From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

In the fleeting moments of the day, the times when my mind lets down it guard, I dream of you. I dream of a pregnancy, and of your birth, and of living life as your Mommy. Because, even with all the awesome things going on in our life, even with the success and the friendships, even with all the hopes and dreams that come true…they still aren’t you. months, and we’ve never even had a hint of your existence, but I feel like you already exist, and I can’t imagine life without you. Because you’re already here…but only in my heart. You are still the dream we hope for, the dream we’d give it all away for…you still are. But…do we want you more than we want Jesus? It’s been so many years, an endless string of days and I feel like one of those women in the movies, the one who believes something with her whole being but the world thinks she’s crazy. The world can’t see the truth, they can’t see her heart, they can’t see it…and they’re trying to convince her that she’s wrong, and that she just n

If you haven’t been living under a rock you’re probably pretty up to date on the latest pandemic sweeping through our world right now. Covid-19, the Coronavirus, has us all on our toes. And I’m tripping.  Seriously, Anxiety, party of one? 🙋🏻‍♀️ I have a real problem with control. I’ve had it since I was a child. It manifested itself as a deep need to never be away from my mom (sorry for all the failed sleepovers Mom!). But really, it was just a deep need to be in my familiar, controlled environment.  As a teenager and young adult I frequently felt the overwhelming desire to just “go home” whenever I felt too overwhelmed or anxious. Fast forward to living in the real life and discovering that going home didn’t work anymore. I was home, and I still felt out of control.  I need a plan. If there isn’t one, I make it, and I get a gold star, every time, for sticking to it. But the world doesn’t work with timelines and gold stars. It’s a series of misdirections and mishaps th

Christmas 2018 was an special time for us. We thought that we would be adopting a baby. We spent an entire month living in the hope of that little baby boy coming home with us.  Unfortunately it fell completely apart (in surprising ways) and our hearts were really broken.  We’ve spent a year recovering from that experience and, honestly, I have really not wanted to share it. It was a pretty private hurt and one that was not well understood.  Every time I thought about sharing our story I just kept holding back. I didn’t want to reopen old wounds. But, the past few months I’ve felt the Lord speaking to my heart about our story. This part of our life is dirty and broken and doesn’t have a “happy ending”. But that doesn’t mean its any less sanctioned by God. I’ve tried to not shy away from sharing the hard parts of our story before, so I shouldn’t start now.  So, the easiest way to share our story is to share the emails that we sent to our family members during that time. 

         One of the popular Facebook pages related to the grief of losing a child recently asked the question: Does time heal all wounds? The answer was an overwhelming and resounding "no" from the commenters. It was a feed of hurt and brokenness, and I ached for them all. When was it decided that time, in fact, had the authority to heal? I wonder if it was a concept brought on by the narrative of "its been long enough, your grief should be done"? Its something that is certainly said enough, often by people who simple cannot understand your grief (in whatever capacity it exists, for whatever reason). It seems like something the grief community mistakingly adopted in order to try to control their own narrative surrounding grief. Admitting that "yes, I will one day be "healed" but I need time...more time." Because, apparently, "time heals all wounds", didn't you know? I firmly believe that losing a child, or any loved on