Remembering His Greatest Promise

I've dreaded hitting the publish button on this one. What will people think when they read my deepest fears typed out into real words? Some of these I haven't even said out loud. Will this transparency translate to "bad mom" or "weak"? Well, this is my heart. I am a human, a scared human.
- A



Some nights I sit in Ben's nursery and I look out the large windows and I see all of the stars shining in the sky. The sky has been so clear, and I can see every single star sparkling like glitter on a beautiful ribbon wrapped around a Christmas gift.

I wasn't really thinking about anything. I was just sitting. My mind was wandering. I realized that every star I saw that night, I was thinking of a fear I have about my son.

Will his stomach float out more into the omphalocele?

Once he comes, will the doctors and surgeons say it's worse than they expected?

Will he be made fun of by other children when he goes to a swim party because of his large scar across his tummy?

The looks from other moms when they see this defect growing from his tummy.

Will he be able to be fed?

Has he gained enough weight?

Will he be able to breathe on his own?

The first time I see the omphalocele, not in a picture, but in real life. On my tiny baby.

How will that make me feel?

Can I handle seeing it?

Will he make it?

Will several surgeries be too much for his little tiny body?

.......


That night I was overwhelmed with fear. The kind of fear that makes you feel like you're about to throw up, the kind of fear that makes your whole body sweat even though you have chills, the kind of fear that makes you shake and quiver, the kind of fear that takes over your body and your mind.

I'm just plain scared.

When I came out of that dark place in my mind I prayed my prayer of little words.

You know, He never ever promised that things would be perfect. He never promised that things would be easy. In fact, most people face pretty crappy situations in their lives. People face horrible tragedies, loss, crisis. He never promised it would be perfect, and it sure isn't.

He did, however, promise to be enough. And He is.

I just have to trust in Him, there's no one else that I can trust in.

I believe that He's Jehovah Rapha, the Ultimate Healer.

I believe that He's more then enough for me, more than enough for my baby.

I also believe that there's a reason that all of this is happening around Christmas time. The greatest promise that He ever gave to mankind was in the form of a baby. I bet you Mary was terrified. Their situation was so far from perfect. Can you imagine how Mary must have felt? Probably even more scared than I am. Their situation was terrible. No place to stay, going into labor, and riding on a donkey. Let me tell you one thing... If Ben suggested I hop up on a donkey right now and make a long journey I'd punch him square in the gut! Literally, nothing went right for them leading up to the birth, but look what that terrible situation turned into.

It's amazing that His greatest, most powerful, amazing promise was a baby.

Your situation may be absolutely terrible. Your journey may be ugly. Your heart may be broken. And that's okay. We're human.

Momma, it's okay to be scared. Teacher, it's okay to be exhausted. Daddy, it's okay to feel burdened. Secretary, it's okay to feel annoyed. Wife, it's okay to feel lost. Student, it's okay to feel stressed out. Daughter, it's okay feel distraught. Who ever you are, whatever you do, you're a human and you will feel these horrific feelings.

But many years ago there was a baby, and that led to a cross, and that led to an empty tomb.


I am scared. No, I'm terrified... But I'm not going to let that darkness over take me. That baby is our refuge. He's faithful. He's with me. I'm not alone. I know I'm not. He walked this journey before me, and He's walking it with me now. He is taking my fear, and He is drawing me closer through that.

You're not alone. Just remember that incredible baby that changed our world.






Choose Joy,
Allison

Ben's Mom

Friday we had another round of appointments at MUSC. Things went well, nothing had really changed... Ben is still ready to make his entrance into the world, but we are continuing to pray he stays put at least a little longer! This day of appointments was filled with much less anxiety than the last visit! We got to see his sweet little face, and that always makes me so happy!

Friday was the first time I had felt good about myself in weeks. I had brushed my hair, even ran a flat iron through it, I had makeup on, and I had even put on real clothes! (Ladies that have been on bed rest, you know that's a big accomplishment!) We decided that since I felt good, we would go to dinner! A real dinner! Not propped up on our bed in a maternity tank top, not sitting on the couch with crazy wild hair that hadn't been brushed all day. A real dinner.... At a restaurant!

Ben chose a place that was close by, of course! We walked in to this place I had never been before and we ordered and we began a light hearted, fun date night that we so desperately needed. We giggled, we talked about Ben, we played, we joked. It was perfect.

During our wonderful meal a lady approached our table. A "stranger." She stopped and asked me quietly, "Are you Ben's mom?" Caught off guard, I said "Yes." She introduced herself, and we chatted for a couple of minutes. Somehow she had stumbled across our story, and she had been following Ben's journey and progress, and she recognized me from the pictures. She encouraged us in our long, rough journey.  I was so glad she came over to our table! She was kind hearted, and she spoke from a genuine heart. She had no idea how huge of an impact she would end up having on me, and to be honest, it hadn't sunk in all the way for me either.

I really appreciated all of her heart-felt encouragement, but the most powerful thing she said to me were the smallest of words, "Ben's mom." She asked me if I was Ben's mom.

I hung on to that.

It resonated in my mind for the next few hours.

Ben's mom.

Later that night, I sat down in my place, my peaceful gray glider in the nursery, and I looked at the new ultrasound pictures that were printed for us earlier that day. He is getting bigger; I looked at his precious face, his perfect hands, his strong little features. I hugged my belly tight, able to see his little kicks through my blue sweater night gown... and I was overcome with emotions. Yes, absolutely, I am Ben's mom. I am Ben's MOM!

In my 28 years, I have had many names, many roles:
believer
wife
teacher
daughter
friend
sister
etc...

But tonight for the first time I heard my new name from the lips of a stranger new friend. And that name was beautiful. That name was powerful. That name is so humbling... To know that God is allowing me, a nobody, to be a part of little Ben's huge miracle story.

Ben is already making an impact on people. He is already proving that this isn't all about science. My son is showing the world, already, that God is still creating miracles daily. Ben's story is going to be heard by many people.

I am truly not worthy of such an enormous role in Ben's incredible story. My body is supposedly not capable to endure this role, but I am so grateful He is giving me the opportunity to be a part of this. I'm just thankful to have the opportunity, this chance.

My new name is so beautiful, so wonderful.... It is So. Incredibly. Humbling.

Ben's mom. Ben's mom. That's me! I am Ben's mom, and I am filled with joy because I have been entrusted with that name.

Choose Joy,
Allison

My Precious Son-
You are a miracle. You are so incredibly loved by so many people. You are a gift. Your name is cried out before our Lord by many, many people. You are proof of the power of prayer.

You are going to have to overcome major physical hurdles as a tiny baby, but you can do it. You are fierce. You are a fighter.

One day you are going to move mountains. You are going to continue to defy all odds. You are so strong. You, my sweet baby boy, will be a living testimony of the power and strength of our Anchor. I can't wait to watch you walk your journey.

Keep fighting, Ben. Keep growing big and strong in my "incompetent body." Keep defying odds. You've got a beautiful journey ahead of you.

Momma loves you.

Anxiety and Anchors

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure." 

Hebrews 6:19

 

Yesterday we sat in the waiting room that I've come to know so well. 3 big pictures of Downtown Charleston on big canvases, a TV in the corner that always has terrible shows on, and an out of order water machine. The room was filled with anxiety, my anxiety. It was pretty palpable, and apparently my face totally gave me away, despite my efforts to hide it. 

We were there to have my cervix, my  incompetent cervix, measured. We learned that it was short a while back, and that means preterm labor. Another dreaded date with that horrible ultrasound thing. Not the fun kind. I know what to do, I've done it too many times before. So there, in the small room, filled with machines and screens I did what I needed to and waited on the table for her to come back in. 

I sat there, exposed, waiting to hear, yet again, how my body wasn't good enough for my baby. Technically, my body is incompetent, and I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of hearing I can't provide a good enough place for my boy to grow big and strong. 

At this point I'm completely anxiety ridden. Convincing myself not to have a panic attack in that dark room. We learned that my cervix is now half a millimeter, and that's all that's keeping baby Ben in there! He's also head down, ready to come into this world. (He's already hard headed and determined like his Daddy.)

Lying there, listening to the ultrasound tech, fighting back tears, holding off a panic attack, and staring at the off white, speckled tile on the ceiling I remembered I just need to be hopeful, I just needed to cling to my Anchor.

 

Some girls have beautiful pregnancies, full of delightful ultrasounds, positive appointments, and butterflies as they await meeting their doctors. I'd be lying if I said sometimes I wish mine was a little more like that, but that's not our journey. That's not in our miracle story. Our visits are a little less beautiful, and they're a little less positive. Basically I just try not to pass out or throw up. Don't get me wrong, friends... I LOVE being pregnant. There is nothing I delight more in than feeling my precious son wiggle and dance in my big belly. It's the most precious thing in the world. But when it comes to the appointments, that's where it really just stinks. Ever since September when we found out about the omphalocele we have not had 1 appointment where it was completely fine or positive. And that can wear ya down, especially a hormonal pregnant woman. (Especially one who cries over simple things like mozzarella sticks and fruit cups!)

So now in the even smaller exam room, I waited for the doctor, my favorite doctor in the group. The nurse came in and I was convinced she was hiding bad news from me. I immediately asked her what was going on, just tell me, don't make me wait for the doctor. She backed up with her hands up and said, I was just asked to take your vitals! Poor woman. The doctor finally came in and  he brought in a woman that I have seen around, and who has worked with us because we are high risk. In my panicked, anxiety ridden mind, that meant he was going to give me bad news and this woman was going to console me. It's amazing what your mind can do to you. As soon as he walked in he noticed my radiating anxiety and tried to make me feel better, as he carefully guided and guarded his words as to not give me false hope. They do that so well... 

Ultimately, nothing else, really important, was wrong now that we didn't already know about. (Except the cervix being almost non existent). 

We know about the giant omphalocele. We know what organs are outside of his body. We know that his stomach is small for his body, but that is to be expected with his "o." We know my cervix is incompetent. We know he's trying to come early. We know it's very scary to combine the "o" and premature birth. We know, we know, we know.

But truly, I have hope. I have to. I've been clinging to Hebrews 6:19 lately, and I just have to claim it. "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure..." He is our anchor, He is our hope, He alone provides that security. 

At this time in my life, I have really experienced that hope, I have experienced Him being my only anchor. I have learned to stop saying "Okay... what else could possibly go wrong?!" Because something else can always go wrong, I promise. 

I've moved on to a season in my life where I just have to cling to hope, cling to my Anchor and accept our journey full of challenges, embrace our miracle story.

I am a part of a couple of support groups, and I have learned that, although our situation is truly terrifying, although my heart is shattered for my baby boy, and although I know this road is going to be a hard, rough, long journey, we actually have a lot to be thankful for. 

I'm going to continue to choose joy. I'm going to continue to be hopeful. I'm going to continue to cling to my Anchor. Because if I don't, I couldn't make it. That's the absolute only way I can face each scary day filled with the unknown. I decided to incorporate the anchor theme into Ben's room, which has also served as my "war room." (Check out the pictures below!)

I encourage you to cling to our Anchor in your own journey, friends. It's really the only way.

Choose Joy,

Allison

Check out what Team Peters has been up to in our little world for the past couple of weeks!

Ben working hard on the wall above the crib!

Finished this part of the wall, and almost finished crib bedding! 

Sunday, 27 weeks! 

Heidi being the best bed rest companion ever! She never leaves my side!

My Father

Over the past couple of weeks I have been overwhelmed by the amount of people that care for us.  People have reached out to me telling me that they are praying for my son, I have received cards (which I'm making into a book for Ben), people have sent messages, texts, and calls checking on us, praying over us, and just talking to me- taking my mind off of what's going on. People have sent food, movies, books, arts and crafts, magazines, and items to keep me busy while I'm stuck in the bed.

Truly, our fridge, pantry, freezer, and hearts have never been so full.

People are making it easier for me to keep baby Ben "cooking," and I am so thankful. I am so incredibly thankful for each and every person that has gone out of their way to reach out to us in some way. I absolutely can't wait to tell my son about the amount of people that care about him already!

THANK YOU, FRIENDS!

During my hospital stay my mom was sick with a fever, and you best believe not one person on staff at MUSC would allow her to come anywhere close to that building! I knew she wanted to be with me, I knew she wanted to hug me. I now get that "mom feeling" of just wanting to do anything possible for your baby.

My mom got to feeling better, and a few days ago my parents came to visit. I was so anxious to see them. Sometimes all a kid needs is time with their parents. If you haven't gotten to that stage in your life, you will. You go through that phase when you think you're a grown up and you can totally handle "adulting" on your own. HA! Trust me, you'll always need your Mom and Dad.

Anyway, my parents came at just the right time. I was so tired of laying on my back, sitting on the couch. Staring at the same walls. My dad carefully unpacked every food item people sent, cleaned out my freezer and restocked it. My dad listened and prayed. They brought me new clothes that will be comfortable wearing while I'm stuck on bed rest. My mom carefully selected movies, old and new, to keep me entertained, she brought me a beautiful coloring book, colored pencils, and a sharpener. She brought me a stuffed animal that played calming sounds. She literally thought of everything.

I was thankful. Truly, I was extremely thankful for each item that they lugged in with them. But more than any tangible thing, I was so incredibly thankful for their presence. Being near them was exactly what my child like heart needed at that time.

Because I'm on bed rest, I obviously can't do much, but we got to do a little bit! We went to lunch at one of my favorite places, and we drove around all over Charleston (within my prescribed 20 mile radius of MUSC, of course!) They got me out of the house and got me into the car for some fresh air and some "new" sights. We talked about the heavy stuff, we talked about light-hearted things, we laughed, we were just together, and I needed nothing more, on that day, than to be with my mom and dad.

As I looked back and reflected on that time with my incredible parents, it reminded me of the relationship that we, as believers, have with our Father. He has many names, and Abba Father is such an important one.

We are His children. He desires to care for us, He desires for us to depend on Him. Let me tell you... Never before in my life have I been so dependent on Him. Ben and I are constantly facing battles lately, and it absolutely takes a toll on us physically, financially, and emotionally. But I have a Father to turn to.

I am so thankful to have a Father that cares for me.

A Father that understands my situation when no one else does.

A Father that listens to my heartache.

A Father I can cry to.

A Father that pulls me just a little closer as I sit in my place and yearn for my baby to be okay. 

A Father that can comfort me when the pieces of my heart are scattered on the beige carpet of my baby's nursery.

A Father that picks me up off of that beige carpet, and carries me.

The only way I have made it this far in this rocky journey is because my Father has carried me. When my heart is too heavy to keep filling out detailed paperwork about my son's defect, He carries me. When my ears are too tired to hear any more bad possible situations, He carries me. When my team of doctors ask me life altering questions and I am too heartbroken to form words, He carries me. When my eyes hurt from looking at those annoying sea turtles yet again, He carries me. When I literally can't make myself walk into MUSC for yet another dreaded appointment, He picks me up and He carries me.

I am so very thankful for my Father. I don't know how people go through life, full of ups and downs, full of issues and problems, full of heartbreak, without a Father. 

No matter what you're facing in your life: scary test results, parenting issues, big purchases, loss, heart break, let our Father carry you, friends.

"You are my Father, My God, and my Rock..." Psalm 89:26

Choose Joy,
Allison

LIttle Words

In the past 11 days we have spent 6 1/2 of them at MUSC.  I have mostly had fitful spurts of sleep, and I'm constantly waking up my poor husband to speak words of encouragement and calming to me.  My head pounds constantly because of one of the several medications I'm on, my back is in constant pain- partially from the constantly growing baby "bump," partially from spending so much time lying on it. But more than all of that, my heart aches for my sweet baby.

His "giant omphalocele."

My "incompetent" cervix (who even knew that was a real thing).

My emotions. He feels what I feel, he can sense my anxiety, when I'm heartbroken, sad, worried, etc...

My heart just aches for him. I know that he doesn't know any different, but those words don't always help.

Monday I sat in one of the many waiting rooms at MUSC children's hospital.  It was pretty, it really was. For a waiting room. Painted pretty, teal sea turtles adorned the walls, colorful butterflies were painted on some of the ceiling tiles.  Rachel Ray's show playing on the TV, and normally her laugh alone makes me laugh. But just not today.

I sat there, running on about 2 hours of sleep, with my patient husband who had calmed me from about 14 panic attacks in the past 18 hours, just sitting. My eyes wandered to the other visitors in the room. I thought of all of the happy, joyful mommas who have sat in that same exact seat I was sitting in. What other mommas have sat in that very room, that very same seat, super excited to go to their appointments? Did they find the sea turtles comforting? Because at this point I found them just plain annoying. Did they sit there with butterflies in their tummies because they were going to be able to see their perfect baby on the screens of the dark ultrasound room? I was sitting in that same seat, fighting a panic attack and trying my absolute hardest not to throw up on the carpet, visibly shaking.

I knew it was time to pray.  So many people pray gorgeous, eloquent, beautiful prayers.  Several people have placed their hands on my belly and done just that. But lately I just can't really find the words.

In my anxiety-ridden exhaustion, lately my prayers have been comprised of very few words.  "I trust You, give me peace." He sees my heart, He sees my pain. He knows the words that I wish I could put together to say to Him.

This was the day I had dreaded. We had 3 appointments: high risk ultrasound, meeting with our team of doctors, then meeting with our genetics counselor.

After waiting for what seemed like 3 years with those annoying sea turtles, we were ushered to a room much like the ones I have come to know so well. It was dark, filled with screens and machines. Without being told, I did what I knew I was supposed to: expose my big baby belly, lay down on the "bed," as close to the edge near the tech as I could, and fight down the vomit working it's way up my throat. But then I saw his face. His sweet, precious, beautiful face. The vomit feeling was gone, and for the first time in a couple of days a laugh, a real laugh, escaped from my lips. He was just so stinkin cute. He kicked and bumped the ultrasound thingy. He hates that thingy. I watched him make tons of faces, and I couldn't help but to laugh.  I knew that when I saw his face, I also saw His face. He was with me, He was calming me, He was protecting all of us. He was there, and He was in our corner.

Measurements were taken, pictures were made, all of that "good" stuff. Then off to the next waiting room where there were no teal sea turtles.

Next up- meeting with our team. We sat in a tiny room, I swear it had to be used in the past for a storage closet, waiting for doctors. (Insert typical joke about patients always having to wait for doctors here...)

This is the part I dreaded most of all. From my experience during this pregnancy, I have learned that doctors are required to tell you every possibility of each situation. This is not something I want to hear. I have chosen to focus on the good, encouraging part of OUR situation, but now I was going to be forced to hear what COULD happen.  I had heard it all before during our extended hospital stay. There were certain words and phrases that I dreaded more than anything. I knew that if I heard "possibility of still birth" one more time I was going to pull my hair out.

I met one of the high risk OB's, and 1 of Ben's surgeons. We sat facing them in this tiny room, and listened to their words. Well, I mostly listened. As a mom, my brain was also busy assessing them from head to toe. In that moment I was convinced that the cleanliness of their shoes was going to show their credentials for preforming an extremely high risk surgery on my infant.

They said a lot of words. They gave a lot of scenarios. They said some super scary phrases. My husband reads me so well, he knew exactly when to pat my back, squeeze my hand a little harder, or pull me a little closer on that plastic couch. I made it through the scary part, and I decided not to focus on it. We had heard worse in the hospital.

Basically, now we aren't just dealing with his ompalocele (his insides being on the outside), we are also dealing with premature birth. They explained the severity of the situation- those 2 huge issues being present for 1 infant. 

Yes, there is a chance that he won't make it to the surgery. Yes, there is a chance that he won't make it through the surgery. Yes, there's a chance that his lungs won't be able to function on their own. Yes, there is a chance that he won't be able to be fed... And if he can't be fed... Yes. I get it. I hear the words, I hear the possibilities.

I understand that these are very intense issues, but for some reason I just had a peace in my heart. For the first time ever in any of these meetings or appointments, I didn't cry. I had seen His face earlier, and I knew He was still with me. He pulled me a little closer and hugged me a little tighter with each short breath.  So many people take Him out of medical equations. I know that He's the ultimate Healer. He's Ben's Jehovah Rapha.  He's still in the miracle business. He's still healing tiny, precious babies with birth defects. He's still kissing the face of each tiny little human lying in incubators with tubes and wires covering their bodies.

This appointment was coming to a close and I had decided I loved these doctors. Seriously, I love them. (I guess their shoes were clean enough to convince me that they were capable of doing this surgery.) I am so thankful that we live here in Charleston and my son will be taken care of by these people. I trust them with my most precious little baby.  I have prayed for these doctors since I found out about the omphalocele, but now I had faces and names to put with those prayers. 

At the end of the meeting, the doctors stood up to shake our hands. I dodged the hand and hugged the surgeon as tightly as I could. I'm sure he probably told his wife about this crazy pregnant girl who hugged him so tight the breath was knocked out of him, but I couldn't help it.



"I trust You, give me peace." That's not a beautiful, eloquent prayer. It's nothing special. Those are just 6 little words, but it was my heart's cry.  He knew how deeply I meant each one of those words. He answers the beautifully scripted prayers, and he answers the short cries of His people all the same. I know that He acknowledged that I trust Him in this scary situation, and I know that He answered my prayer and provided His peace and presence.

He hears each small word, quiet cry, and silent thought that His people call to Him, and I am so thankful for His listening ears and His patient heart.


He hears you, friends. He hears your little words. I promise.

I'll keep praying my 6 little words, and I bet my bottom dollar that I'll keep seeing His face.

Choose Joy,
Allison

Choosing Joy

"Whether you turn to the right or to the left, you will hear a voice behind you saying, "This is the way you should go; walk in it." - Isaiah 30:21

Over the past 3 days I can't really tell you which way- left, right, upside down, or backwards- I have been going. Let's be real, I feel pretty darn lost.

Let me just fill you in, friend. Bear with me if my thoughts seem scattered, because I know I feel scattered.

Thursday was supposed to be a normal, routine ultrasound. While having the ultrasound, a problem with my cervix was noticed. (It's extremely short). That routine ultrasound quickly turned into me being rushed upstairs to labor and delivery. (Mind you this is all at Summerville Medical Center right now, this is NOT my hospital.) Upstairs in L&D my baby was pressed on, I was stuck with countless needles, and I was asked about 3,000 questions. All while I hear the nurses talk to one another on their stupid walkie talkies about how they can't find me in the system. Of course I wasn't over come with anxiety at this point......

Now it was about 8:00,  they tell me that I'm having contractions. Not only was I having contractions right then, but I had been having contractions since Tuesday! I had been teaching, dancing, running, and playing with my kids at school all week, not a good mix! OOPS! :)

We were then told to rush to MUSC (my hospital) to Labor and Delivery there. I convinced them I didn't need an ambulance, my husband could drive us there. Okay, let's be real honest here... We drove through Chick Fil A. This momma NEEDED her a sweet tea with extra lemons! After the tea craving was satisfied we did indeed rush to MUSC, I promise!

We arrived at MUSC around 9:45. (At this point we are going on almost 7 hour since we began my ultrasound.) I was admitted and quickly hooked up to many many machines. My contractions wouldn't stop- they were getting really fast and really painful. I was on every IV drip, oral (and other form-- ew) of medicine I could possibly be on to stop these contractions and keep my son safe inside my belly.  At 1 point contractions were so close together I had 3 extremely intense ones within 10 minutes, and we were all getting scared about what was going to happen here. All we could do was pray. There was nothing else that could be done, and thankfully, that's all we really needed to do anyhow.

At 3:30 AM we were transferred OUT of L&D and moved to the pre-labor room because my contractions had STOPPED!

I have truly never been more scared in my life. I was enormously overwhelmed, and I had a panic attack when one of the doctors came in. (Poor man felt really bad. He didn't even say anything, he just walked closer to me and I had to tell him that he was giving me an attack!)

Anyway, during those 12 and a half hours I had been turned in every direction, over and over. I could literally feel my head spinning, and most things were a blur. (Maybe that was partially because all of the meds, too.) I truly felt like I was at the fair on a Tilt-A-Whirl that some drunk man was in charge of operating. I could slap that man if he was real...

I could hardly think straight, most decisions were being made for me out of necessity of the situation, then all of a sudden I was responsible for being mentally and emotionally stable enough to sign consent forms for an emergency C-Section, and deciding to take every step possible to save my very young baby. The severity of the situation hit me even harder, and it was hard to hold myself together. I needed to be in my place in my glider in my son's room. I needed to weep alone, rather than in front of the 30 faces I had seen in these 12 hours. I needed to scream out to my God at the top of my lungs. I just needed to be alone. I needed, desperately needed to be detached from these machines. I needed to be held by my husband on the floor of Baby Ben's room, I needed to cry in his lap.
But that just wasn't an option. This is where my son needs to be, and I will be here for him.

Once things finally slowed down, I was able to feel a little more stable, and a little more like Allison.
 

During the midst of all this, there are many blessings we have encountered. People of all kinds- strangers, friends, family, and new friends that will be my nurses until after Ben is born- have gone out of their way to help us. We are so incredibly blessed to have so many people who care about us, and more importantly, care about my Benjamin Michael.

I have many people who are praying that my Ben stays "cooking" for at least a few more weeks. As excited as I am to meet him, this is just too soon. I need to feel him moving around in my belly for several more weeks. However, I know God is the author of this story, and we will gladly be a part of His beautiful story, no matter what happens. 

I have decided to choose joy.  I have decided that I'm not in charge of any decisions. I'm not in charge of the time line or the day my son enters this crazy world. It is so far out of my hands. My God is the only one who is in the business of decision making in this whole ordeal.

Ben and I have decided over and over to choose joy. We have found opportunities to giggle, joke, and just be US. Ben was able to bring me Heidi, my precious fur baby for an hour or so, which greatly helped my anxiety. We have had the chances to laugh at baby Ben's activeness and his hiccups. My precious husband and I have found small moments to play as he rolls me around in my wheel chair. We have found time to snuggle and watch movies, take a quick "date" for ice cream and exploring the gardens. I'm pretty sure all of the nurses have heard me sing out "They see me rollin.... They hatin!" down the hall as Ben pushes me in the wheelchair 1 too many times. :)

Simply, we have chosen joy.

I have broken down many, many times. I have barely slept, and I have shaken with fear for hours on end. And that's okay, friends. The important thing to remember is to not live or stay in that place of fear.

"Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not anxiously look about you- for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Surely I will help you. Surely I will uphold you with my righteous hand." - Isaiah 41:10.

How perfect is that? A the end of the day, this amazing, beautiful promise is all that matters. When you read that promise, ti's hard NOT to choose joy when you know our mighty God, our Jehovah Rapha, is on our side. He's got His mighty hand on my tiny son.

We will continue to find small, beautiful moments in this place. We will continue to choose joy. No matter what your situation is, friends, choose joy. It's so liberating. It's so powerful, it's so freeing. It's the only option I have. I will choose joy.


Here are a few captured moments we have stolen away together, a few of the times we have chosen joy.

Heidi comes to visit during mommy's wheelchair time!

 

 Ice cream date in the cafeteria!

 

Snuggle and movie time!

Please continue to pray for us, sweet friends. We are just a few steps down a long and rough journey. We will be in the hospital indefinitely. I am on bed rest until BMP makes his entry into this world. But this is our journey, and we will make it beautiful. We will choose JOY!

A Momma's Cry-- "Why?"

Sometimes I think that I’m going to wake up and all of this is a dream.  I think that really, truly, somehow Ben is perfectly healthy, his tummy has no gaping hole, all of his insides are really on the inside, there will be no NICU stay, and I will be able to hold my own baby right away and not have to wait several months. That’s the worst part of all of this, and I know it’s selfish… But I just want to hold my baby.  Sometimes I just think that this isn’t really real. But it is.

I was driving down a busy road in the rain, running late of course, to my most recent ultrasound. I was burning up, sweating, yet feeling cold. I was swollen from head to toe, but also felt a little empty, maybe it was just nervousness. I just dreaded it. All I could do was ask why?

The “why’s?” got me… Why him? Why my son? Why so many other babies perfectly healthy and my baby isn’t? Why me? Why my family? My little family has so much on our plate already right now, why is this happening? WHY?

The “why’s” lasted for a few days.  It’s human to feel this way, I know it is. If you were in this position, you’d have these days too. I think its okay, too, to have these moments. Let’s be real, I’m tired. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally tired.

At work I give my all to my kids every minute of the school day, I busy myself during my few “breaks” so that my mind doesn’t wander, I respond to work emails until I go to bed. When I get home from work I busy myself with dishes, laundry, cooking dinner, walking Heidi, cleaning. When my husband comes home he consumes my thoughts and actions, he’s my world. I have found ways to busy myself. The laundry doesn’t have to be done, I probably wasted more water running that load of dishes that wasn’t even full, and let’s be real, I’m not making dinner from scratch, but man can I stretch that cooking time to last a while!

Then, I just need to sit. If you’re following our journey, you know that a couple of weekends ago, my husband and I spent the weekend working on the nursery. Ben put together the glider so that I can have a place other than the floor to spend my time in that room. This simple, soft, gray glider has become my place of solace, my place of rest, my place of tears, prayers, and gut wrenching sobs.  I’ve been spending a lot of time in that place.

So as I was in this place I was dealing with the “why’s” I was going through. I’ve said before I that I know why know why—I was in this situation because we were made for this, that we are a family of miracles… And all of this is true.  I know this is a part of His plan, His miracle story.  But maybe it’s more than that.

Recently a certain Promise has made its way into my heart, my head, and my hands over and over. It’s this beautiful promise: "Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) I definitely fit the category of weary and burdened, and I’ve found comfort in that last part: “I will give you rest.”

But the first part of that sincere Promise is even more important to me lately: “Come to Me…” Lately I’ve seen it as a beckoning, a cry from Him to come to Him. He wants me to be close, He wants me to depend on Him, to trust Him. Maybe that’s what this is all about… A beckoning whispered to me in the darkness of night when I’m sitting in my place in my son’s room. A beckoning shouted at me as I’m lying on that uncomfortable medical table with my swollen stomach exposed, a beckoning cried to me in every small moment of my day. Maybe, just maybe, that’s what this is all about. An opportunity to draw closer to Him. An opportunity to come back home. An opportunity for my heart and soul to be filled with what truly matters.

As I have said before: of course I will have these days that I’ll be drained in every way. I’ll have the human days where I ask “why?” I’ll have the days where I’m just not really as strong as the face that I present. But it’s all about that beautiful beckoning, the call to my heart. The simple request for me to come. 

And I am answering that beautiful request with every single ounce of my tired and weary heart.