Warm Fuzzies

At one point in my young life, I remember something called "Warm Fuzzies" that were passed around. They were these little balls of fluff with wiggly eyes glued to them, tiny antennae, and large feet that were often stickers. We gave them to friends, teachers, etc. as a little way of encouraging one another. You know, a little "Warm Fuzzy" to help each other feel all warm and fuzzy, to bring a smile to one's face, at least for a moment or whenever he/she would look at/see the cute Warm Fuzzy and be reminded of the act of kindness.

I know it was silly and not everyone liked it--or even "got" it, but I always thought it was cute and fun. I had a purple Warm Fuzzy on my desk (yes, I took the sticker off the feet and stuck it to my desk permanently) for many years and I loved and cherished him. I gave many a Warm Fuzzy. I wish I could find them now, but in spite of my best efforts of searching, I can't find them anywhere.

I'm pretty sure it was my mom who taught me about Warm Fuzzies.

She is one of the greatest encouragers on the planet. She is my biggest cheerleader, that's for sure. Even when I mess up, big, she is right there, ready to tell me that it's ok; I have never messed up so big that she won't love me. Or that I can't overcome whatever it is that has happened. She still sends or gives me "Warm Fuzzies" of her own creation in the form of notes or takes me out to my favorite restaurant.

It truly means the world to me that my mom still encourages me with Warm Fuzzies.

I want to be a woman who passes on that legacy. I find myself, though, spraying my suppressed anger more than spreading encouraging Warm Fuzzies. It breaks my heart more than I can tell you. I can't help but wonder if God has a special bottle just for those tears or if all my tears are equal. 

I desperately want to give Warm Fuzzies. I want to encourage you to find JOY. I want to help you Choose Joy in your day-to-day living. I know how difficult it is. I've been down the road of the Hard and I know that Choosing Joy daily, hourly, minute-by-minute is a challenge that comes only through the strength of our Lord. But God gave us one another and encouragement from our brothers and sisters in Christ certainly can't hurt. I feel that the Lord has called me to be that for you.

He has given me an anointing oil of JOY more than anyone else (Psalm 45:7 & Hebrews 1:9). I know that He has comforted me so that I may comfort others (2 Corinthians 1). I desire to be used by Him to help others. I want you to feel safe when you are around me. One of the greatest compliments you could ever give me would be to tell me that you felt all warm and fuzzy while spending time with me.

There are many times, though, when I am angry or wrapped up in my own sadness and depression, and "you" are no longer on my radar. I am. And in those moments, I need the Warm Fuzzies. I need encouragement. Often I get them. And I appreciate them more than I can say. Sometimes the Lord sends a cardinal to remind me that He is still here, watching over me. My mom is always here to remind me that I can do anything. And I do have some amazing friends who encourage me.

But wouldn't it be nice if we sent more Warm Fuzzies more often, like every single day? I'm so tired of all the hate. It hurts my heart when I'm scrolling through Facebook or other social media or watching the news and . . . [fill in the blank]. We're all so busy focusing on being right or own agenda that we don't stop to think about the PERSON on the other end. I prefer stories of encouragement or of people being kind to one another. 

Don't be surprised if one day soon you begin to see digital Warm Fuzzies popping up in your IMs. I wish I could find the real, originals, but since I can't, the digitals are going to have to do.

And, just in case you're wondering, I don't mind if you reciprocate. :)

We will #NeverForget

As we enter my favorite time of year--Fall/Winter, my heart is torn, as it always is. I love this time of year. I love the colors of fall and then all the colors of Christmas and winter. It's so beautiful. God truly knows how to paint a canvas and this is the time of year that I, personally, believe that He shows off best. It's difficult for me to drive because I'm admiring His canvas so much! Pictures don't do justice to what He creates, but I sure do try to capture it when I can!

But fall is difficult for me because all my struggles, all my sorrows have happened in the fall of the year. In November, actually. Well, not ALL, but a large number of them, enough to make this time of year super difficult: 

• I learned that I had a cyst growing on my left ovary and ultimately had to have surgery during my 20th week of pregnancy with J. Isaac (who was born still just 18 weeks later) to remove my left ovary and fallopian tube just before Christmas
• I miscarried Panya Ruth on November 10, 1999
• I miscarried Anna Rose on November 22, 2005
• I had my diverticulitis surgery in late November of 2009--where I had to have an ostomy [bag]
• I had my uterine ablation in November of 2010
• I threatened my husband in October 2012

And a few other things I won't mention here. 

One thing that helps people like me get through times like this is the fact that October is Pregnancy

Loss and Infancy Loss Awareness Month. It is difficult for me to talk about my losses for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest is because talking about losing a child makes people uncomfortable. They simply don't know what to say to someone who has lost a child. And quite often if they do say something, they say something hurtful. And friendships are broken. So people end up just not talking about child loss at all. And the grieving mother--or father--suffers alone. In silence. For years. 

It is this silence that tends to drive some women (and men) to action. Some do something about their losses by creating organizations to help others who have lost babies. When we first lost our James Isaac and then Panya Ruth back in 1999, we didn't have the internet like we do now. It was just coming into being and getting on the internet was slow and laborious. And staying on the internet was next to impossible. Plus, there just weren't many organizations for people who had lost a baby. So we definitely suffered in silence. There was no Facebook group to join to discuss our hurts and we couldn't find a local support group. And back then, I had never heard of October being Pregnancy Infant Loss Awareness Month.

It has been exciting to see the organizations available now. There's one that will show up to take pictures for you. I had a friend come to the hospital specifically to take pictures for me when we lost our sweet James Isaac, but she didn't know if that was ok, so she never asked. It's a regret for each of us. There is an organization that sends a sweet care package to the hospital for moms who have lost a baby. There are online chat groups and support groups. There are groups who walk to raise awareness. There are groups who hold candlelight vigils. I've found places that sell t-shirts now and other wonderful remembrance paraphernalia. Someone has even started making dolls that are the same weight as your baby if that's something you'd be interested in. And the list goes on.

There are even more books now about child loss than ever before--good ones. When we first lost James Isaac, the pickings for good child loss books were really slim. There are a few good Bible studies, even. More and more women are sharing their stories. And even a few men, which is needed just as much. I'm working on telling my story, too. In doing so, I can tell you that it is not easy to share, but it does help in the healing process, in the healing journey.

We all grieve differently. We all travel the grief journey differently and take as long as we each need. October is a time set aside specifically to slow down or stop if we wish and Remember. Many of us have had some people act as if our babies weren't real or alive just because they didn't live outside our bodies, but we know the truth: they Lived. They deserve to be honored, to be remembered in whatever special way you desire, whether it be every single day of the month or just one day out of the month. October 15 is set aside as Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day if you prefer just one day. It's your choice. No judgment. 

• Tell your story if you want. You're welcome to share it here. I'd love to hear it. If not to me, share it with someone you trust. Write it down for yourself if not for anyone else. 
• Look at your Memory Box that you got from the hospital. 
• This is Shoebox season for Samaritan's Purse; donate a box in memory of your baby. 
• Join a GriefShare group if you need to. 
• Find a group online and just "listen" to their conversations to see if they have similar stories. 
• Find a pen pal (I have 2). 
• Start your own organization. 
• Plant a tree in memory.
• Make a scrapbook--if you don't have pictures, use poems, images and/or quotes that are meaningful to you. 
• Write a letter to your Precious.
• Get a tattoo. If that's not your style, you could always get a temporary one. :)
• Make a list of all the hurtful things people have said to you. Journal why their words hurt so much. Get your hurt off your heart and out of your system, on paper--or on the computer.
• Write a letter/note of forgiveness to someone who said or did something to hurt you, whether you mean it or not. You don't have to send it right now if you'd rather not. Just write it. Or go ahead and send it. You never know....
• If you know or hear of someone who suffers the loss of a child, do something for that couple that you wish had been done for you.
• Cry. Allow yourself a good cry. It really and truly is ok to FEEL whatever you feel.
• Have a celebration in honor of your Precious. Whatever that celebration looks like for you is what you should have.
• Create a Playlist.
• Get alone and spend some special time just Remembering. 
• Laugh. Sometimes a good laugh is just the right thing. 

Remember.

#NeverForget

I grew my heart inside my body

My grief will never end because I grew my heart inside my body 3 different times: 

• James Isaac, stillborn on March 17, 1999
• Panya Ruth, miscarried on November 10, 1999
• Anna Rose, miscarried on November 22, 2005

Now, before you go attempting to correct me and bring out your Bibles and your scriptures and your examples of how things get better as time goes on and so on and so forth, etc., etc., etc., let me ask you a question: Did YOU grow your heart inside your body only to find out at the end of nine months that instead of bringing your heart home and loving him/her and watching him/her grow up to be a wonderful young man/woman, you had to bury him/her into a dark, scary, hole and walk away? And then you had to watch and pray that you didn't flush your baby down the toilet?! Or any of the other number of horrors that come with child loss???

No?

For those moms who are with me, you know and understand that the grief goes on. Forever. Does it mean that we'll forever lie in our beds, never getting up and out and about? Of course not.

What Forever Grief means for us is that as the children of our friends grow up, we are imagining what our babies would have been like "If Only. . ." things had been different for us. Mom, as you get yelled at for breastfeeding in public, we're simply wishing we could breastfeed.

As you get to wipe your baby's face after s/he's eaten spaghetti for the first time and you laugh at the mess, we try to smile through our tears as we think about our son/daughter laughing and enjoying spaghetti for the first time.

Or when your son/daughter makes the ball team and you complain about his/her dirty uniform--again, we are wishing we had a dirty uniform to clean. We'd LOVE to have a dirty uniform to clean. The dirtier the better, in fact.

Is that your little girl/boy squealing in glee on the swing who you're trying to tell to calm down because it's just a swing? We're wishing our little girl/boy could swing on the swing and squeal as loud as s/he wanted. We'd let her/him swing as high as the sky, jump off, and catch her/him while we squealed and laughed right along with her/him.

Did your son or daughter just graduate? Did s/he walk across the stage, lift his/her arms proudly, pumping them to be sure everyone saw him/her and make the principal shake his head with a smirk, embarrassing you while you couldn't help laughing? We're just wishing our son/daughter was here, too. S/He was supposed to be in the same graduating class with your boy/daughter. But s/he's not. No walk across the stage. No graduation. No diploma. No college. No future. 

No marriage. 

So while you're enjoying such things with you're children, maybe for just one teeny-tiny milli-second of a moment, stop and think about all the Mommies (and Daddies) who continue to grieve every time we see you with your son or daughter because you have yours here with you....but we don't.

Yes, you grew your heart inside your body, too, but at least yours is walking around outside your body for you to see. To touch. To hold. To discipline. To cuddle. To watch movies with. To hug. To love. Daily. 

Mine isn't. So a little compassion please when the tears still flow even though it's been 19 years (for me). Or 30 years for my friend. Or 52 years for my sister-friend I've met recently. And it doesn't matter if our babies were infants or older. 

I know that there are those who feel the same way about the death of a loved one who is not a child. I am not challenging that. May God bless you. I am only sharing my heart and asking for a little compassion for those of us (any and all of us) who do continue to grieve our losses. I kindly ask the rest of you to quit making us feel as if we have to put our masks on--to perform--for you because we're having a difficult day. 

You know what?? IT IS OK FOR ME TO STILL BE GRIEVING. Get over yourself. I don't have to "get over it." YOU DO. 

You don't have to be afraid of me when I cry, Friend. Just hold my hand or rub my back or even just hand me a tissue and sit with me. It's ok. I'll be ok in a few moments. Crying is good. It's healing. "It has to hurt if it's to heal!" (The Neverending Story)

Don't worry. I haven't lost my JOY. Remember: I have to experience true sadness in order to know and understand true JOY. So let me experience the sadness. My JOY will be more JOY-FULL as a result. xoxoxo

He Catches All my Tears: A Story

            “Wha’cha doin’, Lord?,” Gabrielle asked, as only someone familiar with God and His machinations could.

            “Oh, hi, Gabrielle. I just finished catching Polly’s tears,” the Lord said as He put the cap on a very large, beautiful pink bottle and placed it on a table.

            “Polly? Again? Lord, forgive me, but aren’t You getting sick and tired of focusing so much of Your Precious time catching her tears? She’s been crying nonstop for twenty years now, right?”

God nodded, “Give or take.”

“Good grief, every time we turn around, she’s crying again. Can’t she keep it together? She is so super co-dependent! She just needs to take her meds and get off it. Why can’t she just get over it already? Sheez! The angels are beginning to talk, you know.”

            The Lord smiled gently as He sat at His desk, pulling Polly’s book close, and opening to a clean page. He began writing.

            Gabrielle spent the time waiting to walk around the room, looking at the various bottles the Lord kept stored with their books. Gabrielle had no idea how in the world God had the time to keep track of all the tears of all the individual people in the world, write their individual sorrows in their books, and keep track of all the prayers that came every second of every moment of every day. It made Gabrielle’s head spin just trying to think about it, let alone comprehend it. But he knew God was God.

            Gabrielle continued His tirade. God was good at multitasking, of course. “It’s just so frustrating with this woman, Lord. I mean, come on, You Yourself gave her the anointing oil of Joy more than anyone else. I was there when You did it. It was a Joyous day. After all she’d been through already, I was just as excited as everyone else to see her finally get some relief to her tears then. That was a very good thing You did for her. It was a joy to see her tears turn from sorrow to joy that day.”

God sat back in His chair, steepling His fingers as He remembered the day He helped Polly see Psalm 45:7 in His Love Letter, knowing in her heart--feeling it deep in her knower, hearing the voice of His Holy Spirit that it was meant just for her: “You love justice and hate evil. Therefore God, your God, has anointed you, pouring out the oil of joy on you more than on anyone else.”

It had been a Glorious Day. They had all been waiting for her to see it: His angels, Jesus, His Holy Spirit, and Polly’s children--James Isaac, Panya Ruth (Panny), and Anna Rose. They were so excited for her to see it and Know that it was especially for her. Oh, the celebration they’d had when she’d Gotten It!

Polly’s children had been so delighted. They’d been dressed in their best. They’d waited with such great anticipation, alternately sitting on His lap and jumping up to run to watch their Mommy. God had chuckled at their own joy for their beloved Mommy. Even James Isaac, the oldest of the three children, trying desperately to be a big boy, couldn’t contain his excitement for his Mommy.

“Jesus, when will she see it? She’s going to be so excited! She’s going to love having Joy, isn’t she?!”

“Yes, James, she is.”

Panya Ruth came running back, her brown, curly hair flying all around her, her arms wide open as she flew full tilt into the Lord’s arms, laughing wildly. He caught her easily, laughing heartily along with her. “Oh, Jesus! Mommy is gonna be so happy with Your present! Did you put a pretty pink bow on it!”

“No, honey, I didn’t. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

“That’s ok. Anna and I will take care of it! Come on, Anna!”

Shyly, Anna stood by Jesus’ knee. The Lord put His arm around her and hugged her close. “What is it, Dearest?”

“Will my Mommy never be sad again?” her tiny voice quipped.

Panny for once sat still and quiet as a mouse. James moved closer and leaned against the Lord’s side, too. Jesus pulled Polly’s children close and kissed each before answering Anna’s important question.

“My beloveds, the gift of joy is truly a very precious gift. It is an honor to give it to your mother. She deserves it. She has fought hard since you three are here with me rather than on earth with her. As you all know, that hurts her heart very much. This is why we all want so much to give her this gift of joy, right?”

“Right,” three small voices piped, as three small bodies snuggled as close as they could to Jesus’ heart as is only possible with the Son of God.

“But your Mommy will still have sadness. Great sadness. The truth is she has a long way to go on her journey and that journey includes a lot more sadness as well as joy.”

“But why, Jesus? Why can’t Mommy just have joy all the time?” James asked boldly.

“I have a Great Work for Mommy, James.”

“A ‘Great Work’?” Panny piped in.

“Yes. And in order to prepare her for this Great Work, she is going to have to go through these seasons of sadness first. And joy, too.”

“But I only want Mommy to have Joy. I don’t like to see her so sad, Jesus,” Anna pouted prettily, tears shining in her bright brown eyes.

“I know, honey. It hurts my heart, too. Believe me. It truly does. Do you not see here, how my heart is bleeding?”

The children pulled away from Jesus enough to notice the blood stain on the front of His shirt.

James, awed, asked, “You’re bleeding because You love my Mommy that much? It hurts You that much to see her so sad?”

“Yes, James, it does.”

“I still don’t understand, Jesus,” Panny continued to pout. “If it hurts Your heart so much that You bleed for her, then let her have joy all the time!”

All three children sat up and looked at Jesus with their beautiful brown, puppy-dog eyes, blinking at Him with the Great Hope, believing with all their little Hearts that He would choose just Joy for their beloved Mommy and no more sadness.

“Oh, my sweets. Do you see how very joyful I am here with you in spite of my sadness, in spite of the fact that my heart breaks enough to bleed for people like your Mommy?”

“Yes,” all three children nodded solemnly.

“Do you remember what happened to me before I came to live here forever?”

“Of course. It’s our favorite story,” Anna said quietly. “You were murdered.”

“That’s right. I was nailed to a cross. I died a horrible death because I loved each of you and your Mommy so very much.”

The children put their tiny hands in His and traced the nails’ scars. Panny reached up and pushed His hair off His forehead, revealing the scars from the thorny crown. “Did it hurt much, Jesus?” She planted a kiss on one of the larger scars.

“Yes, it did, sweetheart.”

“But you’re Jesus!” James’ eyes almost popped out of his head.

Jesus chuckled. “That may be so, son, but at that moment, I was a human man and it hurt as such things hurt any human being. I was in more physical pain throughout the whole of that time than you can imagine. And I don’t want you to imagine it.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Anna threw her arms around Jesus, hugging him tightly, her tears flowing freely.

Panny kissed His brow over and over.

James grinned goofily at Him.

“But You still haven’t exactly explained why Mommy can’t have joy all the time, Jesus,” Panny reminded Jesus.

“Right, yes. Well, while I was on the cross, that was my own Great Sadness. The Greatest Sadness I have ever felt. I had been sad before and will be sad again, but that was the Greatest Sadness ever. Since I’ve come to Heaven to be with my Father, I’ve had Joy like nothing I’ve ever known before, especially since each of you has arrived!” Jesus tickled each child in turn, making each squeal in glee.

“So what I hear You saying, Jesus,” James said when they’d settled down again, is that in order to know true Joy, my Mom has to know the Great Sadness, too?”

In answer, Jesus gathered the three children in His arms and the four of them watched as Polly discovered her gift of the anointing oil of joy more than anyone else.

            “Lord?”

            “What?
            “Are you even listening to me?”

            “Yes, Gabrielle, I’ve heard every word. I was just remembering the day Polly received the anointing oil of Joy. That was a beautiful day.”

            “But what exactly did it accomplish? Here we are, You’re still catching Polly’s tears and writing in her book. You’re spending an inordinate amount of time on her, Lord. It’s too much. Why’d You give her such an anointing if it’s all for nothing?”

            “Gabrielle, don’t you receive great joy through Polly?”

            “Of course, Lord. As You well know, we all love to hear her laugh. We gather with her children and have the most wonderful Laughing Parties. Such great times.” Gabrielle smiled fondly as he thought of Polly’s children. “So why does she still cry? She has so much capacity for great Joy! And she brings so much Joy to others! Her laugh is infectious! After all she’s been through, she deserves as much Joy as she can get. Not tears, not sorrow. Oh, God, why is she still crying?!”

            “Gabrielle,” God came around the table and laid His hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder to calm him. “Your frustration is good. I am so thankful that you care so much about the one I have asked you to watch over. But have you been watching her carefully recently?”

            Gabrielle squirmed. He stood and began pacing the room, avoiding looking directly at God. “Of course. She’s getting ready for the Great Thing You have for her. She’s been in the Word so much that I haven’t needed to keep such a close watch on her.”

            “Tell me the last thing you saw with Polly.”

            “That’s easy. She fulfilled her dream of taking Samuel to Disney World.”

            “Gabrielle, it’s been five years. What have you been doing since then?” the Lord chided.

            “Well, she was doing so well, I decided to focus on some of my other assignments who weren’t doing well and who needed more of my time.”

            “Gabrielle, you saw the outward appearance. The show. Not the heart. You saw what you wanted to see. I’m disappointed in you. Why did you give up so easily?”

            “Come on, God!? Seriously? You gave her the anointing oil of Joy! She didn’t NEED watching over! Someone with such an anointing certainly doesn’t need help from us! She’s the very one who is helping others! She’s going to be made a Saint! Well, not really because they don’t really do that in her time, but she is going to be one here. Why should I spend so much time on someone who doesn’t need it? She has JOY, God! Given in over-abundance to her by You! How in the world can she possibly still have so much sorrow?! I just don’t understand. I don’t want to spend any more time watching over her. I just don’t. I’m personally sick and tired of the ups and downs. I can’t handle it, God.”

            “How do you think she feels?”

            “How do I think she feels? I don’t care anymore, Lord!! She’s driven me almost mad! This rollercoaster of emotions is too much! I have too much to do to stay on this ride with her. My stomach simply can’t handle it. Hers can’t either, you know. Why don’t You just give her the Big Thing and be done with it so we can all get on with our lives?!”

            “Gabrielle.”

            “No, God. Look at her. Look at her right now. She is worshiping you. She is fine. There is nothing wrong with her. She is praising You with all her heart and soul. She is not sorrowful. She has been studying Your Word with due diligence. She has been doing any number of Bible Studies. I saw that You sent her to that week-long place for counseling and she came home on the mountain-top. Her friends have rallied around her. Her son is doing well. She is fine. Did you hear that laughter during her Sunday School class? No sorrow. No tears. You can’t fool me. Her tears are fake. She is full of JOY.”

            “Gabrielle.”

            “I don’t believe that a woman to whom You Yourself gave the anointing oil of joy more than else can possibly be that sad, Lord! I’ll get her to go back to her doctor and up her meds. That’s it. The dosage isn’t high enough. I’ll get right on that. Ah.”

            “Gabrielle.”

            “No, Lord. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of her tears! I’m sick of You spending so much time catching her tears! I’m sick of You spending so much time writing about her sorrows in Your book! Good grief! There are other people in the world! Get her to make a decision and MOVE ON! Other people do it every day! Why can’t she?! What makes her so special that she is stuck in this rut? You have such a Special Thing for her! Give it to her! Make it happen so we can all get on with our lives! It’ll get her to stop CRYING ALL THE TIME!”

            “Gabrielle.”

            “No! You gave her the anointing oil of JOY! You can’t give that to someone and expect me to be ok with all her many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many tears! No! I’m done! I’m not going to watch over her anymore! You deal with her! I can’t take it anymore!” Gabrielle turned around to find himself completely alone.

            He sighed deeply and sat down at God’s table in front of Polly’s open book of sorrows. Sliding his hand across the page, he began to read.

Remember the Miracles

Seeing God's miracles in the midst of grieving, even after 19 years, is not easy, but it is something I hear Him calling me to do. I'm going to be vulnerable here, folks, so please, be gentle and kind, ok? To this day, I still question, "God, where was my miracle?" concerning my stillborn son, James Isaac and each of my miscarriages, Panya Ruth and Anna Rose. You see, I've heard stories where women went in to have ultrasounds and there wasn't a heartbeat, so they went back to their churches and began a prayer chain. The next time they went to see their doctor, their babies' heartbeats were perfectly normal. Or of women who began bleeding as I did, indicating a miscarriage was imminent, but somehow, miraculously, they delivered perfectly healthy babies. I just couldn't help asking God, "Where were MY miracles?!"

You see, I wanted each of my babies more than life itself. I knew each time I was pregnant that I was pregnant even before I had the proof. I began rubbing my belly immediately and nicknamed each baby. I grew up knowing I would teach (have the career) and be a Mommy. And be the wife of a Pastor. By the time I was pregnant with James Isaac, two of those dreams had come true. The third was about to. God was so good. I knew He was making the third come to fruition. I didn't have the American Dream; I had my God Dream--my God Miracle.

And then I didn't.

And my life was turned upside down and it has never been turned upside right since. In fact, it has been topsy-turvy ever since and all I want is off this roller-coaster. But yet if I get off the roller-coaster, it would mean forgetting my babies, so I here I must stay.

What I must do is begin to remember the miracles God did perform. The miracles I did get from God. It won't get me off the roller-coaster, but it will remind me that God is still in the business of being Awesome and that even if I didn't get the Miracles I wanted, He still performed amazing Miracles in my life that I need to remember. 

So here are just a few of the wonderful Miracles of God in my life, in no particular order:

• My salvation: I became a Believer at the tender age of about 3 or 4 years old. I'm not sure which it was, but I know I was very young. I know a lot of people have trouble with young children's acceptance of Jesus into their hearts because they don't always know what they're doing, but I was quite precocious--if you'll allow me to say so about myself. I knew that I loved Jesus and I gave Him my heart then and I have never wanted to take it back. Have I been perfect in my faith? Of course not. But I have done my best to serve Him with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind, and all my strength ever since I was a very little girl.
• Dr. Steven Merta: the doctor who delivered James Isaac and Samuel and who was there with me through each of my miscarriages. I can't even begin to explain to you what a comfort he was and has been for me then and now. He was an angel God sent to take extra special care of me. Dr. Merta made sure that I was in as little pain as possible during James Isaac's delivery and that I slept through as much of the labor as possible. (Yes, I had to deliver James Isaac naturally even though we already knew he was gone.) When we first saw on the monitor that there wasn't a heartbeat, I cried to Dr. Merta, "You fix it." He didn't get upset; he just patted my shoulder and told me he would if he could. He is the one who reminded us to call home and back then, there weren't cell phones, so we had to call long distance on the office phone; he told us not to worry about it. While I was in labor and sleeping, he even visited with my family. I remember waking up and hearing him chatting with them. I found that to be a huge a comfort. I can't explain why. It just was. After James Isaac was delivered, Dr. Merta immediately laid him on my chest and let me hold him for as long as I wanted. He just took care of me. Dr. Merta even came to our funeral. I'd never heard of a doctor doing that. It meant the world to me that he came. And he was with me for each of my miscarriages. He took care of me each time. When Samuel was born, my heart rate shot through the roof and while all the nurses and everyone else around me went a little nuts, he calmly and coolly delivered Samuel and just took care of us. He was an angel.
• During my first ultrasound with James Isaac, the doctor found a cyst on my left ovary. When I went in just a few weeks later, the cyst had grown a centimeter a week. Concerned that there wouldn't be enough room for both the baby and the cyst at the rate the cyst was growing, I had surgery during my 20th week of pregnancy--between Thanksgiving and Christmas in 1998. I had to be awake for the safety of both Mom and James Isaac. My doctor's name was Dr. Caparossi--another angel sent by God. He had to remove my left ovary and fallopian tube, but everything was healthy otherwise. (Yes, I do wonder why we didn't take James Isaac then. But the surgery was a success; all was well and the longer he "percolated" in my belly, the safer it was for him. How were we to know what would happen just 18 weeks later?)
• When we first got to the hospital to deliver James Isaac, my nurse was the wife of one of the doctors in the practice with Dr. Merta and her name was Angel.
• When Dad answered the phone when I called home to tell them, he knew and all I had to say was, "Daddy."
• ALL of my students at the time came to the funeral. *My heart.*
• My family has always been there for me.
• The fact that I have had Laughter in my life at all even after having a stillbirth and 2 miscarriages.
• Tears.
• David and Phyllis Watson: James' brother David also came when they heard we'd lost our James Isaac. Phyllis had lost a baby, too, many years prior. Our loss was her loss; she had loved our James Isaac, too. They went with us to the funeral when we went to make arrangements. We had been told that it was "free." Once everything was set, the funeral director said, "That'll be $100." James and I just looked at him blankly. David stepped forward with the $100 and told us it was a gift. *My heart.*
• When I left the job I'd been at when I lost James Isaac and Panya Ruth, God provided the next job practically immediately.
• During my quiet time with Him one day, He called me His "Joy Song"
• My Mom--there are no words, but she has been another angel who has let me cry and who has listened to a LOT
• Katie, my sister, who has called and who has sat on the other end of the phone and just listened to me cry
• Songs that have come on the radio or across my Facebook at exactly the moment I needed to hear them
• Every single Hug I have ever received
• I haven't killed myself. There was this one day, in particular when I was driving in the parking lot on campus and I started to speed up towards one of the lamp posts. I didn't slow down, but yet here I am.
• When it was time to deliver Samuel, my heart rate went up to over 200 beats/minute. My wonderful cousin Robin Hodge who has been a neonatal nurse all her adult life was in the birthing room with me (mom made her after what had happened with James Isaac) and noticed the irregular heartbeat. Things got pretty "hairy"--to say the least, during Samuel's delivery. I was pretty out of it, what with the drugs I was allowed to have because, yes, I was too scared not to go through that experience without them. I desperately wanted to have Samuel naturally. You see, I'd had to deliver James Isaac naturally even though he was already gone. It was very important to me to deliver this son naturally, as well. Please don't make me say the words as to why. I just can't do it right now. But Dr. Merta was prepping the operating room for an emergency c-section because of what was going on with my heart. He checked my progress one last time before wheeling my bed down the hall and made the declaration that it was too late. I was just lucid enough to be aware and relieved and ready to push and do whatever he told me to do. Within minutes. my Rainbow Baby, my Miracle--my Sunshine--my Precious, was in my arms against my breast, breathing, crying, warm, and oh, so wonderful. He was HERE. And, like Hannah, God had answered my prayer. He was my Samuel.
• My massage therapist.
• I haven't killed or hurt someone else. (I won't name names.)
• Our trip to Disney World. (Thank you, Katie.)
• Fairhaven Ministries. They even told me to come when I told them I didn't have any money.
• Samuel's joyous laughter.
• Samuel's cuddles.
• Samuel.
• Cardinals. God has sent cardinals to remind me of His Son and His goodness just when I needed them, every time.
• Sunflowers. I love sunflowers. They are another reminder of God and His Son and JOY.
• I survived Mona. (Don't ask.)
• When I miscarried Anna Rose, someone with whom I had a prior connection came and held me--even though I was on the toilet (sorry, Katie) while I screamed and cried.
• Our finances.
• I'm still here. I'm alive. When I was in the hospital in 2009, I seriously almost died. James has told me numerous times that he saw Death in that hospital room. I saw Demons. I also saw Angels fighting those demons for my life. Guess who won?! (For those of you who don't know, I had a severe diverticulitis flare-up/infection. I was in the hospital for a week while they tried to deal with the infection with meds but finally had to do emergency surgery. I had to wear a bag for three months; after three months, Dr. Cox (another angel, btw) reversed the previous surgery and removed 8 inches of colon.) 
• When I was about three years old (or somewhere in there), I almost drowned. Kenny, my brother, and I had been dipping our toes in the water while the pool refilled and I slipped and went in. Dad had been mowing and came flying from the other end of the pool and saved my life. 
• When I was a teenager, I choked on a piece of meat. My brother Kenny had to give me the Heimlich to save my life.
• About 45 days before my wedding 25 years ago, I was in a car accident that rolled my car several times. If I hadn't been so short, I would not have walked away from that accident.
• His High Places Ministries. I went for a week-long session, expecting God to move and Boy, Howdy, did He!!! Praise the Lord!!!

I may not have received the miracles I wanted, but God has performed many wonderful miracles in my life. I haven't even named the so-called "little" miracles!

What about you? What are some of the wonderful miracles of God in your life?

I have a confession to make

I truly do have a confession to make. It's not a secret. But it's a difficult confession to make. In spite of the fact that I have been seeking JOY--in spite of the fact that I know that God has given me more JOY than others--in spite of the fact that I have found JOY regardless of the difficult times I have been through. . .that does not mean that I do not still struggle to find JOY on a day-to-day basis--to CHOOSE JOY every single day.

I know. I know.

I have been studying JOY now steadily since 2009. That is almost 10 full years of studying one idea, one word, one Biblical concept. You'd think I'd have it ingrained deep in my very soul by now. And I do. At least, for the most part. 

• I have spent almost every single day for two and a half years straight, more than 730 days, posting in Facebook at least one thing that brings me JOY. 
• I have read every book on JOY that I can get my hands on--almost 50 books total.
• I have completed every Bible Study on JOY that I have found (I've included the count in my books).
• I continue to memorize Bible verses on JOY in as many translations as possible--and there are hundreds of JOY verses.
• I write about JOY in this blog.
• I have JOY t-shirts and other JOY paraphernalia--I even just bought a pair of the new Skechers Go Walk Joy Sneakers.

But I am not perfect. I am not Paul of the Biblical Paul. I do not find myself capable of singing for JOY as I am in my current difficult situation. Rather than singing songs of Praise, I find myself sobbing at every turn, screaming in anger at those I love just because they're close enough for me to project my anger onto, not caring who I hurt, not living, and sobbing a whole lot more. Worst of all, I am not CHOOSING JOY.

I have no desire to CHOOSE JOY. The pain goes so deep that JOY is the last thing on my mind. All I can think of is the hurt I feel. I am so sick and tired of the hurt. When a person has been through all that I have, when is enough ENOUGH? 

Huh, Lord? When is enough ENOUGH???? 

I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH.

I do NOT Have enough JOY to handle all that is going on or that has happened.

I want to to be able to pull myself up by my bootstraps, CHOOSE JOY, smile, and show you that it can be done--that you CAN choose JOY regardless of what you have been through. That no matter what, God IS ENOUGH.

In my heart of hearts, I know that is true. And I know that I will eventually come to the place when I will be able to CHOOSE JOY again. But for right now, my heart just hurts and I don't have the energy to do anything more than rest in my Savior's arms. For now, I will let Him comfort me. I will cry on His shoulder. I will wait for His direction. I will let Him carry me because I don't have the strength to go any further on my own right now.

I know my Lord will use this time I am going through to help me grow in my faith and to be better used by Him for His glory, but I sure don't like this refining process right now. All I can do is pray that God is something super amazing for me on the other side because right now? I'm broken and JOY is the last thing on my mind.

When the Music Begins

"Why are you so eager to die?"--writing prompt (following is what came from this prompt)**Revised**

When the Music Begins

        Frustrated, she screamed and swiped the papers, pens, pencils, knick-knacks, snacks, and drinks off the top of the piano. She repeatedly banged her head on the piano top, screaming incoherently through each pounding. The tears flowed freely. She was powerless to stop her temper tantrum, as she called it; others might have called it an anxiety attack or something more meaningful. She hated herself for her lack of control and inability to change anything, for her weakness.

        As if from out of a tunnel, soft moans of “Mom,” “Mo-o-om,” called her back to consciousness. Taking a quick moment to straighten her clothes and then rushing into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, she plastered on her biggest mommy-is-just-fine smile and went in to her son’s room. She fought the catch in her spirit as she looked once again on his too-tiny-for-his-age body. Choking back the sobs, she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her Precious into her arms.

        He sighed contentedly as he relaxed into her, his head on her breast, feeling the solid beating of her heart telling him that it beat for him. “Mom?” he coughed.

        She couldn’t stop the tears, but she could control her voice, “Yes, Sugar-Bear?” She ran her fingers through his hair, snuggling him closer and murmuring soft words of comfort.

        “Why were you screaming?”

        “What?” she was horrified that he had heard her. She had been so wrapped up in her own emotions, she had forgotten how thin the walls were.

        “You have to finish it, Mom,” he croaked.

        “No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. . . .”

She wondered “Why are you so eager to die?”

She knew, deep in her very soul, that finishing the song meant his death. There was something un-namable, something un-identifiable about the connection between her writing this song and her son’s life.

        As long as she didn’t finish the song. . . she refused to finish the thought as she rocked her baby back and forth and her arms, still repeating, “No. No. No. No. No. . . .”

        He hugged her back, whispering, “It’s ok, Mom. It’s ok. Yes. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

         She soon felt his little body go slack in her arms. As she tucked him back in for the night, her tears continued flowing steadily. She leaned over to kiss his adorable, somehow-still-plump cheek and noticed a piece of paper clutched in his hand. She gently unfurled his fingers and smoothed out the wrinkles the best she could.

        Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her cries even as her mind registered the words written in her son’s baby scribble, “Lord, please tell Mommy that You’ve got this. Jesus, please hold Mommy tight in Your arms as You are already holding me. Tell her it’s ok, Jesus. It’s ok. . . .”

        She crumpled to the floor, grabbed the extra blanket on the bottom of her son’s bed, stifling her sobs. She rocked back and forth, staring at the words on the paper until she could no longer see through her tears.

        After a long time, she gently sat on the edge of the bed and took his slight hand in hers. She kissed each miniscule finger and then held his hand against her cheek as she memorized every inch of her pint-sized Precious.

        Resolved, she quietly stole out of the room and went straight to her piano. She didn’t bother with all the paper and pens. Her heart knew the notes.

        As the angelic music filled the tiny apartment, he smiled in his sleep and dreamed of arms opening wide to welcome him home. . . .

Even if He doesn't...

Daniel 3:18

But even if he doesn’t, we want to make it clear to you, Your Majesty, that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up.”

It recently struck me as quite powerful the opening clause to Daniel 3:18: "But even if he doesn't....." Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego had two options: 1. bow to the golden idol King Nebuchadnezzar had made or 2. be thrown into a fiery furnace and die a horrific death. I am not so sure in their situation or even similar circumstances that I would be able to refuse to bow down to an idol with my only option for not doing so is what I consider one of the worst possible ways to die. ("Some say fire...some say ice..."--yeah, ice--for me, please.)

Even with those two options facing them, the 3 men stood firm in their faith and belief in their God. They even had the audacity to tell King Nebuchadnezzar that "even if" their God did not save them from the fiery furnace, the "will NEVER serve [his] gods or worship the gold statue [he had] set up." Do you get the picture here? These three lowly men told the KING, emphatically, "NO!" Say what?! They DARED to refuse the KING himself?!

Yep. And in doing so, they made a conscious choice to die by fire. I don't know how much you know or how much you have thought about death by fire, but based on my knowledge and understanding, those who die by fire die VERY slowly and feel every bit of the horrific pain of the fire as it SLOWLY consumes them.

I cry and moan in pain when I burn my finger on the stove! I don't even want to begin to imagine what it must be like to die such a slow and horrific death as that.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego believed that God would save them, "BUT EVEN IF HE DID NOT," they would not do the awful, terrible thing King Nebuchadnezzar ORDERED them to do. Wow. That is TRUE faith.

Even if God did not save them from a death more horrific than any death I can imagine (ok, I can imagine other horrific deaths, but fire is definitely at the top of the list), they refused to bow down. Even if God allowed them to burn slowly, painfully, they refused to bow down. Even if God did not show up, they refused to bow down. Even if....

Wow.

It makes me wonder if my own faith is that strong.

Would I have quit taking the pill "even if" I had known what was going to happen with my first pregnancy?

Would I have accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior all those many years ago "even if" I had known what my future held?

Would I have purposely chosen to be a pastor's wife "even if" I had known back then all that came with such a responsibility?

I am not sure that I can 100% that I would have stood firm in my salvation throughout my younger years if I had known what was coming in my future. I can not say that I would have jumped blindly into what I believed with every fiber of my being that God wanted of me "even if" I had known that one day I would lose an ovary and part of my fallopian tube while 20 weeks pregnant...that I would have a stillbirth...a miscarriage....a difficult pregnancy with a live birth....another miscarriage....a life and death situation with two life-saving surgeries....more female problems that resulted in completely destroying any dream I may still have had regarding having more children...."even if" I had known that my husband and I would go through a period of time where I honestly and truly hated him...."even if" I had known that I would struggle at various points in my life to hold down a job..."even if" I had known that I would lose a number of close friends over the years.....

Proverbs 24:10 says that if I faint in the day of adversity, my strength (faith) is small (KJV). Is my strength small because I am not so sure that I can say, as these 3 men did, "even if God doesn't"? Based on what the Bible says, yes, my strength is small.

But do you know what?! My Bible also says that when I am weak--when I have no strength--that My Jesus IS my strength--when I am weak, He IS STRONG:

Isaiah 40:29, "He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless."

1 Corinthians 4:10, "Our dedication to Christ makes us look like fools, but you claim to be so wise in Christ! We are weak, but you are so powerful! You are honored, but we are ridiculed."

2 Corinthians 12:9, "Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me."

2 Corinthians 12:10, "That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

Ain't our God GOOD?! Thank You, Lord, that when I am WEAK, YOU ARE STRONG! Help me, Lord, be able to live out "but even if he doesn't" in my everyday walk with You.

Since I first posted this blog entry, two songs have come to my attention that fit this theme perfectly. Enjoy.

"Even If" by MercyMe

"Thy Will be Done" by Hillary Scott & the Scott Family