Of Healing and Miracles

I’m learning that faith in the fire isn’t easily defined. We can say we believe something, have Scripture to prove our points, and then find ourselves being tossed by the waves of circumstances beyond our previous realm of experience. All we can do is keep our heads above water, gulp enough air for breathing, and trust that the faith nurtured by the Holy Spirit is enough to keep us buoyant until the seas grow calm.

The “air” I’m inhaling, then, is the truth I KNOW, the foundation I don’t even have to think about.

God is real.

God is love.

God is all-powerful.

God is eternal and ever-present.

Let’s add a life vest—other truths that are buckled tightly around me and keep me from flailing and slipping underwater when I grow weary.

God has saved me through Jesus Christ and will never let me go.

God is sovereign; God is good; God has eternal purposes beyond what I can see.

God’s ways are higher than my ways, His thoughts higher than my thoughts.

This part is easy. These things I know. What I do NOT know is how, exactly, God will wield His power and work His purposes in particular situations.

God is all-powerful: so can God do miracles? Of course—Jesus used miracles to prove His claim that He is the Son of God.

God is eternal: so does He do miracles in these days when Jesus Christ doesn’t walk in a physical body on earth? Undoubtedly—many of us can testify to supernatural works that can only be attributed to the intervening hand of the Lord.

God is sovereign: so does God bring healing that overrides a doctor’s diagnosis? Sure, sometimes…I don’t have proof of this, but I suspect God really gets a kick out of showing up and showing off when people predict doom and gloom. I think He takes delight in doing the unexpected in order to get someone’s attention and draw them to Himself. (Come on…a donkey speaking to Balaam? A boy defeating a giant with a slingshot? A Jewish girl chosen as queen of Persia who just happens to save her people from mass slaughter? I could go on...)

So yes, I know these things. I believe God is powerful. I believe that if He wanted to, God could “heal” Verity.

Let me tell you what I don’t know. I don’t know what to say—how to respond—to kindhearted, well-meaning, faith-filled, encouraging proclamations about how people are praying for healing for Baby Verity, praying for nothing less than a miracle.

The night we got confirmation that Verity has full Trisomy 18 (as opposed to partial or “mosaic” T18), we talked with our older four kids about what all this means. Our 13-year-old son asked if God could heal Verity—heal her in the sense of making her “normal.”

I answered carefully. “CAN God heal her? Of course. He COULD. He is able. But in order to make her NOT have this condition, He would have to reverse what He has already set in motion. Verity has an extra 18^th chromosome in every single cell of her body, and unless He chooses to intervene in miraculous ways, that extra chromosome is always going to be there.”

What I didn’t want then (or now, truthfully)? False hope. A hope that rests on Verity somehow becoming “normal,” all because we hope and pray for healing and wait expectantly for a miracle. And so that night, I gently squashed the idea of praying for Verity’s healing, mostly because I myself feel that God’s purposes for Verity’s life are not of the miraculous, physical-healing kind.

I will say, however…after a few weeks of wrestling over various thoughts and emotions, God gently showed me that He WILL bring healing for Verity—she will be healed and made whole in heaven, if not here on earth. And so I had another talk with our family, this time telling them that I was sorry if I had discouraged them from praying healing prayers for their baby sister. I still think that “healing” can mean different things to different people, and I still emphasize that heaven is our real home, and THAT is where all things will be restored and renewed. So our prayers for healing WILL be answered, ultimately. And if they keep these things in mind…if they aren’t expecting a “healing” or a “miracle” to look a certain way…if they are open to God’s answer being perfect, no matter what it looks like…then, children—friends—by all means, pray for healing!

Am I wrong to put these mental limits, all these caveats, on our prayers—especially the prayers of other people?

It’s an honest question.

If someone feels led to pray for Verity’s full, restorative healing—who am I to stop that? Pray. Pray as you feel led. But I need to share where God has led ME, and that is to a peace that whatever happens, God has ALREADY done miracles. (Verity is already knit together and growing in my womb, fearfully and wonderfully made, just as she is.) God has ALREADY answered prayers. And I fully expect that He will continue to answer prayers and do miracles.

But…my miracle may not be as glorious as you envision.

My miracle may be bravely enduring labor knowing I will give birth to a stillborn baby.

My miracle may be that I have strength each day to care for a special-needs child with love and compassion, a thought that both drains and terrifies me.

My miracle may be losing our girl to the arms of Jesus just as we have finally learned to “do life” with her and all her needs, nurses, and equipment.

My miracle may be praising God and embracing the life He has given me when I would rather curl up and die.

You know what? On second thought…pray for miracles. Please…pray for miracles. 

Medical Input...the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

This past Tuesday we had a couple of consultation appointments set up. First we met with Sara, the genetic counselor whom we met on September 26, just before our diagnostic ultrasound for Verity. This was a good and productive meeting. Sara was very well prepared and gave us a lot of positive information about babies and children with Trisomy 18, some of which is in written report form that I was able to take home and peruse when I had more time and brain cells.

Based on our ultrasound findings, both in September and in October, Sara thinks Verity has a good chance of survival. Obviously there are no guarantees, and there are often things that ultrasounds can NOT pick up, but the overall picture shows us that she seems to have a “head start,” so to speak: if any baby were to have a positive outlook with this diagnosis, our Verity would seem to be one who may enter the world ready to fight the good fight.

Sara’s whole demeanor was extremely positive and encouraging. She said she was going to give us the full story of the hopeful end of the spectrum, even though we are all fully aware of the grim statistics. In her words, we would get enough of the negative from plenty of other sources, so she wanted to focus on things that would be helpful for us in the event that we are able to bring Verity home from the hospital.

So we discussed things like feeding options, breathing assistance, and so on. Ted had to leave a bit before our meeting time ended since he had to get to the airport for a work trip. I was bummed that he had to leave before we saw the NICU doctor but figured it wouldn’t be a big deal to fill him in on the information later.

As it turned out, I definitely could have used the moral support.

Dr. B works in the NICU. I was looking forward to hearing what measures the medical team would naturally take at the event of a Trisomy 18 birth. I was rather startled when nearly the first thing out of his mouth was something about dealing with a “retarded” child. He then seemingly excused his use of that term by explaining that he grew up with a “mentally retarded sister.” Over the course of our meeting—which was less a conversation than it was me listening in stunned silence—I gleaned some information that gave a bit of insight into his wording and overall lack of understanding or compassion for this situation.

His sister did not get enough oxygen at birth, and so she lived her 19 years with a mental handicap. This apparently took a toll on the whole family; he spent a fair amount of words talking about the importance of “buy-in” from the whole family, because when there is a baby/child with these kinds of needs, everybody must pitch in and help. And while I don’t disagree with that, I firmly believe our family has a MUCH different perspective already…our kids understand that we have to work hard together and serve one another in order for things to run halfway smoothly! If we want to have fun, for example, we need to be willing to work together to create the time and space for certain memory-making times to happen. But life in general involves putting others’ interests and needs ahead of our own. We don’t always do this with humble, Christ-like attitudes, but still…we have this basic understanding from Scripture and work hard to teach it to our children. A precious moment that lives in my heart just from today? Seeing my 13-year-old son holding his 3-year-old brother by the hand and leading him to the family room for a story so Mom could finish something in the kitchen. My kids ALREADY help their siblings, and they don’t resent it (most of the time!). They distract the baby while I’m wiping her poopy butt so she doesn’t spread the mess. They watch out for little ones who are trying to explore something that could be harmful. They read and color and play with each other. Even the older ones look out for each other…maybe doing someone’s chores when they have other activities or making sure a sibling doesn’t feel left out at a youth event.

I digress. Back to this meeting, which I do wish I had recorded to make things easier for communicating with Patient Services. It’s been a few days, and my emotions have simmered down. I don’t remember exact wordings for everything, more like impressions. One such impression was related to the “buy-in” comments, making me visualize a family meeting where we all sit down to have a vote…are we going to “let” Verity live what this man considers a “futile” life (that word IS one he used with alarming frequency), or do we have better things to do?! (Please note he did NOT actually say this—this was an impression I got upon listening to what he did say.)

Another idea had something to do with his own experience…a child like this (i.e. mentally/ developmentally delayed) takes a toll on the whole family. It is a strain mentally, emotionally, financially. For example, Mom couldn’t take the kids to Disney World because of the sister who would have needed special care. Really?! While I love the idea of taking our brood to Disney World, there are definitely more important things in life.

In between these opinions I did at least learn that the medical staff will do basic, necessary measures such as resuscitation, assisting with baby’s breathing, giving feeding help, etc., UNLESS we instructed them not to do these things (which for us obviously isn’t an option). Beyond that…Dr. B indicated that we will need to figure things out depending on Verity’s particular situation and decide what measures we would want to pursue. He spent a fair amount of time talking about heart surgery as an example before admitting that Verity’s heart actually looks quite good, so that shouldn’t be something we need to deal with…but in the event that it does come up, there is a surgeon who has considerable experience and would be there for us. In any case, he made it pretty clear that his own opinion, and seemingly the opinion of most of the staff (he apparently spoke for them all?!) no matter what their “religious affiliation” was that beyond the basic care given immediately after birth, it would be pretty “futile” to do anything else.

I’m sure folks are reading this thinking, “Why didn’t you give him the what-for?!” And truly, as I drove home, shaking with anger and wiping away tears, I thought of a boatload of things I could have or should have said. But perhaps you’ve been in a similar situation where you felt punched in the gut—caught completely unaware, listening to someone say things so far removed from what you expected to hear, that you couldn’t even formulate words in your own brain, let alone speak them.

I did work to wrap up the meeting sooner rather than later, and as I reached for a Verity card to leave with this doctor, I was stunned yet again when he asked me, “This is your last one, I hope?” He then went on to ask what my “religious affiliation” was.

Good grief.

I was as polite as I could be and simply pray that the photo card I left with him will speak volumes of truth to his heart. No matter how long Verity lives, she is ALREADY a blessing and a gift. She is not a mistake. Her life is not futile. As her family, we may have fears and doubts about our abilities to care for whatever her unique needs are going to be, but we don’t doubt that God has beauty and purpose in all things and that He will be glorified.

I created these photo cards to give out to people whom we meet along the way...maybe those who are already praying for us or those who strike up those polite conversations in the grocery store. I know there are days when trying to answer may cause me to be emotional; or there are times when I want to speak truth about our situation but don't have time to share everything. These cards have made their way into a number of medical caregivers' hands as well as our local prayer circles. They also serve as a good reminder to us as Verity's family!

Raw, Ugly Truth

Yesterday afternoon I had two consultation appointments at the university medical center where we have had Verity's ultrasounds and where we anticipate birthing her. The first meeting was with the wonderful genetic counselor with whom we met immediately prior to our diagnostic ultrasound. The second was with one of the NICU doctors. While I do plan to unpack the information (and opinions) we received yesterday, I feel pressed by the Lord to first be completely open about my own personal struggle. I'm still dealing with the log in my own eye.

It's ugly. It's painful. And I need God to fully deal with it. I don't know how long this part of the journey will take (I suspect it will be an ongoing struggle), but I know it's all part of His refining fire. (That doesn't mean I have to like it.)

Anyway, below is what I wrote in my prayer journal yesterday morning...more to come later, I'm sure...

****************

Job 30:16-22 [part of my assigned daily Scripture reading] seems so real to me today.

"And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold of me. The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest. With great force my garment is disfigured; it binds about me like the collar of my tunic. [My non-academic paraphrase: I feel as if I'm choking.] God has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes. I cry to you for help and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me. You have turned cruel to me; with the might of your hand you persecute me. You lift me up on the wind, you make me ride on it, and  you toss me about in the roar of the storm."

God...this heaviness. I can't bear it. Help me. I have no right to ask for your help, no right at all on my own merit. You know the depths of my heart: the ugliness. Selfishness. Resentment. Fear. Feeling resigned to a burden I may carry for...who knows how long? As awful, as ugly as it is, I can't be anything other than completely naked before you. After wrestling and somewhat coming to terms with the real possibility that our baby may die...I find myself now completely terrified that...

...she might live.

Devastating. I'm devastated to face that ugliness inside me. I'm ashamed of what it reveals about me. I'm sorry to say that my heart isn't always in line with what I know is true...

• Your grace is sufficient.
• Your power is perfect in my weakness.
• Your mercies are new every morning.
• Your faithfulness is unending.
• Your steadfast love never fails.
• You carry all my burdens.
• You give joy in the morning.
• You work all things for good.
• You will accomplish your purposes.
• You are refining us and making us more like you.

What can I say?? You've never "listened" to me when I've cried out, "ENOUGH! I can't take any more!" My hands were more than full when Kenna came along! And though I can't imagine life without our precious Kenna, Lucan, Zaden, Seanin, and Rhema, I AM FULL. OVERWHELMED.

I know special-needs families LOVE their children. Life revolves around serving these vulnerable, precious ones, and they wouldn't trade it for anything. I see, hear, feel the love as they talk or type about their children. I already love Verity, and I wouldn't trade this for my own plans--we all know that your plans and ways are much higher than ours. I know. I know. I KNOW.

But.

Sigh.

Someday maybe I won't need the but. Today is not that day. Today I look ahead and see real possibility of a life centered around medical appointments and special equipment for our special girl. I see lack of sleep, lack of order, lack of energy for my marriage and our other kids--our eight other precious kids whom YOU have given to us. Certainly no room for a business or ministry outside my home. Sure, I also see a lot of growth and compassion and love. But. (There's that word again.) It comes with a huge dose of exhaustion and ever-present concern.

And I am utterly, completely overwhelmed.

Of Demon Bugs and Broken Alabaster Jars

Written in my journal October 28, 2016, at a beautiful setting for our fall ladies' retreat:

I'm at the retreat center now, sitting outside on a beautiful late afternoon, feeling the wind in my hair, the cup of hot tea on my lap, and little Verity dancing in my belly. I'm on a wooden bench in front of a simple wooden cross. The lake behind and below this little overlook is entrancing with its endless ripples moving in the same wind that sways the branches above me and tosses leaves beneath me.

It is extraordinarily peaceful. I long to fully enjoy this quiet solitude. But I am irritated by these stupid little stinging black bugs! They have been a source of evil distraction since I first sat down, causing me to don my sweater despite the warm temperature. I've swatted and murdered a growing number of these diminutive demons, but their constant presence is definitely marring this experience! I had hoped for some poignant, reflective moments, maybe a rhema word from the Lord. And while I have searched out some Scripture and used my Blue Letter Bible app for a quick word study, so far this hasn't been the spiritual awakening and/or renewal I was envisioning!

Somehow that seems all too appropriate. I sit at the foot of the cross, longing to fully worship my Jesus but instead swatting at the demons of fear and anger, whose legions continue to torment me even though through Jesus I live in a place of rest and peace. I realize--NOW--as I write this--that these horrid little bugs, stirred up by the recent harvest, will linger through these warm, mild days, finally dying in the cold and dark days of winter.

As I think about the darkest times in my life up to this point, I realize that my deepest worship, the truest worship I have ever been capable of offering, has come in the cold, dark days of winter: times of death, loss, pain, hardship. And the doubts and fear? Gone. Dead. Completely overshadowed and overcome by the One who is worthy of all my worship, not because of what He did or didn't do in that season, but simply because of WHO HE IS.

I don't know what our "winter" with Verity will look like. All I know is, my current struggle with the demon bugs is all too real. Yet I say with Job, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him" (Job 13:15). I hate the unknown, the uncertainty, with a passion. It's where the fear and frustration live and grow. But one thing I know--when the winter comes, I will yet praise Him. And the praise will slay the demons.

God...I have to trust you more than I need to explain you. I choose to continue offering myself to you. I want answers...I want a reason...but so much more than that? I want YOU. And I want you more than I want a sense of control. When my fingers tighten around the bottle you're asking me to pour out, then Lord--give me strength and courage to break that alabaster jar and let the extravagance overwhelm me and all who are near enough to inhale that fragrant offering. Make your name glorious, Jesus...my beautiful Savior.

Ultrasound #2: Feelings

I was full of anticipation Monday morning as we looked forward to seeing Verity's sweet little self on ultrasound shortly after lunch. I met Ted at the medical center...where the whole appointment seemed to be over in the blink of an eye.

And it all felt like a chasing after the wind.

We had some answers, a few precious facts to hold onto. But somehow they weren't enough. They weren't what I was looking for. Which begged the question...what exactly WAS I looking for...longing for?

I left the medical center planning a few stops before going home. Mostly I wanted to be alone to try to figure out my thoughts and feelings, which seemed so strange and foreign inside my own head. My first stop was a beautifully peaceful place, a crisis pregnancy center across the street from the abortion clinic where a few weeks ago we took part in an ongoing prayer vigil. I wanted to drop off some outgrown toddler clothing and meet one of the sweet volunteers who has corresponded with me a bit since learning about Verity. I got a quick tour of the facility and heard more about the loving and compassionate services offered there. I'm glad I stopped; it was a bright spot in a confusing day.

Traffic and miles of highways gave me plenty of time alone in the car to think and pray. Why was I feeling so emotional? Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? (Psalm 42:11a) What was my problem? The news about Verity had all been good--so many answers to specific prayers. And truly, I AM grateful for the good report.

Anger.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a rage roiled inside of me, even as I felt the crushing weight of despondency. And it took shape more quickly than the words I tried to form in prayer. (I'm ever so grateful the Lord understands our hearts.)

Anger at the clinical approach and unhelpful explanations from the doctor regarding the ultrasound.
Anger at her constant referral to our baby girl as it.
Anger at the feelings of helplessness and uncertainty.
Anger at having to be in the position of WAITING...interminable waiting...instead of planning. Don't we do enough WAITING as a military family?? Always waiting, waiting, waiting, uncertain about what is coming next. WAITING for specific leading from God--to retire after 20 years next summer or not? Before Verity's T18 diagnosis, we felt a peace about staying on active duty. This of course has us again in the position of WAITING for that next assignment...but knowing (what little we know) about Verity, everything seems extraordinarily more complicated. Will we be moving as a family of 11 with a special-needs baby...or as a family of 10 grieving the loss of a child, a sibling?

And fear. Oh, the fear.

It's ugly. There are so many days I don't have time for fear, other days when it simply isn't a part of life because LIFE is too full of God's joy and peace. When I'm living in worship, walking by faith instead of by sight, purposefully engaged in what God has called me to do...when my head rules my heart...fear is not a factor.

But. Feelings have a mind of their own, don't they? And so fear washes over me inexplicably, even as I experience the precious peace that never truly leaves but somehow seems quiet in those moments of crashing, frightful waves.

And so I sat in our driveway after a long afternoon of medical talk, errands, driving, thinking, and praying. I sat quite awhile, overcome by these powerful emotions that I hated to admit I had. Don't I trust God? Don't I take Him at His word? Hasn't He proved Himself loving and good and faithful no matter what my circumstances?

YES. All that is true.

But what I'm feeling is also real.

Our wise small group leader told us, after texting Ted and me particular verses meant to encourage us, that he knows Scripture isn't just platitudes...he wanted to make sure we understood his intentions, that he wasn't simply quoting verses to make the hurt go away and "fix things." Truth is truth, regardless of feelings.

I'm heading into this weekend feeling pretty battered and bruised emotionally. From anger so powerful it left me shaking in the driveway Monday afternoon to gut-wrenching fear that still rips at my heart when I least expect it, I've felt pummeled even as I strive to tread water amidst the "smaller" waves of sadness and confusion. In searching for tangible answers to my Trisomy 18 questions, I've only found more uncertainty.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand...all other ground is sinking sand...

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 1 Corinthians 13:12, KJV

I've told our kids multiple times that our God is big enough to handle questions and doubts. I don't want to serve a God I fully understand--how would He then be GOD?! The truth is...I will never have things figured out this side of heaven. I will continue to wrestle. But like Jacob (Genesis 32:22-32), I won't let go until He blesses me.

Why, my soul, are you downcast?
    Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
    for I will yet praise him,
    my Savior and my God. 
Psalm 42:11

I want to end with this verse, a hopeful note, a note of confidence in my Savior and my God. It does seem a tidy way to end this blog post...yet I feel it somehow wouldn't be completely honest. There is so much more I could say about this struggle, so many more details I could give about specific fears that haunt me. And Lord willing, I will bare it all; this isn't my story, but His. My deepest desire is to honor God, and even though some of the sharing is going to be painful and ugly...I think that just as I have to wrestle with the downcast, disturbed parts of me in order to get to that place of hope and praise...I also have to reveal that struggle so that--just maybe--others will also put their hope in God.

Special thanks to those who are wrestling with me in prayer...

Ultrasound #2: Facts

We had another ultrasound yesterday since the last one had not yielded good visibility for Verity's heart. I was so looking forward to getting another glimpse of our baby girl, whose movements grow increasingly stronger day by day. I was also anticipating some answers--something, anything--that might help us prepare for what Verity will need, what she will be like, upon her arrival.

Verity was in the exact same position as at the ultrasound 4 weeks prior--face down--but her increased growth allowed much better visibility for the tech whose priority was to get good shots and measurements of her heart and profile. Aside from her little feet turning inward and the clenched hands, both typical of Trisomy 18, everything looked so beautifully normal to us as parents. Our technician was kind and talkative and able to complete her tasks quickly. It wasn't long at all before we heard from Dr. B, the female doctor who had spoken with us after Verity's last ultrasound.

I will do my best to summarize the facts as we learned them yesterday. Considering it has been 24 hours and I did not take written notes, I may very well forget something, but here is what I remember the doctor telling us:

• The baby's heart looks very normal--this was an immense relief and an answer to prayer, as many T18 babies have heart issues. We have been praying that we will not have to make a decision about any major interventions that may cause harm to Verity, and knowing her heart is healthy in utero gives us peace.

• Verity's profile is absolutely beautiful. Oh wait...I'm supposed to be giving facts here, not opinions! ;-) But that is my interpretation of what Ted and I saw on the monitor coupled with Dr. B's assessment that there is no sign of a cleft lip (which could indicate a cleft palate but is not something that can be determined by ultrasound). Again, cause for celebration. I firmly believe that no matter WHAT this precious baby's appearance, I will see her as beautiful; however, one of my prayers from the beginning has been that our other children will feel connected to and not repulsed by their baby sister. Additionally, it gives me hope that perhaps I will even be able to nurse her. 

• Despite slowed growth being typical of T18 babies, Verity is of an average weight for a baby at 22 weeks gestation (about a pound). Now that I'm typing this out, I realize I neglected to ask specifically about her head circumference, which was in the 5th percentile last time. I will see if I can find out anything about that.

• The doctor could see no other physical concerns that were not already noted in the previous screening. Again, reason to praise the Lord!

• Based on this assessment, Dr. B is even questioning the need for Verity to have to be in the NICU, assuming she arrives close enough to her due date and is delivered without complications. She also suggested that whether I chose to do a C-section delivery or not would not make any difference. Now...the fact that she said these things is...a fact...but...this leads me to a topic for what obviously needs to be a follow-up to this post, which is feelings...so, I will unfortunately have to leave you hanging there for now.

Dr. B asked us some questions we honestly could not answer, mostly because it seemed so many of those answers would have had to begin with the words, "It depends..." I don't remember all of the questions, but I do remember phrases like hospice care, medical interventions, and ethical decisions. As Ted and I stared blankly at each other throughout these queries, it became all too obvious that, despite the reading we have done, we simply do not have enough information to equip us for the wide range of possibilities ahead of us.

So...we left the medical center with another appointment scheduled for next week: a consultation with the genetic counselor as well as a doctor from the NICU. These folks will be able to help us think through the "what ifs." Actually, perhaps it would be more accurate to say they will first help us know what exactly some of those "what ifs" are...

Despite hearing all of these facts, we left somehow feeling as if we know even less than we did before the ultrasound...

Beautifully Ordinary

At breakfast I noted the date and said to my husband, "It's been a month since we got the phone call from the doctor."

His reaction: "It's only been a month?!"

We've done a whole lot of living in that one-month period...celebrated two milestone birthdays; traipsed in and out of libraries; made trips to the dentist, chiropractor, and women's health clinic; watched the trees turn colors; muddled our way through math lessons and science experiments; prayed together; laughed together; cried together.

Homemade pizza.
Loads of laundry.
Birthday cake.
Read-aloud time.
AWANA verses.
Praise team rehearsals.
Meeting friends; changing diapers; cooking meals; stepping over Legos.

So many normal, mundane things and activities. So many wonderful, familiar faces. So much depth and intensity in the ORDINARY, simply because we have been granted the gift of awareness.

And this morning, the gift of an ordinary mommy moment...what we've always called the Morning Coffee Dance in my pregnancies. (It used to be the Hot Tea Dance, back in my younger years when I thought coffee was awful.) Soon after downing my first sips of hot goodness, I felt the familiar flutters of baby movements. So precious. So...normal.

Our Verity is very much alive. She is an extraordinary gift, and we will cherish each moment with her.

Every
beautifully
ordinary
moment...

And even...maybe especially...the not-so-ordinary ones.