had dreamed of for years.

She will always have her sister, real and in her heart.

I have been listening to a song that I had always imagined playing when Eden's healing was revealed. Lyrics that spoke to me so deeply when I was carrying her...

The enemy's been defeated.
Death couldn't hold you down.
Were gonna lift out voice in victory.
Were gonna make our praises loud.

I imagined a scene, not unlike the Lion King, holding her up before all as the baby God had healed.

This song is still His song for me. The death of my daughter will not be my defeat but the defeat of the enemy of my soul. He who tries to crush me with weight of it everyday. He who tries to get me to shout curses at God.

I will not turn from God in my hurt. I will not turn from Him in my confusion. He will still reign in my heart and in my life. Because He sees me. He created me. And He loves me.

Arms Lifted

The Christmas decorations are already put away. The tree taken apart and the ornaments nestled in their little boxes up in the closet.

We had a lovely Christmas. The kids were excited to the point of barely being able to sleep the night before and were anxiously awaiting us in the living room at 4:30am. They were sent back to bed but I am sure there was little more sleep for them.

There were not a ton of presents but anything wrapped was like pure gold for them. The finest things, just because they had paper and bows. Jack looked at every gift with amazement, wondering "It is it?" with every package, whether it was for him or not.

It was truly beautiful, save one tiny detail. My daughter was missing. She was not there to distract me while presents were opened. She did not have a token under the tree from her older siblings. She did not sit with Santa in the weeks before. She did not get to wonder at the lights on the tree.

Absent were the cries of an overwrought and over tired baby on Christmas day, who had missed a nap and probably been over stimulated with all the excitement.

My oldest son mentioned more than once, with the innocence, joy, and truth only a child can muster "Eden is having the BEST Christmas because she is with Jesus." My oldest daughter carried the picture someone had drawn of Eden over to the tree to open gifts so she could be a part of it all...

And my heart broke a thousand different ways on Christmas day, even without noticing it, my heart broke. Even without a constant ache, I was depleted by the days end.

I have been thinking about something my pastor said to me. He pointed out that in the book of Job, after Job loses everything God restores it all to him twice over. My pastor has declared the same for us. But tell me, how does He restore my daughter unto me twice over? How does He fill the void left by her sweet little soul?

I was blessed by a Christmas letter I received this year. The writer of the letter referenced something she had read, and I can't even cite the source or give a direct quote as the letter isn't in front of me. The quote was making the point that while we often worship God and praise Him for all the gifts He lovingly bestows upon us, we need to remember to honor God simply because He is God. He is the creator of the universe and the creator of each and every one of us. He has loved me from before there was time, and He will love me long after.

So in the midst of missing my little girl, in the midst of this new shade of grief, I praise My God and I love Him. I praise Him because He alone is worthy to be praised.

It seems like we said goodbye a lifetime ago.

Two months ago I switched off the hospital TV and, with you nestled in the crook of my arm, surrendered to my body's need for sleep. Through God's grace I slept well, yet lightly.

Even as I closed my eyes that night, my spirit knew what I could not voice. My spirit knew this was my last night with you. That what had begun to be measured in days would soon be measured in minutes.

I hated to let you go but know in the depths of my soul my time with you was not fruitless.

I think so often of the impact you had on the world, but you had such great impact on me. Just like He does with your brothers and sister, God used you to teach me so many things.

You changed this family forever, and your impact was only good. I think I am a better mother for having had the great honor of mothering you. I am a better wife for sharing you with your daddy. I am also, I hope, a better Christian for having had to trust God so fully with your very life.

I miss you Eden... I long for the day we will be reunited before our Heavenly Father. When I will bask, not only in His glory, but in the completion of our family. When I will see you healed and whole. When I can hold and kiss you again.

Christmas will be strange this year with your little empty stocking. We will celebrate and have joy... but there will be an absence that is palpable. It amazes me how we can so fully feel you missing in the memories you never were a part of.

I love you baby girl. Everyday.

Thank You

I am often surprised that God is still so surprising in His goodness. Surprised I still don't expect Him in just the right moments. Surprised that all He wants from me is all of me, flaws and all. That my weaknesses really do give Him opportunities to show His unending strength.

Laying bare my struggles before you and therefore, before Him, gave Him just the opening He needed to meet me in my valley. In a matter of hours the heaviness began to lift and my heart began to beat in rhythm with the things He is teaching me.

I am blessed to be walking this road. Blessed to have been able to hold and meet my daughter. Blessed to struggle like I do.

I am so greatful to all of you who hold me up when I feel so weak, and rejoice with me when I have strength.

In the secret...

At night, while I'm laying in bed, I think of all kinds of things to share with you. All kinds of encouraging words... some a little less so. Then, morning comes and it all gets so lost in the everyday... Lost in the dishes and laundry. Lost in the day to day chasing after three rambunctious kids. Lost in normal life.

I've wondered a lot lately about what my new normal is. Six months ago I was planning the next few years in the light of feedings, diaper changes, and lack of sleep. Then for five months I was in limbo... desperately seeking God for the miraculous in every breath. Then I was a mother to four precious babies. Two days later I had three living children and an encounter with God like none I'd ever had. Then life settled in... and now? Where to from here?

I crave that unexplainable closeness with God. To be fully embraced, tangibly, by the lover of my soul. To stand before Him in worship and have the very core of my spirit tingle with His touch. Yet, it eludes me a little.

I stood in church Sunday and felt slightly numb. The first I'd felt that in a long, long time. I didn't like it at all.

I am not angry at God, but I am realizing that maybe I am feeling something I haven't yet faced. Something I'm not even sure how to name.

I wanted Him to heal Eden. I wanted to bring her home. I want to be holding her and cuddling her right now. I want more than a photo album and one adorable picture. I wanted more than memories.

It's hard to read the scriptures that speak of asking and receiving or His great power. I want to throw a tantrum. Stomp my feet and cry like my two year old when he can't have a cookie. It stings a little to know He could have healed her and didn't.

It is something I keep saying I am working out with Him. But I wonder if I really am? Is it too hard and painful for me to really look at? To be truly vulnerable to God with those feelings.

The truth is I don't know.

I trust Him everyday by choice right now. I trust Him because He *is* still the creator of the universe, the Ancient of Days, the one who died for me. I trust Him because He holds my daughter to His very bosom when I can't. I trust Him because I know His plan is perfect.

If it is even possible, this part of the journey seems to hurt the most. To feel so distant from He who loves me most. I feel like I am swimming through quicksand to get back to the place we once walked so closely.

Maybe that's the point? Maybe it's a little too much me? This isn't something I can do on my own or by my own power. This can only be done by God. I can only have healing in His plan and His time.

I am going to try very hard to wait on Him. To let Him meet me in my time of need. I am going to try and be still...

Dear Eden

One month ago, today, I finally got to meet you. I got to see your sweet little face, so like your brothers' and sister's. I touched your tiny perfect feet and hands. I held you in my arms and studied you. My heart overflowed with love for you.

One month ago my life changed forever, holding you, loving you, and knowing this meeting was the beginning of a goodbye.

I can not imagine it's only been a month, as I spent a lifetime holding you in that dim and quiet hospital room. It seems forever ago that the world stopped and allowed us that precious time. Forever ago that I learned what immeasurable blessing can come from something that seems so tragic.

In two days I will reflect on what it was like to let you slip into the arms of Jesus. What it is to know peace that transcends all of our human understanding. But today, right now I am going to remember the way you felt in my arms. I am going to look at your pictures and I am going to feel joy at having been chosen to be your mother.

I love you little one...forever and ever.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words

This picture was taken the day before me cesarean. Probably just about 24 hours before Eden was born... seems like a lifetime ago. I was still filled with such hope for my little bean... but very aware this might be the last time I knew her while she was still alive.




This one of the only two pictures we have of our whole family of six. Even though we were all heartbroken we had joy in this moment. I will always be grateful we had this time together...all of us.



Noah and his baby sister. Some of the most beautiful pictures we have are some of the most heartbreaking.


All my babies. everything about who they are is captured in this single shot.


Phoebe and her sister...taken by her big brother. She was so ready to love her for as long as she could.

Not yet in dancing shoes

Today I stood before God, at the church altar, and sang these words...

You have turned my mourning into dancing.
You have turned my sorrow into joy.

I sang these words as an offering and sacrifice to God. I am not yet ready to dance. I am not quite filled with joy. I have made a commitment to myself and to Him to open myself up and allow Him in to heal the deepest, darkest, most broken parts.

Emotionally, I am raw and some days suck, but mostly I am surviving and enjoying the life and babies I have. I am making a conscious choice to heal and let God work in me, but it's hard because I'm still really tender and wounded and it's something I need to work out with Him. I know He could have healed my baby and didn't and that hurts. My faith is not shaken but my heart is bruised...

I know in my deepest being that God is still working through the life of Eden, that He is still working in me. I ask myself almost daily if I still trust Him, and I do. If I still believe His heart breaks with mine, and I do.

So today I stood there. Raw and exposed before God and sang the words I know to be true.

This is how we overcome

I will only overcome this deep wound, will only live in the grace and power that is mine through Jesus, if I can open my heart and worship Him from this place.