One Year Ago Today

(Photo by Heather Matthews Photography)

One year ago today, I was told the baby I carried inside of me had died.

One year ago today, my heart crumbled into a million tiny pieces.
One year ago today, the tears fell freely.
One year ago today, I had to let go of my dream.

One year ago today, Boss held my hand as we exited the hospital.

One year ago today, we told our other children that they would not be getting a new baby to love.

One year ago today, I hated the week of Valentine's Day.

One year ago today, I wanted to crawl into bed and not crawl out until my heart found healing.

One year ago today, I asked God to not let me walk through this miscarriage unchanged.

One year ago today, I asked God for new eyes to see his plan.
(I specifically asked him to give me a light for my darkened path.)
 

(Photo by Heather Matthews Photography)

Today, there is a new baby growing inside of me. A boy. Our Luke.
(His name means light.)
Today, my heart is so full it nearly bursts.
Today, tears still frequently fall, but they are tears of gratitude.
Today, our family is in the midst of a new dream.
Today, there were no hospitals. Only school, and lunch, and beautiful every day life.
Today, my children kiss my belly and tell little brother they love him.
Today, I am so thankful for my Valentines.
Today, I crawled out of bed with a smile, thanking God for the new day.
Today, I KNOW that my miscarriage changed me.
(Life has never been more precious).
Today, I see with new eyes. God is good. All the time.

 

(Photo by Heather Matthews Photography)

A Time for Everything

 

1There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:

2a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

3a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

4a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

5a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

6a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

7a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

8a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.

 

(Ecclesiastes Chapter Three)



 

Remember: Every Life is Beautiful

Boss and I last February. I was newly pregnant with baby number four.
Photo by Heather Matthews Photography

 Yesterday was an emotionally intense day of remembrance for me for a number of reasons.

 

The first reason is probably pretty obvious. The tragedy of 9/11 touched our entire nation. It touched me. I was just beginning my sophomore year of college that September, sitting in a class on government when I first heard the news. I actually don't remember how I initially felt upon watching the planes fly into the towers . I don't recall my initial reaction. I don't think that I even had one. I am one of those people where it takes quite awhile for emotions to sink in. After a lifetime of feeling things much too intensely, by college I had a nice big wall built up around my heart, and I had to choose carefully what feelings I would allow inside of my wall. Feeling nothing usually won out, and I am ashamed to say that it won out on 9/11, as well. I felt nothing. It was easier that way. And as the days went by, and it was still all that anyone was talking about, I then remember moving from feeling nothing, to feeling angry. Because the longer people talked, the more times they showed the horrific footage on the television, the more likely it was becoming that I couldn't ignore what had taken place.

 

It finally hit me several days later while I was in the shower. And then all of a sudden, I felt fear. Fear of being alive, fear of not being alive, fear of a religion I did not understand, fear of moving about freely, fear of being away from my family. And I kept thinking about those people on the planes. And I knew that my fear could not even begin to compare to what they had experienced that day. So I cried the ugly kind of cry. I slid down the side of the shower until I was sitting on the cold floor of the tub and I let the warm water wash over my body, praying it would wash away my pain in the process. I have always been a fearful person, and the events of that particular day drew me in to my shell just a little bit more. I began to view the world differently. I had known that the world could be cruel, but that day showed me that it was also unsafe. 9/11 made me question God. Not in a bad way. Just in a way that was new for me. And eleven years later, I still don't have answers to some of my questions.

 

So yesterday, I remembered. I remembered the people who lost their lives. I thought of and prayed for their families. It was a good reminder that I am not the author of my own days. I am not in control. It was a good reminder that every life matters. Every single life has the ability to impact another. Yesterday I remembered that every life is beautiful, even the lives that end too soon.

 

But yesterday had me remembering the loss of another life, as well. Last February, I miscarried our fourth child. Sweet baby would have been due this month. The first several weeks after the miscarriage were hard, but after awhile, life got back to normal. I still thought of our sweet baby from time to time, but I could do so with a smile. But then September came, and my heart started hurting again. I should be heavy with child right now. I should be feeling little kicks and washing tiny clothes. Our baby should have had a name. But it never will. Last night Boss and I watched a movie, and in one particular scene, a mama is handed her brand new baby, all wrapped up in the white hospital blanket striped with pink and blue, little cap snug on his head. And before I knew what was happening, I was weeping. Weeping for the little baby that I was never meant to hold. Weeping for life not turning out the way that I would have liked for it to. Weeping for all life that has been ended too soon.

 

So yesterday, I remembered. I remembered sweet baby number four. It was another good reminder that I am not the author of my own days. I am not in control. It was another good reminder that every life matters. Every single life has the ability to impact another. Sweet baby number four has certainly impacted mine. Yesterday I remembered that every life is beautiful, even the lives that end too soon.

A New Direction

As we have begun to get settled into our new home, I often find myself wandering from room to room looking for what needs to be changed here or what furniture should be moved there. One of my most favorite rooms is our new nursery, also known as Jack's room. When I first began decorating the nursery in my mind sometime after the first of the year, I was newly pregnant with our fourth baby. It was too soon in my pregnancy to know whether the little one inside of me would be another sister or a new baby brother, but of course I could not wait to find out the sex to begin decorating and purchasing items for the room, so I decided to go with a color scheme that would suit little boys and little girls.  I spent many hours on Pinterest and finally decided on what I wanted. Light tan walls with thick marshmallow stripes. A bright orange closet for housing favorite books and toys. A small white toddler bed for Jack, with polka dot bedding in orange, green, blue, red, and grey. Colorful Chinese party lanterns would hang above his bed for a burst of happy. We would keep his little black bookcase with the antique picture window hanging above it. I thought that maybe one day I would fill the slots of that window with some cheerful manners cards that I found on Etsy. The last piece of furniture to live in that room would be a small white crib, complete with a tan and white stripped sheet (to match the walls) and an orange crib skirt, perfect for housing a new brother or sister.

Because Boss is so super great, over the last several months, he has made Jack's room look exactly as I had envisioned in my head. It is happy, and bright, and cheerful, and every time I walk by the door I can't help but smile. The only thing missing of course, is the baby that I miscarried last February. Many times over the last several months as we worked on the house prior to moving in, I would stare at that crib and wonder what we should do with it. Should we get rid of it? Give it to someone else who was expecting a new baby? Or should we try again for another baby of our own? What was its purpose going to be in our new home? The purpose of the crib was something that I prayed about often. While the sadness over my miscarriage was gone, I felt no peace either way about what to do next.

When I first discovered I was pregnant with baby number four, I was elated. In all my life I have never felt as much joy as I did when I was carrying our fourth baby for those eight weeks. Being the Mama to four was a dream come true, and I thought for sure that once we were able to try again that I would want to. But that time came and went, and something held me back. Surprisingly it was not fear that held me back this time (for once in my life), but a lack of peace instead. I did not have peace about trying for another baby, no matter how much I thought that I wanted it. During my miscarriage I had asked God to give me 'new eyes' with which to see the world around me and my purpose in it, and somewhere along the way my vision for our empty white crib changed.

I actually remember the very first day that I knew what I wanted to do with our empty crib. I was walking around the beautiful campus of the children's home, and I was thinking about our upcoming move and what life would look like there. I pictured each room of our new home and tried to see in my mind our family living there. When I began picturing the nursery, the crib was there, only this time it was not empty. This time it held a little baby. A precious little foster baby. And when I pictured that, I smiled. That was exactly what I wanted to do with our little white crib, in our cheerful little nursery which I had carefully decorated to be suited for both baby boys and baby girls. I wanted to use our crib for babies (one at a time) to lay their heads in when they needed a place of comfort and safety in their lives, whether it be for a short season or a long one. I had long ago joked that I wanted to be a Baby Mama (a Mama to many babies), and I figured my new plan for our crib fit the Baby Mama bill pretty well. And most importantly, this new plan I was contemplating brought with it a huge amount of peace.

So we began to talk about fostering babies as a family. After a few discussions Boss, surprisingly, was on board, and so were the children, and we have continued to pray about it over the past few months. The first thing we ultimately decided on (as a family), was that we would not open up our home until the end of the summer when Boss heads back to work (yes, having a spouse who works in education and has summers off is AWESOME). This summer is for family fun, loving on our kids, and pouring everything that we have into both them and each other. But when the summer has come to an end, we will head off in our new direction.

I know some will think we are crazy. I have already gotten that response when I have told others about our new fostering decision, and I honestly expected that. After all, we just left behind a job where we cared for others and welcomed them into our family, so that we could focus more on our core unit of five. I kind of thought we were crazy for even discuusing it, too. But after much thought and prayer, what I realized, is that what we left behind was our crazy, busy, often hectic, hormonal teenager lifestyle. We did not leave behind our desire to love and serve others. Opening my home to children who don't have one is part of who I am. It is just going to look a bit different this time around.

This time around, we will be in our own home, not working as part of a group. This time around, my own children's birth order will not change (this was something that Emma expressed as being important to her). This time around, we will only take birth to two years (I was honestly shocked that there was a NEED for families who were willing to take infants in our area, as I figured all of those sweet ones would already be snatched up!), and this time around, we will only serve one child at a time (as opposed to five or six). And if we need to take breaks between placements? We can do that. And most importantly, along the way, we will continually be gaging our birth children's spirits to see how they are feeling about our ministry. Their opinions are super important to us, so we always include them in these types of choices we make that effect our entire family. So far, they are very happy and excited! In preparing for our move, I separated and washed all of our baby things 2T and under, and the girls helped me. We talked a lot about the little ones who might come our way and wear the tiny clothes we were folding. I am so proud of my children's open and caring hearts!

I will be honest here and say that sometimes I want to chicken out. Life on our own has been so stupendously nice, and sometimes I don't want it to end. On the mornings that I get to sleep in, I think about how I might have to soon get up with an infant, and I feel tired just thinking about it. But even after all of these months, the peace that I found when deciding to foster little ones has never wavered. It keeps me anchored in our decision. I kind of think that fostering is my love language to the world. Some people take care of the homeless, some volunteer, some teach Bible classes, some donate money, and me? I foster. It is my thing. It is our families thing. And while it might take on different shapes as our family grows, ages and changes over the years, I do believe that it will always be a part of who we are in one way or another. Our small way to make a difference in this great big world. A way we can say thank you to God, by sharing the love and the family that He blessed us with. Anything less than that doesn't feel right.

Sometimes, late at night after everyone else is asleep, I go into Jack's room and pray for the tiny ones who might sleep in that crib after Jack has outgrown it. I wonder what they will look like, and as hesitant as I sometimes feel, I can honestly say that I am so very excited! We will begin the process to transfer our license over here to our new home the week after next, and sometime in late summer/fall we hope to receive our first call. New directions can be scary, but I figure most beautiful and worthwhile things in life usually are. So I have decided to trump any and all fear with faith, because this is the story that He is writing for us, and I have peace that it  is going to be a good one.

Magic Moments

I still believe in magic. It's true. I will turn thirty this summer, which sounds to me very much like turning into a grown up for real, but I still believe in magic just like my small daughters. Not the kind of magic that transforms Prince Charming into a Beast, nor the kind that turns a pumpkin into a carriage. That kind of magic is reserved for fairy tales and story books (though I will forever be a sucker for a happy ending). But I believe in magic of a different kind.

I believe in the magic of the everyday.

I have never wanted to be anything other than a wife and a mother. I had other interests that I thought about pursuing at one time or another in my growing up years, but nothing ever captivated my soul quite like the thought of getting married and having children with my love. Sometimes it was all I could think about, talk about, dream about. I dreamed about being poor and in love, together in our early years, just beginning our new life. I dreamed about having babies right away, and lots of them! I dreamed about happy colors, comforting blankets, aprons, home cooked meals, chocolate chip cookies, gardens, and a white picket fence. It was all very magical, this life I had created for my little (or big) family in my dreams. I could not wait for my dreams to come true. I could not wait for the magic to begin.

And then he came along, that February of 2002. Dark hair, kind eyes, easy smile. And I knew, I just knew that someday he would be mine. A little spark of magic burst forth. It was September of that same year when I knew that I loved him, and November when I said yes. The love, that magical feeling, was overflowing by this point. My magical moment had finally come! I couldn't wait to be his Mrs. His helper. His forever love. In May of 2003, my dream came true. We had a beautiful wedding, an amazing honeymoon. Everywhere I looked there was magic.

That same summer we decided to start our family, and by October there were two pink lines on the stick. We were going to have a baby! The magic had overflowed and a new life was beginning. She joined us the following July of 2004. Perfect, and beautiful, and pink. And even amidst tired eyes, and crazy hormones, I could not wipe the smile from my face. I was living my dreams.

After that there were moves, adventures as I like to call them, and new houses, new friends. Every new place and every new face adding to the magic of the life we were carving out for ourselves. In 2006 a new sister joined our family, and in 2010 a tiny brother. My cup overflowed, so many magical moments it would be impossible to name them all. Life certainly wasn't perfect, but it was our life, and it was what we wanted. It was enough. I couldn't imagine not always feeling that full. Not always seeing the magic in the everyday. At times it would drift in and out as it does in any life, but it always came back. The magic always came back. I just assumed that it would always be there.

So no one was more surprised than me when I lost the magic. I couldn't find it anywhere. I suppose it was still there, but I quit seeing. Somewhere along the way I stopped dreaming. I stopped seeing the magic. Or really, I stopped looking for it. I felt a bit lost, not really knowing my purpose. Where once being a wife and mother seemed like enough, suddenly the magic was gone. Boss and the children were still magical, they always will be to me, but my perspective was off. I kept crying out to God, wanting him to hit me over the head with his plans for my life. I wanted grand plans and grand purpose! I wanted magic, but not the everyday kind. I wanted big magic!

And then I got pregnant with number four. And I thought maybe that was my answer. Maybe mothering four children would be more magical than mothering three! I began to get excited. Surely big things would be happening soon! And they did, just not in the way that I planned. As you know, we lost that baby. And I thought the magic was really gone then. Lost forever. I knew I would feel happiness again. Boss and my children most always make me happy. But for me, happiness was different than magic. That feeling that everything is right with the world. That you are right where you should be. I wasn't sure when, or if, I would find that feeling again. Maybe life wasn't as magical as I had once thought.

Last week our family spent the week at Disney World. And as cliche as it sounds, I can honestly say that is where I found my magic once again. And it wasn't in the enchanting music, the beautiful costumes, or in the princesses. It was Emma racing to hold my hand as we walked from one attraction to another. Choosing me to be her partner over anyone else. It was seeing Kate's eyes light up, believing that some of the fairy tales were true. It was in allowing her to keep on believing. It was in Jack's kisses. And in his laughter. There was magic in holding Boss' hand. It was in stripping away everything else, all that I thought I wanted or deserved, and really seeing what I already had. A beautiful life. I looked at the family we had created, together, and it all came back to me. What we have is enough. This life? It can be magic. If we search for it in the everyday. If we strive to see beauty in the simple. If we can do those things, then the magic is all around us. I don't just have to dream of being a wife and mother, or of aprons or home cooked meals, or traditions. I can make it happen. I can do that! I can take my regular life moments and make them magical.


I can choose to believe in the magic of the everyday.

Thinking (and Thinking and Thinking)

It's been a little bit hard, this not being pregnant thing. Not just because I desired a baby that I was not meant to have, but also because it has forced me to think. And think and think and think. About nothing. About everything. All at the very same time. And now my brain is tired. But it also feels like it might be waking up for the very first time in ages. Can that even be possible? Being tired, yet waking up, becoming alive, all at the very same time? I say yes. Because it is happening to me.

You see, I am a girl who has always seemed to have gotten what she wanted. Grow up with a nice life, in a nice country, in a pink house in the suburbs? Check. Parents still married? Check. Car from said parents upon turning sixteen? Check. Graduating a year early? Check. Going to college on my parents dime? Check. Vacations and trips around the world? Check. Meeting the Boss man, falling in love, having him choose me (ME!), and then having a whirlwind engagement? Check. Fairytale wedding and dreamy honeymoon cruise? Check. Moving around for adventure to see and to try out new places? Check. Wanting a baby after only two months of marriage, husband agreeing, and then seeing two pink lines on a stick only three months after that? Check. Second baby exactly two years later, just like clockwork? Check. And then a son almost four years after that? Check. Friends? Check. Husbands career? Check. And the list could go on and on, and is it just me, or is that a whole lot of checks? It overwhelms me sometimes to think about it. All of these joys and blessings I have known.

I can't deny that there have been some minuses in my life, too. I have experienced seasons of loneliness and seasons filled with anxiety. My growing up family has had its share of struggles in our relationships. I have struggled with an eating disorder, seeking treatment in the months prior to meeting Boss. Our marriage has struggled, because we are people. People who don't always make good choices. But overall, when I think (and think and think) on my life, it is not the minuses that come to mind first. It is the checks. Because the truth is that the checks far outweigh the minuses. I have always known a fairly easy, happy, comfortable life, with everything I desired seemingly within arms reach. And I innocently (pridefully?) thought this would always be the case. Really, if Mama wanted something, Mama got it! The truth is, I took my life, and all my gifts for granted.

So losing this baby? Losing my dream for the next nine months and the lifetime after that? It has been a little bit hard. But I am worried that it has been hard for all of the wrong reasons. That maybe it has been hard, because for the first time in a really long time, Mama wanted something that she cannot have. And this thought has me struggling. And thinking (and thinking and thinking). Am I maybe not as much in control of my life as I once thought? All of my life my mouth has formed the words God is in control, but I'm not quite sure that my heart and soul have believed it. I am afraid that for far too long I have been under the impression that I am in control. And that, my friends, is a very scary impression to be living under. Because what happens when life throws you a curve ball? When things (jobs, children, dreams) that you desperately desire to hold on to slip from your grasp, and try as you might you just can't make them stay? Then what?

And this is where I currently find myself. I am in the then what? stage. If not me, then who? God? The author of the greatest book ever written? Could I really let Him write my story? Does He even want to write my story? Does He even work that way? Is He sitting up on high, laughing as all this while I was attempting to scribble the pages of my story with my own feeble hands? Has He been waiting for me to wake up and realize that He is the only one worthy of holding the pen?

I don't know. I don't have all of the answers. I know some whom I respect who think of Jesus as mainly their a teacher (and obviously their Savior). They are passionate about Him, and they are passionate about His Word, but for the most part they believe that the stories of our lives are in our own hands. That we get to choose the setting, or how certain chapters might go. And then there are others (who I also respect), who think that God is close, personable, active, and that He has written very personally some of their greatest chapters to date! And I am left here wondering, thinking (and thinking and thinking), and praying, somewhere in the middle of it all.

Because life did throw me a curve ball. And even if I wanted to write my own story, it was out of my hands to write it the way that I wanted to write it. So I am left to believe that there is something more. There must be something more. Perhaps God writes our stories, but the choice is ours how, or even if, we respond?I like to think that this could be the case. Because the funny thing is, when Mama (that's me) didn't get what she wanted, she may have gotten something more. A wake up call.

These are all the thoughts I have for tonight. Thoughts redundant over this past month, but thoughts very relevant to this journey I am on. This journey of discovering who I am and Whose I am. It feels a little bit like an adventure, and adventures usually make really great stories, no? So I will keep plugging along. Praying, reading the scriptures, seeking. Handing Him the pen, grabbing it back again in fear, and then handing it over once more. And all the while thinking. And thinking and thinking and thinking.

PS. Tomorrow we are having a birthday dinner for a very special little boy who stole my heart almost two years ago! And he, my friends, has been a very cool chapter in my story!

From Waiting to Anticipating

I feel as though I am in a season of waiting. My miscarriage has ended, but now I am waiting to see if I will be brave enough to try once more. Because what if I miscarry again? Could I handle more disappointment? And if I do indeed decide that I am brave enough (which I am pretty sure that I am, seeing as children and family are my hearts desire), I will then have to wait to see if the Lord allows us to conceive another child. And if He allows that, then I will be waiting to see if this time we will get to hold our little one in our arms at the end of the pregnancy.

We are also currently waiting for some other things in our life. Some small things, some big. We are waiting to celebrate Jack's second birthday (which is right around the corner!), and we are waiting for Spring Break (we have an exciting trip planned!). We are waiting for some bigger changes that will be happening in our family at the end of this school year, and I am waiting to turn thirty over the summer (for some reason the idea of turning thirty is greatly bothering me!).

The problem is that I have never been good at waiting, at living one day at a time. I like to know the outcome, the way that the story is going to end. Even when I read a fictional novel I always read the last chapter first! If the ending is good, I give the book a chance. If not, I pass the story up entirely. Who wants to waste their time on a story with a bad ending? But life isn't like that. I can't read what the ending chapters of my life on this earth will look like. I can't skip ahead and see that down the road I did indeed have four children (or more!), or if the three I already have will be my only loves. I can't know for sure, and I am not promised, that we will all have good health, or that we will always know financial security. I can't predict if our family will ever have to walk through a tragedy. In fact, I am not even promised that my story will have more chapters. I desire the story of my life to be a long, thick, good book, but the fact of the matter is that some stories are shorter than others. And I don't know what kind of story the Lord has written for me, or for my family. So I must wait to find out.

I used to think that it was the only option that I had, this waiting. Dreadful, agonizing waiting. And I have been doing the dreadful waiting thing for a number of years. I know those chapters well. Waiting to meet my special someone, waiting to get married. Waiting for children, new jobs, moves. Always waiting for something more exciting! Waiting for God to do something *BIG* in my life. Waiting to be different, more mature, responsible, likable. Waiting to be thinner. Waiting to love myself more. Always waiting for tomorrow. Never living for today.

That Monday two weeks ago, when I began to miscarry, I wasn't sure what to pray for. Of course I wanted to ask God to let it be something else, to allow me to keep my September baby. But I also wanted to pray for His will to be done. I felt conflicted about what to ask Him for. So as I sat there (that time waiting on a doctor), as the tears rolled down my cheeks, I simply just asked Him as I finished my day, to not leave me the same person I was at the start of my day. To somehow grow me through this experience, whatever the outcome. I asked Him over and over again, please Lord, just let me learn from this, please don't let me be the same once it is over. And it has been my same prayer for the past two weeks. Please Lord, grow me. Change me. Use me.

Yet, I have still struggled. I have struggled with having a positive attitude. I have struggled with feeling depressed as friends announce September due dates (they seem to be everywhere!). I struggle with getting out of bed in the morning. I struggle with being nice to teenagers. And as I previously mentioned, I have struggled the most with finding myself in a season of waiting once again. I did not want to be here, waiting to see what happens next.

But as I was thinking today on how much I hated this dreadful waiting, and on the fact that I have no option but to wait, God placed it on my heart that I do in fact have options. I have the option to choose how I will wait. Will I continue to wait with anger, anxiety, hopelessness, and fear of the unknown? Or will I wait with joy? Joy knowing the Lord already knows my ending chapters! He has already written them! Will I wait with excitement? Excitement over what He is going to do next! Will I wait hopeful, trusting Him to show me His ways that are best? Trusting that He has a plan, and allowing Him to have control?

These have been my thoughts this day. I know what I want to choose. And if I meant what I prayed, that the Lord would not leave me the same through this experience, then I know what I will choose. I will choose the opposite of what I have chosen in previous chapters of my life. I will choose the joy, excitement, and the hope. I will choose God and His truth. It is as simple as that. Because what I seem to keep forgetting is that it is not really my story to tell anyway. It's His. And He can write the book any way that He wants. And I can rest easy, because I know for a fact that He is an incredible author! I am so thankful that He holds the pen. And that knowledge alone can turn even the most dreadful season of waiting, into the most beautiful season of anticipating. I am excited to see what He will write next.

A Tiny Tribute

One of the first things that I did once I discovered that I was pregnant with number four, as I previously mentioned, was to call my super cute and talented photographer friend, Heather. I wanted pregnancy announcement pictures! With each of my other pregnancies I have always had Boss or my mom snap a few pictures of me here or there as my belly grew, but I had never had professional maternity pictures taken. The reason? I never really liked the way that I looked before I got pregnant, so I certainly did not like the way I looked once the extra pounds were packed on! I was always in awe of my pregnant body, thinking the whole process of growing a life was beautiful, but I never, ever thought that I looked beautiful pregnant. At only five feet tall, when pregnant, I look more like an oompa loompa. Just speaking the truth here. Perhaps a cute oompa loompa, but an oompa loompa all the same. So I always passed up the opportunity to capture each pregnancy in time through photographs. Another reason I passed pictures up was because I always assumed that there would be a next time. Next time, I would be thinner before I got pregnant so obviously pictures would be cuter then. Next time, I would grow my hair longer so my face would not look quite so round. Next time, I would have a better wardrobe. Totally shallow, but it is what I would think.

But suddenly, back in 2010, I found myself the mama to three beautiful children and I did not think that we would ever have any more. And I began to mourn all of the things I did not do in my pregnancies. Did I cherish my swollen belly enough? Did I implant deep in my mind and heart what it felt like to be heavy with the miracle of child so that I would never forget? And why, oh why, did I not take more pictures? Why didn't I document everything from the very beginning until the very end? I vowed then and there that if I ever became pregnant once again I would do those things. I would celebrate my pregnant body the way that it deserved to be celebrated.

So when we found out that number four was on the way, I wasted no time in calling Heather and having her come out to capture our new joy with her lens. I had so much fun in our little photo shoot! The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and Heather has a fantastic way of making everyone feel beautiful. How lucky am I to have such a talented friend?! It might seem silly to be posting these pictures now, considering that I lost our baby this week, but I am actually so thankful that I have these photographs! I am so glad that I did not think that I would just get pictures next time or later. Because this week has taught me that there might not always be a later. These pictures are my only memento from my fourth pregnancy, our baby that was not meant to be, and I will always cherish them. I think I might frame one and put it in my kitchen. That way I can always remember. A tiny tribute to the tiny one who taught me to celebrate each moment of life to the fullest. Who taught me not to take anything for granted, and who taught this mama to open her eyes to the beauty that is all around her instead of always wishing for something more. Thank you, Heather, for using your gift to gift me. May we all remember to celebrate and find joy in the lives that we have been given, and may we continuously praise our Father in Heaven who is the giver of life and all good gifts!

**** All photographs courtesy of Heather Matthews Photography. If you live in the area and are in need of a photo shoot, you can contact her at heathermatthewsphotography@gmail.com. She is so fun and awesome! ****

Vision

My miscarriage has continued for the past 48 hours, and time is still marching on. Sometimes I wish the clock would just stop, just for a little bit, so that I could climb into my bed, pull the covers up over my head, and have a little bit of time alone to sort all of this out in my head. But so far that has not happened, the clock stopping, so I just keep pressing forward. We did have a nice, quiet (as quiet as a house with five teenagers and three children can be!), Valentine's day yesterday. After we completed our school assignments in the morning, the girls and I baked Boss a peanut butter and chocolate trifle. We sure do love Boss, and he sure loves peanut butter and chocolate, so we figured that would be a nice surprise for him. The girls got to lick the bowl, so they were happy campers. We also decorated the house with all of the party supplies I had intended to use for our baby announcement party the evening before. After dinner my little ladies took a candlelit bubble bath, and we all agreed that this day had been better than the one before it.

Today I had to drive back to the hospital for a follow up blood draw. I won't know until this afternoon what the results are, but basically, if the numbers have gone up there might still be hope, but if they have gone down, I have indeed miscarried. My heart already knows the results. It seemed cruel that I had to first explain to a stranger why I was there, and then that I had to sit in a waiting room full of women with large, lovely, baby bellies, who were there getting their glucose tests or a variety of other things done. It didn't matter to me that I had three healthy children at home. I know there are some families who have lost living children, some who have experienced multiple miscarriages, some who have no children at all to love. I know how blessed I am, I feel it and am thankful, and I know that this miscarriage is not a tragedy. It is a disappointment. But I did want this particular child. I wanted the September birthday, exactly two and a half years apart from Jack, and I wanted all of my children born in even numbered years. It was supposed to be 2004, 2006, 2010, and now 2012. (I never said that I was normal! Ha!). So for two days I have been mourning (pouting about?) all of the things that I had wanted this pregnancy to mean for our family's future. It has not been pretty.

It was when I was sitting in the chair, when the tech was about to stick me, that I noticed it. I had turned my head away so that she would not see my tears, when my eyes took notice of the picture on the wall. Perhaps it was a picture of a rainbow? I am not certain, but I am certain about what the caption at the bottom said. The picture was entitled VISION, and the line underneath read:

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." ~ Marcel Proust

And right there in that plastic hospital chair, my heart was given a clear vision for the first time in days. Perhaps years. Life is not about where I am or what happens to me. It is how I see it and what I do about it that matters! Essentially, it is all about perspective! I know I have heard this particular lesson preached before, probably from my mother, but it took root in my soul in a new way for me today. My life has been sorely lacking vision. It was sorely lacking before I lost this baby, and it will continue to lack if I don't begin to open my eyes and look around me at what is really there, instead of only looking at what I want or desire to be there.

I have felt restless for quite some time. Years, really. Always thinking that changing this, or doing that will make things better. Add some spice to my life. I am ashamed to admit that I have even felt that way about having children. When you are pregnant, even if you are doing nothing, you are still doing something! Growing a person! But, oddly enough (or not really oddly at all), it never does. The change never lasts forever and the new thing never stays new. The babies grow up into delightful little people and need me less and less. They find their independence, while I am left still wondering what I am going to be when I grow up. And before long I feel restless once again. But sitting in that chair this afternoon, I realized that I don't need new circumstances. And I don't need a new life. I certainly would have loved a new baby, this baby, but what I most desperately need is a new set of eyes.

I don't know why I could not keep this particular baby. I sure wish that I had been able to. But I know that God knows why, and that this is just a tiny part of my entire story. A tiny person, a tiny part of the big picture, but a big part in perhaps giving this Mama a new set of eyes. A new life created that ended up giving me a new way of looking at life. And that feels pretty amazing. I know that God is at work, and I can't wait to see how He finishes this chapter. I have my eyes wide open, and I am ready to see.

Celebrating Life and Love

About a month ago I found out I was expecting number four. A new blessing to love! I have always wanted a large family, so my heart was overjoyed at the thought. Four children! Me, the mama to four little ones! I felt complete awe that God, in His goodness, had chosen to allow me to grow another tiny one in my womb. It was a very happy time. For the first time ever, I decided to keep my pregnancy a secret. Usually I shout my pregnancies from the rooftops (or yell excitedly about them into cellphones), but this time I decided to savor it. I wanted everything to be perfect. No blurting it out or making a fool of myself in my happiness. This time needed to be sweet and special.

I waited 48 whole hours before I told Boss. I didn't know when, exactly, I was going to tell him, I just knew that it needed to be special. A moment that he would never forget. 48 hours later and our moment arrived. We were standing in a space that has to do with some of our upcoming changes, when Boss suddenly pulled me into his arms and began praying with me for our family, our life, our children. This type of togetherness is new, and oh so special for us. It still makes me catch my breath when he draws me close and prays to our Father on our behalf. There are not many sweeter moments in life than praying with your love for your life together, so when he ended the prayer, I whispered it. I told him that he was going to be a daddy again. His eyes filled with tears and shown with such joy and tenderness at the news. Creating a new life together never gets old! Afterwards, we went out to dinner to celebrate!

The next month went by and we told very few people. A few family members knew, a few friends. But to most, we kept this new life growing inside of me a secret. It was actually kind of exciting! And during this past month we planned out how we were going to tell the children that they were going to be getting a new sibling. I decided that I wanted to tell them around Valentine's day. I have always wanted to incorporate a pregnancy surprise into a holiday, and this was my chance. Besides, what better way to celebrate a day of love, than by celebrating a new life that was created in love? I planned every last detail of our surprise party. There were going to be streamers, balloons, and confetti. We were going to have a bistro style meal of sandwiches, soups, and salad, with my mom's strawberry cake and chocolate trifle for dessert. I made each of the children shirts with numbers on them that told of their birth order. Emma 1, Kate 2, Jack 3, and a tiny onesie with a sweet little 4 on it. Each child would get to open their goody bag filled with their shirt and treats, and then together they would open the package with the onesie in it and see if they could figure out the surprise.

Besides our children, grandparents would be our guests of honor. My sweet and talented photographer friend, Heather, took pregnancy announcement photos for us, and we were going to gift the grandparents with a little album each. I could barely imagine the joy that was going to be surrounding our table once the surprise was figured out. My own heart nearly burst at the sight of four small shirts laid out on my bed! I had never felt more lucky or blessed.

All month long I had been talking up this surprise with the girls! Their guesses of what it was ranged from a tea set, to headbands, to a movie, a pony, a board game, a new brother or sister, to a trip to Disney World! My favorite part? They actually would have been happy with any of those gifts. But when I asked them what they wished for the very most, a new sibling and Disney World always topped the list! Our party was supposed to be tonight, and last night the girls were so excited they could hardly sleep! We were all ready for today to arrive!

My mom showed up early this morning to take the kids for the day, so that I could finish shopping, decorate the house, and cook. But as soon as she pulled away from my house it happened. I started to bleed. I knew what was happening before I even went to check. And my heart crumbled into a million little pieces. I called Boss at work and he came home to hug me. Since I had not seen a doctor yet, we decided to just go to the emergency room. And two ultrasounds later revealed what my heart already knew to be true. This tiny little one was not meant to be a part of our family here on this earth. Where I should be nearly eight weeks along at the very least, the screen only showed a pregnancy that looked to be around five weeks. There is a very slim chance that my dates are simply wrong and it is still too early, but combined with my bleeding that is not likely. Most likely I will never hold this fourth little one in my arms, and it is funny how you can miss someone so much that you never even had the chance to meet. We drove home in silence with orders to come back on Wednesday for a final blood draw, but my head already seems to know what the answer is going to be. My heart is simply having a hard time accepting it.

When we got home we pulled our bigger babies onto our bed and told them the news. That we had wished so much that we would be celebrating the news of a new life with them tonight. Sweet sisters cried over their tiny brother or sister that they will never know. We hugged and held, and my heart did begin to feel better. Somewhere in the midst of the hugging and loving, someone suggested that we celebrate anyway. Because there was in fact a new life created and we do in fact have love. So that is what we did. We ordered Chinese food and ate cake. Jack made us all laugh, and we talked about heaven and whether we thought this baby would have been a boy or girl. We did celebrate both life and love tonight, just not in the way that I had imagined we would.

I have not lost hope that this baby might make it, because I know that my God can do ANYTHING, but I am simply praying that whatever the outcome, that I draw nearer to Him than I was when this started. Isn't that really the point of anything? To find God in everything? And I know that He is here. Waiting to bring me to Him whether I end up rejoicing or mourning.

Oh, sweet baby number 4. You were already wanted and loved by everyone in our family. You will always hold a special place in my heart. I was so excited to be your mama! Your daddy and I had already talked of you often and dreamed about your life. My arms sure wish that they could hold you. We will always celebrate your life, no matter that it was short. You will always be loved.