**These posts might be quite long for awhile.  Journaling my days during this time has become quite important to me.  After reading some research on trauma, I've learned that it can affect your memory.  And I want to remember this time.  I want to remember what I've learned about God, my faith & I want to see how He refines me.  I want an electronic version, in case I ever lose the handwritten copy.  By sharing it...maybe it will help you or someone you know.  Maybe it will help you understand more how to reach out to someone going through something similar.  And maybe it will help you see Jesus in a different way.  Maybe it will be nothing, and that is okay too.**


SUNDAY - 7.19.15
I know that no one would have blamed me if I chose to stay home from church this week.  But I feel this deep need to remain faithful.  It's not for show...to prove my faith or flaunt my strength.  It's a desire to feel completely surrounded by His presence.  I don't think a church building is anything special or magical.  But I do feel His comfort when I am surrounded by His children, worshiping Him through song and learning more of His word.  Most of the people in that room had no idea what transpired just one week ago.  They saw me that morning too...just a little more round.

I've never really loved the greeting time, when you are supposed to chat with those around you as parents shuffle their little ones off to the nursery or children's church.  It's not because I don't want to meet new people or learn more about someone.  It's because I'm practically incapable of small talk.  I want to get to know people on a deeper level...I want to be real.  And the 3-5 minute shuffle just isn't conducive to that desire to truly learn about someone.  And honestly...I live in Fargo, ND where midwestern politeness & niceness is the norm.  We want to show off our best & happiest faces.  This Sunday it was impossible.  I shook a couple hands, then just sat down.  No one really noticed, and that is okay.  I wasn't there for the people around me.  I was there for my precious Jesus.

Our message this week was taken from John 13:1-17, when Jesus washed His disciples feet.  The lesson was about serving others, but I've found myself wrestling with the passage differently.  I'm sure at some point it will teach me & touch my heart about servanthood, and I pray that it does.  But for now, here is where it has taken me.

As I deal with the death of my daughter, I find myself much like Simon Peter.  I feel Jesus approach me with the basin of water, preparing to wash my feet.  And I back away.

"No Lord.  My feet are too dirty.  I am too broken.  My heart is too shattered."
"You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand."

"You can't.  I am so angry and so hurt.  I am not worthy...you cannot wash my feet."
"You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand."

"Please, just don't.  I cannot bear for you to wash my feet.  I just can't..."
"Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."

Silence....  Tears....
"Then Lord, not just my feet but my hands and my head as well."

He is a lot more patient with me than He was with Peter.  He lets me battle with Him.  He lets me say what I need to say, and feel what I need to feel.  But then He gently reminds me of what must be done so that I am part of Him.  And my broken, battered heart finally allows my body to plunge my feet into His basin, and He washes them clean.

These days, this is like a dance.  I weave back & forth, dirtying my feet and stepping away from Him.  He, the ever pefect partner, is waiting with His basin for me to step back towards Him.  An as He washes my feet, He reminds me that He is the same yesterday & today & forever.

At the end we sang "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross".  Well, I didn't sing.  I kind-of sank into the side of Josh & just cried.

To my Arabella Grace,

It's been one week since the delicate balance of your life shifted, and in a moment...you were gone.  It's been a week of great sorrow, inexplicable joy and the deepest heartache I have ever known.

We kept you with us until almost 7am the morning after your birth.  We spent that time staring at you & tracing your face with our fingers a million times over, trying to memorize every feature.  We were mesmerized by your perfect little nose & lips.  You had my hair color & by the looks of it, my curls.  Your hands & your feet were big compared to the rest of your little body.  I've never been more in awe of our Creator.  At 1 ounce over a pound, you looked like a baby doll.  Beautiful & tiny & perfect.

In the darkness of the night, we told you how perfect you were & how much we loved you.  We talked about Jesus & how amazing it must feel to be in His loving arms.  We prayed.  We cried.  We stared at you in silence.  The window in our hospital room was frequently lit up with lightning & thunder.  As our heads would turn from you towards Heaven, it felt as if the Lord was letting us know that He was there, mourning with us & counting every single tear.

The morning sun crept up on us too quickly.  We laid together on my small hospital bed & just held you close.  Your daddy prayed one last time, and when the nurse came in to take my vitals a little before 7am, we said that we felt it was time for her to take you.  As the door clicked shut it took everything in me to not jump up from that stupid bed & run after her screaming.  Instead, your daddy held me tight & we sobbed together.  It only took seconds for us to miss the presence of your sweet little face.

Both sets of your grandparents drove through the night & next day to be with us.  They stayed with us all week long, helping us with whatever we needed.  Your brave daddy took care of all the arrangements with the funeral home.  And on Wednesday, we all got to see your sweet face one more time.  I will admit that I was a little bit nervous about seeing you again.  But the moment you were brought in and put into my arms...God covered me in His perfect peace.  Being in your presence one more time made me smile & just filled me with love.  Then we heard the boom of thunder outside and once again, it felt as if the Lord was letting us know that He was there, mourning with us & counting every single tear.

I asked for a bit of time with you alone.  I looked over the little outfit that we asked them to put you in.  It was so big on your tiny little body, but the epitome of what I hoped to dress you in until you put your foot down & decided you wanted to dress yourself.  I played a song for you.  I held you close to me, and the tears fell as I knew our time together on this earth was coming to a close.  Those tears landed on your sweet little face.  I read you a letter that I wrote that morning, and prayed over you again.  I texted your daddy that I was ready, and he came back in to tell you that he loved you.  He wiped my tears from your face and we clung to you a little longer before saying our final good-bye.

Your daddy picked up the tiny velvet satchel with your ashes the next morning.  It is hard to believe that in less than 4 days, we went from hearing your strong little heartbeat to picking up your ashes.  And we sobbed together at the earthly finality of it all.

But we are reminded by our awesome God that this isn't the end.  Because of the saving grace of our precious Jesus we have the promise of Heaven.  I can only imagine the exquisite beauty that you already know.

Even with that reminder, it has been a hard week.  I miss you so much, and I cry.  A lot.  As I've felt my heart shatter more each day, I've been constantly reminded of one thing.  Our Jesus is the same yesterday & today & forever.  As I've struggled to sleep, I've repeated this in my mind over & over again.  He is the same no matter how broken I am.  He is the same when my prayers only come in the form of sobbing.  He is the same when I am angry & asking why.  He is the same when I can only worship Him through tears.  His love for me is unchanging & will not change as I continue this sacred dance called grief.

I love you, sweet Ellie girl.  I miss you like crazy.

Love,
your mama.   

Hebrews 13:8 - Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Arabella Grace was called home into the arms of Jesus on Sunday night.  She was born still at 1 pound 1 oz., & 10 inches long.  She was tiny & perfect & beautiful.

I am devastated.  I rejoice in knowing where she is, but I am mourning her physical prescence so much.  I miss her.  I can barely sleep, and the enemy is using my own fears against me right now.

Please keep me, my husband and our families in your prayers.

We had our appointment with the high risk OB last week.  He gave Arabella Grace less than a 10% chance of survival after delivery.  If I'm honest, everything about how he delivered the results pointed more towards a 0% chance in his mind...but of course stated that he doesn't deal in absolutes.

What he confirmed from the ultrasound is that there is actually no fluid around her, which presents multiple problems for her lungs.  Mostly...there is just no way for them to develop.  He showed us where there are spots on her kidneys...what he believes to be cysts.  And he confirmed the first diagnosis from last month...thickened heart walls & fluid around the right side of the heart.  She is also about 3 weeks behind in size.

In all my life, I've never been so heart broken.  I have prayed & longed for this little life for such a long time...the fact that she could be taken from me makes it hard to breathe.

With that being said, I'm not giving up on her.  I know medically the statistics are grim.  But I believe in an all powerful God of healing & hope, who truly has the final decision.  I have to trust in Him, and His plan.  Without that, this would be even more unbearable than it already is.  There is a song that says "I will praise you in this storm", and that is where I am at.  Sometimes my prayers only come in the form of tears, but my God knows my heart.

Please keep us in your prayers.  This is a really scary & hard time for all of us...especially me.