I was wrong!

I was willing to bet money on the fact that I was having a boy.  This pregnancy has been so different from Molly's.  I'm craving salty things and not sweet things, I was terribly sick my first trimester, I'm not gaining much weight, and my nose is running constantly despite not being sick.

But...I was wrong.

We're definitely having a baby GIRL!!!

I really love having sisters.  And a part of me really wanted Molly to be able to experience that.

And another part of me wanted to have a son.....to feel like I had one of each again, like our family was complete and whole....and to break out all of Josiah's baby clothes and relive memories of his infancy through another baby.  

That sounds really, really messed up.  

This baby's purpose is not to fill the void that Josiah left.  I'm glad God knows me, knows what my family needs, and knows how to make my family complete- not through having children, but through filling our family with more of Himself.  I think that that's what I've been learning most throughout this journey of being a mom to the many children God has blessed me with.  

Justin was absolutely adorable during the ultrasound.  The minute the word "girl" was uttered, his smile bubbled over into an infectious giggle, and he couldn't stop giving me fist-pumps and high-fives throughout the scan every time the word "normal" was spoken (which was a lot.)  When the ultrasound technician left the room, he leaned over to me and said, "Deep down, I was kind of hoping for another girl."  I asked him why.  "Because if this one is anything like Molly, then she is going to be awesome."  

The way he was going to tell our students was by wearing pink or blue to school today.  Here he is in his new threads.  

Justin Benson, you are adorable.  And an awesome daddy. 

I had a really cool story to share about the boy name I picked out, and I'm sad I won't get to share it now.  Our baby girl name makes me smile though too.  I think I'll wait just a little longer until I'm very sure that that's the name.  Sorry to make you wait! ;o)

Next step....I'm finally ready to start thinking about the baby room.  And now that I know I can totally start girl-ifying it, I'm making plans for a fun mural.

Creator, Creation, and Creativity

Drawing is an act of worship for me- a time when I can sit quietly with my Creator and an image of His creation and, with much striving and exertion, try to reproduce a shadow of this image onto a two-dimensional surface.  I've drawn dozens and dozens of portraits before- for commissions, presents for friends and family, for my own enjoyment, and for school assignments.  No prior work of mine has been more difficult, more meaningful, and more enjoyable than drawing Molly.  What a joy it was to try to find her as I moved my pencil across the paper!

The most difficult part of the task was to choose a photograph to work from that captured her "her"-ness.  I've seen her a thousand different ways in hundreds of kinds of light making dozens of kinds of expressions. How could I possibly choose one photograph that made me think, "that is so her."??? I suppose it should have been a picture of her sucking her thumb and pulling on her ear.  That's what she looks like %50 of the time she is awake.

But...then I wouldn't get to see much of her face.  And I can draw hands, but I didn't want anything to take away from her sweet face.  It needed to be a photograph after she turned at least nine months old.  Any time before then, babies look very "baby"-like.  They start to come into their own look after that I think.   I like drawing 3/4 views or profiles because then I can capture the shape of a child's face, and I also don't have to get bogged down with the difficult task of making eyes exactly symmetrical.  And it needed to be a photograph that would also remind me of a happy memory. So all of those requirements helped me narrow the field of thousands of photographs of her considerably.  

I decided to use a photograph that my friend Ang took of her.  It was from the day we got Molly dedicated at church.  That day, to me, was a big deal.  It was the day I told God that her life belonged to Him and not to me.  I hope that the picture will remind me of that promise I made to Him.  

(note the thumb and ear)  :o)  

These were all taken by Ang at our little luncheon we had at my in-laws after church:  

So with photograph in hand, I sharpened my Prismacolors (Sepia, White, Terra Cotta, Ultramarine Blue, and Sienna Brown) and married pencil to paper.  

Sometimes I work upside down, so my brain will disassociate shapes and shadows with objects like eye brows and cheekbones.  It's always fun to turn the drawing right-side-up and see that I actually made a face and not just an abstract drawing with shadows, lines, and highlights.  But for Molly's drawing, I was deliberate to look at each feature for exactly what it was:  her little nose and sweet lips and an ear that is shaped just like her daddy's.  

And drawing her bows reminded me of how many times that day I had to keep putting them back in her hair when her brother would rip them out, look at me, and laugh.  

I put the drawing in a frame just like the one I bought for the wedding portrait I drew of me and her daddy.  

And here is the finished result:  

My sweet Molly Grace.  

And here are our pictures together as a family of three...  

What a sweet, special time I had re-creating her image, worshiping my Creator as I did it.  

On Thursday, we're going to find out if in the near future I'll be drawing a portrait of her sister or her brother!!!  I feel so blessed.   

Celebrating Molly

Today could have been a dark day.  Josiah's caseworker finally called.  I'm glad that she called Justin's cell phone and not the house because I would have been a weepy mess if she would have talked to me.  She wanted to know where Josiah had gone to day care.  The answer: He's never been to day care.  (Look at his records, you goofy people!)  Justin said that she mentioned three times how well he was doing and how much he was loving playing with his brother.  That's just wonderful (I mutter under my breath.)  I guess I don't want to hear that he's not doing well.  I don't know why hearing that he was okay felt like a punch in the gut, but it did.  I want him to be happy.  I don't want him to miss me.  (Okay, maybe I do...just a little.)

A little side note...the mediation meeting that was supposed to happen the day before he left ended up getting postponed.  Surprise. Surprise.  Inefficiency strikes again.  Whatever.  

Justin is away at an overnight basketball tournament so the little miss and I are kicking it at home together, after deciding that an overnight trip in a hotel two weekends in a row was a little much for both of us.  I have a tendency to get a little bitter and jealous impatient and lonely at this point the the basketball season when Justin is away so much, and after he told me about the call this afternoon, I was afraid the night alone and the recent news would be the perfect combination for a teary-turned-weepy-turned-sobbing mess.  There was a little of that before Molly's bedtime when she wanted to read "Frog in the Kitchen Sink," a book that Josiah knew by heart and loved to recite.  I got about four pages into it before I turned into a puddle.  It was hard reading to her in her room, when I can still imagine Josiah being there.  I suppose it may be time to take his crib down soon.  I still can't manage to take the sheet off the bed that he slept on last though.

But the room isn't theirs anymore.  It's hers.  I've been having a lot of trouble with pronouns still.  Talking about toys and books and TV shows that they like instead of what she likes.  I can tell people are uncomfortable when I talk about them instead of just her.  I'm trying to make the adjustment.  Until then, people just have to deal.

Tonight when I was reading to Molly in their room, I felt the darkness creep up on me, and I could tell if I let it, it was going to swallow me whole.  So I did something brave.  It was a silly, tiny baby step, but for me, it required me to face a fear that I've had since knowing that their room would soon be her room.

My amazingly talented and thoughtful friend, Jen, made Molly a name banner for her room.  It's been hanging in my dining room window for the past two weeks since it came in a package in the mail. I was reluctant to put it up, because I felt like doing so would be admitting that the room belonged to her and no one else.

But tonight, I took a thumb tack, and I pinned it to the wall.  It was a small gesture, but I felt like doing it honored and celebrated my sweet girl.  

Then a funny thing happened.  One brave gesture gave me the courage to do something else I have been both dreading and looking forward to for months.  After I tucked Molly in, I had a date with my pencils. Oh, beautiful Prismacolors, how I love you and miss you so!  You may recall in a post I wrote in October when I talked about how much I wanted to draw my kids and how afraid I was to do it.  

But tonight...I did it! I drew her.  I'll save the mushy-gushy artist talk about the process of drawing her and what I learned for another post.  (I'm even going to make you wait to see the portrait until I can get it framed...aren't I mean?!?!)  This post is all about doing a little happy dance in the midst of grieving.  Tonight, I celebrated the fact that Molly is my daughter and I love her.  I can miss him and love her in the same breath and one doesn't take away from the other.  In fact, I think it adds more meaning to both.  

    

A Journey Beside my Jordan- Part 2

You can read Part 1 of the story here.


"Again I saw something meaningless under the sun:
  There was a man all alone;
   he had neither son nor brother.
There was no end to his toil,
   yet his eyes were not content with his wealth.
“For whom am I toiling,” he asked,
   “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?”
This too is meaningless—
   a miserable business!
 Two are better than one,
   because they have a good return for their labor:  If either of them falls down,
   one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
   and has no one to help them up. "



Ecclesiastes 3:7-10

"Let's take a walk," He says, pushing Himself off the mossy rock with His hands and then turning to me to gently guide me from sitting to standing.

"I thought we were going to add to our monument." I said, confused, as I brushed myself off.

"We are....but there is a particular stone that comes next, and it will require a little treasure hunt to find it.  I thought we could talk together as we walk." He says.  I can tell He is just as excited about our journey together as He is about reaching our destination.  He has things He wants to say, and things He needs me to hear.

"Back into the woods?" I whine once I realize the direction He is taking me.  "I want to be done with dark places."

He smiles at my lack of patience.  "It won't be so dark when I'm with you this time," He assures me.

As we walk, He is a step ahead of me, holding tree branches back and showing me the clearest path to take.  "I want to talk about that summer.  The summer after your third child came to live with Me."

"Uggh.."I moan as I avoid tripping over a stump after He points it out to me.  "Ok.  What do you want to hear?"

"I just want you to tell me about it.  Just what happened...what you were feeling, thinking, and all of the things that you did...."

"I thought You were there." I say, trying to make an excuse to skip over that part of my dark history.

"I was.  But you weren't exactly speaking to Me then.  I want to hear you talk about it now."  

"Ok."  I take a deep breath.  "After the second miscarriage in May, I was angry with You.  I thought you were ruining my life, like I had trusted You with everything, and you took everything away again.  So I thought I could just go on ahead without You and figure things out on my own.  So I tried getting pregnant again.  I just wanted to fix things myself.  And then you took that one away too."

"Were you angry with Me then?" He asks, with no tone of judgement in His voice.  

I feel my cheeks get flushed in embarrassment.  It all seems so silly and child-like now.  "No, I wasn't mad.  I was too numb to feel much of anything.  I was just curious as to why my body had rebelled against me.  I wanted to know why everyone else seemed to have no trouble starting a family and Justin and I did.  We deserved children more than anyone else."  I can't believe the honest words that I let escape my lips.  When the words were merely a monologue I let my brain mull over, they made perfect sense.  Now I feel so ashamed of how I let myself feel.

He senses my inhibition, and turns around to look at me.  "I'm glad you can tell me the truth.  I would rather hear you speak from your heart than words you think I want to hear.  I made your heart.  I love your heart.  I want to hear your heart."

I nod, as thankful tears stream down my cheeks.  "Alright."  I continue walking, looking down, watching closely where His feet step so I can follow closely. "So that's when I decided that I wanted to find out what may be wrong with me.  We went to the fertility specialist.  My older sister, Amy, had struggled with infertility and she encouraged me to go.  She told me all about the tests they would take."

"Were you nervous?"  He asks, as if He didn't already know the answer.

"Nervous about the tests....no.  The results...yes.  I think because Amy had gone through it before me, it didn't seem so daunting....  I remember being frustrated because it took forever to schedule the tests.  They had to go in a certain order, and one day we scheduled two tests, and then they told us we couldn't do both in the same day.  I was so frustrated.  I just wanted to get them over with."

"But the timing was everything..." He let the words escape His lips in a whisper.  "Sorry...we'll get to that later...go on, please.  We're almost there."

"So the third test was the worst when they had to inject me with this radioactive dye and watch it go through my body.  I felt so alone because Justin couldn't go with me into the room."  I let my mind go back to that dark room and imagined the look on the doctor's face when he saw what was wrong and was hesitant to tell me.  "Unicornuate uterus was the diagnosis- a genetic malformation that left me with only half of a normal-sized womb.  I remember nodding and accepting the news with an understanding that seemed strange to him.
'Have you heard of this condition before?  It's fairly rare.' he said.
'Yes, my older sister has it.' I told him.  I remember him looking intrigued.
'That's unheard of.' he said. 'Usually you don't even find two women who have the condition who know each other, let alone two siblings that share it.  I'm going to have to tell my colleagues about this one.  They're not going to believe it.'
I didn't feel honored to be an anomaly.  I felt like a freak."

He turns around to look at me, apologizing for interrupting.  "We're here." He says and points to a stone that looks oddly out of place for being in the woods.  "Please, keep talking."

I kneel down and try to lift the stone, but it is partially buried.  He kneels down beside me and helps me unearth the rock from it's resting place.  "So that I think was the darkest time for me, a time when I felt You were the furthest away.  Having a child seemed like such an impossibility for me then.  Not only had I lost three, they told me that there was only a forty percent chance that I could even carry a child to a viable term.  It all depended on how the egg was implanted.  I felt so crushed."

With a one-two-three heave, we lift the stone together, and I examine its unusual shape.  It looks as though it is two identical stones that are fused together, mirroring each other.  "This is the one You wanted us to find, right?" I ask, uncertain why we couldn't have just found one that was equally interesting by the river.                    

"Yes.  That's the one." He encourages.  "When you continue your story, you'll learn why it needed to be this rock.  I'm sorry I can not help you carry this one.  I need to walk ahead of you and show you the way back."

I  find that the stone is not so much heavy as it is cumbersome.  He shows me how I can use my hip to leverage the weight.  He is patient with me as he points out every stump and every tree root, and lifts every low-hanging branch that is in my way.  "Please, go on.  I just love to hear your side of the story."

I smile. "So it was mid-October.  I decided to get proactive about things.  I knew I had an empty home, and an amazing husband who You made to be someone's dad, and an open, bleeding wounded heart that was just aching for a child to love.  And I knew that there were children who needed a family to love them.  When the doctors had discovered Amy's condition, she felt the same way, and she and her husband decided to become foster parents with the hopes of adopting.  So, it seemed logical since I was in the same season of my life that she had been in, that I would reach the same conclusion.  She encouraged to start the process of getting licensed to be a fost-adopt mother."

The stone all of a sudden seems lighter, like the burden of its weight was somehow lifted from it.  He bends down and removes a briar from my path, and turns to look at me.  "Sometimes your story will be told along side of someone else's.  And that someone needs to be a step ahead of you, removing the obstacles, to show you where I want you to go."    

I feel a sense of guilt.  "Was it my fault my sister had to go through everything she did- having a genetic defect?  years of infertility?  adopting from the foster system?  Was it just so I would know what to do and that I wouldn't be so timid to walk where You wanted me to go?"

"That wasn't the only reason." He explains as He stops and turns to me. "But it was a part of it."  He looks at the stone in my hand, rubbing each side tenderly. "She learned lessons about Me going through her trials, just as you did.  And she ended up with the exact family I designed for her, as will you."

"Oh."  That was all I can think to say.  Suddenly my words don't seem that important anymore.  And then I let my thoughts escape into a verbal deluge, "But if I had just waited another three months, I would have been pregnant with Molly, and I wouldn't have even had to share her path anymore.  Why couldn't I have just trusted and waited?  Why did I need to even become a foster parent when You knew how much pain would result from it?  Why did you even have to show me I even had this genetic abnormality when I was about to have a healthy pregnancy?"

He is so patient.  "Because you fell down, and you needed someone to pick you up.  You weren't letting Me do that for you.  I had to send someone else.  Also, Amy wasn't always the one I called to lead as you shared parts of your journey.  When I opened Amy's womb to bear a child, she knew that you had walked the path of having this condition and it had still resulted in a healthy pregnancy.  You needed each other."

I can see the clearing ahead, the river bank, the foundation where I can lay this stone down.  We walk, side by side.  "Plus, it was all about timing." He continues to explain.  "I needed you to decide to become a foster parent in October, because at that moment I was preparing a very special life that I designed for you to love.  And I needed you to start your foster classes in December...but that story is for another stone."        
    
I lift the stone onto the foundation, eager to examine it in the light where the dark shadows of the forest can obscure it no longer.  It looks heart shaped now, almost an abstracted form of a womb, with the two mirrored sides attached at the base.

I look at Him, shaking my head, lips pursed, eyes squinted..."Two sides of a complete uterus, huh?  That's not funny." I say sarcastically.

He laughs.  "I thought you would get a kick out of that."

Past, Present, Future

What an interesting, confusing, difficult, wonderful, terrible, amazing season in my life this is!  In the midst of heartache and trial, there is blessing.  One is behind me.  One is in front of me.  And one is inside of me.  Isn't that just so strange?!?!

There is an exhaustion and confusion that comes from having three children and trying to celebrate and enjoy each one separately.  I live in the past with Josiah, remembering his sweet face and mannerisms and how much I loved him and love him still.  I live in the present with Molly, watching her learn new words and explore new things and grow into the amazing little lady she is!  And I live in the future with my baby-in-waiting, hoping, dreaming, wishing and wondering what this little one will be like (who we find out if it will be a boy or girl in 10 days!)  I am trying my best to be deliberate with enjoying, grieving, and hoping for each one.  That's where God's grace has been so amazing and so evident these past few weeks.

 It reminds me of my Colossians memory verse this week!
 Col 1:17  "He is before all things, and in him all things hold together."

As much as I long to move forward, move forward, move forward, God is so faithful in making sure I learn the lessons He wants me to from my past.  Exhibit A:  yesterday's post.  For so long I have been wishing to be the mom He has called me to be, that I have ignored His grace in the midst of grieving, relying on my own strength and wisdom to live each day.  Can you tell from the things that are just now bubbling up that this hasn't worked out for me so well?

I am excited to keep writing my "Journey Beside my Jordan" series.  God is teaching me some amazing things about Himself and how He is faithful.  I wish God would give me the story all at once, but again, He is more patient with me than I am with Him, and I am thankful that He is making me slow down my thoughts and feelings about the things He has done in my life.  Incase you have just joined me on my journey, let me be clear on what my stories about God are.  This is how I pray.  I go on walks with God and I ask Him to teach me about Himself along the way.  I hear Him speak truths to my heart, and these stories are a result of that.  I wrote a little more about this process in another post, and you can read about it here.  I encourage you, if you have never prayed like this before to give it a try.  It has definitely deepened my relationship with Christ and made my prayer time more meaningful.    

But in the midst of being deliberate about learning new lessons from old trials, I can not forsake the gift of being a mother now!  My little lady and I have had made some very fun memories together lately.  It has been amazing watching her blossom just these past few weeks.  She is talking up a storm! (I guess Josiah never let her get a word in edgewise and now she's making up for it.)  I am amazed at all the words she knows and understands.  I am glad she has the opportunity to be an only child for a few more months.  We are enjoying our time together as a family of three.  

For instance, here are a few pictures of us taking a walk down the road to visit some of Gramby and Pop-Pop's lambs.  

And this weekend, Justin and I took some of our basketball girls up to visit Justin's former college (Baptist Bible College) in Clarks Summit, PA.  We were never able to go out of state overnight with Josiah without a huge battle to get permission, so we took this opportunity to see a basketball game this weekend.  It was difficult with a year and half year old, but very, very fun.  

Every memory we make without Josiah is difficult and wonderful, and I am thankful it is both. 

It is our first holiday without Josiah, and it is hard, but I want to take the time to honor and celebrate all three of my babies today- past, present, and future.   

 Happy Valentine's Day, sweet Josiah.  I hope you know how loved you are today by all the people that God has put in your life.

Happy Valentine's Day, my sweet baby girl.  I love you so much for who you are and who you are becoming!  

And Happy Valentine's Day, baby-in-waiting.  You are so wanted, so celebrated, so loved. 

 

As I attempt to live my life in the past, present and future, I am thankful for the blessings God allows me to enjoy along the way.  

   

A Journey Beside my Jordan- Part 1

Joshua 4:1-6 (NKJV) And it came to pass, when all the people had completely crossed over the Jordan, that the Lord spoke to Joshua, saying: “Take for yourselves twelve men from the people, one man from every tribe, and command them, saying, ‘Take for yourselves twelve stones from here, out of the midst of the Jordan, from the place where the priests’ feet stood firm. You shall carry them over with you and leave them in the lodging place where you lodge tonight.’ ” Then Joshua called the twelve men whom he had appointed from the children of Israel, one man from every tribe; and Joshua said to them: “Cross over before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and each one of you take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the children of Israel, that this may be a sign among you when your children ask in time to come, saying, ‘What do these stones mean to you?’…21″When your children ask their fathers in time to come, saying, ‘What are these stones?’ 22 then you shall let your children know, saying, ‘Israel crossed over this Jordan on dry land’; 23 for the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan before you until you had crossed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which He dried up before us until we had crossed over, 24 that all the peoples of the earth may know the hand of the Lord, that it is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.”

Shrouded in darkness, muscles sore and aching, struggling to find a clearing in the dark woods that once seemed never ending, I finally can see Him.  A break in the trees and thick forest undergrowth allow me to make careful labored steps through the dead leaves and briars that cover my path.  We are now standing by our river together.  I can tell He is overjoyed to see me, anxious to speak, but too patient and loving to let His words be the first to whisper over the sound of the rush of the water stirring over the rocks in the river bank.    

"I am tired," I say. "I don't know what I am doing here, but I know I want to be where You are, and I know You have things You want to teach me.  But please, show me slowly.  I feel so weak."

Walking backwards, He takes me by my hands and leads me to a large rock, covered in a carpet of thick green spongy moss where I can sit and rest for just a few minutes.  He bends down in one graceful movement and removes my shoes and socks and then rolls up my pant legs.  He then takes my hand in His, and pushes my sleeve up to my elbow with His other hand.  He does this again with my other sleeve.  "He did not bring me here to rest," I think, disappointed, shoulders slumped in defeat.  "He brought me here to work.  I'm about to get dirty."

I am reassured by His presence that the work that is about to be done will not be easy, but it will be profitable.  He is capable and strong and promises that my burden will be light because He will carry most of it.  I am overcome with thankfulness when I think how precious our time will be together.

"What are we going to do here?" I ask Him.

"I am going to show you how I have been faithful." He says with kind, patient eyes.  "We are here to stack stones together to build a memorial for you and for generations to come that declares, 'God is good.  And that I am working all the details of your life for the purpose of allowing you to see Me more clearly.'"

A wave of excitement washes over my weariness and floods my muscles with a new found strength.  "Where do we begin?" I ask.  He points to the opposite side of river bank, where four partially exposed large shards of flat broken rock jet out of the mud.

"We are going to use these four rocks to build our foundation."  He says.

I step slowly into the water, and let the coolness lick my toes, then ankles, then calves, then knees.  I walk over to the water's edge on the other side of the river where the rocks seem as though they have found their final resting place.  They seem too large and too unwilling to be moved.  I wonder why He didn't choose stones that didn't require so much ambition.

"I want you to uncover them so you can see their worth." He says.

I use the palms of my hands to sweep away dead leaves and mud from the first one.  The stones have been there so long that tiny tree roots and moss have radiated all over the surface.  I use my fingers to dig into their growth and I rip them away.  After a few minutes, with dirt caked under my fingernails, I look at the first stone with a sense of proud achievement when I can finally see the surface.  Then I swallow hard in horror when I realize what these stones represent.

They are made of granite with a smooth and polished flat surface.  They are headstones, and they tell the story of four lives lost.  I feel the sting of hot tears building behind my eyes.  I try to blink them away, only to feel them slide down my cheeks and fall into the river below.  If my babies had lived long enough to have been born before they reached death, these would have been the rocks that would have been used to memorialize them.

I look at Him in disbelief.  "This is where we are starting?" I scoff. "With remembering death?  I thought we were going to examine Your goodness!"

"My definition of goodness and yours are so very different.  That's what I'm here to show you. Your children that live with Me now are the foundation of this story.  You could have never been ready to receive My fullest blessing if you were not emptied first.  Their lives were filled with meaning and purpose, and that's why you need to uncover them."

I realize that I was the reason that these stones were buried so deep into the mud and mire.  I had cast them away, wanting to bury the idea of them, to forget that they were a blessing because the hope of imagining their existence on earth hurt too much.

As I uncover the three remaining stones, I let my mind wander to the times when I was thankful for life growing inside of me.  Positive pregnancy tests.  Flickers of heartbeats on ultrasound monitors.  Shrieks of joy when sharing the news with loved ones.  Counting to the number nine as I flipped the pages of my calender.  "They are such sweet memories." I tell Him.  "You're right.  I should have never allowed them to get so cloudy and covered."

When I am just about to finish sweeping the remaining mud off of them, I hear the water splashing and feel it swirling behind me.  He is standing beside me, waiting to help me carry the stones to the place they are about to reside.  Without caring about his own comfort by trying to keep His clothes dry, He dips into the water below until He can rest the first stone upon His shoulder.  I watch as He stands effortlessly, and He treads slowly through the water to the opposite river bank.  I walk behind Him, my hand under the stone, knowing that I'm not really bearing any of the weight, but wanting Him to know I want to help Him.  Once we step onto the dry land, with a loud echoing thud, the stone is dropped and cements itself into the wet sand.

We walk back and forth three more times until the stones are placed where He originally created them to be.  In a celebration of finality and accomplishment, I kneel down beside our foundation.  The four stones fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces, and I trace their edges with my finger, pretending to glue them together with the mud that still clings to them.

"I'm a little sad," I tell Him."I'm sad that my babies were never memorialized properly.  There are no names or dates or dashes between the day there were here and the day they were gone."  With my index finger, I draw the letters "M-A-G-G-I-E" into the second stone representing the daughter we knew we had lost.  "I'm sad that no one will know they were here."

I find myself wishing that the stones were prettier.  The lives that they represent are so precious to me, but no matter how hard I try wiping the stones clean with my hands and sleeves, the dirt from the river still clings to them.  In defeat, I place the palm of my hand on the first stone.  "December 2007" I speak out loud and let Him know I remember my first baby.  "Maggie: May 2008" I say as I place my hand on the second.  I hear Him whisper behind me. "April...She came to Me in April.  I wanted you to still have Mother's Day with her."  I nod, remembering the sweetness of my first Mother's Day, the day before we watched the ultrasound show her life had been swept away weeks earlier. "July 2008." and "December 2008,"  I speak as I touch the last remaining two.  I miss them, and now these dirty rocks without any words engraved in them are the only proof that they were here.    

"I wished they could have at least been born," I tell Him.

He kneels beside me, hands on my shoulders, meeting me where I am, and weeps with me as a weep.  I feel as though He is not weeping for the four lives that were lost, but for me- for me not being able to see and understand what He wants me to.

"Can you show me what You see when you look at these stones?" I plead.  I think He has been waiting for me to ask.

He goes to the edge of the river and picks up a large clay jug.  He dips it into the cool water, filling it to the brim.  He walks over to our foundation, raises the jug above it and pours the water over it, saturating the stones.  The water fills every crack, washing away all of the remains of Earth.  I can see the rocks clearly now; the stones aren't merely granite slabs.  When I look closely at the first stone, I see bits of blue topaz sparkling all over the surface.  And the second- diamonds, the third- rubies, and the fourth- blue topaz.

"What are these?" I ask.

"Birth stones." He says, smiling.

In a wave of enlightenment, I feel my heart overflow with thankfulness.  "These babies were born." I say with enthusiasm "...Straight into heaven.  You made them all into a miracle, transforming them from perishable to imperishable.  They knew no pain or loss or the sting or sadness of death.  They knew me...and then they knew You.  The stones don't need words or letters or dates to point others to their lives.  Instead, their lives point others to You."    

I am satisfied with the stones used to represent their four lives.  They are now beautiful and meaningful.  They represent death swallowed up in victory.  They are created for what they were always meant to be- testimonies of the Goodness of God.

"Is this what you mean when You said You are going to show me Your goodness?....How all of the things that have happened were meant to bring You glory?"  I ask.

He nods, smiling.  I look around at the river bank that is covered in stones, each a story waiting to be picked up, told, and stacked on top of this foundation.

"Can we stack a few more?" I ask, no longer feeling weary.

"Not yet," He says.  "You need time to grieve, to understand, and then to celebrate."

With arms folded in front of me, I walk over to the large mossy green rock and sit down so I can take a look at and admire the foundation we laid.  I am beaming with pride and accomplishment. He sits next to me, His arm squeezes my shoulders together.

"Well done," He says.

With wide eyes and eyebrows raised, I look at Him in disbelief, "I'm pretty sure You did everything."

He smiles and chuckles. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Growing my Tree by Grieving

My weekly women's Bible study is studying the book of Colossians, and during the 8-week course, we have committed to memorizing one scripture verse a week.  We can choose any verse from the book of Colossians that speaks to us, and for my first verse, I challenged myself to Colossians 2:6-7.


So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, 
continue to live in him, 
rooted and built up in him, 
strengthened in the faith you were taught, 
and overflowing with thankfulness.  

I picked the verse because it reminded me of this illustration I did of the tree in Psalm 1.  And visualizing the tree as I read the words helped me to memorize the verse.

If you can follow my artsy brain, I'll try to explain.  

So then, just as you have received Christ Jesus as Lord (the seed that is in planted by the Holy Spirit) 

Continue to live in him (planted in good soil and by streams of living water) 

Rooted (the roots- Grounded in Scripture) 

and built up in him (the trunk- being intentional about seasons of growth from Scripture and Godly influences)

Strengthened in the faith you were taught (the branches- the lessons that God has taught me about Himself that are used to uphold the blessings which He gives)  

And overflowing with thankfulness (this is the leaves and fruit- the result of everything listed above.) 

This verse caused me to start thinking. How can I turn this season of grief into a season of growth and end with where I want to be: overflowing with thankfulness?  Thankful for Josiah, for Molly, for babies in heaven, for babies to come.  I crave the fruit.        

Because what happens when the branches that are supposed to strengthen my faith are weakened with bitterness and anger towards God?  This:  

God does the pruning.  And let me tell you, that's no fun at all.  

I feel like I am doing okay at trying to stay in God's Word (thank you, women's Bible study book which has the longest chapters ever and won't allow me to procrastinate so I have to get into the book of Colossians everyday), going to church (even though it's painful) and surrounding myself with godly people (again, thank you women's Bible study and awesome Christian friends.)  But how can I be strengthened in the faith I was taught?  When I was praying, the answer seemed simple.  Being Josiah's mother was one lesson in faith after another.  I have never seen God's hand so intentionally guiding and directing a life more than the life of this little boy.  I need to go back.  To re-read.  To recount.  To remember.    

It is going to be painful- looking at pictures and reading my own words that declared God was good when I thought the outcome of this story would be so drastically different.  But I am quite certain that seeing how God has been faithful in Josiah's life, and in mine, is what is going to strengthen me and eventually lead me to where I want to be:  thankful.  

Me and Jesus....we're about to go on another walk together.  I'm excited to tell you what we find along our journey.  I hope and pray it can strengthen your faith as well.  

I hate sleeping

I've never been a person that functions well at night.  It's all down-hill for me by 9:00...ok....7:30.  Once Molly is in bed, I'm mentally and physically done for the evening.  But lately I've been staying up until ridiculous hours because I hate sleeping.  I'll fall asleep on the couch while trying to stay awake and then wake up and drag myself up to bed after midnight.  It is a terrible habit that I'm trying to work on.

I hate sleeping because I hate dreaming.  During the day, I feel like I have control over the places I let my mind wander (to a point.)  But at night, my brain takes over and I dream horrible dreams.  A few nights ago I dreamed I heard Josiah's voice screaming and screaming for me, and I couldn't find him.  Then I woke up thinking, "Oh no! I don't know if I have any clean clothes for him for church."  And then I think, "Wait, I don't need any clothes for him anymore."

It is a horrible way to wake up, and I feel like I'm already four steps behind where I was emotionally at the end of the previous day.  Sleep is not very restful, to say the least.

I know I'm supposed to be sleeping more anyway because of my pregnancy, but I hate doing it even though I know I need to and my body wants to.

I don't really know what to do about it.  I guess just pray for restful sleep before I go to bed at night? Any advice?

What exactly I am grieving

I am hesitant to treat Josiah's departure as a death, because I know he is a thriving, happy almost-two-year-old.  But in so many ways it feels like something has died.  I know this feeling.  I have felt it before.

When Josiah was first placed with us, a miracle occurred.  God finally filled my heart with hope.  Hoping for a future where I finally got to be a mom and Justin got to be a dad was a dream I had a hard time accepting before then.  Pregnancy was not an avenue that had procured the ending that I had so desperately prayed for, time after time after time after time.  In my mind, pregnancy did not equal motherhood (and honestly, despite one healthy pregnancy, my heart is still so guarded to think that my broken body can produce that ending again.)  But when Josiah entered our home, the hard shell that had protected my heart against hope melted the moment I saw him.  He made me a into mom.

That hope for myself soon changed again when God allowed me to fall in love with him.  He was my son and I was his mom.  I no longer cared about fulfilling the role that God had called me to.  Instead, I cared about him, his future, his dreams, his safety.  God had changed that hope into something bigger than me- I hoped that Josiah would reach his full potential in Christ, with us being the people chosen to guide him into the direction he should go.

I finally let myself dream big dreams- about Josiah and Molly walking into their kindergarten classroom hand in hand, about listening to him memorize Bible verses, and me kneeling by his bed next to him and hearing him accept Jesus in his heart.  I dreamed about the day I would get to teach him how to mix primary into secondary colors, getting to see his dad show him how to throw a football, and watching him protect Molly when boys wanted to date her.  My dreams for him were good dreams.

Then all of a sudden this dream I had was smothered until it had no breath.  It ceased to have a heartbeat.  It could go no further.  It could grow not further.  This is the feeling of miscarriage.

Carrying, planning, hoping, dreaming, sacrificing, and then....nothing.  No life.  Just darkness and emptiness and silence.  

It is for this I grieve:  I had a dream for my son.  And now, again, I find myself having to admit to God that His dream for the child He blessed me with was better than mine.  I have to let my dream for Josiah die and allow God to replace it with a new dream, and it is a painful process.  I grieve what will never be.  

Hope is a painful word because along with it comes the idea of trust.  I hope Josiah is happy.  I hope he loves his family.  I hope he doesn't miss me like I miss him.  I hope he grows up to be all that God created him to be.  But I have nothing to do with growing this child any longer.  I have to trust that God is keeping Josiah safe, healthy, and happy, and that someday, somewhere, someone will tell him who Jesus is.  

I trust my God is big enough to do anything.  And I trust that God doesn't need me to carry out His plan in Josiah's life.  But I admit I have a difficult time letting myself hope that my life can feel completely fulfilled without my son in it.  Am I always going to feel like our house is emptier than it should be?

FAQ

I can and can't believe Josiah has been gone for a week.  I feel time has never gone by both so slowly and so quickly at once.  The wound of him leaving feels so fresh and raw still.  I wish it would heal, but I also feel the need to pick at the scab and keep bleeding because aching for him makes me feel close to him still.  (I know, that's kinda gross.)  

I find myself feeling so contradicted in the way I wish people would respond to me.  I wish people wanted to talk about what we are going through.  I want to talk about Josiah, to hear his name spoken outloud, to get an opportunity to laugh about his mannerisms and things he liked to do.  But also, if people bring up the subject of him at the wrong place and time, they will get an earful of sobbing that I'm sure they don't want to hear.  I'm thankful for friends who don't mind which "me" they encounter.  

But, I know people are curious about him (if they are brave enough to ask me or not) so here are the most frequently asked questions I've encountered.  Maybe you're wondering.  Maybe you're not.  Either way, you get to read about him.  And better yet, I get to write about him.   

1.  How are you doing?  

This is a strangely vague question that people ask, and until they qualify what they really want to know (ie: about how I'm coping with losing Josiah, or my pregnancy, or how I'm feeling, or why there are huge circles under my eyes, etc.) my answer is usually, "fine.  How are you?"  

If you want to know the first of these:  It comes and goes in waves.  One minute, I'm fine, the next I'm crying.  I don't know when to tell which minute will be which.  So when I need to cry, I cry.  When I need to keep myself busy to distract myself, I do.  When I can't handle reading a book that Josiah especially liked, I don't read it and I tell Molly to pick a different one. 

Pregnancy:  fine.  I like food and food likes me again.  It is happy relationship again finally.  I find out what I'm having the 24th of this month and I'm happy to have something to look forward to. 

How am I feeling?  tired.  always.  crying doesn't help on that front.  It drains me.  And that would also be why there are huge circles under my eyes.  

2.  Have you heard anything?  

No.  

3.  Do you think you will?  

No.  I think Josiah's family is eager to be done with us.  

But...I do have a DYFS nurse that is awesome and will tell me inside scoop if I want to hear it.  Trouble is, I only want to hear it if it is something good.  She tends to dish out the ugly stuff too.  I'm eager to hear about what happened at the mediation meeting last Thursday.  I wonder if the parents did give up their rights to the grandparents.  I doubt it.  But I'm still curious.  Maybe I'll call next week sometime and ask.  

4.  Do you think you'll ever see him again?    

He lives 25 minutes away, so the chances of us running into him in a grocery store or park are likely.  But, I can't really imagine a scenario that I would want to see him.  What if he recognizes me?  What if he doesn't?  What I if he's really happy without us?  What if he's not?  I guess time will tell and maybe one day he will want to meet us.  But, I know that his family doesn't like us, so them extending an invitation for us to see him doesn't seem very likely.  (They need someone to blame, and they choose us.  They're not Benson fans.  Crazy, I know.)       

5.  How's Molly? 

She is awesome.  She loves the attention and getting to play with whatever toys she wants to without someone ripping them away from her and sitting on her head.  She doesn't point to his crib and miss him or go looking for him.  She still recognizes him in pictures, but she never asks for him.  This is such a blessing and an answer to prayer.  I'm so thankful that she isn't older and can feel the pain of losing him like Justin and I do.   

I am enjoying being able to spend so much time with her and see her personality.  I discovered the day Josiah left that she can count to ten!  I feel like a terrible mother for not noticing this before, but that's just one of the casualties of dealing with the stress of losing her sibling.  She also can say her name now!  There are so many things that I'm anxious to discover about her and celebrate with her during the time she is an only child for the next 6 months.

6.  Do you need anything?    

Honestly, I would love some time to get away with Justin, but this doesn't look like this will happen anytime soon with basketball not ending until next month.  It still seems eons away.  I need time to re-coup and some quiet and time with my sweet husband who I miss so much during basketball season.  Also, I need to get more organized.  I need to start cooking more.  I need to be more productive about laundry.  I'm sure this will come eventually.

7.  How can I pray for you?  

First, thank you for wanting to pray for us.  I think knowing that people are praying is the most comforting thing anyone can say to me right now.  The fact that you are willing to approach God's throne on my behalf is a humbling thought.  When I don't have the words or the strength to pray, I know people are doing that for me, and I feel its affects.  I am thankful that so many people have joined us on our journey, and can now celebrate its end with us... and the new beginnings that will result from it.  

You can pray that I don't rush into trying to return to "normal" life- that this season of grieving will be filled with purpose and meaning and sweet time with my Savior who I know will heal this heart that feels to broken.  You can pray that God protects my heart from bitterness and anger towards Him (which I have had before) and for Justin who is dealing with angry feelings towards Josiah's grandfather.  (I hope he doesn't mind I shared that.)  You can also pray that in the midst of grieving I do not neglect the precious gift that is Molly and for God to grant me wisdom in taking care of myself during this pregnancy.

And also, please pray for Josiah.  For his transition into his new family, for health, and for getting adjusted quickly.  Pray that he feels loved and secure and safe.  Pray for his family- for God to give them wisdom in raising him and loving him and treasuring him the way he deserves to be.  

So there you go.... just in case you were wondering.