I'm Scared About the Clouds

Sean has been fascinated with the moon for sometime now. "Moon" was one of his first words. His first interest wasn't a fleeting phase. Perhaps it is that magnificent glow in the midst of darkness? A month ago he asked to see the moon after dinner. We went outside to find glowing rain clouds, but the moon was hiding. It had been a rainy day. He didn't have the reaction we expected. He cried and promptly said, "I'm scared about the clouds, I want to go inside, Mommy!" My Mommy instinct kicked in and I immediately wanted to hold him, comfort him and take him inside where he was seemingly safe. We explained why the clouds looked so mysterious, held him close, and took him inside. The moon normally excites him, but the clouds scared him.

The first time I saw fear in Sean was when he was born. When he broke free from my womb. I was overjoyed to hear that strong, healthy cry, but the motherly instinct to cover him in love and protection was incredibly strong. It had been strong from the time I knew his little life had begun growing inside me. Many have said that there is no better way to understand God's unconditional love for each one of his children, than to become a parent yourself. 

My journey of love for this little boy began before the positive pregnancy test. I remember placing my hand on my abdomen, praying, and crying tears of hope as I was listening to "What Faith Can Do", by Kutless. I knew his life was beginning. Two weeks later on January 29, 2010 I started cramping and decided it was time to take the test. Patrick was working from home that day. Two pink lines were on the stick and I was trembling. I was trembling, crying, and laughing. Physical signs of fear and happiness consumed me. I felt so blessed, yet so scared as Patrick and I held each other. I trembled for fear of seeing the clouds. I was scared of the clouds that had once filled my days after our baby girl went to eternity. Perhaps the laughter was somewhat like Sarah's laughter when God told her she would bare a son in her old age and name him Isaac. It was a laugh  of humility...feeling blessed beyond measure. (Genesis 21:1-7)

The journey God took us on with this little life was faith building. We wrestled with fear everyday. We treasured every single moment. We told everyone I was pregnant very soon after that positive pregnancy test. We believed his life had begun and we were going to share him with everyone for as long as his life lasted. We were grateful for every loving prayer lifted by friends and family. We celebrated everyday with Sean. We documented the pregnancy through journaling, writing letters to him, video, and pictures...for we knew how much we treasure what we did document of our baby girl's life in me.

Not only did we struggle with fighting the fear that his life would be over sooner than we preferred, we witnessed other's fear for his life. The judgment behind why we chose to 'try again" so soon. Perhaps that was one of the hardest parts of my pregnancy with Sean. I felt the fear of others (even if they tried to hide it) so strongly that it saddened me. It hurt me, because we focused our daily energies on hope, faith and celebrating every moment...every kick...every ultrasound...every trimester...every heartbeat. We prepared his room, closet, our home, and our hearts for him to come home with us. We also knew that his home may not be on this earth, but we felt it wise to prepare. We had hope and faith. Our hearts had been surrendered to God's plan and we took one precious moment at a time. We hoped for what was unseen.

How much do we miss because we fear and don't trust? How many blessings and opportunities for celebration go unnoticed? How much beauty do we miss when we just choose to see the clouds? Sean knew something was different that night. He knew he felt small in comparison and he knew he needed comfort and love from someone he sees as more powerful than himself. The cloud that covered us when we lost our baby girl showed me just how much I need my heavenly Father. I cried into his loving arms and he assured me that he loves me in fearful moments and joyful moments of my life. He meets me where I am...always....with open arms of unconditional parental love.

I am thankful for the gift of loving and mothering Felicity Amanda and Sean Isaac. For both relationships have drawn me closer to God's amazing love. He gave me the courage to listen to his calling to "try again" and I am grateful I have not missed the beautiful blessings he had waiting for me.

"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in him, for he shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between his shoulders." 

(Deuteronomy 33:12)

When "Jesus Loves Me" IS and HAS to be Enough

Give thanks to the God of heaven, for his steadfast love endures forever. 
(Psalm 136:26)

Sean loves music. In the last month he started saying/singing his blessings all on his own and spontaneously singing songs. The song that touches my heart the most is, "Jesus Loves Me". Perhaps because I sang it zillions of times growing up, sang it to both my babies in the womb, and have been singing it to Sean in person since the day he was born. Perhaps I sing it to him so much because I know that not even my love is enough for him (how very strong it is), but the love of Jesus is the only perfect love. It is the simplest of songs, but yet the most difficult concept for me to grasp. I have been struggling with accepting the love of Jesus for years, but in the last year it has become more evident to me how the love of Jesus truly is the most fulfilling love. Not to say I have grasped it. I don't think it is fully possible until we meet him. That is the journey...trying to accept and understand God's love for us.

Every Christ follower's journey is different. My journey has been filled with hurt...like everyone. I look to people for love. Aren't we supposed to? People are really bad at loving. Truly loving. We can't possibly love like Jesus. We are made in His own image, but we are imperfect. Our hearts ache to never be hurt...to be loved...accepted...encouraged. God made us that way. We were made for something better. Yet we wound each other over and over again. God allows mess to happen in our lives, protects us from some of it, but ultimately loves us through it all. 

How do you balance hurt and love? How do you make sense of it? Forgiveness. I must forgive many times a day, because I am disappointed or hurt this often. Some hurts run so deep that I find myself wondering if I ever truly forgave or have I taken it all back again. Then the guilt comes. I feel guilty for not forgiving. I remember how God forgives me repeatedly and I am humbled. It is a vicious cycle that keeps going. I desire relationships with family and friends. I want relationships, but it seems every time I try, I get hurt again...the door shuts in my face. I try to reach out to someone and then I am rejected. The baggage of the past comes back in and I feel so unworthy of love. 

Then I tell myself perhaps I am looking to others too much. Maybe I expect too much. Maybe the loss of my mother and daughter makes me unreasonably needy in some areas. Instead of God working through others to show me love, maybe he is working in my loneliness. Maybe he is asking me to be completely alone with him. So I can truly know him. So I can sincerely forgive. Perhaps he is telling me this is a season. A season of beautiful moments of motherhood, being a friend and helpmate to my husband, and being a daughter to my father. Perhaps all of this means more to me now than ever because I am a wife and mother. How I process and cope with my pain seriously affects my family. No, I can't have it all....but most women do want it all. You shouldn't always go after what you want, because what you want isn't always what God wants for you. 

I go in and out of having contentment with my life. 

Restlessness is where change in your heart occurs. 

So, here I am Lord in my loneliness to have you fill me with your love and cover those wounds of human rejection and abandonment. To help me find contentment again as I work through more wounds this world has laid upon me. Thank you for promising to bandage my wounds. Thank you for being there to fill the void of mother and friend. Thank you for your amazing sacrifice and gift of love. Thank you for being everything I need...thank you for being enough.

When I ask Sean who loves him, he always says, "Jesus". It is sometimes followed with "Mommy and Daddy", but he never fails to say "Jesus" first. Shouldn't we all have that simple, trusting child like faith in Jesus' love for us?

So during this holiday of Thanksgiving I am thankful for God's never ending grace and love....

Somewhere Between What a Wonderful World and Over The Rainbow

September is such a unique and special month. It is a month of celebration and of grieving. September 10, 2009 was the day our baby girl's heart stopped beating. When her body became still in my womb. The day she no longer needed my body to give her the nutrients to grow. The day Jesus took her to Heaven...somewhere over the rainbow. The day we call her Heavenly Birthday. September 11, 2009 was the day I gave birth to her lifeless body and held her in my arms. September 10, 2010 was the day I heard the most beautiful and surreal sound I had ever heard. The day an amazing baby boy made his voice and strength of his one month premature lungs known. I held him in my arms and he stopped crying. He looked at me with his precious blue eyes and I thought to myself what a wonderful world.

At this time of year I go back and forth between joy and grief. I am incredibly joyful and thankful for Felicity's short life, but deeply sad she isn't here to love and watch grow. I am excited and joyful that Sean is living and we are celebrating his second birthday, but sad that I must say goodbye to the beautiful moments of those two years. So I find myself getting teary eyed when he calls my name and clutching the pink teddy bear we bought Felicity before she was born. I try to hide my Felicity tears from Sean. I reserve my tears and teddy bear cuddles for the night when I crawl into bed. I have an immense guilt when it comes to both of them. I love them both dearly, but she isn't here. So, to spend time thinking and grieving about her takes time away from him. I don't want to lose the memory of her. I don't ever want to forget the way she felt in my arms or in my womb. Just as I don't ever want to forget Sean's milestones....all the moments of growth. His baby voice and now his toddler voice. Then there is the moment...being in the moment and soaking up everything God is providing in that moment. For that is one thing losing Felicity has taught me. Slow down and don't lose sight of the moment. Don't take these precious moments for granted...for nothing is in my control. They can be taken in an instant. For that is having the fear of God. Knowing it is all out of my hands and in His almighty hands.

So that is what their birthdays have been like this year. The dance of grief and joy. I suppose being a mother is mixed with grief and joy anyway. Grieving the moments that have passed to never come again and celebrating the achievements of the past, where they are now, and the possibilities of the future.

I enjoyed the moments with Sean on his second birthday. Dump trucks, excavators, steamrollers, and all! I enjoyed watching him actually eat his cupcake this year. I celebrated him telling me he was two before we sang happy birthday. I won't forget the look on his face when everyone sang to him...just him. When he came down the stairs and saw all of his decorations, the fun he had with his family, the confident walk he had as he happily explored the Georgia Aquarium for the first time. For these moments are why I take tons of pictures and video. These moments make a beautiful world. These moments are a gift. Life is a gift.

If someone had told me that the seemingly healthy baby girl living inside me would go to Heaven before her body was born and exactly a year later (to the day) I would give birth to a healthy baby boy, I would have had difficulty believing them. Both Felicity and Sean are gifts and each unique. Both are celebrated. Both are loved. Both are always in my heart. Both are thought about everyday. When I hear both their names, I am filled with an amazing joy and deep love.

In Sean's words, "Happy Birfday" to my little girl over the rainbow where bluebirds fly and my little boy who helps me see What a wonderful world it can be.

Simple Gifts

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free

'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd,

To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

Written by: Shaker Elder Joseph Brackett Jr. 1848

Simple...Simplicity. Those are such comforting words for me. Yet I struggle daily to attain and sustain simplicity.

It was the winter and spring of 1995 and I played this song on my flute often. I was thirteen years old and in band at school. Our spring competition was coming up and this was one of the pieces we were playing. I wasn't very good at the flute, but my Mom liked it. I enjoyed it, but I never felt I was good enough. It was a challenging year in my little isolated family of three. This piece was my Mom's favorite of the three works we were preparing for competition. For the last five years my mother was in and out of rehab. Those were at least the times I know of and can remember. In the last year of her life she was hospitalized or in rehab more than she was home. My life was a roller coaster. It was anything but simple. I would practice this piece and it seemed to make her happy. In the last year of her life she rarely genuinely smiled. I ached to see her happy and I would play this song to make her happy. She looked forward to going to band festival and hearing it performed. She wanted to be there. When that day in March came I was there, but she wasn't. I cried faint tears as I played in the auditorium of my junior high school...which was also where my mother went to high school. I felt like no one around me understood the heavy burden of loss that weighted me down in that squeaky metal chair. Earlier that month my mother finally found complete simplicity. In a place I did not expect...heaven.

As I grow older I discover the appeal of simplicity. I find it, but I don't always keep it. Why is it so difficult to keep?

Simple isn't easily understood. Achieving simplicity isn't so simple. Our world and minds are cluttered. How much of what we spend our time on is really important? How much brain and physical power is actually wasted on unimportant things? Things that prevent us from having a life of simplicity.

In some respects I have been stripped of some of the luxuries this world provides by foolish financial decisions early in my life, the choice to go into a profession that requires much, but doesn't have much of a financial return, and by deciding to stay home and be a full time Mommy to Sean. I struggle with wanting worldly luxuries like vacations, new clothes, pedicures, massages or going to dinner and a movie or concert with my husband. I ask myself are these things important? They are lots of fun...but am I living the life I am given now? Am I finding joy in the simplicity? Am I learning what God is trying to show me? As Oswald Chambers describes in My Utmost For His Highest, "If we have a purpose of our own, it destroys the simplicity and the calm , relaxed pace which should be characteristic of God." Perhaps God is showing me closeness with Him by showing me simplicity in my home...with my family...through the unconditional love of my husband...through the eyes of a child...now.

Simplicity is in the evenings when Patrick and I read together and have an unspoken peace with each other in the silence. Going to sleep and waking up to my best friend everyday. Simplicity is in the way Patrick holds my hand and the way he puts his arm around me when we are sitting side by side. Simplicity is having a marriage filled with a love that has been growing for almost 16 years.

Simplicity is in those moments when I breathe in deeply the smell of Sean's hair, when he wraps his arms around my neck and lays his head on my shoulder, the way he sighs with comfort when he is in my arms, when he smiles that infectious smile, his dancing blue eyes, when he is pleased with himself when he learns a new word or sentence. Simplicity is in the oatmeal I cook every morning, because that is his favorite meal. Simplicity is in truly being still and watching Sean learn and discover. It is in the wrestling he does with his Daddy in the evenings while I cook dinner. Simplicity is watching him explore outside and water the flowers. Watching him gaze at the bird feeder outside the window as the birds have their daily snack. Simplicity is watching him run and hearing his carefree laugh. Motherhood is far from simple, but soaking up the moments of motherhood brings simplicity. Seeing the world through a child's eyes. No clutter...no emotional baggage...a forgiving and trusting spirit.

Simplicity is being in the moment. Not fretting about past hurts or regrets or worrying about the future. It is about now...just as a child sees the world. Being thankful for what is before me. As Jesus said in Mark 18: 3-4,  "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."

A day filled with sorrow, peace, love, and joy. The day I held Felicity in my arms.

What a blessing it is to be a mother. What a blessing it is to be mothered. To love. To be loved.

The day Sean was born - His body full of life and our hearts full of joy and thanksgiving.

It is impossible to be a mother and not think about the way you were mothered. I was very loved by my mother. I can remember how troubled she was emotionally and how much physical pain she experienced or I can choose to remember how thankful she was that I was born and healthy. I could choose to be angry, because after all her body and spirit endured, the actual cause of her death was a careless accident by a nurse. Instead I choose to remember her laugh, her smile, her heartfelt embrace, the smell of her perfume, the way her rings from my father looked on her hands, the way she sounded when she said my name, how she played card games with me, the meals she cooked, the delicious pound cakes she baked, the class parties she hosted when I was in school, my girl scout troupe she helped lead, how she said my nightly prayers with me. I can choose to remember all the happy moments with her...the ways she showed me she loved me. I can choose to remember who she was apart from the pain and the effects of overdosing on pain pills. Even though the hurt, the pain, the struggle she experienced daily is a very real and painful part of my childhood, I honor her with knowing she fought a battle and was finally given complete simplicity. A simplicity we strive to attain in this cluttered world. Just days before she died she told me she would see me in heaven. As I left for school that morning, my body shook with fear that my mother was going to die. I saw her once, after I told her goodbye the morning I left for school. She apologized for not being a good mother as I held her hand in the mental hospital. All I remember saying was, "I love you". A few days later her journey on this earth was done. I love my Mommy. I love my children.

Leaving the hospital with my Mommy.

Motherhood...it isn't simple...but it does bring simplicity to the heart. It is summed up in three words, 

"I love you".

My Cup Runneth Over....

Beautiful Things

"As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust." (Psalm 103: 13-14)

  

It was the end of a warm summer and I had just given birth to a beautiful seemingly healthy baby girl with no signs of life. I was faced with a decision. The decision of what to do with her body. It wasn't something we could avoid. It was a reality. It was one of the toughest decisions we would ever have to make. As we looked at our options, not one felt right. We could bury her body in the ground to become dust or we could make her body dust to later bury. We decided on the latter. How we came to that decision was through much thought and prayer. Some did not agree with our decision, but we believe it was the decision God laid upon our hearts. When I first saw our precious Felicity's ashes in a small plastic bag and an ugly white cardboard box, I was broken. I was sick. All I could envision was a man made machine crushing the body that had been so carefully, fearfully, and beautifully formed in my womb those nine months. The bones that so vigorously kicked my swollen womb. The curly brown hair with blonde highlights. The body I held in my arms for hours on that cloudy summer day. I cried and then placed her dust in a beautiful white porcelain box to keep until we could decide what to do with her body. How could I just put her away in a box? I told myself, It is her body...not her soul. Her soul is safe with Him.

How does beauty come from dust? Where are those beautiful things when you have to decide how your child will become dust once again? 

That first autumn after losing Felicity was the richest and most spiritually raw season of my life. New life had been torn from me. However, the autumn colors were incredibly rich and beautiful. Patrick and I would go for walks and it was as if all of our senses were stronger and more intense. As if we were seeing all things with new eyes. The crisp cool air on my skin was deeply felt, the hues of the changing leaves were beautiful, friend's newborn babies were even more precious, the tears of sorrow soaked me daily, the intense pillow screams of despair exhausted me, the searching filled my mind. I was raw. I was dust being recreated. In retrospect I am grateful for the intensity of that autumn...even the painfully intense moments.

I was a child of God who needed compassion. I was a mother hurting for her child's life on earth unfulfilled. A mother who had the privilege of knowing her baby girl more than anyone else on this earth. A mother who would desire that everyone else know her. A mother who will always desire to honor the existence of her life and wonder what her baby girl would have been like if she could have grown beyond those nine months. She knew the rhythm of my heart, she knew when I laughed, when I cried tears of joy and sorrow, when I was asleep and when I was awake...a beautiful thing. 

I remember her and love her more each day. Her soul isn't with me, but her short life has done a beautiful thing in me. I have peace in knowing her soul has been made beautiful in eternity. She has filled my heart with more love and compassion. She has helped me see mere dust become life full of beauty. She has helped me TRUST my Heavenly Father above the hurt. She has increased my FAITH and HOPE in a loving Heavenly Father who has compassion on me and does make beautiful things out of the dust...He makes all things new...including me...a hurting, wounded mother.  

Peace

Peace is one of Sean's new words. He is really becoming quite the chatterbox. It seems he comes up with at least one new word everyday and he is beginning to form sentences! I feel like I say it every month, but I LOVE this age! Every stage of his life is precious and beautiful in it's own way. Perhaps I will be saying this when he is a grown man too!

Sean is now 18 months old. In a little over a week he will be 19 months old. I have found myself going back to his baby days more. Especially now that I see him becoming a little boy. I am realizing how far we have come. I can't imagine what Moms must feel like when their children graduate from high school or college. Sean is just 18 months old, but what an amazing 18 months it has been! I remember being pregnant with Sean. I remember savoring every kick I felt and every heartbeat I had the privilege of hearing. Then he was born exactly one year to the day of his sister's Heavenly birthday. That first cry...I hope I never forget that sound. We prayed for that sound. I remember asking if he was okay. I remember being so tired, but so excited. I remember feeling so unworthy, so incredibly blessed that God would give us such a miraculous gift. I had a very strong bond with him from the start. Maybe because I was so in-tune with him during the pregnancy. I counted kicks all throughout the day. Sean was born quickly and as a result swallowed fluid coming through the birth canal. His little tummy was filled with fluid and he threw up a few times after he was born. His first night we kept him in the nursery, so the nurses could watch him and we could get some sleep. I remember lying in the bed and knowing my little baby boy was crying. I couldn't hear him, but I just knew he wasn't happy. I couldn't sleep. He needed his Mommy. I remember hearing the knock on the door and Sean crying. The nurse said he wouldn't calm down and thought he needed his Mommy to feed him. He stopped as soon as I held him. What an amazing feeling. What an immense responsibility.

He doesn't need his Mommy quite as much anymore. He sees beyond Mommy now and is discovering the world around him. Now I observe, guide, and discipline him more than I hold him. I remind myself that I didn't choose to have a child for me, but to raise him to love and glorify the Lord. To fulfill God's purpose for him on this earth. I remember holding him to my chest and saying, "I am loving these cuddles now, because I know he will be running from me soon." Now he runs from me and explores the world around him. It brings me joy to see him have confidence. However, when he hurts or needs my help or guidance, he calls for his "Mama or Mommy". He is affectionate, but not clingy. Exactly the way I prayed he would be.

I remember the last ultrasound I had when I was pregnant with Sean. It was during the amniocentesis our perinatologist performed a month before his due date. It determined the maturity of his lungs. The technician told me to get my running shoes ready! We laughed, but she was right! He is a busy and active little boy! Those words meant so much to us that day. We were so grateful for every movement...every proof of life. When I see him running and playing I am filled with emotion. We prayed for a healthy baby boy.

A month and a half ago I was in a room with an ultrasound once again. Leading up to the appointment I was very focused on Sean and our present situation. The minute I walked into the room with Patrick and Sean I was taken back. Back to my last ultrasound with our baby girl and all the tense and exciting ultrasounds with Sean. I didn't expect to go back to those memories. There was the probe again. That ultrasound probe that rolled all over my belly so many times with Sean...with the hope that he was healthy, but the awareness of the possibility that something could go amiss. Now the probe was on his head. It was on a little soft bump on his head. Jelly all over his beautiful blonde hair. The hair I saw waving (on ultrasound) in the amniotic fluid in his last month inside me. His head...the first part of his body that entered the world. I tried to keep him still so she could get a good reading. I looked at the screen and saw a bump and that is when my heart started beating fast. I found myself trying to read the technician's body language. Just as I did during my pregnancy ultrasounds. She seemed nervous, but I couldn't tell if it was because the mass was in a difficult spot and hard to get a good reading or because she suspected something serious. Worry and fear came into my Mommy heart. That worry and fear hadn't been there, but there it was. The realization that this could be something very serious or something very minor. I tried to stay happy and strong for Sean. I asked if she could tell me anything. She said if it was really serious (i.e. possibly cancer) they would contact his pediatrician while we were there. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. Then as we were leaving the office, she asked us if he was our first child. We are asked that all the time. I wonder if other people are asked this question so much. I can never dismiss the fact that he isn't my first child. I always explain that we have a baby girl in heaven and that he was our first live birth. They are always sympathetic and usually say something about Sean being special. That question always sends me back to our baby girl. Back to the memory of her face. Back to her last kicks in my belly. Fear had already entered my Mommy heart that day and then she asked me that question...that question. The question I am both proud and sad to answer. So, I answered as I always do and left the office to wait for a phone call. We waited for a few days...through the weekend...to find the results were inconclusive.

We were referred to a pediatric neurosurgeon. We knew we were either dealing with a swollen lymph node, dermoid cyst, or a cancerous mass. Originally it was thought to be a swollen lymph node, but it was growing and by this time was a little large for a swollen lymph node. We felt pretty certain it wasn't cancerous, because from the ultrasound they could tell it wasn't spreading and was on the outside of his skull. We still aren't 100% certain, but our very competent neurosurgeon believes it is a dermoid cyst. If it was a lymph node, we could just leave it alone. A cyst could interfere with the bone structure of his skull, wear away the bone and eventually affect his brain development, so surgery is recommended. It is a minor surgery, but I would be lying if I said I didn't have any concern about Sean being put under general anesthesia. I would rather our time and financial resources go toward fun spring/summer activities, like going to the beach or zoo. I am grateful it is only minor, but Mommy just wishes it wasn't necessary.

Lately, my feelings have been cloudy. I have been struggling with the challenges and disappointments of this imperfect world. Trying to make sense of it all. Death is an event with which I am very acquainted. The preciousness of life is very real to me. I realize that life can be taken in an instant and I realize first hand the life of my own children can be taken in an instant. Being a mother is an incredible responsibility and that space between caring for your child and surrendering your child completely to the Lord is hard to bridge. That is where I am in all of this. As a woman and a mother I have this desire to care, nurture, organize, manage, and guide. Figuring out how to do that completely in God's power and not my own is so incredibly hard for me. Trusting in His will. I am ashamed to say that I struggle. Some days are much easier than others. Trusting in his will is so hard when my Mommy heart doesn't want my children to struggle or feel pain and suffering. When my Mommy heart doesn't want to see my children die. When my Mommy heart loves them so much. As a mother I am designed to protect my babies. From the beginning of their lives in my womb I ate healthy foods, took my vitamins daily, went to all my pre-natal check-ups and ultrasounds, rested, moderately exercised, talked, read, and sang to them. I nurtured their growth. Being a mother means trusting that I don't know God's will for their lives and accepting that it is completely out of my hands. As much as I try to be a planner, I can't plan my children's lives. The planning part of my personality isn't as strong as it once was. Perhaps that is one of the ways God is growing me as a mother.

Sean suffered from colic the first three to four months of his life on earth. He struggled with acid reflux the first year. He screamed from 5 to 12 every night in those first three to four months. It was so painful to my Mommy heart to see him in pain and to be completely powerless in comforting him. I nursed him much through the night, but he was often in pain and crying through his feedings. We held him through the pain. We prayed for the pain to stop and did all we knew to do to help him, but it lasted as long as it was supposed to. It is a part of Sean's life. A part of his story and an experience that has helped mold him to be the 18 month old he is now and the man he will become. I had no power then and still don't. Even with my immense responsibility as his mother, I am truly powerless. I can't take all the boo boos away, but I can pray. I can pray for the power of the Holy Spirit to live in us and to be strong enough to overcome and see us through the moments of suffering on this earth. When I was pregnant with Sean, Patrick and I would pray daily for him. We expressed the desire for him to be healthy and live beyond my womb. We expressed that desire of our hearts. We prayed for God's love and protection on our hearts, however long his life may be. We believed he would make it, we had faith...but we also understood that we didn't see the full picture and ultimately we had to trust that God would carry us - no matter the outcome. That holds true through every step of his life. 36+ weeks in my womb and 18+ months on this earth has been a gift...a blessing. It holds true as I wait for a surgery (even though it is minor), test results and doctor's assessments.

As a mother who has lost a child, I can choose to be fearful of losing another child or faithful that God will bring beauty from my circumstances. Whatever those circumstances may be and however that beauty may be shown. We are all in his loving hands. Jesus knew there would be times we would be scattered or have cloudy thoughts, but he assured us that he would not abandon us in our struggles. God sent us his only son to overcome our sin and death. Because of that we can claim the sovereign peace of Christ in our suffering.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have PEACE. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." 

(John 16: 33)

Stay Strong

"Stay Strong", is one of those phrases of encouragement that just gives me an uncomfortable feeling. I know each person who says it means well and I appreciate their good intentions. But I honestly wonder what they are thinking when they say that? Are they thinking that if the one who is facing hardship gives into his feelings of grief with crying and/or screaming that they will end up having a mental "breakdown"? Are they scared of facing reality? Aren't we more likely to have a "breakdown" if we keep the natural process of grief bottled up inside and "stay strong". Maybe they mean stay strong in the Lord and his strength...

I think of Sean and his developing will and his little toddler temper. It breaks my heart that he gets so frustrated when he doesn't get what he wants. In all honesty, I would rather he safely express those feelings rather than bottle them up. As long as he isn't hurting himself, someone else, or something. Once he has his little tantrum all is fine again. He has worked through it and he has accepted reality. He isn't going to always get what he wants because he wants it, and what he wants isn't always what is best for him. A hard lesson for us to learn in life.

Life gives us a multitude of disappointments, but some of the worst are lost loved ones and that is where I have heard those two words, "stay strong". The first time I heard it was when my mother died. I was thirteen years old and I took those words to heart. I was 13...I was impressionable. Maybe I didn't understand what they meant. However, my 13 year old brain processed those words to mean I needed to fight the tears. I had to stay strong for my father. I was all he had after my mother died. I stayed strong for my mother much of my life and now I had to stay strong for my father. As a result of keeping it all in for so long and trying to find the strength in myself, a stomach ulcer formed and I was diagnosed with borderline ulcerative colitis and depression at the age of 16. Fortunately, there were some people who said, "You don't have to be strong anymore. Let it out, Letia". They told me I didn't have to keep the feelings bottled up or try to run from them. I may not have learned how to let it out then, but I am learning. I am still learning. I am still learning what it means to fully trust in God's strength and not my own. I have learned more with each loss I grieve. Those words came again when I lost my baby girl and then I heard it yet again when my father-in-law passed away.

The summer before I lost my Mom I asked Jesus into my heart. There is no way I could have carried the grief on my own. I remember those who told me I didn't have to be strong. It was liberating...a weight had been taken from me...I was free. I let all the stages of grief come...I let the anger...I let the tears of sorrow...I let it all in and it was there that I professed it to God. It was then that God could work in me. For it was in my weakness...my surrender...that he did the work in me. I didn't have to be strong in my flesh. I didn't have to strive to have worldly perfection. I didn't have to be in control. I didn't have to appear to be okay to everyone else. He loved me in my brokenness. He loves me. It was when I let Him take all of me that I was made strong. His grace was sufficient. Just like Sean...as long as he isn't hurting himself, someone else, or something...let it out. Sean's heart is then open to the discipline and instruction we give him and the unconditional love and grace we provide. Just like Sean my heart will be open to God's unconditional love and His work in me, if I acknowledge and truly work through the disappointments this life brings. That is where I find strength...where I find peace...where I find contentment...and where I eventually find joy.

"Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him." (Psalm 126: 5-6)

Now, when I hear those words, "stay strong", I just add my life's lesson. "Stay strong in Him" Lean on him...strength doesn't mean holding back, but letting Him into every facet of my life. Letting Him work in my messy life...in my deep pain...in my weakness and my ugly sin. Often that means crying and getting on my knees in prayer. Being true to myself and God about what is going on in my broken heart. That is how I find that strength everyone so desires to see in everyone around them.

"We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us."
(Romans 5: 2-5)

When I am in the midst of suffering, it is so hard to rejoice. The rejoicing comes after the sting and mental cloudiness of grief. It is then that I rejoice in the beauty of God. When I fully realize this life isn't about me and my fleshly desires, but being used for his purpose and being unconditionally loved by Him. Being content in His will for my life. That is where I find the strength to do the work he has put me on this earth to do. He is a faithful and loving God and I am so grateful for His never ending grace...