Come

Three o'clock one morning a man named Peter found himself, along with his eleven friends, aboard a small boat in the middle of a lake, far from any shore, battling heavy waves and terrible winds.

Suddenly a figure came walking across the tossing waves toward the men in the boat, and all twelve of them were absolutely terrified. I don't blame them. I would be too. At three o'clock in the morning, in the middle of a lake, in the middle of a storm.

In their fear, they cried out, “It’s a ghost!”

But Jesus spoke to them at once. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here!”

Then Peter called to him, 

“Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, 

walking on the water.”

“Yes, come,” Jesus said.

Peter wanted so badly to have faith. I can relate to this guy in more ways than one. He spoke out loud to that dark eerie figure, when all the fears in his head were probably telling him the opposite. He asked for direction, he asked for hard. Jesus said "Take courage, I am here!" 

Jesus said "Come." 

Just come. Just step out of that boat and walk to me. Ignore those fears. I'm more than a shadow or a figment of your imagination. Come to my arms. Just come.

So Peter did. He climbed over the side of that boat onto the dark, pitching waters, and he walked on the water. HE WALKED ON THE WATER! 

Peter stepped out of that familiar fishing boat where he'd spent years of his life, onto the water he'd only ever touched, swam in, been controlled by; and he walked right over it. Walked. On water.

But then he saw the strong winds and the waves. Out there in the middle of the lake, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, walking on water, away from the boat, Peter took his eyes off Jesus and looked at the waves around his feet. He felt the icy breath of fear breath down his neck in all that wind, and he listened to it. That voice that whispers "You're not going to make it this time; you're going to drown." that voice that steals all the joy right out of doing the impossible. That voice that says "You can't walk on water!" while you're walking on water.

And he was terrified. Terrified.

And I don't blame him. If you listen to fear in the dark, it's terrifying.

If you look away from Jesus to the angry waves of your storm, to the strong winds that whips the water into your eyes, you're bound to be terrified.

Peter started to sink. His feet began to slip into the waters. “Save me, Lord!” he shouted.

Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. Just like He said, He was right there.

“You have so little faith,” Jesus said. “Why did you doubt me?”
All He had said to Peter was "Don't be afraid. Take courage. I am here. Come." But that's all Peter needed to know. Don't be afraid, even when you want to be. Take the courage I'm giving you. Courage: the ability to do something that frightens you. I am here. I'm stronger than the waves, I'm able to keep you above the water, I want to see you through this storm, you're not alone, I didn't leave you, I love you: I am here. Come.

And all Peter did wrong was doubt. He looked at the waves and the wind, and he listened to the fear that said "Jesus can't hold you up" while Jesus was holding him up. And that's where everything went wrong.

But I get that.

There was once a girl who found herself in a bit of a night season of life. All the safe and the lovely and the happy in her days became tainted with a certain darkness of impending doom. She was listening to the voice that says "It's not going to be okay. You need to be afraid."
The wind started picking up, a storm brewing in her mind, so that all the struggles she'd been facing began to swell and pitch and toss like waves; seeming bigger than they'd ever been before.
And there she sat, in that boat of familiarity, her comfort zone, but nothing was comfortable anymore. She longed to have real faith, overcome what held her back, and do great things, but that wind howled forebodingly and her safe place no longer felt safe. She was terrified.
That girl was me.

Fear has a way of robbing us of so much in life.

And then He held out His strong, gracious hand to me, beckoning me to leave the fears and worry behind, and He said "Come."

Just come. Just step out of that prison-of-a-boat and walk to me. Ignore those lies. Ignore those headlines and those what-if's. I'm more than a shadow or a figment of your imagination. These waves are nothing beneath my feet. Let me show you the way to really live. Come to my arms. Just come.

It sounds so simple. It sounds so inviting! It sounds so glorious and victorious and...

And it can seem so impossibly out of reach. Because it involves getting out of the boat. Stepping directly into the tossing, swirling, wretchedly-dark things we fear and saying, 

I'm not even looking at you, waves; I'm looking at Jesus. 
Jesus is bigger, stronger, REALer, TRUEer than you, fears.

I'm taking the courage He's offering: the ability to do what frightens me; and I'm walking.

Walking on water means first saying "I trust you, Jesus, that you can hold me up. That you can guard my life. That because of your great love I am not consumed. That you delight to show Yourself strong on my behalf."

I long to have faith. I long to do great things. But perhaps the greatest thing I can do right now, right in this very moment, is to get out of this boat. To believe Him. To say goodbye to the pitching and the rolling of a life spent confined in a vessel that's stranded in the middle of stormy waters, and step on the lies; step right out on top of them, and to quit listening to the voice that says "There's nothing you can do about it, your fears are real. Logical. Legitimate. You need to be afraid." 

To quit listening to that voice that whispers as I take the first step "You're not going to make it this time; you're going to drown." that voice that steals all the joy right out of doing the impossible. That voice that says "You can't walk on water!" while I'm walking on water.

The most courageous thing I can do right now is stop listening to the lies, and start listening to the Truth. To start believing the Voice of Truth with all my inmost being. To walk by faith.

Quite honestly? It's making me sick. All the tossing back and forth of fears and thoughts and anxious worries are making me a kind of seasick in my mind and I'm missing out on all the joy and peace of walking on water with Jesus across frothy surf in the invigorating wind.

Jesus didn't lift Peter out of the boat, he just invited him to come. Peter had to choose to trust Jesus with his life and well-being, and climb out of the boat by faith. My fears have kept me from a good night's sleep many times, from sharing the love of Jesus, from just living day-to-day life in peace and joy. All the while Jesus has patiently, lovingly held out His strong, gracious hand to me, beckoning me to leave the fears and worry behind. He simply says "Come."

So I'm getting out. I'm so done with this boat. I'm done with these fears. I'm done with only having a little faith, and I'm done with doubt.

When Jesus says "Don't be afraid" I'm going to trust Him to help me.

When Jesus says "Take courage." I'm taking courage.

When Jesus says "I'm here." He's here and that's all I need to know and I'm resting in that.

When Jesus says "Come." I'm going to step out of this boat that's held me captive for so long, and I'm going to walk right over those immense depths to Him. And I'm going to trust that He will do the things He said He will do.

And the waves are going to call my name.

The wind is going to howl and whip around me.

I can look at them, but I know what will happen. I will sink. I will be terrified.

Or I can look to Jesus, and I will be saved. And I will be held. And I will be victorious.

I get to choose. I get to trust Him to do what He says He will do. To be who He says He is.

So no more fear. No more listening to lies. No more tossing in the boat or drowning in the waves.

I'm looking to Jesus, and Jesus says "Come."

For who is God besides the Lord?

    And who is the Rock except our God?

It is God who arms me with strength

    and keeps my way secure.

 He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

    he causes me to stand on the heights.

Psalm 18:31-33

But I called on your name, Lord,

    from deep within the pit.

You heard me when I cried, “Listen to my pleading!

    Hear my cry for help!”

 Yes, you came when I called;

    you told me, “Do not fear.”

Lord, you have come to my defense;

    you have redeemed my life.

Lamentations 3:55-58

For Such A Time As This

My dear, beautiful toddler girl,

You woke up bright and early this morning, crying for Daddy as you do most mornings, in hopes that Saturday has arrived. But today is only Wednesday, and Daddy was already gone to work. So I rocked you a while, letting you doze a bit more in my arms and hoping you would wake again with a that sweet smile of yours. Soon your eyes popped open and you wanted breakfast right away. Your little sisters woke up, and we all went to the kitchen where you each scarfed down a piece of your favorite "jelly toast" and a bowl of yogurt and granola. As usual. 

You love repetition. So do I.

We all got dressed, I made coffee, you three sillies ran around squealing and playing picnic on the living room floor simultaneously until I finally gathered everything up and opened the garage door. Somehow we managed to load the van and make it to the library, only 17 minutes late. The Aquarium brought sea creatures for you to see and touch. You held out one finger and touched the spiny sea urchin, the bumpy starfish, and the rough shell of the hermit crab. I was so proud of you.

We looked at books, played with blocks, you were all very kind to the other children who were there. We checked a few things out to take home, and finally went back to the van, buckled car seats and ate some sandwiches on our way back home. I'm slowly learning to get out of the house and take you on more little adventures like these. We'll get the hang of it one day.

You each enjoyed a few licks of a promised lollipop on the porch, together unloaded a pocket of my diaper bag while I had a quick chat with the next-door neighbour outside, and then I helped you all up the stairs and finally tucked you all into bed for naps, later than preferred. As usual. We'll get the hang of it one day.

The house is quiet and still now. 

And me? I'm thinking of all this. But I'm also thinking of those mamas in France who wish with all their hearts this afternoon that their babies were safe and sound, napping in their upstairs nurseries. I cannot even imagine the aches in their hearts and minds.

I have waited long enough. It is time for me to say something I've been wanting to say for a terribly long time.

Listen close.

My sweet girl, you are growing up faster than I ever imagined you would. When you were a gorgeous, sleeping newborn I held you, curled up in my arms, and imagined the day when your little feet would be heard pattering around the house, tried to guess what your tiny voice would sound like when you learned to talk, and planned out so many fun things that we would do together one day when you were big. 

And now, quite suddenly, here we are. 

You are two years old, you run and spin and hop your merry way through each day, chattering almost non-stop...... and I really, really would like to slow the clock down. 

You are growing up faster than I ever imagined, despite the fact that every parent says the same thing so often it's become cliché.

I watched you take the hands of your dolly the other night, turning circles on the carpet singing in your still-baby voice until you "all fall down!", and it soothes my heart to see you learning to imagine and play so absolutely care-free and happy, and to know that you are completely clueless of the wickedness and sorrow that exists in the great, big world outside. 

I love that your biggest concerns in life right now are that you get that promised muffin when your dinner is all gone, or that one of your little sisters doesn't take your sippy cup away;

I wish it could always be this way.

I wish you didn't ever have to know what kind of world you live in. 

I wish you never even had to know.

I've seen the headlines. 

They keep coming, more and more frequently as this world deteriorates, and each time they flash before me I'm jolted out of my quiet oblivion into a reality that just seems so unreal. 

Interrupted, as it were, from my quiet state of just being your mommy: of going about my busy day thinking about what to make for lunch, whether it is your nap time yet, how to better organize those toys, how to calm the baby sister who's been fussy all morning, and all the similar thoughts that a mom of three toddlers thinks in a day...

And each time that unwelcome interruption comes I'm bombarded by thoughts about things I didn't even want to know existed.

And I am grieved.

And I am angry.

And I want to apologize. 

I want to apologize to YOU.

That you were born into this world in such a day and age where what is absolutely wrong is now celebrated as right; even good, brave, noble, and praiseworthy. In a world where what is right is not only scoffed at, challenged, unpopular and abnormal; it is actually considered wrong nowadays by many people, in many places, in many different ways.

And I want to apologize that you will, over the course of your life, undoubtedly see things that no one should ever have to see; That you will hear about things that no person, but most especially sweet, innocent ears, should ever have to hear about; That you will be faced with decisions and choices you must make that, really, in a perfect world, would be unquestionably OUT of the question...

But this is NOT a perfect world.

And that's what the headlines keep reminding me. 

And I want to apologize, but I know better.

My dear, darling twins, you have just barely crossed the threshold from babyhood into toddlerhood. Every single thing is new to you, and oh, how I enjoy watching you learn and explore and discover the world around you each day. You are helping me learn to slow down and see plain old, ordinary things from a new, beautiful perspective. At the same time, you are also helping me learn to pick up the pace and stay one step ahead of you constantly because everything is now accessible and beckoning to you, including Tupperware drawers and power cords. And there are two of you. That keeps life exciting. 
You are beautiful, and I adore you both.

My loves, just as much as I want to protect you from the electricity in power outlets, hot water pouring from the faucets, sharp objects and choking hazards, I also desperately want to protect your innocent impressionable hearts from the filth and the dangers that are in the world. I now understand why some parents shelter their children, hide them away, keep them to themselves. I get it now. 

Really, who wants to see their precious child fall into the wrong crowd and have their name end up plastered across some unthinkable headline one day for all the world to see? What could break a mother's heart more than to see her child lose their way?

Headline after headline has touted its message across my phone screen, on billboards, random television sets we pass in the stores; like waves breaking one after another hard upon a peaceful shore;

And each time this happens I want to apologize again.

So this letter to you, my three loves? This letter began to form and take shape in my mind over a year ago. News poured in of a man who made a huge, life-altering decision, and attracted the attention of the world. Something inside of me began to move and shake and I wondered how it came to be that I was actually living in a world where things so despicable and once unthinkable came to be described by throngs with words like "beautiful", "brave", "honest" and  "heroic". There are beautiful, brave, honest, and heroic things in this life, my girls, oh my goodness, yes! And I as your mother am overjoyed with the privilege I've been given to watch you grow and discover- and even to teach you about and introduce you to- some of those things, people, places in this world which are truly beautiful, brave, honest and heroic. 

But, my daughters, standing up against God and choosing our ways over His, is never in any way, beautiful, brave, honest, or heroic. I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts.

This passion to write this letter to you has grown with each and every buffeting news break.

Rainbow flags flying proudly, mass shootings, influential men- claiming the name of Christ- but treading their own sacred marriage vows into the dust, attacks on our law enforcement, more shootings, refugees, wars, attacks... attacks... attacks.......... 
These words I want to say to you have rattled around in my mind and taken shape until I cannot hold them in any longer. I need you to listen and understand.

I'm going to be downright honest. I want to be afraid. Sometimes I just want to keep us safely locked up inside our home, away from the reach of senseless destruction. I want to say "No more library trips... just to be safe." 

I want to get down on my knees and apologize to your innocent faces that this is the world you must know, the time in history you must exist in, the reality you must face as you grow.

I want to be angry, ravenously angry. To throw open my door and just yell "STOP IT!" to the whole blundering, hurting, messed up world. Just stop it and let my children grow up in peace and safety.

I want to apologize, but I cannot.

Because to apologize to you for the world you live in, is to claim control over something that is entirely out of my control. To apologize to you would essentially be saying that your Creator made a mistake in choosing exactly what day you would be born on, in placing you exactly where you are in history, and in making you exactly who you are in shape and personality and in the depths of your soul. And He does not make mistakes. 
I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts.

To apologize to you is to insinuate that the God of Creation is not in absolute control over every part of His creation. But He is in absolute control, regardless of the senseless choices some people make, and I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts, my daughters. And I need to choose to believe this in my heart of hearts. 

So instead of apologizing to you, I want to tell you of another young lady who lived in a perilous time in history.

Esther was just a young woman, but she had quite suddenly and unexpectedly become queen of a vast kingdom. She knew and loved the same true God that we know and love, but not all who lived in the kingdom did. Shortly after she became queen, a time came when each and every child of God in the kingdom was to be put to death, by royal decree. Can you imagine? An attack on every single person who chose to claim the name of our Lord. It is said that there was great mourning in every part of the kingdom; weeping, fasting, and wailing. I cannot even imagine the aches in their hearts and minds. 

Esther wanted to be afraid. I'm sure she even wanted to be angry.

But the words that have survived centuries echo loud in my mind as I sit here now and write to you, my daughters. 
Rather than speaking fear; 
Rather than whisking her back to the home where he raised her all those years- attempting to hide her away from harm's reach; 

Rather than apologizing to her for the position she found herself in, 
Esther's uncle Mordecai, who raised her to know and believe in the love and sovereignty of God, calmly and clearly told her that she must not remain silent. She must step out and make a stand for her people and for her God. 
And there it is, sounding like a speculation but reflecting a firm faith in the God who makes no mistakes, he said to her:

"Who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?" Esther 4:13

For such a time as this.

A time when the queen herself, along with all her own people, were ill-treated and were soon, on a specific date, to be put to death by the sword. 

A time of uncertainty and impending doom.

A time of mourning throughout the entire land.

For this exact time in history, God had chosen her.

He used that one young, inexperienced woman to effect the destinies of an entire nation.

He used that one girl's life in ways no one would have imagined on the day of her birth; Throughout her toddlerhood; 
When she held her dolly's hands, singing, and turned circles on the floor.

The God who makes no mistakes used the danger at hand 

to call forth the bravery of one man, 

who summoned the faith of one woman 

who took a stand for truth and justice before the whole blundering, hurting, messed up world, and changed the course of history forever after.

And He can do the same today.

With you.

This is why I cannot apologize to you for the world you must know, the time in history you must exist in, the reality you must face as you grow.

While I do not condone it, and I will not ignore it, in the face of all the wickedness and sorrow and uncertainty of this world, I will choose to believe in my heart of hearts that the God who is in absolute control of every part of His creation, and who makes no mistakes, called each of you darling, precious daughters of mine into being on the day in which He did, making you exactly who you are, at this exact moment in history, for such a time as this.

You are right here, right now for a perfect, undeniable reason.

And I, as your mother, am overjoyed with the privilege I've been given to prepare you to walk out the calling God has placed on your life. 

I will choose, rather than speaking fear; rather than keeping us safely locked up inside our home, away from the reach of senseless destruction; rather than apologizing to you for the position you find yourself holding in this generation; 

to raise you all to know and believe in the love and sovereignty of God, 

to calmly and clearly teach you that you must not remain silent in the face of untruth. 

to speak hope to you,

to speak truth to you,

to live faith, undeniably, before you,

to uphold you through prayer,

to point you to Jesus, who is the answer to every problem in this whole blundering, hurting, messed up world,

And I will make sure you know that you are not here by accident, or here to stand by and watch history take its course; You, each one of you, my beautiful girls, are here today, even today; while French families grieve, and politicians make and argue laws, while headlines brandish preposterous titles, while hurt people hurt people, and while you wake up from your naps and finish the remainder of those lollipops I saved on the counter for you; 

You are here for such a time as this.

Do not fear. Do not shrink back.

I need you to know and believe this in your heart of hearts.

You Have Grace

{Dear Graduate,
This letter was written originally to my younger brother 
in honor of his high school graduation. 
I share it here because this is essentially the message 
I would like to send out to each and every one of you as well. 
May you walk in grace.}

My dear brother,


This morning my thoughts have been mostly of you.

Memories of you as a toddler; silly, witty and wild;
Thankfulness and pride swelling as I think of who you've become. 

Today is the day we celebrate your accomplishment of completing 13 years of school. And if we count all those preschool activities and games I got to do with you way back when, well then we could probably chalk it up to 14 years, at least. 

You've stuck to it, displayed an admirable amount of perseverance and motivation, and I, personally, am inspired by your example of determination. Along with that, I've seen you choose Jesus, choose grace, stand up for what is right.

You're finished with one season of life, and you're walking into another.
The hard work doesn't end here, in fact it may get harder from here on out. The choices set before you may prove themselves to be tougher, bigger and more challenging than any you've faced before.


But you have the grace of God.
Grace that is readily available to you at any moment, and it's more than sufficient for any and every choice, challenge or struggle that comes your way.



This morning my thoughts have also been of the world we now live in. Today news flashed of the deadliest mass shooting in US history. One man ended fifty lives by the choice he made.
One man. One choice.

Last week headlines all raged about a young man, not much older than you, who chose to dishonour and harm a young woman in one of the most humiliating, personally damaging ways possible. People everywhere hashed out laws and rights and the value of a human being. Again.
All because of one man. One choice.


Unfortunately, these things are not even uncommon anymore in the world we live in. It doesn't all make news, but it's all reality.
We live in a world that calls defiance bravery,
Calls arrogance manhood,
Calls lies truth,
Filth; beauty,
Wrong; right.
We live in a world that despises the grace of God. A world where real men are rare. Not nonexistent, but rare. Real men who make wise choices. Lead exemplary lives. Walk in grace.

Regardless of the grand celebrations, today is just another day. You've been becoming a man for a long time now, but today especially, we acknowledge you leaving behind yet another chapter- a very large part- of childhood, and stepping more fully into manhood.
Boys leave their marks in the world, and occasionally some boys even make history, but it is men who shape and build the world we live in. It is men who leave the biggest impact and who make the choices that affect masses. It is men who lead, men who blaze the trail, men who set the pace.


Many men have made wrong choices and failed to take hold of the grace of God to overcome the entangling, crippling power of sin. Countless times the world has been left reeling in the wake of a single wrong choice made by one single man, but you, my brother don't have to follow in the footsteps of a man like that.


You have the grace of God.


You are stepping more fully into manhood now, and you have choices to make.
You have work to do. There's a path laid out before you that you are to walk. You have the world and all its opportunities and beauties before you, as well as all its temptations and snares:


And you have the grace of God.


I know you know that. Never doubt it.


I'm so proud of you, my brother, and as long as I'm here on this world with you I will always cheer you on and lift you up before the Throne of Grace.

"You therefore, my son, 

be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus."

2 Timothy 2:1

What I Pray For You

My daughter,

I do not pray that all your wishes will come true and all your dreams be fulfilled;

Because I have been there and seen that wishes and dreams can turn out to be different than we first thought and emptier than we realized.

But I pray that your heart will be captured by the Lover of your soul, your mind arrested and captivated by the indescribable glory of your Maker so that as you grow to know Him deeper, you will gladly and wholeheartedly rejoice to dream HIS dreams for you; 

choose to walk out HIS gorgeous wishes for your one, beautiful life.

You are precious and priceless, 

and His dreams for you are far greater and more fulfilling than you can ever imagine.

Trust Him, my child; as you grow.

Trust Him with all your heart.

Don't lean on the way you understand things to be.

Acknowledge Him in all your ways.

He will direct your paths.

And blow all other worries to the wind. 🌾

Wanted

The room was silent except for the whir of the machine beside me.

I shifted my gaze from his face; pursed lips and eyes that stayed fixated on the screen... to my husband's furrowed brow... to the ceiling and the exam light above me that burned my eyes.

I was just over seven weeks pregnant.

The doctor slid the probe gently across my belly. Too gently. I wished he would press harder, dig deep for answers.

Please just give me an answer.

Any answer.

Please say, "Ahh, there. I found a heartbeat."

Or even "I'm sorry, I found the baby; there is no heartbeat."

But please give me an answer.

Uncomfortable as the place and the situation was, I was glad to be there.

Even the cold gel against my bare skin on a chilly February evening felt comforting somehow.

At least now we will know something. At least now I can get an answer as to what is going on.

Please search hard, doctor, sir. Please do everything you can to figure out what's happening. Why is my body emptying out when it should be growing a life?

My mind knew what was happening, but my heart wanted to keep hoping.

Because that’s what love does, it always hopes.

Please say something.

Don't come up empty...

But he did.

He blamed the machine, it was just an outdated, portable ultrasound machine. I was also just so early on in the pregnancy, he wasn't able to see anything more than the enlarged uterus.

He was gentle and kind, the type of doctor we had prayed we would encounter that afternoon. He explained things and answered questions, but he couldn't give a diagnosis, he was just there to operate the machine.

I held Joel’s hand as I lay on the bed, and we waited.

More nurses, another doctor. Blood work, explanations, pressing around on my belly, internal exam.

Please give me an answer to go on.

Somewhere down the hallway a baby cried. I thought about the baby we were so excited to meet in September. I thought about my three girls back at the condo with their grandparents. We weren't even in our hometown, we were on vacation. Not only that, it was Family Day.

No one plans or expects to lose a family member on Family Day.

Were we really losing the baby today?

Somewhere in the blur of words and procedures I heard the doctor speak the phrase, "...if this was a wanted pregnancy..." And I don't remember a single word after that.

If it was a wanted pregnancy?

Oh, sir. If you only knew just how wanted.

Stop.

Baby, I want you to know right here and right now: you are wanted. You are loved.

So wanted.

So loved.

They sent us back to our condo, encouraged us to pack up and drive the two and a half hours home that night, in case things were to get worse. They couldn't say for sure it was a miscarriage, although they said it seemed likely. They couldn't say for sure that it wasn't an ectopic pregnancy, although they seemed to have ruled it out. They couldn't do any more for us in this town than they'd already done so they recommended we go back to the bigger city where we could get more help, should I need it. So we did; we packed up and went home that night.

I tried to process what was happening.

Was I really losing the baby?

Was this a miscarriage?

Miscarriage.

Stupid word.

How could it be that one. word. could so effortlessly describe everything that I'd just heard, experienced, seen that day? How was it that that one simple word could waltz right into my life, unannounced, becoming an easy label for people to use to describe all of the pain in my heart and the dashing of hopes and dreams and plans?

I'd seen blood on the bathroom floor.

I'd watched my body empty out and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. The feelings were similar to the night that earthquake shook our house; I was helpless and powerless against a force greater than my own will and intentions. I just watched this thing happen to my body, I prayed and I tried to keep on hoping that what was happening was not what seemed to be happening.

And then everything was still. The pain stopped. I soon felt almost… normal. Too normal.
If that was a miscarriage, part of me wanted it to be worse. To give my mind time to wrap around it all. But it happened so fast it didn’t even have time to sink in before it was done.

Worse, because you were more than just a word, more than a medical term like, “miscarriage”. You were a life, and if you were being lost I wanted to feel that loss in every way.

Part of me kept hoping for the best. The rest of me just waited in the silence of the next few days.

But those days went by and it became clear. My hCG levels, those numbers that showed how much of the pregnancy hormone existed in my body, were tested again 48 hours after they had been taken at that little Emergency Clinic on Family Day, and the results came back showing a dramatically lower number. My midwife called me personally to give me the news, along with her condolences. Joel held my hand as he sat beside me, he could hear enough on the other side of the phone to know what she was saying.

That emptying out that I’d borne witness to? That was my body saying goodbye and letting go.

It happened so fast, I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye and let go.

It was over. Just like that.

That was not the answer I wanted, but it was an answer. At least now I had an answer.

I could stop hoping now.

But wait.

No.

I will not lose hope. I will not let go of hope.

I am disappointed. I am sad, and I grieve the loss of my child.

Wasn’t it just yesterday that I had rubbed my already-growing belly and smiled?

I loved carrying you around inside.

You were wanted. So wanted. So loved.

I would like to name you Ava. I always liked that name. Your daddy and I thought maybe you were a boy, because you already have three sisters, but we never got to find out. Your tiny body had not yet formed into what you would’ve been here on earth. But now I would like to name you Ava, because Ava means desired. I don’t want anyone to ever think you were not wanted, and I want everyone to know what a blessing your short life was to your mama. I wanted you so very much. You should have seen the way I smiled and laughed and ran to show Daddy when I saw the lines form on that pregnancy test. September seemed like the absolute most perfect month to welcome you into our arms; into our home; into our family. You were due on the second day of Fall, my favorite season.

But Jesus wanted you more. You belong there, with Him. Dancing on those golden streets, endlessly praising Him and never shedding a single tear. I know you love to dance, because I know your sisters and I know your Daddy, and they are forever dancing to one song or another in the Family Room after dinner is done and while I clean up the kitchen. I know you are beautiful. Heavenly. I cannot wait to meet you one day.

Ava also means alive. I know, my child, that you are not gone. You are more alive than ever now.

Seven weeks is young, very young, but not worthless. You were so alive, even then. The knowledge of your presence inside me filled us with such joy, and the dreaming of all you could become gave us so much to look forward to. We loved you then, when you grew inside me... and we love you now; now that you are made whole and alive with Jesus. We know we will see you some day.

Ava also means voice, song, sound. Your life is a song to me. A song of a living hope. Through the growing and the losing of you I am reminded of the hope that I have that remains unshakeable throughout any and every storm that comes my way. Your life and your passing is drawing me closer to the One who created your soul and mine. My perspective of Heaven has changed too, becoming a little brighter, dearer, and a little more real. I know I am held by Jesus as I grieve your loss, and I know you are held by Him and finally whole. He is our living hope, the One who conquered death and therefore fills us with joy even in the face of it. Jesus is the One who heals, gives grace to walk through our trials, and fills us with HOPE in situations that seem, to the soul that doesn’t know Him, hopeless.

Could it be that your sweet song, my dear, will also draw others to the hope we have? It may be that there are those reading this story of ours who have lost much, but do not have this hope in Jesus. What a joy it would be if by writing out my heart here, my baby and I could together be a voice; pointing other broken ones to the Saviour who gives indescribable peace, hope, and healing to all who ask.

So I will not lose hope.

I got my answer, and it was not the answer I wanted.

I want to be pregnant right now. I want to believe the notification that popped up on my phone screen this morning, because I forgot to turn off the app after you passed; I want to believe you are nine weeks today and the size of a grape… eyes and nose and earlobes and gums, even tiny teeth inside those gums, all forming at rapid pace. I wanted to go to that first midwife appointment this coming Monday, maybe hear your heartbeat and grin from ear-to-ear. I wanted to see you on that ultrasounds screen next week, and I wanted finally announce to the world that you were on the way; I couldn't wait to finally post those pictures I took of your sisters on my bed one afternoon, holding the shoes that were meant for you to wear one day. 

I wanted to go buy little matching Big Sister shirts for your twin sissies. I wanted to video your 2-year-old sister talking about the baby in mommy’s tummy, and how she would wrap it and hold it and take care of it when it came out. I didn’t want to have to explain to her in a very simple, toddler-appropriate way that the baby isn’t there anymore. I wanted to keep researching quadruple strollers online, and toddler car seats that would be narrow enough to fit 3 along the back bench of our minivan for your sisters leaving room for your infant seat up front. I wanted to labour and birth you into this world and feel your skin against my own and let the whole world stand still as I soaked in all the glory of a fresh, new, beautiful newborn life that I got the priviledge to cherish and love and raise up for the Lord. I wanted to know you. 
Baby, I wanted you.

But Jesus wanted you more.

And Jesus fills me with hope that even this answer, although fiercely unwanted, is okay. He chose this answer for me, He chose this answer for you, and He never, ever chooses wrong.

This is me saying goodbye and letting go.

I’m giving you back to Jesus, Baby. You, and all the dreams I had for us. I’m giving them to Him. You, my precious Ava Hope, have strengthened my heart in ways that only a blending of grief and hope and love and Jesus can do. You are valuable, and there will never be another you.

There are those who do not realize what a gift life is. There are those who think seven weeks is too young, who think a seven-week-old life is not valuable. They are wrong, my dear, as we know. Every life is valuable.
You will forever be valuable and treasured in my heart.

Live on, sweet baby.