More than just the sum of my story

 Life has been interesting to say the least these last few months, and I’m still trying to figure out what to make of it all. Over the last several years of highs and lows, I’ve learned that it’s ok to not have all the answers, and it’s ok if big things don’t always make sense at the time (or ever.) I’ve learned that it’s ok to not know how to pray, or what you even want to pray for. I’ve learned it’s ok to not be sure of how you’re really doing, or how blessings could possibly come through pain. I’ve learned that God is faithful with or without my permission, and that God doesn’t need me to tell Him how to be God. He’s God, the Great I Am, and that’s enough for me…but as I’ve sat bearing the full weight of the unknown, I’ve still sought some sort of validation from this ol world. 

I’ve needed someone else to give me permission to feel the way I feel. I’ve needed someone else to be hurt over what breaks my heart. I’ve needed someone else to see hope in the midst of uncertainty, and for some reason I’ve still needed someone else to tell me it’s all going to be ok, and that I’m not crazy for having a hard time dealing with things that have felt so hard for so long. 

In the midst of trying to come to terms with all that’s happened over the last 8 years specifically, and try to begin to dig into the trauma I’ve carried for so long, I reached out to counseling services I’ve only attempted one other time before. My mental health has been in critical condition for so long that I knew I had to do something different. I owe it to myself and to my family, to not continue to carry the weight of every difficult thing in our lives, letting it erode my soul to an unrecognizable image of who I once was. I’m tired of trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense, and I’m tired of trying to be ok with things I may never be ok with. 

The intake questionnaire was lengthy, like 30-45 minutes worth of questions I had never thought would be important to explain, but I answered each portion honestly (to a fault even) because I hoped that by giving a professional the full picture of everything they wanted to know (even the things I don’t feel impacted by) they would have a better idea of how to help me sort through the important things I need to heal. 

I’m not entirely sure how the full process works, I just know that once they review your file, providers have the opportunity to decide if they feel capable of trying to help you, and then they contact you to dig deeper into the questions you’ve answered in advance. The process felt long and daunting, at times I’ve wondered if it would ever be seen at all, but I’ve trusted that they do things the way they do for a reason, and that even the hardest parts of my own story won’t seem like such a big deal to someone who helps people sort through the messy things day after day.

As I sat across from a woman holding the answers to my questions in her hands, she explained that when she looked over my chart, she expected I would be a hot mess beyond their capability to help.  As we took each question, piece by piece and I explained the things that are most difficult for me, and why (to the best of my ability) she was surprised by how seemingly normal and self aware that I am, considering all that my questionnaire contained.

At first I was satisfied thinking “well at least I’m doing better than to be expected…” knowing all that they know (but also don’t know) but as I’ve had some time to think about that, it’s really eaten away at me. 

I’ve spent the rest of the entire day wondering how many people passed me by because they saw my story on paper, without ever getting to know my heart? How many people only saw me as a hot mess contained within several pages of black and white, but have no clue what I have to offer the world outside of trying to sort through the really heavy things? How many people wouldn’t even consider helping me wade through the things I’ve never told another person out loud, even though it’s what they do day after day for others? 

How many times have I been the one on the other side of the room, dismissing people because I know their story but not their heart? How many times would I dare not get involved if I knew the hot messes I felt ill equipped to fix, when all they actually needed was for me to listen? How many times do I glance upon circumstances I truly know nothing about, and make a snap decision about someone before ever giving them the time of day? 

I’m not too broken to be listened to, cared about, or loved. 

I know I’m not perfect, and I have a lot that I need to work through, but that’s what makes me human. 

I pray that if I gain anything from that interaction, it’s an eagerness to hear people for the opportunity to see beautiful pieces of their heart, rather than dismissing them because I know parts of their story. 

I’m so glad that someone was willing to take a chance on me, because I’m so much more than the sum of my story…and so are you. 

The men that helped raise me

 There’s a part of my story that not many know, but that didn’t occur to me until today. Some of the people closest to me, including my own children didn’t know that there were chapters written in my early childhood, that included a man who loved and helped raise me, that wasn’t my biological dad. 

I didn’t realize until I was much older, that the story of my life was not only unconventional, but frankly taboo, until I was probably in early adulthood myself-but that part of my story is relevant because each chapter paints a picture of the investments of others that made me, me. 

There may be portions of that part of my life that I still don’t fully know, or understand (even though I’m almost 40 years old myself) and there may be things that other people wished I left unsaid because the weight of the past is often measured with heaps of shame and regret…but I was living a part of that story, in the years that more than one man raised me. 

When I was a small child, my biological dad wasn’t around a whole lot, and I only know small pieces of why that happened, along the way. For a long, long time his absence broke my heart, and then there were many years I was glad he wasn’t around. I thought I hated him, and never wanted to see or speak to him again. I was wrong, and we’ve since reconciled (which is a miracle all of its own) and in this season of life that I’m in now, he’s the dad that I’ve always wanted him to be. 

But there’s also another man who loved me, corrected me, invested in me, provided for me, cared about me, and helped raise me when I was a little girl. Still to this day I don’t know why he and my mom split, but I do know that everything happens for a reason, and life always works out the way it’s meant to. 

I still remember the special Fridays he took us out for dinner because it was his pay day and he felt like we needed a treat. I remember him training our dog how to duck hunt in our back yard and I got my love for labs, from him. I remember the building where he used to work when we were little, and the names of all of his closest friends. I remember my brother lying about biting a hole in his brand new weight bench, and being shocked that he knew which one of us it was even though no one fessed up. I thought he was magical, but apparently there’s a big difference in the appearance of baby teeth and big guy teeth, when they’ve chomped down into a weight bench.

I remember gathering in the back room of our house, as he whispered to us kids and held a small little box in his hand. He respected us enough to ask permission to propose to our mom on Christmas, and I think we all cried when she said no. 

We felt like he hung the stars with the way that he loved our mom, but she swore she would never get married again (and she’s kept that promise all this time.) 

And then I remember how much my heart broke, when he and my mom split up for good. 

I cried many many times from that, because he was such a huge part of our lives. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay, and yet I was simultaneously eager that my dad was back in the picture again…because that is what I had always wanted. How confusing for a little girl to be torn between the dad she’s always wanted, and the man who has loved like a dad should all those years. I wanted both, but both was never an option. 

As my biological dad (I just call him dad because he’s my dad, but call him biological dad here so it’s less confusing) became a solid part of our family again, the man who had been like my dad all those faded out of the picture into a new season of life all his own. He eventually married and had a child too. I was never upset at him for that because I knew my parents were trying to work things out and restore our family, but I missed him too, and have always been thankful for the ways he loved us so well. 

Over the years I knew his relationship with my parents was a touchy subject-one of those things you aren’t supposed to speak of, but I’ve never fully grasped all the things that made life turn out that way. I know it’s not important for me to have all the details (and I’m being a bit vague as to not share more than I should) but when I think of the love that helped me become the woman that I am, it’s because there’s two men that helped to raise me. 

Life has been extremely hard over these last several years, but over the last few months my spirit has been broken in every sense of the word. I’ve found myself in a place where I don’t even know how to articulate the lowest lows, or explain what I need to see a way out of it. Our finances are in shambles. My mental health has been in crisis. My body hurts. I can’t sleep. And I feel like there’s not a soul I could really speak to concerning the things that weigh me down, except my husband, and my dad. In the middle of the night a few weeks ago, my dad sent me a message having not a clue what had kept me up at all hours of the night. Yet, even though he was so many time zones away, the Lord stirred his spirit to reach out to me, because I needed the comfort of my dad. I needed someone to hear my heart when I couldn’t sleep but didn’t want to wake my husband because he’s spent so many sleepless nights hearing me cry. I needed someone not to try and fix me, or blame me, for ending up in this crappy place where I feel like I’m gasping for air, I just needed compassion and a long distance hug, only my dad could give. 

A few years ago (though I’m not sure how many) someone told him “you may have screwed things up when the kids were little, but there’s still a chance for you to be there for them now that they’re grown.” And for years I thought that nothing could be farther from the truth, but through a repentant heart and a whole lot of prayers I never wanted to pray, I’ve found myself needing my dad. 

And he’s been there, better than I could have thought to ask him to be, and he’s been so much more than I’ve needed him to be. 

Then today as I was getting ready for church I got a message from the other man who helped raise me. He asked if I would be home today, because he wanted to stop by. We do talk a little bit here and there from time to time, but I haven’t seen him in person in several years. He usually messages me on my birthday (and I often cry that he still remembers after all this time) and recently he messaged me to tell me he was proud of me (having no idea how badly I needed to hear that.) Today however, he wanted to spend some time with my family. 

As I greeted him at the front door one of the first things he said to me was “I talked to your dad.” And then he went back to his truck to grab a cooler. “He said that things have been tough and you haven’t really been eating well, so I wanted to drop by some food.” And then he opened the lid.  The cooler was full to the brim with salmon, moose meat, sausage, ground beef and chicken-things we will gladly eat but don’t currently have. It’s not that we’re going hungry, but when life is hard sometimes all you can muster the energy to feed yourself or your kids comes from a can, or a box of cereal, many many nights in a row. We aren’t eating quality things, so he helped to meet a need. It felt like we were presented with a kings feast, and it was given with love to my family. 

My kids don’t remember meeting him previously, they were much too little the last time, but they were so glad to have someone special come over today, and we invited to stay for a while if he could. I showed him around our messy house, and we talked about life for several hours. We spent a little while talking about what’s been going on, and had a few laughs before he needed to go, but it wasn’t until I had a quiet moment tonight that the magnitude of things hit me like a ton of bricks. 

When life has felt like it’s been turned upside down lately, and our family hasn’t quite known what we’re going to do, we’ve found hope, and help, in the hearts of the men who helped raise me. Not only have they both shown up in every way they can, for us, but they’ve reached out to each other to combine resources to take care of us during this season of need. They’ve taken the time to have conversations as men (who have both been hurt by each other over the years) to make sure my needs and the needs of my family are being met, and I’m truly in awe of that.

 Never in my wildest dreams would it ever have occurred to me, that the two of them would be willing to reach out to one another to help take care of me. 

Men, the dynamic of your own families may be unconventional, broken, filled with anger, hurt, and pain, but I promise that the children in your lives will some day be thankful to be on the receiving end of the love and effort expressed on your behalf. 

I’m truly grateful for the men who helped raise me.

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭3:20-21‬ ‭

The birth I never planned

*This blog may be difficult to read if you have lost a child during pregnancy. Reader Discretion is advised.

I've relived your birth in my mind, over and over probably a thousand times by now, and yet your birth is the one story I rarely tell.  I can talk for hours about what it was like to labor and push your sisters out of my womb, and yet as I begin to put the story of your birth into words, my hands shake and I feel like I could be sick.  

Very few people know what it was like for me, to give birth to you.  

Even fewer people have heard me tell your story out loud, but your story deserves to be told-even though it's hard for me.  

I know the details of your birth are important even if they aren't very beautiful, so I'll continue to write through my tears. 

Your story deserves to be told. 

I hope you know how much I love you, and I'm so sorry that I failed you.

I was completely alone the night you were born, and the details of your birth will haunt me for the rest of my life.  I had no idea that I would be completely alone when I delivered you.  

Your birth was the birth I never planned.

I had never imagined you would be born like that...no mother should ever have to deliver that way.

No one tells you the decisions you will have to make once your baby dies in the womb.  They talk freely about natural birth, or epidurals when talking about birthing live children, but never do people talk about things like these. 

No one tells you that sometimes birth stories involve words like d&c or medicine that is also prescribed for abortion.  No one tells you that when it comes to birthing a lifeless baby, your choices are to continue to carry your lifeless baby inside of you (until your body realizes your baby has died and decides to deliver naturally) or to force the baby out in one way or another. Surgery, medication, or wait for your body to let go of your child. 

My womb nor my heart wanted to let you go.

No one ever tells you that sometimes birth stories include times where babies are born lifeless, while mommies sit alone on the toilet and cry.

Your birth was the birth I never planned.

There was no epidural, no congratulations afterward for a job well done, it was just a cold lonely bathroom where my world came crashing down. 

Some people wept with us after you were gone, while other people avoided me (and still do) because the reality of a life cut too short, is just too sad. 

There are still times that it hurts me that people react the way they do about you, but I have to remind myself that I don’t need their permission to feel the way I do. 

I love you, and your death broke my heart.  

There's nothing that will ever fix that part of me that is broken.  I've just learned to live with the pain.  

If only they knew how hard it is to deliver a child that has died in your womb, maybe they would draw closer to us, rather than further away.

I’ve retold your birth story, only a few times before, usually while trying to comfort another family that has lost a child too, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it all the time. I’ve relived it in my heart a thousand times by now.

I still wish I would have held you.  It was the only chance I had.

There  are very few people that can handle hearing about the way you were born, and how my heart broke when I delivered your body that sunny evening in July. 

I want to share your story because I can't help but think that if I had only heard someone else's story before you were born, I wouldn't have felt so blindsided by this birth I never planned. 

Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so lost, and alone, if someone told me what it was like, to carry a child in my heart instead of my arms.  If I just would have known ahead of time, that I would have to make such difficult decisions about what to do with your lifeless body...maybe it wouldn't have been so hard for me that night.

March 11th was your due date and I was so excited to have a spring baby.  Your big sisters have birthdays in the summer so the idea of a spring baby was completely new and exciting to me.  

You never should have been born in July. 

Never.  

That was never part of my plan.  

Your death and birth is where my faith in God became the most real. I had to trust Gods plan for your life and my own.  This is where I had to trust that the Lord had numbered your days long before He ever created me.  His ways are higher than my own, they truly are.

Twenty-seven of them Ruby, He gave me 27 days with you, and as much as I try to understand His plan, 27 days just wasn’t enough time for me.  

I never got to hold you, or hear you cry.  

I never got to see your face, or count your toes.  

I saw your heart beating on an ultrasound screen a few times and that brought me indescribable joy.  I saw where your arms and legs were starting to take form on the little picture they gave me, and then I saw your lifeless body on that same screen in that dark room, the day they asked me how I would like you to be born.

Your birth is the birth I never planned.

No one ever tells you that once your baby's heart stops beating inside the womb, they still have to be born. 

Of course lifeless babies have to be born, but I had never thought about that until I became your mom.  

No one tells you that you have to decide how your birth will go.  

Why doesn't anyone ever tell you about things like these? 

Why?

 Moms should know.

 Moms should be prepared.

Moms shouldn’t have to say goodbye to babies they never met.

No one tells you that the doctors office will usher you off to a small room in the corner of the building so you don't have to see the largely pregnant women in the lobby, or hear the sound of their babies hearts beating while you struggle to grasp your own birth plan.  

The blood I saw for days and days, already told me that it was too late to save you...it's never good news to see that much blood, but I just couldn't wrap my mind around sitting in that cold little room planning the birth of a child I will never get to hold. 

None of this is fair!

The doctor was telling me statistics, giving me options, and telling me she too lost a baby (like it was no big deal) but statistics don’t help one bit, unless you find yourself as the person who beat the odds. 

Being 1 in 4 isn’t comforting, unless you are part of the 3 that got to have a live baby. 

Being the 1 in the 4 is so awful, I don’t know how anyone could offer that as a comfort. 

Sitting in that room listening to the doctor weigh my options, felt as though life was standing still. She was talking and I was supposed to be listening and responding to her, but it felt impossible.

My world stopped turning when they told me you had died so how can I think of anything but you in a time like that? 

Why doesn't anyone ever tell you these things? 

Why do they wait until your world is crashing down, to ask you how you'd like your lifeless baby to be born?

When I was preparing to give birth to the big girls, the doctors office gave me a new diaper bag full of samples, registries, and referrals for pediatricians.  

When I was preparing to give birth to you I got a prescription to induce labor at home.  

With the big girls, my birth plan included an epidural and your daddy, but with you my birth plan included privacy, tears and ibuprofen. 

That's just not the way a birth should be.

No one told me what to expect, not even the doctor! "It's different for every person..." they said.  

Google was my birthing coach when it was time for me to deliver you, and filling that prescription to induce my labor was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I didn't want to look the pharmacist in the eye when she handed me the little paper bag with two pills inside.  I didn't want her to judge me, because I failed to keep you alive.  I also know they give that medicine to the women that don't want their babies...I wanted you...more than I can ever put into words.  Would she think I was there, because I didn't want you? 

I was screaming inside as I stood at the counter to pay for those meds.  

I wanted you so much Ruby, and I still do.

I had prayed for your life for years before you started growing inside of me, and I dreamed of you long before your life ever began.  I always thought I was done having babies after we had Ava, but it wasn't until I started trying to get rid of the baby stuff that I knew how badly I wanted you.  I couldn't get rid of the baby things, because my heart had always planned for you...just not like this.

I wondered what you’d look like, and who you’d grow up to be.  

Would you have freckles like daddy, and full lips like me? 

Would your hair be dark or light, or would it be bright red just like your name, Ruby?

Would you like to be swaddled or would you spread out like a star fish when you sleep?

I wondered so much about you before you came into my life, and now I'll never know anything about you on this side of heaven. 

All I have left of you is that little picture tucked inside of my bible of when you were still alive, and the pregnancy test I saved and still look at, when I struggle to accept this is real.  

I really was pregnant.
  
You really did die...and nothing could ever prepare me for what life would be like without you.

I still stare at that shadow box with the booties and pregnancy test inside, multiple times a day...because my mind likes to try and pretend that this is just a bad dream. 

It's the nightmare without an end. So I look at the test again and again, still two lines...you still were real.

I imagined you would be born at the same hospital I was, and that daddy would cut your umbilical cord.  I dreamed of holding you for as long as I possibly could, before the nurses put a hat on you, and I learned how much you'd weigh.  I imagined daddy would follow you over to the bassinet as they measured you and made prints of your precious little feet...I never dreamed that your lifeless body would be born into the toilet bowl instead.  

What an awful place to birth a baby. 

Babies belong in bassinets, or the arms of their mom and dad, not cold toilet bowls. 

This was never a part of my plan.  

Instead of pushing your body out of mine, in a room overcome with joy because of your arrival, I delivered you alone in a bathroom full of sorrow.

I never got the chance to hold you or see you.  

There was too much blood to tell which part of the mess was you. 

I sat and stared into that bloody toilet bowl for what felt like an eternity, while struggling with what to do with your body.  You are my sweet baby, the one I begged God for, for years, and now I'm faced with digging in the toilet so I can hold your body just once before letting you go, and flushing you down the toilet because your soul is already gone.  

I knew you were in heaven with Jesus by the time I birthed your body, but the thought of flushing your own child down the toilet, is a hard one to grasp. Holding you for an eternity wouldn't be long enough, so with one flush I let your body go.

I sat on the bathroom floor and cried for a while, before letting your daddy know your body was gone. 

Flushing you was the hardest thing I have ever done. 

What kind of mom flushes her baby?

Your labor was the longest one I had ever experienced. I carried your lifeless body inside of mine for almost a week before you were born, and if that wasn't hard enough the nightmares lasted for months.  It was hard to be awake because my reality means spending the rest of my life without you, but when I slept I dreamt of you (and awful things about your birth) and I’m not quite sure which was worse.  It was hard to be awake without you, but it was also hard to dream of holding you, or delivering you, over and over again.

For the first time in my life, I understood why addicts numb the pain.  

For the first time in my life the temptation came to me too. To dull the ache even for just a moment, was more and more appealing every second I spent without you, my love.  I wanted a break from the misery, from my reality, but I had to let the Lord be the one to soothe my soul.  I never gave in to that temptation, but I could finally understand the heart of an addict.  I could understand why someone would want to numb the pain even if relief didn’t last. 

Pain like this is unbearable at times, even though the Lord promised to bind up my wounds.

It's not supposed to be this way.

Mommies aren't supposed to flush their lifeless babies-and I did-and I'm so sorry I couldn't keep you.

I wanted nothing more than to love you and raise you, every day for the rest of my life.

I'm so so sorry I couldn't save you.

I'm sorry that the only thing I have to offer as your mom, is saying your name again and again even when it makes people uncomfortable. 

I would much rather feed you, and dress you, and learn the ways that make you laugh.  I would have loved to tell you about Jesus, and maybe meet your grandchildren.  

Instead, all I have left is your name.

The only sliver of comfort I have, is knowing that sharing the story of your short little life, might comfort another woman facing a birth she never planned. Maybe knowing that I can understand her sorrow will help her feel less alone than I did when it happened to me, so I will keep saying your name, and start to be better about telling your story, because that’s all I have left of you.

That's all I have left of you, your name, and your story.  All 27 days worth.



Love,

Mom

She is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her. Proverbs 3:15 NIV

Going Back To The Place That Broke Me

This picture may be of little importance to anyone other than me. After all, it’s just a picture of part of my family, wearing frumpy clothes, walking up a hill.

 

But this hill…it broke me…and I’ll never be who I was before then.

 

It was just 2 days after Christmas. Wrapping paper, and packaging from eagerly opened gifts was still strewn about our home, as we headed out the door for a busy day of celebrating. I had just opened a Cricut my husband gave me for Christmas, and I spent all morning playing with it.  I was using the machine to cut pieces of paper to make birthday cards for the parties we were about to attend, and I made a HUGE mess with my creativity.  I cut and glued until time ran out, and I never did clean up my mess. “I’ll get to it when we get home.” I said, and off we went, on our merry way.
 

The first birthday party we attended was for a precious friend’s 60th birthday. I couldn’t think of a more amazing person to spend all morning making a mess—I mean card for. She’s so special to me, and spending the afternoon celebrating her birthday was an absolute joy for me. I could have stayed all day in her company, but we had another party to attend. We were going sledding to celebrate another special girl’s birthday.

 

On our way out the door voices called out “be safe…” And I laughed and replied “I don’t even want to go…it’s cold out, and I’m not a big fan of outside!” But I love the birthday girl and I was willing to be bundled in layers of snow gear to make her day special, and make memories with my own children. Little did I know, I would never have to go sledding again after that day.

 

We pulled into the parking lot of the snow hill, suited up in layers of sweaters and snow clothes, and made our trek to the top of the hill. The kids may have ran to the top, I’m not really sure, I just know it took a whole lot longer, and a lot more breath for me to get there.  The older you get, the longer it takes to get to the top, especially wearing a ton of clothes and carrying arms full of sleds.
 

We made a few passes down the icy hill, and then in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Suddenly my oldest daughter and I were headed for the side of the hill that is full of trees with a big rock at the bottom.  No matter how hard I put my feet down, it didn’t slow down our sled. My husband was yelling from the top of the hill, “BAIL!!!” while running as fast as his legs could carry him, but I knew I wasn’t strong enough to get both my daughter and myself safely off the sled. We were going way too fast, and I was too afraid I would end up leaving her on the sled alone.
 

As my legs pressed harder into the side of the hill, my boot hit a rut and it spun our sled backwards as we went down the side of the hill. The edge was very steep, and suddenly I was face down in the snow and bushes, unable to breathe.
 

My daughter stood over top of me and screamed at the top of her lungs “MOMMY!!!!” and her voice cracked as she cried and screamed for help.  I will never EVER be able to get that sound out of my head. I hope I never, ever, ever, ever again,  hear her scream with such fear in her voice. It was the worst sound I have ever heard, in all my life.  (Tears well up in my eyes as I type this.)
 

It took all the strength I had to flip myself over onto my back, and it felt like an eternity before I could get enough air in my lungs to scream for help. The pain I felt was beyond anything I can describe.
 

We hit a tree, and it broke me in every sense of the word.

 

 

With every bit of air I could gasp, I screamed and begged for someone to call the paramedics. I knew I was hurt badly, and I couldn’t get up on my own. The pain was too intense, and it took all the strength I had to breathe/scream.  It hurt too bad to cry. As my husband rushed to my side, he placed his hands on me and prayed the hardest he has ever prayed. He truly thought I was going to die.  The sensation of him touching my legs as he prayed, intensified the fractures in my back, and I cried and begged for him to stop. The pain was more than I could bear. That was one of the most agonizing parts of the whole experience.
 

The paramedics came and tried to get me stable. I cried and pleaded with them to cut my coat and clothing off rather than trying to take it off the conventional way. No matter which way they tried to maneuver my clothing to get an IV started, the pain was too much, so they left my coat and clothing, and administered pain medication through my nose to try and get me stable enough to transport. Looking back, I still wish they would have cut that coat off of me, because to this day, it’s still too hard for me to wear it. When I see it in the closet it still has the tear stains from the day that hill broke me, and I can’t bring myself to put it back on. It holds too many bad memories for me.

 

 

As the imaging reports came in, in the hospital, I asked over and over for them to show me where I was broken. If I could see the fractures for myself, I felt like somehow I could wrap my mind around the pain I was in. They counted over 20 fractures throughout my shoulder, ribs, and spine. The doctor in the emergency room told my husband they stopped counting after 20. Even knowing I had 20 broken places throughout my body, I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the pain. How can one stupid tree, break me like this? And now, I’ll never be the same.

It’s been 2 and a half years since my accident, and my body still feels the effects of that day. I’ve lost an inch in height, and I have quite an impressive hunchback for someone of my age. Most of the time I try to make the best of my accident, knowing that God worked a miracle for me. After all, I burst part of my spine yet I am able to walk. I broke my body in 20 different places at the same time, and I never lost consciousness. I fractured almost all of my ribs, but I didn’t have to be intubated, and had no damage to any of my internal organs. We slid into a tree and it broke me, but my daughter was unharmed. God worked a miracle! But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days where it’s still hard to know that I have a hunchback, and my body aches horribly if it’s about to rain. I still have things that trigger me to panic, like being on an inner tube on a water slide, or on top of a big hill.  The damage runs deeper than my body.

This past week is the first time I have been back to the hill that broke me. I finally started physical therapy to try and help with my back and for the first time, I realized how much healing I still have left to do. The healing is not just physical, it’s emotional too.  It wasn’t until my physical therapist asked me how big the tree is, I realized I have a lot of emotional healing left to do too.  Until this past week, I had never seen the tree that broke me. I didn’t see it when I crashed into it, I didn’t ever want to go back to that horrible place after.  I didn’t want to see the hill, or the tree that changed my life, but this week I realized, I needed to. 

It was time.

                                                            

As I stood on that hill, and faced the tree that broke me, I cried harder than I have cried in a really long time. (You know that ugly cry, where noise comes out and you can’t even help it?) Going back to a place that has hurt you (physically and/or emotionally) brings back everything you felt at the time.  It can be scary, or make you angry, but for the first time since the paramedics carried me screaming in pain off of that hill, I felt free. I may have been broken the last time I was there, but God restored me to a place I never would have known, had I not been broken, and face down in the snow.

                                                                                      

 

At the time I broke my back, my spirit was the most broken and hurting it has ever been. The year of my accident was the hardest year I have ever endured. We faced things I never imagined facing in life.  The most difficult times included miscarriage, secondary infertility, and then my accident all within one year. That’s a lot to deal with, in 12 months.   There were many times I wondered what more God wanted from me.  Did He want me to serve more? Pray more? Did He want me to be a better wife? A better mother? What lesson did I have left to learn? Had He forsaken me?? Why did my prayers seem to go unanswered for so long? Why did the heartache keep coming? God, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!

 

In the midst of the fiery trials, God showed up more real, and abundantly than He ever has before.  My faith grew in ways it never would have had I not been broken.  He kept His promises. He promised to work all things together for our good, and He did just that.

 

He provided family and friends to take care of our children while we were in the hospital. He provided family and friends to clean up the mess I made of our house after Christmas, and for months afterward. He provided family and friends to feed us, and pray for us, for several months as I was recovering and unable to work. He provided family, friends, and even complete strangers to help cover our bills while we were down to one income. And in the end of it all, He gave us a beautiful baby, to carry up that hill, when I finally faced the tree that broke me.

 

                                                     

He kept His promise to me, that He would work all things together for good, just like He did all those years ago.

 

 

You see there’s another hill, and another tree in my story.

 

 

“And when they had come to the place called Calvary, there they crucified Him, and the criminals, one on the right hand and the other on the left. Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” And they divided His garments and cast lots.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:33-34‬ ‭NKJV

The hill is called Calvary, and it’s where they took my King. It was on that hill, where Jesus hung on a wooden cross taking all of the sin and suffering of this world onto Himself. It was on that hill, through His death on the cross that I went from broken and hurting to whole.  I am whole.  I am redeemed.  I am made new, because of Him.

 

So from now on, I’m not going to let fear and the thoughts of what broke me have power over my life anymore.  When I see a tree, or a hill, I’m going to think of Jesus.

His body was broken, and nailed to a tree on a hill for me…

and I’ll never be the same.

In His Love,

Rosalynn

We're all a little broken, but that's how the light gets in

The title of this blog post comes from a piece of jewelry I saw on pinterest after Ruby died, and that's so so so true! It's in the moments of absolute brokenness that the light reaches where it never would have otherwise.  Having a baby die before I ever got to meet her has broken me more painfully than anything else in all my life.  Don't get me wrong, I've been broken many times, sometimes in the same ways over and over again, but NOTHING like this brokenness.  The blessing in this brokenness is the Light that shines into those broken pieces in ways I never would have known otherwise.   I wouldn't ask for this (I know that I keep saying that) but I'm still grateful for the perspective I have because of it.  I see God so differently now, and feel as though I hear Him so differently now, feel as though I can relate to Him so differently now because of this. 

I don't think I could ever fully comprehend or accept God as The Father because my own father, and perspectives on what fatherhood looks like have been so tainted in this life.  It wasn't until recently I feel like it finally REALLY clicked, but more because I can see His love for me in the way that I love my children.  I don't see His love as a reflection of the way I was loved in the parent/ child relationship, but it makes so much more sense to me, as the parent loving her children.  When Mya asks me the same question over and over and over again needing reassurance that the plans haven't changed, I've started to see myself and how I do that to God.  I tell Mya over and over again "honey, the plans are still the same as they were, if they change, I promise I'll let you know." The plans don't have to be significant, sometimes she just needs the reminder that things are consistent. That's me! I do that to God all the time! Then there's Ava.  One night recently at dinner she asked for a cup of water while we were still getting dinner on plates and to the table.  It took a few minutes but eventually Dustin brought her the water she'd asked for.  Suddenly she was upset and started to cry, because she actually wanted milk.  How often do we do that to God? "God, if you're listening I'd reallllly like some water.  Please God, just a little bit of water." Then God sends the water...and like a child, we say "God...is this water?! I wanted milk..." God's probably saying "You may want milk, but you asked for water, and that's exactly what I gave you." My biggest fear as a mother is that my kids will grow up, and doubt my love for them. That I'll fall short, no matter how hard I've tried, one too many times and they'll think "I wonder if my mom really loves me?" or "I wish mom really loved me like I needed her to." I've found myself wondering that about God too.  I wonder if He ever thinks "I hope someday I'll be able to show them enough, how magnificent my love is for them, they'll never again wonder if I truly love them" I know God doesn't fall short, and that He keeps showing us time and time again how deep and how wide and how great His love is for us but will we get to the point where we stop doubting it, and just hold on?

I can't say that I'm all gratefulness and smiles, or revelations and joy because I'm not, but I am still able to see the growth in the moments that hurt the most.  One thing I've been struggling with a lot lately is that people treat me so differently now.  I know that I AM DIFFERENT, but the way people make me feel at times, makes it hard to feel like you can do anything other than cocoon yourself. Some of the people who SHOULD care or show even just the smallest ounce of compassion, don't even talk to me.  Not a "How are you?" not a "how are Mya and Ava" not "is your hair on fire?!"...nothing.  I guess it's true what they say that the biggest disappointments come because of the gap between expectation and reality.  I guess I just thought maybe it would be different because I'd do differently, if the shoe were on the other foot.  I know talking about this is hard.  I have friends who have had to say goodbye to their babies after I have, and I don't really know what to say to them.  I'm going through it right now, and I don't even know what to say, because each of our hurts and experiences are so different, but I avoiding me all together is hurtful.  You don't have to talk about my heartache, just a "hi, hope you have a good day today" is better than nothing at all, but hard times prove true friends (or family) and this entire season of life has been one HUGE and PAINFUL lesson in that. 

There have been times lately that I have had some regret in sharing about this, but when I decided that I would be as transparent about this as possible it was because I hope that someday my hurt and honesty could be comfort to someone else going through it.  I realize my baby is not your baby.  I realize your journey to conception (whether surprise or years of planning) is unique to you, but when the dust settles we're still parents to babies who are gone.  I realize you may not feel completely how I feel or see things completely as I see, but my hope is that somehow, this hurt won't be wasted.

The reason I have had regrets about being open and vulnerable is that it leaves you vulnerable.  People say all sorts of things to you that cut like a knife.  I realize that most of what is said is well intended and people are trying to be as comforting as they can (after all I DID say that I don't want to be completely ignored) but really there are things that just plain hurt.  What's hard about that is its ok for people to say whatever they say but it's not usually ok for you to be honest about it not being helpful or dare I say, hurtful.  If you speak up in the least, oh say a facebook post or something because that seems like the safest and most non-confrontational approach, you're hormonal, grieving, and sensitive.  Sure, some of that may be true, but if you realize the reasons why what is said is hurtful, you might just be a little more careful.  I have heard MANY MANY MANY times now how "so-and-so lost their baby at this many weeks...that has to be so hard." That hurts for several reasons.  In a way, you're saying that so and so had more days with their baby before their death, so they loved and dreamed about their baby more than I did.  Maybe so...maybe that other mom loved their baby for 4 whole more days than I loved mine, but in the grand scheme of things does that make my loss less significant? If someone's grandma died at 70 years old would you tell them about "so-and-so" who's grandma died at 71 years old, and how that had to be so hard, because well... that grandma lived longer so she was loved more...I certainly hope not.  Would you tell someone who's grandma died in their sleep about "so-and-so" who's grandma died of a heart attack, and how that had to be so much worse? Again, I certainly hope not.  Sure a heart attack is a tragic way to die, so is a car accident, or cancer, or, or, or, or...but you know what, the results are the same...grief because someone you love has died.  Another thing that has been mentioned by even the people closest to me, is about people who have had a still born child.  (Please don't take what I am saying as trying to minimize what you have been through, or that I'm trying to put myself in your shoes because I have not been there, I DON'T completely know what that was like for you) I have heard how it must have been so much harder to see their baby, so much harder to hold their baby, but what you don't know is that I wanted to see my baby even though she wasn't alive anymore.  What you don't know is that I wanted to hold my baby, even though she was only the size of a blueberry. I wanted to hold her in my hand knowing that was the only time on this earth I would ever get the chance to hold my baby.  What you don't know is that for an entire week I stared into a toilet full of blood wondering if the pieces of tissue inside were my baby's little body.  What you don't know is that I sat on the floor in the bathroom and stared one last time at the clot I think was my baby, debating on whether or not I should stick my hand inside just to look and see, and maybe get the chance to hold her once.  What you don't know is that I had nightmares for weeks about sitting in a bathtub full of blood and clots frantically examining each and every one looking for my baby.  What you don't realize is that I labored and delivered a child too, the same way I did the two you can see every day, except I didn't get an epidural, I didn't get an ice pack for my efforts, I didn't get a bracelet with their name and mine, I flushed her.  I don't get a headstone that has my child's name on it, or a little urn where people know a little body is inside who's life was over much too soon.  People hardly acknowledge my baby as a baby at all.  Embryo...that's what they call her.  The little embryo that vanished, that I just can't get over.  Those parents who's children were stillborn have an experience entirely different than mine, and I don't want to compare our stories...so please stop comparing them for me.  In the end what we have is grief, and babies in heaven, how that happened doesn't make any one baby more or less loved or wanted than the rest. 

Being able to grieve and think and feel and process things the way I need to, rather than being expected a certain path or timeline is what I need.  I don't need you to tell me how it should feel or how long it should take or why I should be grateful for this, because it could have been something else.  Trust me, I already know that.  What I need is just a little grace, a little compassion, and maybe just a little more kindness along the way.  This club is not one I wanted to be a part of, so please forgive me if I'm not this clubs biggest fan and I'm still learning the rules.  If we're being honest here, I've reached that angry stage of grief and all I know how to do is process it as it comes, acknowledge why I'm angry, and pray I can get passed it.  Please forgive me when I feel angry when I hear a pregnant woman complaining about morning sickness, or aches and pains that come along with pregnancy, it's just that I'd love to be in their shoes, and it's hard to see that they don't understand just how blessed they are.  Please forgive me when I get angry because people are so particular about such trivial things as their child's gender, it's just that it seems as though they take for granted that they get to have a baby at all.  I'd love to have the glass of water you wanted, when you decided that you'd rather have milk...

Letting go of the pen

Letting go of Ruby has been the hardest, and most confusing thing that has happened in my life thus far. It has shaken me to my core and literally brought me to my knees, but I have learned that that is exactly where I needed to be.  I wouldn't have chosen this (and I can't say for sure if my mind will ever change about that) but my eyes have been opened in ways they never would have, had I not had to say goodbye to a baby I never had the chance to say hello to.  Even in my most broken moments of grief, when I my thoughts and prayers couldn't even be uttered in anything more than tears and chaos, I have stood firm, knowing this hurt won't be wasted.  I don't know how God will use this, but if is the story He has chosen for me, I will do my best to make Him proud.


My life hasn't always been wonderful, I have had my heart broken more times than I can even count, but that has been what has shaped me to be who I am, and has taught me to be resilient in this journey. It has made me cautious (aka major trust issues) but when I care about something or someone, I care with everything I have to offer.  I have found that even when life has been rough (especially growing up) I still see myself as a pretty joyful person.  I can still somehow find joy in the circumstances before me, and I know that comes directly from the Lord.  I haven't always been happy, but I have had the joy that isn't dependent on my circumstances.  I think this is why I haven't asked God why I have to wait until heaven to hold my baby. I haven't asked Him why He gave her to us, and took her right back because honestly, why doesn't change a thing.  Instead, I have found myself asking over and over again, "How? How do you want me to use this? How to you want me to take this and use it for Your glory?" And this is where I've gotten confusion and clarity all at the same time. (Hello internal chaos)

Growing up I was always considered a bossy kid (and sensitive and too skinny and all sorts of other "character building" things that leave you feeling inadequate and insecure) but it wasn't until I became a parent that I realized how big of a control freak I am.  Admitting that is hard for me because I like to think that I am level headed and rational but when it comes to not having control over certain situations its really hard for me.  Not knowing what to expect is the worst for me.  I just realized maybe a year or so ago that when Dustin plans dates that I have no idea about, it makes me so anxious that I feel sick to my stomach and kind of ruins the date.  I thought "cute, I still have butterflies after 15 years" ummmm no, thats anxiety honey.  Once I finally realized its not knowing what to expect that makes me feel sick (cause the butterflies don't happen on every date, just the ones he plans and I have no clue whats going on) I have had a better handle on things, and he has been great about respecting my anxiousness by either surprising me so much I have no idea there was even going to be something going on, or telling me just enough to get rid of the anxiousness.  Anyway, throw in having children and the need to control everything for me, has gone into over drive.  Mom's way is the only way, which is terrible way to have a family.  God didn't create children with just one parent,  it takes both a mom, and a dad to make a child and it takes both a mom and a dad to raise them.  I realize there are one parent families, and I am in no way looking down my nose at those families (I grew up in one) but His design was for both parents to contribute to the well-being of the child.  I'm not sure at which point I have learned to let Dustin parent his way (I don't always keep quiet) but I have had to learn that just because he does things differently than I do with the kids, doesn't mean he's doing it wrong.  They have two parents for a reason, why should MY way be the right way? I think what I know is best more often than not, but sometimes I'm wrong.  Sometimes I need to let him do things his way (even if it's completely different than how I would do it) because they're his kids too, and the way he parents them will shape them just the same way I do.  He's an amazing daddy, so why do I need to keep thinking he needs to be an amazing mommy too? Let him be their dad, the way he is going to be their dad, and leave the mothering to me.  (Did anyone else notice that mothering and smothering rhyme?)

Like I said in my earlier post, when I found out I was pregnant with Ruby (even though she wasn't a surprise baby) I was scared.  Dustin told me recently (before our baby died) that I have an incredible intuition about things.  This intuition has ALWAYS left me feeling crazy.  I "get a bad feeling" about things from time to time and often I can't explain what exactly it is that gives me the bad feeling, it's just there, and makes me really anxious and uncomfortable.  It's hard to explain a bad feeling when you don't know what about it is bad, but it happens, and a majority of the time after the problem surfaces, I had a bad feeling for a good reason.  Anyway, when I scheduled my first pre-natal visit I asked Dustin if he could come with me "just incase" and I never did that with the other two kids.  He came to the important appointments like the ultrasounds and if there was a possible concern he'd be there if he could but his boss isn't very flexible so for the most part I went to the doctor alone.  With Ruby I was afraid to go alone and I'm not sure why, I have never been afraid to go alone, especially to the first visit.  I even asked a friend if she could come with me, if Dustin couldn't, and then another friend if the first two couldn't come.  I just really didn't want to go alone, just incase.  I don't know why I had a just incase this time, I never did before, but this was different for some reason.  "What if my pregnancy is ectopic, or there are two babies, or there is no heartbeat..." I had a long list of worst case scenarios, and a plan so I didn't have to go alone.  My first appointment was scheduled for July 29th, which felt like an eternity away for an anxious mom, who couldn't wait to see her baby. 

Not long after I found out that I was pregnant with Ruby I started having pain that I could pinpoint to my ovary.  I only have one ovary due to having the other surgically removed and I knew that this pain felt different than the ligament stretching you feel as your belly starts to grow.  I kept trying to tough out the pain, tell myself it as nothing, but as time went on, hours turned into days, turned into a week or two I decided that maybe I should just make sure everything is ok.  I felt a little paranoid and silly calling my doctors office considering this was my third time being pregnant and that I SHOULD know what it's like, but this pain was different, I don't remember it with the other two.  The nurse I talked to at my doctors office went ahead and scheduled me for an ultrasound even though she didn't think it was anything to be concerned with, just to be sure.  As soon as they started the ultrasound I rushed through my mental checklist of worry.  "Baby is in my uterus where she should be, there is only one baby..." and as I was going through my thoughts Dustin said "there's the heartbeat".  He saw it immediately! The most beautiful thing you will ever see is a heart beating from within you.  I really wish I would have recorded it.  I wanted to record it on my phone and save it, but I didn't want them to think I was crazy.  Now I wish I would have just been crazy for that moment, because I only had a few more days before her heart stopped.  A few days later (it was a Monday evening, but I can't remember the date, and don't really want to look at a calendar because I don't want to see the date on the calendar for the rest of my life and remember this) I just didn't feel good.  I was tired (hello pregnancy) and kind of just wiped out feeling, and even though Dustin and I had a ministry meeting he was adamant that I just stay home and rest this one time.  "You need to take care of yourself, they will understand" he told me, and so even though I felt guilty for missing something important, I stayed home.  It was while I was home that evening the bleeding started. 

This is the first time I have ever had bleeding while I was pregnant.  When I was pregnant with Ava I had some internal bleeding, implant bleeding, but nothing ever came out, this blood was bright red, and there was a lot of it, and so I immediately got in the shower.  The shower is my sanctuary of sorts.  It's where I go when I need a moment, when I'm trying to figure out the world, where I do my best praying, its just my place where I go to collect my thoughts, but this time I was broken, terrified, and literally on my face.  I was kneeling there on the shower floor, with my face to the floor, blood running down my legs, begging God not to take my baby from me.  I cried harder and louder than I have ever cried in my entire life begging Him to spare my baby.  In that moment I prayed "Please Lord, not me. Please don't let this happen to me.  Please let me keep my baby! Please let my baby live...but if your answer is no.  If your answer is no Lord, I still love you.  I will still love you and serve you, even if your answer is no." While I was broken on the shower floor, crying out to God, the hymn that says "Have thine own way" was stuck in my head.  I just sang it over and over in my head praying "God, let me have peace with your will" and I meant it. I needed more than anything to have peace with His will. 

All along, long before we conceived Ruby, I have been praying for Gods will for her, and my life with her.  I had prayed when I was entertaining the idea of her, but alone in my idea.  I prayed for His will as the desire grew stronger and became too much to bear.  I prayed for His will when we agree'd to have another baby, I prayed for His will when I learned I was pregnant, and as her life started slipping away, I prayed for His will. I went to the doctors office the next morning (Tuesday)  and they did some blood work (checked my HCG level and progesterone), and a pelvic exam to check for infection.  At that point the bleeding had stopped, God heard my prayer, my plan for my baby and the bleeding stopped.  A few hours later I got a phone call that my progesterone was incredibly low which was probably what caused the bleeding (the lowest they want to see the progesterone at where I was gestationally was 20+, my progesterone was 6) they started me on some progesterone supplements, and at that time I requested an ultrasound.  I had to know if my baby was still alive, and she was.  Praise the Lord she was.  She had grown some since the ultrasound just a few days before, and her heart was stronger.  What a sigh of relief.  The ultrasound technician told me they like to see two things, growth (check) and an increase in heart rate (check again) he mentioned very vaguely about the gestational sac being small, but he didn't say it in a way that lead me to think that was anything to be concerned about, he said the two things they like to see, we had.  What a relief!!! Thursday they had me come in to check my HCG again because they like to see your numbers increase by a minimum of 60% every 48 hours.  Mine increased by less than 20%, the doctors didn't say it, but I knew that wasn't a good sign. 

When I get pregnant I get a lump in my armpit (milk gland) that can be pretty swollen and painful sometimes.  For some reason when I woke up Friday morning, the very first thing I did was feel my armpit, and the lump was almost gone.  With being on the supplemented progesterone there is no reason the lump should be getting smaller, and I instantly panicked inside.  I didn't tell anyone that I was freaking out inside but by late morning it got to the point I couldn't take the worry anymore and called my doctors office again.  I wanted another ultrasound just to see if my baby was still alive and after talking to the nurse again, I decided I would just wait until Tuesday, when I had my first pre-natal appointment, the one I had scheduled what felt like an eternity ago.  She told me they were doing everything they could do for me right now, she told me my previous ultrasound looked good but this was a time where we just have to hope for the best because we never know for sure how it will go, but she reassured me enough to wait through the longest weekend ever, until Tuesday.  If I could just get to Tuesday I could see my baby again and be reassured.  Tuesday was my "just incase" appointment but thankfully I didn't have to go alone. 

Saturday the bleeding started again, but this time it didn't stop. I was taking the progesterone still, but the bleeding came anyway.  My doctor was on call over the weekend thankfully so I finally got to talk to her for the first time through all of this.  When she got on the phone she told me what I think I knew all along, but never EVER wanted to hear.  I was miscarrying.  She said to stop taking the progesterone and that it was ok to miscarry at home, and again I was broken and on my knees.  There are a billion thoughts that hit you when you learn you'll never hold your baby on your chest and hear their first cry.  I felt so incredibly guilty.  I couldn't save her.  I tried everything I could, I was faithful with my vitamins before even trying to get pregnant, I was eating spinach several times a day, every day to make sure my iron was better this time.  I was cutting back on caffeine again because even though I love coffee, and a little bit is ok, I love my baby more, and just wanted the best for her.  I was taking the progesterone and taking it easy as much as I could, but I just couldn't save her.  I couldn't protect her.  I felt so guilty for wanting to have her so bad.  If I could have just been content with two healthy children, my heart wouldn't be broken, all of our hearts wouldn't have to be broken.  I wouldn't have to tell the girls that they won't have a baby to hold soon, I wouldn't have to tell Dustin that this plan we have discussed so many times for years was a bad idea, none of this would have happened if I could have just been content.  But it was too late for that.  Then I realized, that none of this is truly up to me.  Not Mya, not Ava, not Ruby, not any future children, its honestly not up to me.  I can want all that I want, I can plan all that I want, I can try to prepare and control all that I want, but in the end NONE OF THIS IS UP TO ME! That is such a mighty thought, its scary and freeing all at the same time.  All this time I have been praying for Gods will.  I have been praying for God to write my story, but I won't let go of the pen.  I want Him to write my story the way I want it to be written, rather than having enough trust in who He is, to let Him have His will.  How foolish of me.  He will have His will either way, but there's freedom in letting go of the pen. 

After the hardest weekend I have ever have, Tuesday came.  My just incase came, my what if something's wrong came, and that was the day where we saw that her heart had stopped beating, but she was still in my womb.  As much as I knew that she was gone, my heart still longed for that hope in my plan.  Seeing that her heart had stoppeed meant more decisions.  How did I want her to be born? This is not how I had ever imagined my child being born.  I thought of the pictures we would take, and who would hold her first, I thought of what she would look like, and the first time I would feed her, and none of them looked like this.  Nothing in my plan looked like this, but His plan looked this way all along.  He knew this was how my story would go, but He needed me to let go of the pen first. 

In this time in my life I have thought of things I would never have if Ruby would have stayed here with me. I have thought of The Father's love for me in ways I never would have, and for that I am thankful! One day after she had died I was taking a long drive and as I was driving I just cried.  My heart is shattered and broken.  I asked God "God, does your heart break when our hearts are broken?" I know there are times in life when our hearts are broken by our own faults.  We do things that eventually leave our hearts broken and thats not what I mean, I mean when the heartache hits by no cause of our own, does His heart break for ours? A few days later I realized, God lost His baby too.  They crucified Him, so I took that as a yes.  That made my heart hurt for God in a strange way.  My baby didn't bear the sin of all of the world, I held my baby for her whole life.  She never had to experience any of the ugly things of this world.  She went straight from my womb to heaven.  I've thought about even Jesus Himself being on His face before His father in prayer.  " He told them 'my soul is crushed with grief to the point of death.  Stay here and keep watch with me.' He went on a little farther and bowed with his face to the ground, praying, 'My Father! If it is possible, let this cup of suffering be taken away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.'" Mattthew 26:38-39 NLT.  I didn't think of this in my moments of despair, it wasn't until my first time back at church that they talked about this in Sunday School and I could relate to this.  I have been litterally on my face before the Father, just like Jesus, and there was so much comfort in that. 

I don't know how my story will end.  I don't know how God wants to use this for His glory, I don't know why, or what's next, I don't know any of that.  What I do know is this, He is writing my story.  He is telling it perfectly, and it's about to get really good, I need to just sit at His feet, listen to Him tell me my story, and let go of the pen. 

~Rozi Drue