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 ...

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 ...

         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...

Look at this lovely box full of children's goodies. This box seems to be full of hopes and dreams...and we are giving them away.  See that advent calendar? I bought it 6 years ago. I dreamed about setting it up with little ones running around acting crazy, hopped up on candy canes and egg nog. I dreamed about telling them the Christmas story and marking off days and celebrating Christ's birth with them. And now, we are giving it away. See that manger scene? I bought it 5 years ago. I dreamed of children growing up knowing abut their big brother, Kimber, and decorating his memorial garden. I dreamed of stories about Heaven and uncomfortable questions about death that both hurt and heal.  And now, we are giving it away. See that puzzle? I bought it 4 years ago. I dreamed of new traditions, of babies draped across bouncing knees, and of silly fights over missing pieces.  And now, we are giving it away. See those socks? I bought them 3 ...

I've been working on this post for a while now, collecting information and questions from lots of people. This is only the first post in a series of post related to loss and the questions all of us want answers to. I am excited about sharing some of the things that we have learned along the path of life after our son, Kimber was stillborn as well as the wisdom of others who have also been there. So, without further ado, here are some of the most pressing questions I've been asked, advice I've given, and hope I have received along the way... What should I say? Ok y'all, I get this one a LOT. Its pretty simple, you just say you're sorry, and that it is awful (or sucky, horrible, heartbreaking, etc). So many people have said "I am afraid to bring up their baby because I don't want to hurt them more" and while I understand that heart of that sentiment, no one forgets that their baby has died. You are not reminding them that they've lost a child, yo...

I’ve been avoiding this blog for weeks…Why? Because I’m sitting in a heap at the bottom of a mountain with nothing to show for days, weeks, years, of waiting. This month was not a month of beautiful waiting and peace in that time.  It was a month in which I was brought down time and time again by thoughts, fears, and hurts that still struggle to overwhelm a heart that breaths through the broken cracks of my life. I had a panic attack for the first time ever. I couldn’t breath, my husband had to hold me and show me how to breath in, and breath out.  When we found out we weren’t pregnant again, I did not accept it peacefully and lovingly.  Anger railed against me, I fought to maintain a semblance of control over the hurt and failure and distrust that filled me.  I’m so frustrated and hurt because I have a heart that I have to piece back together each month as I attempt to climb back up this mountain, only to discover myself back at the bottom again...