To Our Child I Never Knew, Thank You…

Precious One,

Today, April 1st, is the 2nd anniversary of the day we lost you, the day that changed me from the inside out. As much as I struggle with facing this day each year, there is a strange sense of joy that comes, too, with this date creeping up on me. Though I think of you several times throughout each week, it is on this day that I feel complete freedom to bask in the tremendous beauty, and even the sorrow, that comes from being your mom.

I love you, Precious One. Had you stayed with us, you would have been around 16 months old, only 5 months younger than your cousin. You would have been walking by now and full of personality, I’m sure. You would have been so loved and cherished by so many people, Precious One. You still are by the two people who created you, your dad and mom.

The Lord and I often have conversations about why, in His sovereignty, He allowed you to leave this earth so quickly, before I even really allowed myself to fully acknowledge your presence, before we ever even got to see you through an ultrasound. The only moments you and I truly had “together” were when I was awoken from my sleep in a cold sweat and in piercing pain, yet you had not left me yet; it was only then, when I was sitting alone in tears that still stain my Bible, that I allowed myself to believe what I think the Lord had been trying to tell me for several days – I was indeed with child, that you weren’t a figment of my imagination but instead fully alive inside of me. It wasn’t 45 minutes later that you began to pass, and with you, a part of me died, too.

Over the past 2 years, I have often felt so incredibly vulnerable from, and lost in, my grief. As one who always easily expresses herself and is known as a very upbeat, positive person, it has been a very odd, humble journey for me to walk. There have been days that I wasn’t sure if I was going to get out of bed, let alone function like a normal human being. Part of that was from my already-taxed body’s reaction to your sudden disappearance, which left me in several months of hormonal havoc and most likely undiagnosed postpartum depression. Even when my body eventually healed, my spirit was often, and sometimes still is, slow to do the same. With each new pregnancy announcement my friends delivered, each new baby shower I participated in, each new opportunity to rejoice with our friends for how their family was growing, there was a very real, stinging pain that came (and still often comes) for your dad and me as we thought about you, your siblings, and the fact that we weren’t – and still aren’t – privy to having any of you in our lives. Who knows? Maybe we never will be parents. Only the Lord knows that. If there’s anything life has taught me, it’s that, as Christ-followers, we aren’t guaranteed anything but His presence, no matter our circumstances.

It shouldn’t surprise you that this isn’t the road I, or your dad, expected to take. In fact, this isn’t the road that we would have picked for our worst enemies. It is, however, the road that God has chosen for us for our good and, most importantly, His glory. Though the path has been long and steep, full of unexplainable hurt and so many detours I’ve lost count, I wouldn’t change, for even a moment, the fact that you exist. I wouldnt’ change the fact that, though we weren’t meaning to create you, in secret your dad and I glorified the Lord through the creation of you, Precious One. I can only pray that one day, when we are all glorified and together with the Lord, that you have somewhat of an understanding of just how much you have meant to both of us.

You will always be my child, and I will always be your mom. I will always love you. I will never forget you or forsake your existence. Besides your dad, you are who the Lord has used the most in my life to bring me closer to Him. Thank you for allowing Him to use you so powerfully in such a short amount of time.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I was pregnant with, and then miscarried you, around the Easter season. Thank you for allowing Him to show me that ultimately God cares far less about me being an earthly mother than He does about my sanctification, than He does about changing me into the likeness of His son, Jesus Christ. That is a fact that I admittedly don’t daily want to grasp, but in His goodness and through His grace, I am clinging to that Truth more and more.

Because of the work the Lord has done in my heart in light of your death, I am finding peace and freedom in the fact that my value and worth as a wife, and ultimately as a woman, is not found in whether or not I can successfully deliver children into this world. Again, I don’t believe that every day, but I’m getting better at looking at myself the way our Heavenly Father does, the way I would have wanted you to look at yourself, i.e. as whole and valuable not because of anything you have done but because of His finished work on the Cross, as enough.

Thank you for allowing Him to use you to soften my heart toward the thousands of fathers and mothers who, too, have lost precious children and/or are in the season of barrenness, a season that often is accompanied with such despair; this despair paralyzes so many and inhibits them to do Kingdom work because of the lies from Satan they, and often I, have believed. Though your life was but a vapor, you have left a Kingdom-impact, and for that, I am extremely proud.

So, until we meet again, I will continue to rejoice in the fact you are mine and safe with our Heavenly Father. I love you, much more than I even could ever say. Thank you.

Your Momma



Filed under 2015, Adoption, Baby, Marriage, Miscarriage, Purpose, Redeeming Loss, Sanctification

Why I Try To No Longer Sit Around Waiting For Our Adoption To Happen…


It’s been a really, really long time since I’ve written, I know.
I am here now, though, so take what you can get! ;)

Since the last time I wrote, not much in life has changed, except it’s now 2015. Also, as of the second day of the year, I am officially in the last year of my 20s. John and I are both settled into the jobs we began in early 2014 and, due to John especially finally being acclimated (for the most part) to his new career, our stress level here at home has thankfully significantly subsided.

Since I know you’re wondering, and thanks for doing so, let me go ahead and tell you: Despite us wishing it weren’t true, there really isn’t anything new to report regarding our adoption journey. Yes, you read that correctly — nothing new to report. I promise I’m not “hiding” anything. Believe me, had I news to report, I would be telling you! Alas, though, there is nothing new. We are not “expecting” a child in the immediate future and don’t even have any prospects on the horizon.

The birth mother due in December who did not pick us (the only one to whom we have been shown) should have had her baby by now. We pray that she and her child are both doing well and that the baby is happy and healthy with his/her new family. It’s strange thinking about how I very easily could have been an earthly mother by now, caring for my approximately two-week old child on my 29th birthday just a few days ago. That wasn’t God’s will for us, though; so instead of spending the day feeding and changing a newborn, we spent my birthday in another city just the two of us and then had dinner with a dear friend.

I wasn’t even fully aware of this shift in my thinking until just the other day when a close friend asked me how I was doing with the whole adoption thing. She mentioned she hadn’t asked in a while, and I hadn’t said anything, so she figured nothing was new, but she wanted me to know she cared. I did very much appreciate her inquiry, but as she expected, I had nothing new to share — except for one thing. I am starting to approach our adoption journey a bit differently, and until just a few days ago, I didn’t even know it.

As I told my friend how I had been feeling about how things were going, I found myself understanding what had been going on inside of me for the past several weeks. I used to literally wake up every morning and say to myself, “Today could be the day!” I would sometimes get up, go into our already-furnished nursery and spend several minutes praying on the nursery floor; at the very least, I would put a lot of emotional energy – almost every single day – into thinking and/or praying about our adoption all day long.

When we spent those few weeks this Fall praying and thinking through difficult circumstances that made us question even allowing our life book to be shown to the birth mother, just to in the end step out in faith and say “yes” on our end but not be picked and have no idea when we will have another chance to be shown, I couldn’t help but become very emotionally-vested in a child I will never see, let alone mother. I sincerely loved that child and, in some ways, still do. Because of that very surreal time in our lives, as well as watching close friends of ours walk through a devastating adoption-oriented situation, I think God began working in my life in ways I didn’t even realize at the time. He has been showing me grace and teaching me to demonstrate the same grace to myself.

Now, a few months later, I am still trying to learn how to truly leave our family’s future in His hands, not just in word but in tangible ways, as well. I am also, though, trying to learn how to keep my sanity, while I wait for someone (or more than one person) who seems at times like a figment of my imagination, while also displaying childlike faith that my dream of becoming a parent could happen tomorrow. It’s a delicate, sanctifying balancing act.


Don’t get me wrong. I always believed, and still believe, the Lord has His hand in our adoption plans. I have always wanted, and will always want, His will to be done and Him to be glorified, even if that means that I’ll never be an earthly mother, which is a possibility as harsh as that sounds to most. This process could take another year, or two, or three, or longer, or never even turn out the way we’d like…and if I truly want to be the happy, positive person that I have always been, I am going to lose steam fast if I keep operating the way I usually did the past year.

While I wait to see what He has for us, I am learning that every. single. day. I don’t have to – and can’t – emotionally submerse myself into anything and everything related to the fact we are not parents yet. I just can’t do it, if I want to stay sane and really be present in the present, instead of feeling guilty about the past and/or pining about the future.

I am learning I can’t wake up every morning and dwell on the fact that, “Today could be the day!” Could it? Sure. Of course I still believe that, but what if the “day” isn’t until 3 years from now? What do I do in the meantime? Pull myself off my nursery floor every day just to be filled with more disappointment when I am still waiting for the “day” to happen years from now, while most of my friends continue to be blessed with more children while I still wait to be able to be one’s mother and have nothing else to which I look forward?

No, instead I have changed my focus. Instead of daily sitting and thinking about my children for hours, I will be intentional in how and when I pray about my children, with some days devoted to more focused times of prayer than others. Some days I have, and will continue, to shut the nursery door when its emptiness is a little too much for my sensitive heart. I will still unashamedly ask for prayer for our adoption journey, and thankfully welcome concern from others regarding the process, but I will also be trying to celebrate the other things going on in our lives, too. I will do this even when those joys seem at the time to pale in comparison to the joy I’ll feel one day when I am, if the Lord allows, finally a mother here on earth – my deepest earthly desire not yet fulfilled. I will be a supportive, loving wife to my hard-working husband and believe that he truly loves me, despite my inability to provide him the biological children he always assumed he’d have and I, to this day, so desperately wish I could give him. I will do my job with excellence and continue to well serve the 300 or so authors left to my charge. I will serve the Lord in my church and be thankful for the responsibility and privilege to serve ladies of all ages within our Body, as well as the children we’ll both serve soon in the nursery. I will continue to love my friends and their children, while also supporting and caring for those who, too, are walking their own lonely journey of infertility and/or adoption. I will be thankful I am able to be an empathetic shoulder (tangibly or figuratively, depending on their location) on which they can cry, because I know better than anyone else, sometimes all you need is a good cry on a caring shoulder.

As I continue to wait, but try not to sit around waiting for our adoption to happen, most importantly I will daily allow the Lord to sanctify me to His truth and try to walk in the power of His Spirit, seeking Him above all else. I will continue to be honest about the struggle it is to strike a healthy balance between acknowledging my God-given desire for motherhood and saying “not my will but Yours be done,” because that is all I know how to do.


Filed under 2015, Adoption, Baby, grace, Purpose, Sanctification

Where I’ve Been

I realize it’s been a while.

As much as I adore getting to do what I do, I tend to struggle with regular blogging when I am working in the publishing industry.
When you are working  as a Project Manager with dozens of others on their writing all day, at least for me, the thrill to write out my own thoughts tends to gone by the time it hits 5pm. Frankly, I seem to be more excited about my authors’ projects than my own writing these days. If you knew the whole back story of the last 2+ years and what drew me back into the industry I abruptly left, you would probably have a deeper understanding of why I feel such redemption through my work. Maybe one day, years from now, I will feel comfortable publicly sharing all of those details; today is just not that day.

In any case, as you have probably noticed, my public writing is fueled 99% by what I’m processing with the Lord; it’s emotional, it’s vulnerable, and rather intense — just like me.  :) I do want to start writing about some of the tangible parts of our adoption journey, as many have you have requested. To be honest, it just hasn’t been one of my top priorities. As I’ve written about before, the present is a very busy season for us. I’m having to be very intentional with my time or I don’t even get done the things that help our household run smoothly. Sadly, me sitting down on the couch after work and writing a blog post is not a way in which my over-stressed husband feels loved; he likes things like food, calming walks and eye-to-eye contact. To combat the constant busyness, though, I am going to sit down soon and try to get a blog “schedule” figured out, so stay tuned.

Before I go, thanks for all your prayers, private messages and support during this season of my life.  It means more than I could ever say to know that they are people, many I don’t even know all that well, are praying for us and are unborn children. As we tarry on, the Lord continually reminds me that He is enough and always has been.

A fear-driven question, “What if you are never a mom?” daily pops in my head. I’m training my heart and mind to automatically respond, “Then, Lord, You are still good.” Do I always want to say that? Of course not. I desperately long for motherhood. Even though it’s oh so difficult, I don’t want to waste this season of waiting. After all, it isn’t about what I want, anyway; it’s about how He wants to use my life for His glory and my good. In the end, when I put things in eternal perspective and take my emotions out of it, my ultimate desire is to know the Lord, with or without motherhood.

Have your way, Lord. Have Your way.


Filed under 2014, Adoption, Blogging, Life, Purpose

The Long & Hard Road

No one ever told me this season in life would be so hard.
More importantly, no one ever told me it would be so…lonely.
So very lonely, at times.

My husband and I both are experiencing very hard seasons in life. He is getting used to a new and exciting, yet stressful, job. Consequently, often (like tonight) the last month-and-a-half, because of the stress and/or lack of sleep the night before, he gets tucked into bed when there are still hours left of daylight. I, too, am getting used to a new job, and have experienced my share of long hours and work-related stress, though my job is thankfully slowing down and becoming much more life-giving. It also helps that I am now 2 months post- sinus surgery, so I am no longer heavily drugged or in pain; therefore, I can think straight, unlike when I first started. :)

For my Loves, his career, though he loves it, is his main source of stress and exhaustion right now.  For me, it is my empty arms and nursery, especially around Mother’s Day. For both of us, this is the hardest season of our marriage, and in some ways, our lives.

Last night, it was John’s turn to not sleep. He sat awake in the family room with his Bible,  sermons on his phone, and his nightlight while I snoozed away. I, on the other hand, had my turn the two nights before, when while he sawed logs, I slept no more than 2 hours in 48. I tried so, so hard to stay awake with him, as I usually do. The Lunesta I found in the cupboard from my surgery, though, beckoned my attention and wooed me into a deep, much-needed time of 12 hours of rest.

 To say that life is hard around the Payne’s right now is an understatement. We are exhausted, in all senses of the word. We are also closer than we have ever been. It’s funny how, if we are willing, the Lord refuses to waste our (and your) suffering, even the kind that involves the most stinging of pain.


Yesterday was Mother’s Day. Yesterday, for us, was in a way a living hell. We both didn’t make it through church without crying. John got close but broke down at the end. I never had a chance. We both cried some more later on in the day. To make matters worse, I had spent the last 2 nights up in the dark crying out to the Lord to please take this cup of sorrow from me.

He has chosen to call me to wait for earthly motherhood, and though I can quote you all the verses and know I am to be content, sometimes I am just not OK with that. I know that’s not the “Jesus” answer, or something of which I am proud, but that’s the truth. I can quote you all the verses (in context) and exegete the passages, but sometimes all I can manage to pray is, “I believe. Lord, help my unbelief!” To be honest, this road of barrenness has been much harder for me than it ever was to almost die at the age of 19. Can I say that without you judging me and calling me melodramatic? Maybe not, but I am going to say it, anyway.

Sometimes, the pain that is involved in not having our child who passed away, here or earth or any child at all, is just too much to bear for my weary soul.  With each passing announcement of another pending or new birth, I feel like part of my heart is being ripped from my chest, that I am slowly dying inside. I desperately long to be a mother, much more than I ever knew until I was asked to journey the road less traveled that involves not being able to have them. My husband struggles, too, though he tries to keep it together outwardly more than I do; for both of us, though we deal with it differently, it’s our Cross that we daily bear.

As I said on Facebook last night, though my journey is not normal (especially in my circle of friends), it is not unique. I know that. I know, even though Satan want me to feel like I’m the only one, there are millions of women who are either barren or who have miscarried; they understand my pain in a very tangible way. As I also said, though, we women need each other. We need each other, no matter if we are the mother of 8 kids or on our 8th year of painful infertility. We all have something to learn from, and more importantly to offer,each other.

We need to rejoice with those who rejoice just as easily as we mourn with those who mourn. There are a women on both sides of the coin, women who deserve to be loved and fully met in their current season, even if that season is the polar opposite of ours. Is that always easy? No. It is always necessary? Yes, for the benefit of all involved.

Why? Why force ourselves to enter someone’s joy when we are hurting or embrace their sorrow when our life is far from sorrowful?
Because that’s what Jesus would do and calls us to do, as well.
After all, we are to be His hands and feet.

Why? Because that’s how we learn to do live life – the good and the bad of it – together as the Body of Christ.
If you just focus on the good, you lose sight of our utter dependence on Him, of the perfect Redemption to come.
If you just focus on the bad, you lose sight of the beauty of grace and God’s constant hand in our lives.

So, even though my arms are still empty this Mother’s Day, and I just experienced 2 of the darkest days in my life, I publicly celebrate and honor those to whom I am close who are mothers. I love you all and think you are doing a great job. Happy Mother’s Day.

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Filed under 2014, Adoption, Baby, grace, Life, Marriage, Purpose, Sanctification

Why I Still Love Our Empty Nursery

Like most young couples, there is a room in our home designated as a nursery. The only difference is, unlike most others, this room was meticulously prepared without even knowing when the baby is going to arrive.

Like the old hymn, Coming Again, I am reminded constantly that our baby’s coming “may be morning, may be noon, may be evening and may be soon”…or it may be years from now.

Yes, the room has all the trappings of what you would expect for a baby’s room, but there’s no child anywhere to be found. Instead, there are grey walls longing for a personalized tree decal to be put on them, an empty, white, sleigh-style crib with Pottery Barn Kids bedding that is used as a clothes rack, empty dresser drawers (minus the old computer currently residing in one of them), a comfy, custom color rocker no one rocks in, and a super awesome, owl lamp (thank you, HomeGoods) that no one turns on. There is a corner full of expensive gadgets (play mat, stroller, car seat, and a baby carrier) that have never been used; some haven’t even been put together.

Most of all, our nursery is filled with a lot of hopes and dreams, but also a lot of fears and worries. Some days I adore going in there. Other days, which are few and far between but still my reality, I have to shut the door and forget it exists.

Many friends warned me that putting the nursery together so soon may not have been the best idea. They cautioned me of how hard it would be to stare at an empty nursery, especially if we waited a long time to adopt our child(ren). They told me it was something they would never do. They encouraged me by saying they would help me whip up a nursery in no-time, once I knew that a baby we could call ours was on the way.

Though I knew my friends had the best of intentions and were just looking out for me, I didn’t listen. And you know what? I’m so glad I didn’t. Though sometimes dwelling on its uselessness (at least right now) can cause me pain and angst, I needed this nursery. I needed this nursery much more than my children ever will.

The Lord knew that, though, which is why He gave me such a clear vision for that small space. I’ve asked Him for a vision for every room of our house (call me weird), as I love decorating but also want Him and others to feel welcome in our home. The people (besides John) I most want to feel welcome into our home are our children, the ones for whom we have prayed for by name for so long.

I want Noah James or Hannah Grace to know (I realize they won’t really “know” but you get what I mean) from the moment they are brought home just how much we have longed for them, so much so that we had a room all ready for them even when we had no idea when they were getting here. No, my children will not be an idol. I want them to feel loved, anticipated, cherishes. Yes, my relationship with the Lord and my husband will always come first (a post in and of itself), but I absolutely adore my kids, and I don’t even know them. Other than praying for them daily, the only tangible way to show them that right now is by creating for them a safe haven that will one day, Lord-willing soon, be their very own.

Hopefully, they both like grey, white and chevron. :)

Yes, for now having a completed nursery and no child means I have to stare at a crib that is only used right now as a clothes rack for John’s many suit pants. It won’t be like that forever, though. I know that, though sometimes, like last night, the enemy does his best to whisper fears into my ear and tempts me to allow them to sink into my heart. Sometimes the fear and the worry grips me more than other times; usually when I am stressed (like now — both of us changing jobs in the past month has led to very hard-and-fast transition) it is the worst. During those times, the thought “it’s always something keeping us from being parents” or “sometimes I don’t think this is ever going to happen” creep in. Thankfully, though, by nature I am a positive, the-glass-is-always-overflowing type of person, so those times of utter desperation and deep sadness are really few and far between – not that I don’t have them. I am human, after all.

I won’t lie. Having a nursery when you don’t even have a “due” date is not easy. It’s not for everyone by any means. It is, however, for me.

More importantly, the Lord constantly uses that back room to remind me that He is the Creator and Sustainer of my children, that He is bringing them to us in His timing and His way. He is using it to remind me that my children do exist, at least to Him; they are not just some figment of my imagination, though the enemy would have me believe otherwise. My loving Father is reminding me through sitting on the floor of a room that used to look completely different that He truly does make all things new, either now or when we are glorified and with Him and reunited with our baby we never met. He is reminding me that there can be JOY in the waiting, if I just allow the Holy Spirit to fill me and sustain me. He is reminding me that our journey – all of it, griddy-ness and all – matters.

Thank you, Jesus, that our messy journey to parenthood matters to You.
Most of all, thank you that our kids do, too. Lord, I believe; please help my unbelief.



Filed under 2014, Adoption, Baby, grace, Nursery, Prayer, Purpose, Sanctification

Until We Meet Again…

Beloved One,

I am writing you this letter just a few hours before the one year anniversary of when you left us that early April morning. In some ways, that painful, horrible day (and the day that followed) feels like it was just yesterday, and in others, it feels like a lifetime ago. A day hasn’t gone by, though, when I have not thought about you, about what my and your Dad’s life would look like had you survived, been born and been in our arms the past 4 months. You aren’t here, though, and no matter how much I wish otherwise, you are not coming back. No matter how much I wish otherwise, the part of me that went with you is not coming back, either, this side of Heaven. No, Little One, you have a piece of your Mommy’s heart, and I pray you can sense that as you sit safely at the feet of Jesus instead of snuggled in my arms.

Though He answered my prayer for a child in a way in which I was not imagining or planning, especially during that time when we were just starting the adoption process and working through the surrogacy option, I need you to know that just because you were not planned, that does not mean you were not loved nor wanted. Had He allowed you to stay, I would have risked, and even given, my life for yours, Beloved One, and I would have done it with great pride and without second thought. I would have done anything in my power to give you life here on Earth, but now I am forced to live with the fact that I am called to continue to live my life without you physically here with me.

Though I never had scientific evidence that you existed until after you were gone, and often doubted what the Holy Spirit told me and instead felt crazy and unstable for believing you were inside of me during the days before you were taken Home, I am thankful that I allowed the Lord to speak so powerfully to me during that time. I am thankful that His presence was shown so powerfully to me during that morning one year ago when I woke up at 5:15am in a cold sweat and with stabbing pain. For those minutes you were still with me, instead of waking your Daddy, I knew the LORD was asking me to go out to the family room and be with Him. I knew He was asking me to pray the same passage (I Sam. 1:1-19) that I had prayed so many hundreds of times over my children. I also knew that He was asking me to give you back to Him, when I was not even 100% sure you existed, to trust Him with my children’s future, just as He had asked of me hundreds of times. Furthermore, I knew He was asking me to put away my doubt and believe what He had told me, to embrace the fact that I was indeed with child, and then just as quickly, let you go. As I got on my knees and cried out to God, the last thing I wanted to do, Little One, was let you go. As I felt my body begin to reject you, I felt as if it was rejecting me, as well.

The days after a medical diagnosis finally told me what I had known all along (that you were gone) were dark and felt like an eternity. I had no idea the grief I would experience or how hard it would be to say goodbye to someone whose existence was never tangibly verified until they were long gone. Many people were very well-intentioned but few and far between had the right words to say, and even those who did, quickly moved on and were not comfortable with the months it took to process my multiple layers of sorrow. I had no idea the grief ran so deep until I began working through it myself, but it was a necessary evil for me to walk through all of it, even if hardly anyone understood or knew how to handle the hot mess I was for a very long time. I couldn’t stand the thought of planning for another child during the time you were supposed to be growing inside of me; it felt, at least at the time, like a betrayal. I was just so afraid of forgetting about you, of not giving your life tremendous value when our Creator knitted you in my womb and gave you personhood from the beginning, even when you weren’t known about. You, Beloved One, are a person who may not have ever had the opportunity to live on Earth but still has a God-ordained, Kingdom purpose far beyond what I could have ever conjured up on my own for my first child.

I have seen how you, as microscopic as you were, have been an encouragement to other women who have also lost their precious babies due to my willingness to speak about you, to not give into the temptation to feel shamed and therefore hide the imprint you made on my heart, on your Dad’s heart. I have seen how speaking about you has caused others to re-visit the memories of the children maybe they lost even several decades ago, after literally 30+ years of trying to convince themselves it was too “silly” to still miss them after all of this time.  The Lord has so graciously used you to heal not only your Mommy’s heart but also others’, as well. As much as I would love to have you here with me, Little One, knowing that God still had a plan for your short life brings me great joy and pride; it helps me to see the divine purpose for the horrific loss we have endured. It helps me to continue to understand God’s sovereignty and goodness amidst human suffering, which I know is my life calling and a concept that is a great privilege, yet very, very hard, to truly grasp.

There are still days when I think about how you are gone that my heart aches just as much as it did a year ago. There are days that I wonder like whom you would have looked, whose personality you would have had. There are days I look at my friends’ children, who would have consequently been your friends, and I imagine you playing with them. There are days I laugh and play with those precious children and long to laugh and play with you, to shower you with affection and look into your eyes and tell you just how much I love you. As time moves on, though, I am learning to celebrate the eternal difference you have made in my life and the lives of others’ more so than dwell on the natural desire I have to be the mother of an almost-four-month old, whom I get to tangibly love every day, instead of the mother of a child who is absent from the body but present with the Lord. His ways and thoughts truly are higher than ours, though, and I know He has answered my prayer and has used you for His glory. No matter how many children we welcome into our home, you will never be replaced; you will never be forgotten; you will always be loved, just as much as they are.

Until we meet again, I love you, Beloved One, and always will.





Filed under Uncategorized

When It’s Been Too Long

I have about 20 blog posts in my head that never got written.Oh well. What can you do? What can you do? I am here now. :)

Though extremely busy, 2014 has been exceptionally good to us thus far. This place of grace and happiness has been a welcomed change, indeed.

I will update everyone on the changes we have seen in our lives soon. In the meantime, I just wanted to publicly thank my Heavenly Father for all He has done, is doing, and will do on behalf of my family. As I bask in His grace, I am continually reminding myself of just how good and sovereign He will always be, no matter our circumstances.

After all, it is not just on the mountaintop that we are called to say, “Blessed be Your Name.” During this time of vast earthly blessing, I am trying to consciously remind myself of that every single day. I am no stranger to the fact that, with God’s permission, life can drastically change. I am aware of the fact that, within minutes, life can hurt, can wound in ways you could never imagine. He, though, thankfully always remains the same.

Right now, though, after seemingly being asked to stay so long in one valley or another, I am standing on the mountaintop and see nothing but blue skies around me. I know I owe it all to the One who is the Giver and Sustainer of life itself.  I can’t wait to see what He has in store for us next. :)

Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us,to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generationforever and ever. Amen.”
Ephesians 3:20-21





Filed under 2014, grace