The Valley

I’ve  been in the valley four years now…

I can remember at the beginning of my journey I thought it had an end. 

And I thought, the sooner I was willing to start the journey, to do the work, to get dirty with my feelings--the sooner I would come to the end of my journey--healed.  

You know, people say that to you, “I am praying for your healing.”  I thought it was a thing.  

So there I stood at the edge of the valley, pep talking myself to just take the first step, enter into the darkness, conquer it, and go home. 

So I put on my pack full of the only tools I could think of: my bible, favorite pens, quality paper, all the grief books I had been gifted (this is also a thing), the best worship songs, and chapstick. 

I started my descent.  (Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Psalm 23:4)

Immediately it was colder and a little more harsh than I had expected.  I pleaded for God’s protection and he was faithful to answer. (He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Psalm 91:4)

My journey continued and I realized, just because I was willing to do the work didn’t mean that the work was going to bend to my will.

Grief scoffed, “I don’t follow your rules” when I demanded it get on board or get out of my way.  

Strong willed and stubborn, I refused to give grief it’s way.  I was always looking for a way to sneak up on it and catch it unaware--and go home--The Victor.  

Bloody knuckled, dirt stained nails, tear streaked cheeks, worn out, and weary--I surrendered.  

And God handed me a flashlight.  (Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. Psalm 119:105) 

And bit by bit, God is revealing to me that there is beauty, even in the valley. There are things that can only be revealed in the valley--not on the mountain tops. My time here is worth every moment.  (For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 2 Cor 4:17)

I’ve been in the valley for four years… 

Swim in the Rain

The day that Truman Scott and Asa Mattes met in heaven, the Mattes family showed up on the doorsteps of the Scott’s Texas Farmhouse at 11 pm after making the 6 hour drive from the Arkansas Ozarks. Before that night our families had never met. 

But we were united by loss, by love, and eternal hope. 

The loss of our curious toddlers, who we both feel as though we failed to protect—connected by threads of shame and guilt. Bonded by the love we have for our families on earth and for our sons in heaven.  And bound by hope in the eternal glory promised to us through Christ’s sufferings. 

That late night on the dim farmhouse porch, when we embraced, our hearts knew each other. Our souls were not desperately longing to convey our pain to strangers. The Scotts were intimately acquainted with our sorrow and three years ahead of us on this journey.  

After a brief introduction we retreated to the 41’ RV the Scotts rented and placed on their 600 acre farm. The RV was given every detail for us: coffee with plenty of sugar for Paul, fruits and veggies in the fridge, a lake bag with towels and snacks, a diffuser with a serenity blend essential oil, a beautiful new bible, an “In the Valley” necklace for me, a journal, Pens, Truman Foundation merch, gifts, and much more. 

The next morning we shared a good ol’ southern breakfast of biscuits and gravy. The table was full—six of the Scott’s little ones and four of ours. A full table always fills my heart. 

Tim Scott is a man’s man and calls his shop, plus his acres, of collected farm equipment his “jewelry shop” and my husband loved Tim’s jewelry. They instantly connected—Truman was Tim’s “best fren” and Asa was Paul’s “little buddy”.  It was good to see two men, two fathers, grow misty-eyed together and laugh together as they shared their sorrow and joy.

Tiffany is a petite, barefoot, summer dress kind of mamma. Her intentional parenting and the intimacy she shares with her children is beautiful. She is gentle. 

The teens connected and spent their time horseback riding and soaking in Texas sun. I cannot begin to understand my children’s pain or their grief and my heart longs for opportunities for them to find friends on this lonely journey. 

We spent hours at their private family lake. Children running, jumping, laughing, fishing, and squealing with delight filled the day. On that first day, Tiffany and I were visiting under the umbrella, lounged in the Adirondack chairs, when a heavy cloud let a few sprinkles go. We huddled under the umbrella waiting for them to pass. Then the rain fell harder and we jumped in the lake together. 

We swam in grief and in sorrow. And the rain on our cheeks turned to tears.  And from in the water you could see the fog lifting—refreshing rain on that parched lake caused hope to rise. Joy and sorrow danced together and hope was rising from the deep. 

Our family spent the rest of the weekend in fellowship and in rest. Taking in the slower pace of farm life and intentional community.

From the old church pew on the porch you could hear the creaky sound of a metal windmill and the whinnies from a small herd of horses while you watched the chickens peck the ground. The Texas skies reminded me of the song ‘Home on the Range’ and there was a delightful southern breeze that never stood still. 

Children played in the sandbox for hours and spent one dusk catching and releasing over thirty toads! Hammock naps, kayak and sunrise father+son fishing trips, s’mores, grilled dinners, and lake sunsets filled us. We were nourished and rested. 

Before we headed for home Tiffany picked up donuts from the bakery and we had Asa Sunday donuts and “mine own coffee”. She never said it but I saw she had planned cinnamons rolls for our departure day but on the morning that we had a pancake breakfast for Truman, I had told her we had Asa Sunday donuts. 

If I could put into words our gratitude for the Scotts and The Truman Foundation I would. But I simply cannot. 

To invite someone to the messy middle Of your hurt, to break bread together, and to offer hope where there is so much pain—is an astonishing act of love. 

The day Truman and Asa met in heaven their parents and siblings met on earth and our worlds collided with each other—forever united by love because #loveneverends and #momentsmatter.  #AsaSunday 

We’ll see you in heaven, boys! 

(A video link to Truman’s story)

https://www.teamtruman.org/

If This Is Familiar To You--We Can Be Friends

It all started around midnight--when the storms rolled through.  My adamant “no a/c” rule meant a midnight scramble to shut all the windows.  Next, my bleeding heart started to worry about the puppies.  Paul tried to convince me they were fine but when he realized there would be no rest for me until I knew for sure he threw on some shoes and with a heavy sigh he donned a raincoat to tramp into the lightning, thunder, and pouring rain.  At nearly 1 am he carried in four perfectly dry, safe and half asleep puppies.  A look of “I told you so” was not easily hidden from his face. But because he loves me so he said nothing. Having no prepared place for the puppies we kicked Watson, the weenie dog, out of his kennel for the night. 

We returned to our bedroom to find that the 1 year old and 3 year old had situated themselves perfectly over the entire bed.  Rather than risk waking them up the most appropriate thing seemed to be to simply squish ourselves into the lower ⅕ of the bed at their feet.  We got along fine like this for about an hour before one of them woke up and demanded to be soothed which landed me on the outer ⅙ of the of the bed with no leg room because Paul was still at the foot of the bed and without blankets.  At some point Watson, the freely roaming weenie dog, joined us. 

I was almost happy when morning came--even if it was to the 3 year old exclaiming merrily, “It’s morning time! Wake up! Will you read all my favorite books to me!”  We gingerly snuck out of the bed as not to wake up Jace and Paul, who had somehow made his way to a somewhat normal position in the bad. 

Downstairs I discovered that the 17 year old, who was sleeping close enough to the puppies to be annoyed by their incessant whining, LET THEM OUT OF THE KENNEL!!!!  Four puppies make a huge, gross, disgusting mess.  I groaned and threw a towel over it and whined that I just wanted some coffee before I had to adult.  I made it to the kitchen but before I could even start the coffee I discovered a weenie dog mess (remember that cute weenie dog we found on the dirt road and I could not, for the life of me, figure out why someone would dump such a cute dog--I KNOW WHY and have often threatened to return him to where we found him!).  

I finally made it to the couch with a hot cup of coffee, a 3 year old and a pile of picture books that I was hoping I could fake it through.  Why are kids so smart!  Why do they know when you don’t really want to but insist you do!  In nothing short of a miracle, I found the ipad (which had been missing for a couple of days) stuffed in the couch cushions.  I was so happy that he was ok with that for a moment and then...the 1 year old turned the corner and it was all over.  As I tried to find a place for the 1 year old to sit contently with him and not spill my coffee, River managed to GET IN THE PUPPY POOP!  Having no choice but the deal with it now I offered the boys sugary cereal and screens while I scrubbed a huge mess off our concrete floors.  Being the grateful person I am, I praised God that we had pulled the carpet up and I was cleaning concrete because “it could have been so much worse” and then I heard a crash--Jace dropped a glass and glass has no hope against concrete floors.  Being the realist I am, I grumbled that we had not put down appropriate flooring yet!

With all these crises I had somewhat lost track of time and kind of hoped the kids did too.  Thursdays are typically busy mornings for us but I was praying the kids would just let their usual activities slide and we could simply stay home, sip hot tea, read books and enjoy the stormy day.  We don’t even really drink tea but it sounded good. 

With the puppy poop and shattered glass cleaned up I decided I earned a trip to the bathroom ALONE! But, you can’t win for losing.  My quiet bathroom solitude was abruptly interrupted by the panic stricken (half awake) voice of the 13 year old, “Mom!!!  I have work!  Are we leaving soon!”.  Indeed it was ten minutes past time to leave.  I tried to follow the “when you have nothing nice to say don’t say anything at all rule” so I sucked in my breath and held in anything not patient, loving and kind that I wanted to say.  She continued, panicked, “Mom!!!  Mom!!!  It’s time to go!”.  Realizing she wasn’t going to stop talking to me I simply replied, wearily, “Ok.”  I found her standing outside the door in the hall, lips still poofy from sleep, hair matted to her face, eyes still droopy and in her pajamas.   

I quietly headed to my room to get dressed (because my sweet husband was still sleeping) and what did I find--another dog mess.  I cleaned it up with all the integrity and not a single cuss word (insert sarcasm that I’m not that good at using).  As I went to slip on my flip flops (because I’m classy like that)  I slipped my foot into pee.  The dog peed on my shoes.  Will there be NO mercy on me today!

We managed to all make it to the van and head to town.  I decided I would add “Super-Wife” to my list of titles before 10 am and save Paul from the horror of no sugar in his coffee.  Not a minute after getting the sugar and dropping Hallie off at work my fuel light came on and I grumbled at my husband because isn’t it his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.  I figured I could make it home without getting fuel but might as well stop now.  However in an effort to avoid hearing the boys cry for juice (Because they think if you get gas they get juice) I went to the more inconspicuous grocery store with fuel pumps.  Kids are so smart.  River said, “When Dad gets gas here he gets me juice.”  Well, I’m not your daddy!  Also, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet so I’m not going into the store. 

Because the day is thus far merciless, the fuel pump would not read my card and rather than go inside I decide I can just make it home without fuel.  As I’m driving off, I notice an older gentleman waving frantically at me.  He so kindly closed my gas tank for me since I had forgotten!  And then River began, “Mom, theres Sonics!  Can we go to Sonics.” and I just couldn’t fight anymore plus the way he says Sonics is cute.  And the carhops stand far enough away from you that they surely would not know that I had not brushed my teeth yet.  I ordered 2 small tator tots for the boys and when the car hop delivered them River was still crying, “I want a big tator tot not little ones!”  As annoying as it was I think it kept her from creeping to close to me.  

It turns out he was just as happy with a little tater tot as a big one--the 6 mile drive home was almost silent as they sat eating their Sonics tater tots.  But the peace could not last too long.  Once home I accidentally unbuckled Jace first and in defiant response River refused to get out of the car since “that is his job.” I had really reached the point that I had no coping skills left for gentle parenting in me and my parents started spewing out of me, “If you don’t get out of this car by the time I get to 3 you are getting a spanking!” He dug his heels in, crossed his arms and said nothing.  I took a deep breath, “River, I’m sorry I forgot to let you unbuckle Jace.  You can do it next time.”  And just like that he got out of the car as happy as a lark.

We rounded the corner of the front door just in time to greet Paul--who without words seemed to be saying, “I wonder how much trouble I’m in for sleeping in so late.”  I handed him the bag of sugar and with a smile said, “You are married to the greatest wife in the world.”

Eye on the Prize

I was supposed to run the Williams Route 66 Half Marathon today.  I didn’t though.  At some point, way back when it was totally unrealistic for me to think of it, I made some sort of goal and commitment to myself to run a half marathon before 2015 was over, then my son died, and that goal has been one of the few reasons I got out of bed.  I’ve trained for months, hundreds of miles.  I set my eye on this and made it a prize. 

Turns out, less than 36 hours before the race, I caught the nasty intestinal virus that has attacked what seems like every home in the county.  From a shameful distance, I watched several close friends and their families get taken down for a week at a time and I prayed, “Please, God, do not let me catch this bug before my race, I beg, please!”

Friday started out like any other day, but by that afternoon I knew something was wrong.  And by 6 pm, I was forcefully succumbed.  I remember thinking, as I wretched, feeling like my ribs were going to break, that I would rather be in labor.  That lasted on into the wee hours of Saturday morning.

Paul watched me agonize all day Saturday over the decision to attempt to race or not.  He watched me desperately try to will myself well only to fall back on the couch feeling miserable again.  He knows better than to try and reason with me.

Since the race was several hours out of town, I really had to make the call by early afternoon; otherwise we wouldn’t make it in time to pick up my race packet.  When the deadline hour came, I surrendered.  I would not race.

I knew that I could.  I could race.  I could cross the finish line; even if I had to walk it, even if it was so ugly…I could.  I come by that dogma from a father that served as a career Marine Master Sergeant.  But, I didn’t have peace about that.  My pride and flesh wanted to, so bad.  But there were risks.  I could be sidelined for days or even weeks from pushing myself to run 13 miles in below freezing temps while my body was fighting a virus.  And I just didn’t want to take that risk.  I need those steady, daily endorphins.

 

On a daily basis my emotions swing hard and heavy and most days the one thing that grounds me is fitness; the 5 am spin classes, a quick 3 mile run, a long two hour run…it brings me back to center.  Fitness steadies the boat being tossed by violent waves of the deepest pain.  And the risk of not being able to tap into that, because of my pride, just was not worth it to me.    It was one of the hardest judgment calls I’ve made.

 
I’ve heard and I’ve quoted (but of late have struggled to comprehend) that God can turn the ugly, the difficult, the challenging into good.   Today as I watched (on social media) my friends and peers excitedly line up and run the race, I wanted to be a little disappointed and maybe a little jealous, but God revealed the blessings he heaped upon me instead.

I spent Saturday in bed an on the couch.  Paul waited on me hand and foot; ice chips, jello, tea, chicken noodle soup and crackers, warm blankets, a toasty fire, the whole enchilada.  He corralled the toddler and sat close to me while I watched disgraceful amounts of Netflix.  And just as I was thinking it was a terrible time to catch the stomach bug I was also thinking that being nurtured by my husband could not have come at a better time; because if I were being honest, I spent the previous week being very hard to love.  Marriage is hard as it is and losing your baby adds its own unique set of challenges to that.  While I was most vulnerable, my husband ministered to me, even though I did not deserve such tender graces.  Humbling.

Since we originally were going to be out of town over night, the older children had arrangements to sleep over at Granny’s.  So we woke up Sunday morning with fewer children and no agenda.  That might not sound like a big deal but it is.  We are the kind of family that wakes up dressed.  Divide and conquer is how we manage life and being busy is how we cope.  Sundays are also particularly hard for us since Asa died. 

This Sunday, when I was supposed to be running the race I had worked so hard for, Paul and I ended up sitting in our pajamas, holding each other, watching home videos of our beloved son, and crying.  And when we were exhausted from crying, we turned on old hymns and cried some more.

 

As I thanked God for the sweet release I realized yet another blessing.   I ran the Fayetteville half two weeks ago.  On a whim, I signed up, showed up, and ran it without a single butterfly.  I did well and, best of all, I ran a half in 2015!

Furthermore, since I was preparing for the run today, I spent the last two weeks taking it a little easier than usual.  Typically, I wouldn’t be able to do that without beating myself up emotionally for it.  Honestly, I think my body needed a bit of a break.  Going at it hard for a while now and I think the rest was good for me—especially the mental break. 

So today I was supposed to run the Route 66 half marathon, but I didn’t.  And I’m glad.  

Jar Salads

Finally getting around to putting this together!

I am absolutely certain that someone has done this a lot better than me and it's available to you all...but, I'm doing it anyway.

I have a few mottoes in my health journey and "Progress not Perfection" is one of them.  It's so easy to be very, very overwhelmed by exercise programs, food choices, eating "styles", etc.  Personally, if I'm overwhelmed, I just sit down in the floor and throw a toddler tantrum.  I have to start small, easy, one step at a time...

I started doing jar salads because I knew I liked to eat salad, but disliked preparing a good salad.  Preparing a good salad is time consuming!  I know my personality and my lifestyle--if it takes a lot of time to prepare something healthy to eat, I will go for the easy, fast, less healthy option almost every time.

To prevent the latter, I shop and prepare salads once a week, jar them up, and enjoy one daily.  It takes me about half an hour to prepare--doable.  I like to prepare them on Sunday afternoons because that's a convenient time for me.  As for the ingredients--well, whatever is locally available, on sale, already in my home, and works in my budget--that's what I use.  It looks a little different every week.

So, start with whatever produce you want, prefer, can afford, have on hand, etc.

This week that looks like diced roma tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower.  I actually prefer cherry tomatoes (because they are delicious and you don't have to dice them adding moisture to your jars.)  But if you can believe, our tiny grocery store out here in the middle of nowhere doesn't stock them.  You do what you have to.

You prepare jar salads "upside down".  Whatever you typically want on top of your salad, put in first.  Also, put in any items with a lot of moisture in very first.  In this week's salads, my diced tomatoes and diced cucumbers go in very first and are on the bottom.  My veggies usually take up about 60% of my jar.  It looks like there will be no room for greens.  When you top your jars with the greens (I prefer a mix between baby spinach and a romaine mix), you'll be surprised at how much room you still have in there.

I may have mentioned this, but I'm a fan in using whatever you have available, what works for your schedule, lifestyle, budget, etc.  In this case, uhm, leftover pickle jars do the job very well.

Once you've finished your jars, store them upright in your fridge. Mine have been known to stay fresh for up to a week.

And now on to the good stuff!

Personally, what makes a good salad for me is produce, protein, and pop! :)

Once a week I might grill up several chicken breast, dice them up, and store them in the fridge.  I add them at time of serving.  If I haven't managed to grill up some, I buy the pre-cooked stuff (gasp, I know).  Also, maybe some diced ham, or tuna (they have those seasoned tuna packs that are really good) Same for bacon.  I might bake a ton of bacon, crumble it up, and save until serving time, or I might have the pre-packaged stuff depending on my life that week.

I keep a basket or a shelf in the pantry (nice and handy)  full of toppings for my salad:  almonds, sunflower seeds, peanuts, cashews, walnuts, crasins, raisins, bacon, croutons, etc.  (I seriously have to have some crunch on my salad).

I also love avocado, mandarin oranges, strawberries, and other fruits on my salad but don't add them until serving time.

So, I pull out my beautiful, convenient, healthy jar of produce and dump in on a plate, top with some protein, sprinkle with something crunchy, add fruit...and dig in!

Sometimes a plate just doesn't hold it all so I have to dump it in my huge salad bowl! :)

This bowl is way bigger than the picture makes it look.

And every time, as soon as you sit down to eat, your little one will request a snack as well!
(don't know how to fix the rotation. Sorry)

Let me be real honest, while I enjoy the fresh greens, I'm really after the goodness at the bottom of the bowl.

All that crunchy, flavorful, pop!

And that's a wrap ya'll! I decided I would spare you the picture of the shamelessly licked clean bowl. Your welcome.

P.S. for dressings--use whatever you want.  Some cool people make their own.  I don't really have time or energy for all that.  I'm a fan of some Newman's Own, a good vinaigrette, plain ole olive oil with vinegar, etc.  

Supporting Bereaved Families - Long Term

Long Term Support

This has been on my heart to share for a long time.  But, out of fear it would seem like a desperate call for help, or even worse—come across as ungrateful for everything we’ve been blessed with, I’ve avoided it. 

But I can’t help to think that someone out there wants to read this.  And at some point (even if it’s not in our family’s grief) this may help someone.  So, here goes nothing. 

In the first days and weeks after a terrible tragedy it’s easy (or should I say easier) to fulfill the needs of a grieving family.  There is nothing too small or too great.  It’s all so needed.    Boundaries are temporarily broken down and it’s socially acceptable to complete intimate tasks for a family in mourning.  But, then the dust settles (about a month after tragedy).  And all the boundaries of life fall back into their usual place.  This leaves well-meaning and loving people not sure where to stand, what to say, or how to do it.  They want to help.  They wish they could.  They don’t know how.  Sometimes they even ask.  But the bereaved family is still barely coping and honestly cannot express needs—not because of pride—but truly the inability to even recognize a need.  And, bereaved parents are especially terrible communicators.  (I once touted myself an excellent communicator—now, it’s hard to type a text to closest friends)  Please forgive us. 

I thought I’d make some suggestions of things that I think are great for long-term support of families coping with loss (specifically loss of a child)

I think the first and greatest gift you can give a grieving mother and father is “Date Nights”

Marriage is hard.  Intentional, healthy relationship is challenging.  Add the loss of a child and the stats on a marriage surviving that are profoundly discouraging.  The mother and father are grieving alone in the same home all day long.  They are busy caring for the other children, dividing and conquering, working, managing the home, etc.   But the truth is—no two people loved their child like they did together.  Giving them a time and space to grieve together is incredibly healing and powerful.  They are too overwhelmed to plan this out for themselves, they feel guilty to ask friends, it’s expensive, and they may not even really feel like they want to go on a date.   But, they NEED to.  They need to get alone.  They need to miss their baby together.  They need to cry together.  They need to breakdown together.  They need to laugh together.  And if mom and dad can grieve healthily together, the children in the home only reap the benefits of this as they lead them down their personal grief journeys.  It’s foundational.

Tangible ways to help:

• ·       Make a reoccurring calendar date for them.  Tell them that every (or every other) Thursday evening at 6 p.m. you will be at their house to feed/bath/watch the children while they go out for two hours.
• ·       Supply the couple with gift cards to local restaurants or attractions they like
• ·       Make  a date night basket for them full of board games, wine, idea jars, tissues, etc. (you get the idea here and can be creative)

The next thing I can think of is “Taking the Pressure off the Family”

Everything feels overwhelming to a grieving parent.  Just breathing feels overwhelming.  Add running a home, managing children’s schedules, obligations, etc. and it’s nearly enough to make the whole thing crumble.

We know we have to move forward, even if it is just one step at a time.  But, it is like walking in concrete.  And while the bereaved family is ready to get on to a new normal, it’s still so hard.  Some days are heavier than others.

Tangible ways to help:

• ·       Offer to do the grocery shopping.  If the family makes a weekly meal plan, pick up their list and debit card, grab the groceries, and drop them off for the family. Going to the grocery store is one of my current least favorite things to do. 
• ·       If there are multiple children in the home that are involved in activities with your children, make a standing offer to take them and/or pick them up for practice, class, games, etc. We want our children to move forward and participate in healthy outlets—but the mental planning, the effort to get them there and back is often crippling.
• ·       Speaking of children—bereaved parents are struggling to connect with anyone, even their own children.  Invest in them.  Take them to weekly park dates, or library visits, ice cream or Sonic Happy Hour every Tuesday.
• ·       One meal a week to the family is a big deal.  Even if it’s hot dogs.  It means mom doesn’t have to think about it—which is the hardest part.
• ·       Find a chore around the home that you can do, even if no one is home, but especially if they are home.  (water plants, vacuum, dust, etc.)  Just one...just a 30 minute chore that doesn’t require anything from the family.
• ·       Do the leg work for the family

o   For example—I have a stack of envelopes from the providers of Asa’s care that I can’t open.  I’d give anything for someone to sit down at my computer and just let me sit next to them while they did all the major work. 

o   We need a grief support group, specifically for bereaved parents.  Ask me if I have sat down and even attempted to find one?  Nope.  But if someone simply took me by the shoulders, pointed me north and said walk ten blocks and you’ll be there—I’d do it. 

Well, there it is.  Just some ways I’ve thought would be good, long-term support to families that are grieving. 

I recognize that my personal love language is Acts of Service and this list has a lot of acts on it.  My prayer is that these are some universal needs and they’d be found helpful to any family. My fear is that people would feel like I don't appreciate all the ways we are being loved.  Please know, we do. 

I’d like to share some examples of what have been the big blessings in hopes that someone else can carry these on in another tragedy.

·       Asa Sundays

o   A friend made a point to post videos and pictures of Asa every Sunday.  It reminds us that we are loved.  That our child is loved.  That they recognize our pain.  The best part is, she didn’t even ask (to my recollection).  She just did it. 

·       Cards in the mail

o   This act is so simple.  I don’t quite grasp its power.  But it is so encouraging to receive kind words in the mail.  One friend sends a card weekly, addressed from God. 

·       Leg Work for Grief Seminar

o   A friend heard of a healing retreat for bereaved parents.  She did all of the leg work.  All the paper work.  All the fine details.  Just sent us the dates of our engagement.   

Thanks for letting me share.  I pray that this is helpful and encouraging.  We are eternally grateful for the army of angels in our community loving us. 

             

If I Had to Choose

If I had to choose it all over again, I would.  If I could change absolutely nothing—not one tiny detail, I’d still choose you.  I would choose Every. Single. Nanosecond. over and over again. 

I would choose one heart breaking negative pregnancy test after another.  I would choose endless days of my most uncomfortable pregnancy, over and over.  I would choose anxiety ridden days of postpartum struggles.  I would choose being held hostage for months upon months because you absolutely hated the car seat.  I would choose staring bewilderedly at a positive pregnancy test, thinking I’ll never survive, while you sat, ten months old, screaming at my feet.  I would choose exhausting days of pregnancy chasing you—the busiest and most demanding toddler. 

If I had to choose it all over again, I would.  If I could change absolutely nothing…I’d still choose you.  If I had to choose the very last day, knowing exactly what was going to happen.  If I didn’t have the power, if I couldn’t change a single thing, I’d still choose you. 

If I had to choose that moment, THE moment, the sound of terror in your father’s voice screaming out to me.  I would.  If I had to chose falling to my knees and pleading with God, over and over again…I would.  If I had to hold your broken vessel while the angels carried you away…Every time, I would.  Every single time.  I’d choose you. 

I’d choose all the pain…over and over and over again.  Just for more of you.