And then 18 years passed

 I can't believe I made it.  

I made it through your entire childhood.

In two weeks we will celebrate 18 years since you and your brother's untimely entrance into the world. You two would very likely be completely hilarious together.  We will forever think of you as we celebrate Caleb's milestones. Eighteen whole years! 

Of course, at the time I could not even begin to imagine making it through 18 entire years. 

I didn't even think I would be able to open my eyes again, let alone breathe. 

The light felt like it would shatter my eyes. 

I couldn't imagine feeling anything but numb at first. I didn't think it would ever end. 

I willed the tears to come, and they just would not. 

Until they did. At the most inopportune times.  And then they wouldn't stop. 

And then I couldn't imagine a time that seeing other people laugh wouldn't cause an immediate anger reaction. 

One foot in front of the other - seemed the only thing I could do. 

I felt the hardness in my heart. One of the strongest temptations towards cowardice. 

Let it harden you.  

Death and shock and disappointment in my life. It would've been too easy to let this thick darkness slither its way around my heart. I felt it in a tangible way.  

This is how I know there is a God and He loves me.  

He gave me a way out. 

 I had to take it - reaching out a limp and shaking hand to take hold of real living.   

I could never forget the horror of what it feels like to hold a body without a soul. It's engrained on me in a way that can not be removed. You branded me and scarred me with love. 

And now I live softer.  18 years of choosing soft. Not a weak soft, although often it sure can feel that way, but a soft open heart.  Open hands. 

I'm not whole, but I know I will be - someday.  I can still feel poison swirling around me and within me.  I am a broken human. But the prominent presence surging within me is not me at all, but the presence of God. He indwells me with everything that is good.  I feel shrapnel residing in my heart. But it shares space with hope. 

I'm honored to have space in my heart just for you.  I have spent every bit of this 18 years loving you intensely.  And letting that love compel me to be better.  I fought for that. 

I never thought I would find the seeds of creativity within me again. 

I never thought I would feel delight in anything.

I never thought a sweet fresh from heaven baby would completely claim my love again.

I never thought I would see beauty in the mundane.

I never thought I would find great satisfaction in a hundred other things in life. 

I never thought the sunset would set my heart on fire again.

I never thought the sacredness of music would move me.

I never thought the loveliness of holidays and milestones would bring surges of joy.

But those are things God placed within me when he created me.  They don't go away unless my soul leaves my body. They may have been dormant for a while.  But in choosing life, I choose to nurture them again.  Warm winds of change blew across my soul.  Deep waters of staying close to God and his Living and Active Word poured into the trenches of disappointment.  And the things that I love bloomed every year - a little more and more. 

By the grace of God I am not at a place where I deeply grieve the fact that I missed all but 10 days of your childhood.  I see you as a true stepping stone in my life.  In these 18 years the fear, distrust, trauma, and anxiety poured in. That is some of the shrapnel.  These elements still remain, somewhat.  They will show their ugliness, from time to time in greater measure than others. But the growth came when I looked them square in the eye, named them, and told them they didn't have control of me.  

No, they're not gone.  But I choose love.  I choose God.  I choose joy. I choose believing in all the good I sometimes can not see. 

I choose to love you with every bit of my mama heart and not let losing you make me hard. 

The grief brick

Grief is so weird. 

I should know its intricate oddities by now - but life is so busy and I haven't taken decent notes.

On January first I woke up with this heavy feeling on my chest, kind of like a brick had been placed right above the region of my heart.  I tried to reposition myself to make it go away.  It held steady.  I got up and started in on my post vacation tasks. They were many.

I functioned,
                      fed,
                                   laundered,
                                                    even laughed a few times.  All the while feeling this crazy weight pressing in.

I tried to shrug it off,

mentally explain it away,

and even deny it.


Weird.  Am I sad? Did something happen? Did I eat something strange? What, what, what? 

And then -  like I was finally fully waking, it just hit me.

January.      Hello. 

And so it is.    //January//

The second day of January wasn't much different.


I continued going through odds and ends from traveling and wiped tears away.  I caught Dave's concerned eye and tried a half hearted explanation,

 "Sorry. I'm not sad. Really...."  

"I mean - I don't know. It's just this brick on my chest. Thing. Kind of like a weight....."

"And it's Caleb's birthday, so it's good...." 

Wiped more tears.

And he just put his arm around me and said, "And one of your kids isn't here.  It's ok."

He's tender and matter of fact and just what I need.

By the second day I had a pretty good idea of what the brick on my chest meant and I, naturally, began to think of ways to remove the weight.

Hmmm.  Maybe I need to go to the cemetery.  Release a blue balloon or something.  Maybe I should look at his baby book and make myself cry.  Maybe then it would go away. 

I would slowly exhale - trying to ease the weight by a sigh.  Deep breaths.  Change my breathing.  Drink some water.

But see, it doesn't go away.  And how true of human nature to desperately try to remove the weightiness around my heart.  Because we have this pain phobia.  When my kids are sick, what is the first thing they say to me?  "MOM, can you give me something, do something. maybe some medicine, SOMETHING to make it go away?!"

I understand addictions and numbing the pain.  How easy.  And how destructive.

Instead, I begrudgingly acknowledge my old friend.

"Hi there,

Brick-on-my-chest.

I guess it's January, huh? 

Weird way to start a new year. 

But I guess we've been starting one this way for over a decade now....

so - it's ok."


Sometimes you can lean into pain a bit and be ok.  Sometimes acknowledging it and slowing down to go eye to eye with it offers a sliver of comfort.

Because it means he happened.  And I will take all the bricks on my chest to feel him.  If I numb that then it takes some of him away.  I won't do that.

A thirteen year grief is way different than a brand new grief. Way different.  The weight isn't sharp.  It doesn't make me bleed.  It's just..... heavy.  And sometimes it makes me cry.

And it slows me down significantly.  That frustrates me.  January is a fast paced month.  Things need to get filled out and filed and finished up and started.  Slow doesn't work well with January.  But I have to.

I was elbow deep in dishwater and bubbles.  "You need to go lay on the couch and be still."

Ha! That's silly.  I don't do that.  That's not a part of my life.  It's not a thing.  What a strange thought.

"You need to go lay on the couch and be still."

Insert eye roll.

"You need to go lay on the couch and be still."

It was like a Jedi mind trick.

"Why yes.  Yes - I DO need to go lay on the couch and be still for a while!"

Grief slows me down.  And it should.  If I were counseling someone else through a younger grief I would admonish them to please, please slow down.  To rest.  To allow great big margins in the time period when grief hits the hardest.  And I guess God is trying to teach me to offer that same grace to myself.

I might still take some deep breaths, and try to reposition the weight away.  -Much of it is on a subconscious level and human nature does it's thing.  But this January I will place my hand gently on the place where the brick is on my chest.  I whisper his name and remember his feathery hair nuzzled against my cheek.  If I'm going to have Big Feelings - then I will choose to go both ends of the spectrum.  I won't numb the pain away.  And in so choosing, I will feel the ecstasy of those January moments too.

See, that brick on my chest can't take anything away from me.  And honestly - I think it's giving me more than I may ever know.

On redemption and blue frosting

{When the dying's over 


When the last tear falls

 
When the empty wells overflow 


To fill us all…}

Always - a separation felt deep. How does one harmonize the joy of life, miracles, and stuff that dreams are made of…

…with dark and foggy memories that cause a knot inside?

{…Redemption 


We'll see it with our very own eyes

 
Very own eyes 

and we'll realize 


We're alive for the very first time 


The very first time…}

{…Burdens we have carried 


Melt away like snow 


Loved ones gone before us

 
Welcome us home…}

So, we celebrate

we throw ourselves fully into now

we know this is us,

woven into the fabric of every single one of our earthly Januaries. 

Written into the Story of Our Life.

This is our life.

{…Redemption 


We'll see it with our very own eyes 


Very own eyes 

and we'll realize 
We're alive

 for the very first time 


The very first time…}

This is January. 

This is our ebb and flow. 

This is our story.

There is an unbidden familiarity about it now. 

{…Someday we will remember how to fly

 
Then we will rise like embers burning bright

 
Everything broken will be whole again…}

{…We are the ransomed


We are the redeemed

We are the bride 


And shall forever be


Loved from the start without end 


It will not end…}

{…Redemption

 
We'll see it with our very 

own eyes 
Very own eyes…} 

{…and we'll realize

 
We're alive for the very first time 


The very first…} 

 We rejoice (really, really deep thanks) over what each candle means to us,

 we giggle over Caleb-isms…

and we grin over this fun little fact: blue + frosting = blue teeth.

{Redemption

 
We'll see it with our very own eyes 


Very own eyes 

and we'll realize 
We're alive for the very first time 


The very first time.}

Happy 11th birthday, K {Born prematurely into this world at 10:36 pm on January second, two thousand three, and thriving…}

And always, always in this mama's heart - we love you J.D. 

{Born prematurely into this world at 10:30 pm on January second, two thousand three.

Alive for the very first time in heaven at 9:00 pm on January twelfth, two thousand three.}

"Redemption" - By JJ Heller

{When the call comes, and That Door opens}

I've written minimally about my work with the non profit organization Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. Obviously there's confidentiality and  respect for the families, which makes this a rather private endeavor. At this point I have done several of these photo sessions for grieving families. Although I have not yet tried to put many words to my experiences with NILMDTS, my heart and head are very full on this subject.

These are some of my free-flowing thoughts, finally making their way down to the blog. 

For more on this organization, you can see the NILMDTS website. 

********************

I'm behind the door in the space that has been their home for the last 48 hours. Forty-eight excruciating hours.  I'm trying to be as unobtrusive as I can be, to melt into the walls. It's not that I do not want to be there, for I am truly in all action mode and I am ready. I am feeling every bit of the professional that I need to be for the moment.

My eyes are seeking, and my mind is ready. I wait for the moments. I'm watching this family unite and converge in a common grief. No, it's not fun. It's not about fun. It's about Ephesians 2:10. Hearts are shattering all around me, but the peace in my spirit is all consuming, and there isn't a second of anxiety or indecisiveness. I know what I need to do, and I am doing it.

I frame up the family hands clasped around the sweet little baby, so brief a life. My camera comes to my eye and the flash of light suddenly seems too bright. Brighter than it has been in the past. The electronic click that usually dissolves into background noise seems suddenly harsh and startling. I look around. They don't notice a thing, and I am glad. Their focus is on the preciousness in front of them, and the assault of pain crashing down around them. My heart twitches, but it never caves. I know the difference between their pain and my pain. It's not about me. 

Grandpa looks away from baby. I study him for a moment, and catch his far away look with my camera. He glances distractedly in my direction. He's ok with my presence now. I'm glad. He wasn't sure when we met in the waiting room. That corridor overflowing with love and pain and questions. But mostly love. As a stranger looking in, I felt the nearly palpable concern and affection that this group had for one another. I had knelt at each chair and quietly inquired who each individual was, and briefly explained my role in this nightmarish day for them. He hadn't heard, and had approached me warily. Something about him reminded me of my own father; maybe the beard, maybe the gruff cover up for tenderness. I pushed back the intimidation I initially felt, and lightly touched his flannel clad shoulder.

"I'm here to take pictures."

"Yes, she asked for me to come." 

The grieving mother is his baby. The little breath of heaven, now returned there, was to be his first grandchild. IS his first grandchild. And there's no way he can wrap his mind around all of that. He is protective and detached all at once.

"No, I don't work for the hospital."

"No, these photos don't have to be taken."

"No, no money, no orders, they are for you all, and they are a gift. No charge."

He looked up from the floor and for a second he allowed his eyes to look into mine. And we were okay. I don't know what he saw there, but after that, we were ok.

So, I'm still in their "suite", that hospital room with the pale yellow walls and the slight antiseptic scent. I am watching something stunning and ethereal unfold all around me. I stoop down and turn to the side for another perspective. I'm nearly breathless, and how can I explain it? So many people can't grasp why anyone in their right mind would do this job. I can't promise that I am in my right mind, but maybe I don't need to be.

The young father, so focused on his beautiful + brave wife, yet torn by his shock and pain steps to my side. "Thank you, thank you!" - He's already said it so many times, and I just smile. We are all repeating ourselves alot. I've said it before, but I squeeze his hand and just whisper, "She's going to be ok". His gaze is locked on her. She goes from smiles to gut wrenching sobs in seconds.

His best buddy is sitting there; a true dichotomy of tough meets tender. His work boots and inked skin  mean nothing in contrast to the broken sobs.

At some point we exit and return to the red and yellow couches in the waiting area. I don't know when, or where, or how. I'll later realize I was there for over 2 hours, but time has no relevance at the moment. Mr. Ink + work boots tries to get a hold of himself and in a jerky motion points a thumb in my direction while wiping his face with his other hand.

  "I'd hate her job."

His voice is husky and thick with emotion.

I get it. It's very hard to understand.

Why do I do it? Is my heart so walled off that I click the shutter, void of feeling? Oh no. Not even close. But I have a job to do, and it is immeasurably valuable.

So, I approach him and give him the open look that says, "go ahead and ask all that you need to ask".

And he does.

Why?
Do you know of this pain?
Who drives an hour in a snowstorm to do something so heart ripping as this?
{He doesn't say "What is wrong with you?" - but I see it between the words that are uttered}.

As much as none of this is about me, I briefly answer. Yes, I do know some of this pain. And I do it because I know that someday this is going to be a treasure to a family forever scarred. - That those scars will turn to a beauty for ashes story, and these images will be a part of that redeeming process.

And I care. No, I've never met them before this hour, but yes I care. If you don't understand, I don't really have words to express why. My heart is overflowing with a love that has poured into it, and I care. 

His eyes are tender, if perhaps still rather disbelieving. We care for this couple. We are all in this nightmare together, so we say "okay, yes, let's do what we can."

I'm exhausted when I exit the parking structure. You know the adrenaline crash and the emotional effort. Yeah, it's that. But again, peace and fulfillment.

Of course it brings memories, and opens That Door. The door that compartmentalizes the ache of personal loss. There's no way around That Door. To do this work, we go through That Door. But God has covered That Door in softness and peace, and He Himself gently opens it and leads me in - sometimes even carries me in it and through it. And when each job is completed, images retouched and edited, letter written, prayed over and, with love, sent out in the mail, He graciously pulls the door half way shut. 

It's not latched, and certainly not locked. Because shutting the door on my pain shuts the door on my empathy.

And That Door doesn't even shut anymore because the pain is a part of me.

And it will be opened up all the way again when that call comes, so I keep it ajar and I pray to continually be strengthened for the job he puts before me.


"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn."

From Isaiah 61

{I'll bring you more than a song}

Can I just tell you that God cares, so much, about the details of your life?
-That he still speaks, and cares, and orchestrates, and pursues?

That's a place I just want to camp out at. I want to be there and stay there - on that truth.
Through all of the ups and downs in life;
the disappointments, and dry times.
The phases of life when I feel alone and directionless.
And the good.
The spectacular, mountain top, breathless moments.
I want to always be at this place of knowing, knowing, that God is good all the time and He is beyond worthy of my worship.

Sometimes worship takes a shape we don't recognize. And we need, we just so need, to see it for what it is. The root of worship is worthy {worth-ship}. Any time we acknowledge His worth, that He, Jesus, is worthy- we are worshiping.

I worshipped this week when I took little man to the doctor and we acknowledged that miracles do happen. 

I worshipped when God answered a prayer for us. You know those prayers? - "A red light or a green light, God - could you give one?" And it came in the form of a closed door. Worship? Yes. God is speaking. He is moving. He finds us worthy of his intimate hand in the details of our lives. Wow.

Worship. 

I worshipped when we were given a gift this week that really took our breath away. It spoke grace to us. I watched my husband worship and I watched that worship transform a weary heart to a heart drenched in grace. That Grace multiplied all over our family, and that - well that leads to more worship.

I worshipped in the presence of two very special friends, who lifted my heart and encouraged me.

I worshipped in the finally-arrived-spring-time-weather, when I got to get out there with my camera again, and jump back into the job that I love.

I worshipped when sleep was eluding both Dave and I in the wee hours of the morning - and we talked and prayed and talked some more.
About what God is doing and how He moves.
About His crazy love.
About our little family, and our purposes.

I worshipped on my bike this week. 5.5 miles with a tandem behind me. Dave in front with a lil' tator in  front of him and K in the cart behind him. Beauty all around us as spring struggles to make its presence known. Too much not to acknowledge that He is worthy.


And then this morning.


I was scheduled to be on the worship team at our church this morning. Apt, right? All this talk about worship, passion for it, spilling over to our church family. Good. I practiced from 8:30 - 9:30 with the other vocalists and musicians. On my way to Sunday school I had the prompting to check my voicemail. - Not something I usually do on the way to Sunday school. No one leaves me voice mails on Sunday mornings. But there it was.

The hospital I had 3 of my babies in. The birthing center calling me because my name is on the Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep registry {Providing the gift of remembrance photography for parents suffering the loss of a baby}. I signed up for it a year ago, but never really became active with it. The photographer who usually takes the photos for them on vacation…. and they wondered, could I do it?

Well, there was Sunday school,
and boys,
and one vehicle,
I didn't have my camera, and I was tired,
I was on worship team….



As I drove into the parking garage at the hospital I sent a text to Dave,

"This is my worship"

And it was.

I went from shaky and unsure of my capability to do what I was being asked to do, to confident, ready, and completely calm.

Hugging and praying with the sweet little mama. Little fingers and toes seen through my macro lens.


None of it was coincidence, and down to the smallest detail, God was in all of it. I later told Dave that God did it, and I was just along for the ride. That's how it happened.

Even in his name; the sweet baby boy, now in the arms of Jesus - even in that detail it was this clear sign from God.

 "Here it is - here's right where you are supposed to be right now. I haven't forgotten what your heart trudged through. I haven't forgotten, and this multiplies your purpose."

His name was Joshua.

And I got right back to church at noon on the dot.

And that, friends, is worship.

That dash { - }

I don't have time to write right now.

I'm going to write right now. ;)

This week we hit the ground running after our short but sweet trip west and back east again.

I'm tired and not feeling like I am in 100% good health right now, but it is enough. I have enough strength for each minute, and I am learning that is all I need. 

He is enough,
they are enough,
and right now I.have.enough. 


Lots of grappling with life,
and earth vs. heaven,
and God's sovereignty,
and finding light in the midst of darkness. I know, it's alot. That's where I am at right now.

I remember just a couple of short weeks ago, standing at Joshua's head stone on the 10th anniversary of his death. I usually trace his name with my finger, and my eyes scan the carving of Jesus holding a baby. That's my usual point of fixation.
His name.
My last name.
Jesus holding him.

This year though, I just could not take my eyes off that tiny dash.

Joshua David McCallum 
1-2-03 - 1-12-03

-

Just that  -


When my focus was on that dash I felt a mixture of grief and an excitement bubbling up in my heart, compelling me to action.

In the last 3 weeks we have faced this 10 year anniversary,
we have found out that my aunt had passed from this world to the next,
and then my uncle, at age 59, as well.

And really, I just keep thinking that it could be any time for me.  It could be 10 minutes from now, it could be 60 years from now.

But that dash;

the simple -

I want it to count. 

I want that little line carved in stone to be representative of big things. I want it to be screaming "that date before me, her date of birth, until that date right after me, the date she no longer lived in this place, there was so much!

She didn't hold anything back.

She didn't care if she fell flat on her face while trying to live the life full of good works that God had planned for her before she was even born.

She lived with reckless abandon to bring glory to her Father in heaven! 

She lived for the date after me.


And the bad news has not stopped coming in.

A friend with an aggressive breast cancer… and wee babe growing inside as this disease sneaks in.

More cancer… more friends…. more darkness.

People I love who are grieving and wrestling and struggling.

It can be overwhelming.
Dark.
Heavy.


And then I fix

                      my

                           eyes

                                  on

                                       Jesus.


And when I do that, the heavy leaves. Because he is more than able. He is more than enough. We don't get why He is allowing some of this. We just don't get it some times.

 {We are made from dust, and sometimes dust can't quite comprehend the heart of the maker}

But I DO get that He is GOOD. He is faithful. He is unending. He is all powerful. And he is all about eternity. Sometimes during that dash;

that little - 

we will face things that don't seem fair,

that are uncomfortable,

and that may even feel excruciating,

but…

He sees the end and the beginning.  And He says,
"Hold on, you can do this.
Lean on me, and watch my glory shine through you.
Watch your life count for something of eternal value.
Watch redemption happen."

{My reasonable service}

I came across this quote by Elizabeth Elliot today, 

"This job has been given to me to do. Therefore, it is a gift. Therefore, it is a privilege. Therefore, it is an offering I make to God. Therefore, it is to be done gladly, if it is done for Him. Here, not somewhere else, I may learn God's way. In this job, not in some other, God looks for faithfulness."

It really struck a chord with me. 

I thought of all the times that I wanted a "different cross to bear." - Because surely some one else's troubles would be lighter than mine, right?!

 Um… no. :) Different… sure. But we have each been given a distinctly unique area to glorify God in. We have a choice:
to embrace it, 
run with it, 
and radiate light while we are living it, 

or 

complain about it,
suffer discontentment from it,
and wish our days away. 

I have been able to see the testimony that I can have with the experiences I have been given. But, can I be honest? Oh the times that I have stubbornly grieved "my issues" - and wanted some other testimony. Another way to bring glory to God.         

...Times I haven't wanted to have the platform of the mom of a special needs son.
Changing a 10 year old's diapers,

Meetings upon meetings at school to figure out placements because of delays and fatigue and frustrations.

Doctors appointments all over the place.

And then he just looks at me, and his eyes sparkle, and I squeeze my eyes shut and say, "yes, this is mine - may my response to it be a sweet offering to you, Lord."

…Times I haven't wanted the stigma of loving my husband through the times he has struggled with what he puts before his eyes.
Really?
Do we have to go there?
Maybe he could be tempted by something else...

But oh, what I have learned about God, and his great love for us through this!

…Times that I haven't wanted the platform of being the mom who lost a baby. 

And there I found the very heart of God.

I could think of a ton of other "issues" that seem initially easier to bear. Perhaps a little more to my liking. 

I mean, hey - what if we could each "have it our way?!" Like a fast food restaurant. If we absolutely had to pick a few struggles, and we could choose from a flashing menu board?

"I'll have….anger, maybe impatience, and a  side of rebellion, hold the lust. Maybe a small helping of "sick child", but leave off the chronic special needs, please. And certainly no death. Let's just add a few minor struggles, if I have too, but miniature size that. Thanks!"

-And I just have to laugh. I know myself, and I know that I would be able to find plenty of ways to throw fits over any hand I would have been dealt. 

But this is mine. 

I lift my face towards the Son, and own it.

This

Is

Mine.

This is what God knew would be on my plate when he created me. Some days I can see the truth; that this is my reasonable service to Him (Romans 12).

That "bearing" all of this is nothing in light of what Jesus did for me, and even in light of what so many around me are in the midst of! 

That this is (*deep breath*) a privilege.  Yes - an honor, to joyful serve my Jesus in the middle of what he has placed me in.

It's mine, and I am giving it back to him with joy and surrender. 

-Doesn't mean these labels which define my roles are easy, but there is certainly a buffer on the raw pain when I imagine this……

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

It will be worth it all, when we see Jesus.

Life's trials will seem so small, when we see Christ;

One glimpse of His dear face, all sorrow will erase,

so bravely run the race, till we see Christ.

                                                           -Esther Kerr Rusthoi                  

I believe it. With my whole being I believe this. And that, my friends, is what gets me through. 

Monday morning brain dump

• I just updated the blog background. A little chevron always makes me smile
• I have been having the.most.adorable conversations with Kai. Three used to make me shudder. For some reason, this time around, it is the cutest age. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that this is my baby… and this is the last of age three that we will experience. I don't know, but what I do know is that God blesses me daily through this kid. 
• Kai is asking alot of questions about Joshua. He went to the cemetery with me on Saturday. So.many.questions. It was good. I really enjoyed talking to him about Joshua. I want all of the boys to really know about this slice of their family history. It is more important to me than I realized. Kai kept asking "who died?", and I would explain that K was an identical twin, and that they both were born too early, and they both were very sick…  and he would respond, "oh" - almost reverently.  He would then ask a few more questions. And then he would say "that makes me feel a little bit sad." -And then he would say, "who died, mom?" ;) Love that kid. 
• I am faithfully continuing my 365 photo project, after letting it go about 9 months ago. I had forgotten how fun it was for Dave and I to peek in at what we were doing a year ago, a few months ago, (or during those really forgetful times, a few days ago). It's mainly for us, and for a neat way to document the different phases in our lives, but if you want to scroll through my 365, feel free. Click here, or on the button on the right that says "365 "photo-a-day". 
• I sometimes feel as if the very breath of God is warm against my cheek when I am seeing things through the lens of my camera. I don't know how to explain it, but I know some of you just "get" this. 
• I am leading a Bible study, "Faithful, Abundant, True", on Tuesday nights and every other Thursday morning at my church. Wow. It's good, and intense, and so exciting to teach and learn from! Yesterday it took me a couple of hours to prepare for the week. I am falling more and more in love with the Word of God. I am finding a deep passion for discovering, pulling words out, finding definitions, cultural contexts, and application. I would *love* to go to Bible school someday and continue to educate myself in these things.
• Jay is starting chess club today. he is so excited, and it makes me smile. He already beats me in chess, so this can't be good for me. 
• We are doing all kinds of home improvement projects, and they are so fun! Dave is making us an awesome headboard and bed frame. The headboard part is built and just needs to be stained/finished. It is so pretty, with a shelf on each side and lighting built into it. Of course there will be pictures soon. I am also working on decorating some old windows. The boys helped me with this initial design. I will work on the final product soon, and then figure out where to hang them. :) I love stuff like this.  And I adore the fact that the boys made those little banners on top. They had huge grins when they showed me, because much like the color yellow, and chevron designs, sweet little banners are so "me" - and how cute that they know this?! 

-Oh, and my newly painted chalkboard pantry doors are very sweet too! 

• I am working out for the first time in a l o n g time. Right now I am rotating between the 30 day shred and Pilate's. It has something to do with the fact that Dave has been dieting, had a personal trainer, and is now working out regularly. 1) I began to feel like a wuss in his presence, 2) I started to see how much better he felt and how much energy he had. So, I am trying it. I have never in my life been athletic, played sports, or worked out much. When Jay was a baby I started doing Pilate's regularly, and kept it up for a while. I definitely got stronger during that time! That's the biggest thing I am working towards. I need to build strength! After 5 babies, and years of pregnancy/nursing/being somewhat physically sedentary there is alot of work to be done. The cool thing is that I just started last week, and I already feel like I am gaining ground. Dave has been a wonderful encouragement, even working out with me. I begged him to validate the fact that I was winded and sore after the first day, and he was kind enough to say that it was fairly comparable to what he has been doing at the gym. He's so nice. ;) 
• Michigan weather is bi-polar, and it caused me a few issues this morning. Over the weekend it felt like an early spring. We all knew it wouldn't last, but it was pretty pleasant. Last night it froze. Rain turned to snow/ice. So…. my van doors were frozen shut this morning, I could barely chip away at the heavy coat of ice on my van windows, and the roads were slippery when I took the boys to school. I had to keep reminding myself of all of the things that I have been teaching and learning lately. Just yesterday I taught our 2nd through 6th graders at church about *patience*. We talked about keeping our cool under adversity and pressure. So…. when I was chipping away at the ice, could not open my doors, was trying to hold K up while doing all of this, the clock was ticking away, and I was c o l d, I had to pause and take a very deep breath before continuing on with my duties. I *almost* threw a big 'ol childlike fit over it all. Seriously, I started grumbling through my teeth and felt my blood pressure rise. Two of my own kiddos are in the class I teach, and those 4 big beautiful eyes were glued on the mommy/teacher this morning. No time off for this lady. 
• This song has been having a huge impact on me lately. All about obedience, surrender, following, being light. It's been on repeat on my playlist alot these days. 

This one has been on repeat alot too. This turns any moment into a full-fledged-hands-in-the-air-awe in-my-heart moment of worship.




Have a great week, friends!

{My spring}

Today I googled the neonatologist who signed Joshua's death certificate. It has been 10 years, so I wasn't sure where she would be. It turns out she is on the west coast now. She has been for the last 8 years. No reason to find her, or see her face, or figure out what she is doing now. Just one of those strange emotional impulses. I'm really not a stalker (much).

She is in a specialty medical group helping critically ill newborns and researching respiratory support for sick little babies. I'm so thankful for those who are investing their lives into this field. It amazes me. Really, I can't imagine…

I am thankful for Dr. N, and her soft spoken and straight forward ways. We were in contact with her for 3 short (but oh-so-long) months, but of course she will have a lasting impact on us. There were 7 neonatologists that we worked with. It could have been any of them on duty that night, but I believe that it was her for a reason. There was a lot of compassion, and it was needed. She was kind and gentle, but she did not sugar coat anything. I am grateful for that because, believe me, if anyone would have thrown out any manner of false hope, heaven knows I would have clung to it stubbornly with all that I had.

So, she told us that there was some hope of possibly keeping him alive for maybe a few more days. Maybe. With intense medical intervention. And then she laid out the facts. His kidneys were non functioning. He was on a high frequency ventilator getting an absurd amount of breaths per minute. He was on a constant morphine drip. He was in pain. His little body was swollen to twice its previous size.  *shudder* That was hard.

She let us break all kinds of rules that day; letting family and friends filter in and out throughout the whole day. Letting anyone and everyone hold him.

Oh, holding him was hard. I wish I would have felt something that day - just let all of the raw emotions flow through my arms, and feel his warmth and his softness. I felt nothing. I held him and put him back in Dave's arms, and would eventually hold him again. And feel nothing. Sometimes my cheeks were wet, but it felt strange - like some one else's tears were falling down my face.

 I guess I could do numb. I couldn't do what January 12th 2003 was demanding me to do, but I could do numb.

She came on duty later in the day, I think. She would just be there, doing little tasks here and there. Then she would be gone when we needed privacy. Her intuition was greatly appreciated.

I don't think she knew that we had finally made the choice she had been inquiring about, until all of our family was gone. The doctors needed to know… They wouldn't push or demand, but we had been asked what our wishes were. He was too small for a kidney transplant or dialysis, or anything like that. They laid it out plainly a few times… and they waited.

I remember insisting that he have a blanket. Weird stuff becomes of heightened importance during times of intense grief. I wanted to keep the blanket that he had been wrapped in all day, but the thought of Joshua being without a blanket… even as he slipped away from this earth and into his heavenly home, was horrific to me. What silly, earthly, tangible things our minds want to cling to when they don't know where to land. Pretty sure heaven will be warm enough… But nonetheless,  the way she brought me that super soft yellow and blue blanket, and sweet light blue flannel gown for him is something I am still grateful for.

I wrapped him so carefully, and she slowly removed each tube and wire form his little shell of a body. She smiled and I saw glistening moisture in the corners of her eyes. I'm sure this had happened, in her line of work, over and over and over again. We found out later that she had slipped out of NICU room #2 and went into a private spot in NICU room #3 and sobbed. I don't know what kind of thoughts she was processing that night. Her authentic emotions were comforting to me though, and I think they helped begin to thaw mine.

The flannel gown that she brought Joshua had a butterfly on it. I still have it, because our dear friend, Chris made a custom designed gown for Joshua to be buried in. So the flannel one that he had on while we held him and said our final goodbyes is now folded neatly as a keepsake. The butterfly on the front is made out of medium blue ribbon. It makes me think about spring and new life and growth.

It makes me think about where we are at now.
It makes me think about beauty bursting forth from a pile of ashes.
It makes me think about Jesus,
and transformation,
and passion,
and redemption.

Right now it is winter here in mid Michigan, and when I look out my window I see two colors; brown and white. All of the bright green vegetation, and vibrant flowers are not necessarily dead. Much of it is waiting. In a state of dormancy. Expectation. Sometimes everything has to die, or appear dead, before it can truly live and thrive and burst forth with beauty. Like a butterfly.

My heart is full of thankfulness for the fact that God gave us Joshua, and one of the main reasons I can say I am thankful to have experienced his life and death is that he has rearranged my heart, changed my priorities, and showed me Jesus. Would I care so much about heaven? Would it be so real to me? Would that veil which separates where we are now from our final destination be so thin? I think not.

The winter of my heart has most definitely turned to spring. The thawing process and the Beginning to Feel was excruciating. Yes.

But I would not trade it for anything. I neither believe that it was God's plan for Joshua to die nor do I think he said, "Wendi needs a more eternal perspective, I will give her a baby and then take him back after 10 days in order for her to learn, for her eyes to be opened, for her heart to feel more, to show her myself."

-But instead I think that as his heart wept for me, and as he allowed the ripple effect of the sins of human kind to touch one of his beloved, he cradled my heart in comfort and said, "This will not go in vain. What was meant to harm you will be used in a million ways to strengthen you, and most importantly - to shine my light in this tainted world. Your spring will come."




Missing you Joshua David. 1-2-03 - 1-12-02

Thoughts on a new chapter in this thing called grief

Sometimes I can glimpse...

TRUTH.

Clearly, with no doubts. It's like, for just an instant, the fog of humanity lifts. The clouds part.


I feel so...

CLOSE to God in these rare moments, that everything else seems to fade.

And I am left...

WONDERING if perhaps, just maybe, this is what eternity could feel like. Maybe this is a taste of what we are being prepared for (oh joyous day).

Maybe this is a preview of what will be.


There is so much we don't see. So much to life. So much behind those empty faces. So much "big picture". 

{oh trees, part just once so we can see the enormity of the forest}

I grieve a life "lost" {but really, not at all}.

Almost a decade ago. 

My son.

But really? None of this is random. And none of this is...

MINE.


Steeped in sins stench? Yes.

Suffocating under... 

ONE exercise of free will, that led us

ALL into infinite moments of pain, grief, confusion.


That's it. It's not 

MY pain.

MY loss.

MY story.

MY tears.

MY memories.

MY perceived "lost moments".

and...

"What might have been's".

Every year -dates that tantalize me. Draw me away to a place all about...

ME.

What I "could have had". - How we could celebrate their birthdays together.

The fifth hook on the coat rack… with a black "J" above it.

The even number of hooks on it now look way too symmetrical. 


I can't mock grief and all of its imperative stages. 

I can't.

But… I have been {gently} shown a line in the sand. And I intuitively know when I am crossing it. On the other side of this divider is alot of

ME. 

And

DARKNESS.

An immeasurable amount of those cold

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN'S.


But they wouldn't have been. They are not.

Staying there - in that place, is as dangerous as any level of 

DISCONTENT

GREED

SELF INDULGENCE

and

ENVY that could be felt.


That… 

IS 

NOT

MY

LIFE.


My life, here right now, is not yearly birthday celebrations with identical twin boys. 

It's not the chaos of 5 boys. It is the chaos of four. 

My life is caring for one 9.5 year old with special needs.It is seeing the beauty in him every.single.day. 

My life is looking in the eyes of a 7 year old and hearing him. Really hearing him when he says that he needs some time alone when he gets home from school. 

My life is a 5 year old who can not help but endear the world to him as he expresses himself in that way, which only an "old soul" like himself could. 

My life is an almost 3 year old who grasps my hand and holds my heart. My life is my man. The man who comes home to me every single day. He needs me. And I need him. Because in our union - there is Jesus. 

And I see it now. That if I live outside of this beautiful life. If I pour over my photos of him and close my eyes to go to that place. Seeing him. Here. It's not okay for me. 

But if I stay here in the paragraph above. Right there. I will then have the freedom to truly live for all I was created to accomplish.

Joshua's life was never about...

ME.

His life is like this sacred, secret, God breathed event.

10 days of something I can't understand. 


I am honored to be a part of his story here. 

But now

NOW I have to live my story. 

My story is sharing the story of God becoming a man.. for us, and taking the tears I have cried. And defeating pain. 

That's my story. No more. No less.