I This blog post has been seven years in the making. I've started it and deleted it more times than I can count. It is deeply personal and more emotional than I am typically comfortable sharing. Especially because the emotions dealt with in this post are strong and at times overwhelming and confusing. But, it finally feels like it's time.

***Trigger Warning***
The following post deals with infant loss. If that is a difficult subject for you, or you have experienced it yourself, I am truly sorry for your loss. I know you have heard those words a thousand times, so often that they seem hollow. Or maybe your loss was long enough ago that you think your sweet babe has been forgotten and your pain is no longer visible. But, friend, I hope if you are reading this, you can take some comfort from knowing that, even just for a second, someone is seeing you right now. Someone is mourning alongside of you for your baby and praying that you may find peace and comfort, even amid all the pain. 


February 2012 my husband, Caleb, and I got a big surprise when we found out we were pregnant with our first child. It was, regretfully, a surprise I was not particularly excited about. I had been working in day care full time for about three years (and part time two years before that). And while I loved my job and adored the children I cared for, it was a lot of work. It was physically exhausting chasing around small children all day, but it was especially emotionally exhausting for me when these children that I cared about got hurt or sick on my watch. I figured if it was that hard taking care of other people's children, that I loved, that when I had my own children, that I would love more, it would be that much harder. So, I had decided I didn't really want kids. At least not before I was, like, thirty (for reference, I was 24 in 2012). I had also recently decided to go back to school full time to finish my bachelor's degree (I started right out of high school, then took a couple years off after we got married.) I had been in classes about a month and was so excited to be learning again. That's when I got the "flu" that just wouldn't go away, and about two weeks later a light bulb came on and I was like ooohhhhh.... I bet that's what it is. One pregnancy test later, it was confirmed. And I was a hot mess. 

Looking back on it now, Caleb should be sainted. Because I did not handle the news well. I felt broken. I felt like my life was over. I had dreams and plans. But just like that, they were a sand castle built a little to close to the rising tide. They were gone. I was angry. I was scared. And I felt so guilty for feeling so angry about something that I knew other women out there were praying so hard for. Were hurting so badly over the fact that they couldn't conceive, even though they were trying, while I was over here with my super-fertile uterus holding a baby that was not planned. 

It hurts even now, to admit those feelings. To admit that for any amount of time, that that baby had anything but love from me breaks my heart. It is something that I still, to this day experience a ton of guilt over.

Fortunately, my feelings did eventually change. I'm not sure if it was the first time I felt him move or seeing his tiny face on the sonogram, but eventually, I became more and more excited to welcome him into our family. When I was little, I always used to think that when I had kids, I wanted to have a boy first, and then a girl. Probably because I always wished I had an older brother when I was growing up. So, it started to feel like even though I may have had to give up on some academic and general life dreams, I was still getting what I wanted. A different kind of dream. 

My pregnancy was pretty textbook. I had morning sickness, but it very kindly left as soon as my second trimester began. I wasn't very tired. I had no health concerns for either me or the baby, and I was able to pretty much carry on the way I always had, except towards the end when I got big enough that I couldn't reach my shoes very well. He moved around like he was supposed to, although perhaps a little to well when I was trying to go to sleep and he was busy learning karate or whatever it was he was doing in there. Everything went really, really well. Until the day it didn't. 

I was at home cleaning and getting ready for the Baby. I was 32 weeks along and we had just gone to our childbirth class the week before and finally picked out a name we could both agree on and things just seemed to be coming together. I had noticed around noon or so that I hadn't felt the baby move much. Which was pretty unusual, though not completely unheard of when I was up and moving around like I had been. I don't remember in what order I contacted which people. but at one point I talked to a nurse at my OB's office and my best friend who had had a baby earlier in the year, as well as perused baby message boards and they all reassured me it was probably nothing, but drink some juice, lay down on your side and he should move around, but if he doesn't come in and get checked out. 

So, I drank the juice. And I waited. And I waited. And I prayed. And I waited some more. Nothing happened. So, I gathered up my things and went in to the OB. I remember letting Caleb know and telling him that he didn't need to come because it probably was nothing and I didn't want him to miss time at work if he didn't need to. 

As I drove into the hospital, I had a Christian music radio station on. I couldn't tell you what songs played on the way there, except for one. The song changed about a minute before I pulled in to the hospital and I can still tell you exactly which song it was ("That's What Faith Can Do" by Kutless) and as I listened to the lyrics I was just overcome with the knowledge that we had lost the baby and that it was going to be a difficult, but not impossible time, as well as this overwhelming peace. It sounds a little weird and it wasn't like a peace like I was okay with what was happening, or happy, but rather it was knowing that my faith would see me through to the other side. It was the knowledge of knowing I wasn't going to be going through it alone. 

I walked in to my OB's office and I waited. Eventually, my name was called and Caleb ended up walking in around the same time. We went back and confirmed what I already knew. There was no heartbeat. We had lost the baby. 

My memories about what exactly came next are a little hazy. I don't remember if we went home that night or if they admitted us to deliver immediately. We were at some point admitted and they did all the things they typically do when they induce labor, IVs, pitocin, all that fun stuff. I remember being sad, but also very calm. There was also part of me that was praying for, and fairly certain I would receive, a miracle. That I would deliver and somehow, he would take a breath and we would get to take him home. 

Things progressed very slowly and we ended up staying over night in the hospital. Caleb was amazing and supportive and did everything he could to ease any of my pain and keep me in good spirits. Those are some of my best memories from this whole experience. We had been good friends, best friends, before we got married, but his constancy and steadiness, his love and good humor anchored me in ways that I had never experienced before in our relationship, and we came out stronger because of it. 

The next day, I did end up delivering. They told us that he had had a cord accident, and that it wasn't something that could have been predicted or avoided. We were given time alone with our son, Caedmon Daniel, to hold him, to process, to grieve. It was then that I had to come to terms with our reality. Our son was dead. There hadn't been any miraculous healing and we would be going home with broken hearts and empty arms. It is the hardest truth I have ever had to face. 

In the days and weeks to come, I struggled. I was missing my baby. I was hurt. I was confused.  I was angry. I was angry at me being anything less than excited about having a baby. I felt guilty. Like somehow, all my horrible thoughts and feelings caused this. Like it was my fault.  I had been reassured by the doctor that it was nothing that I had done, that it was nothing I could have controlled. But it did nothing to help the feeling that if I had just done more, if I had just been a better mom, if I had just gone in a couple hours earlier, things would have been completely different. I was angry at God for not saving him. And then I felt guilty for being angry at God. But I was confused and couldn't understand why when I asked for and fully believed in a miracle, I didn't receive one. 

It was a lot of feelings. And I'm sure there's more feelings than I even mentioned above. And as I mentioned, I still deal with some of these emotions to this day. And though we have since had two beautiful children, my heart still hurts frequently and I think about him often. And I still ask God why and deal with those emotions of feeling betrayed and let down by him. 

Last month, I was having a particularly rough day. And I was talking to God silently as the kids and I were driving around running errands. And I remember asking him when he would repay the years the locust had eaten, when he would turn losing Caedmon into something good. And I had in a CD that my kids are totally obsessed with (okay, we're all a little obsessed with it) called Diamonds by the band Hawk Nelson. The last song on the album is titled "Only You" and it came on as I was having this conversation with God. And it immediately humbled and convicted me.

"only You can fill my heart the way You do
Only You can take what's worn and make it new
So I'll take all these broken dreams and petty things
Replace them with something that's true
I'll take 'em replace them with You"
-Hawk Nelson, Only You

I realized that God had already kept his promise to me. I had been waiting for him to take losing Cade and turn it in to something good, something beautiful, completely unaware that He's already done exactly that- I learned to lean on Him and rely on Him through my pain in a way that I would never have experienced had I not gone through that experience. I learned that He is constant and faithful.

Later that day, I came across this blog post about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego by Mary Catherine Craige on the Blessed is She website. I have no idea how I found it and almost couldn't find it again to credit it just now, but it was what I needed to hear. Because I realize now, that my miracle might not ever be God moving a mountain for me, or providing a heavenly solution to my problem. Rather, my miracle is the knowledge that in the fire my God is walking along right beside me. He will never leave me to face the fire alone. 

I know that the heartache will always be there and that I will never stop feeling like a part of me is missing, but I am able to look back now and see the good that came from it. My relationship with my husband, my wonderful kids, the lessons that I learned. And I can look forward with the knowledge that no matter what trials I face in the future, my God is there.  

The other day, while we were out at my in-laws, I found a swallowtail caterpillar on some dill. O loved looking at the caterpillar and talked all the way home about how she wished we could have taken him home with us. 

Well, we got home and I found yet another swallowtail caterpillar on the dill we had brought home, so this time, I let her keep it in a jar so we can watch it grow and change into a butterfly. 

O loves this caterpillar, and I mean LOVES. We have to carry the room out of her room each morning into which ever room we are occupying at the time and if we move throughout the day, so does caterpillar. He is a constant in our daily discussions- and our daily prayers. 

This afternoon, while I having devotions with Olivia, I started to pray when Olivia reminded me to pray for the caterpillar. As I did, I thanked God for the caterpillar and all the lessons we can learn from it. 

Caterpillars have always reminded me of the scripture, "Therefore if any man live in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new," (2 Corinthians 5:17). Just recently, I said to Caleb, "Butterflies are so weird. I mean, they start out as these little caterpillars, go in to cocoons, and come out as butterflies. I mean where does the caterpillar *go*? It's not like it even just grew wings. It comes out looking *completely different*." And today, as I prayed and thought about the caterpillar and the things it teaches us, that was the thing that struck me the most. "If any man live in Christ, he is a new creature," (emphasis mine).   It's not just Fred with a brand new pair of wings, it's a completely different person. And in becoming that new person, there is a beauty and freedom that also comes from living in Christ. A butterfly is able to leave behind the things that anchored it to the creature it once was, and live a totally new life. 

When people look at me, I have to wonder. Do they look at me and see the new creature? Or do they see the caterpillar, continuing to stay where it is safe and comfortable doing those things I have always done? 

I have always loved gardens. My first memory of a garden of any kind was out at my Grandma's. I remember going out and picking strawberries and picking and helping shell peas. I still love the taste of fresh-picked, straight from the garden peas to this day. 

Growing up we attempted gardens once or twice but they never did really well, and I was probably not as invested in them as I should have been. As an adult though, I have learned to love to garden. 

There's something so peaceful to me about being outside among nature, doing the monotonous routine care of the garden and just letting my mind wander. I find that it's often during these times that God uses my garden to teach me things. 

Most recently, I was out at my in-laws picking blueberries. I was out there with O and as I often do,  letting my mind wander. O had been picking berries from a particular spot and asked if we could trade spots since a fly had been bothering her where she was. I told her it was no problem and we switched places. As I went back to picking berries, I noticed so many ripe berries close to where I had been standing, but because of the way the branches had been I hadn't seen them even though they were closer to me then than they currently were.

 In that moment I had a thought. I thought about how Paul says in Corinthians "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase." (1 Corinthians 3:6) and how people are like fruit. I thought about how often times, I might look at a person, or group of people and might not see any hope or any potential for ministry or sharing with them, but then God will shift my perspective and suddenly, I will see what He sees and opportunities appear. I thought about how, like with the blueberry clusters, some of the people I come upon will be ripe and ready to be picked. They'll be ready to hear what I have to say. Others will still be green and need more time and it might be me who comes back and continues to share with them when they're ready or it might be someone else entirely. And lastly, I thought of how much I love blueberries. About how unwilling I am to walk away from the bushes when even a single ripe berry might still be there. And I wondered: what would life be like if this was how I ministered? What if people were as precious to me as blueberries and I was unwilling to walk away if there was even just one person left that I might be able to reach? It was certainly an interesting and sobering thought. 

What are some everyday places God uses to teach you lessons?

I have struggled ever since the birth of sweet O with feeling like I, as a person, have been completely lost. I'd gone from being my own person to being "O's Mom" and while I love, love, love, being her mom, it was, and still is, a struggle to feel like I'd disappeared. 

The other day, I was watching The Lion King with O. I love The Lion King. Partly because my brother loved The Lion King when we were little, so I've seen it, like, a thousand times. And partly because I have always loved one particular scene. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, it's about a young lion cub named Simba, who will someday grow up and take his father's (Mufasa) place as king of the Pride Lands. Simba has an uncle named Scar, who wants nothing more than to be king himself. So, Scar along with his three henchmen (hench-hyenas?) set a plan into motion. Scar lures SImba down into a ravine. The hyenas start a wildebeest stampede that goes through the ravine. Scar runs to get Mufasa's help. Mufasa bravely battles his way through the pounding hooves of the wildebeest herd and finds Simba, who has scrambled up in to an old, dead tree, just as the branch breaks and saves him. He then places Simba up onto a ledge in the edge of the ravine and gets carried away by the wildebeest. He manages to escape them and climbs up, where Scar is watching. Towards the top, Mufasa starts to slip, and calls out to Scar for help. Scar flings him down to get trampled by the wildebeest. Simba, witnessing his father fall, is heartbroken. As soon as the ravine is cleared, he runs down to find a lifeless Mufasa. As he mourns, Scar comes up behind him and makes him think that it was his fault that Mufasa is dead and tells Simba that he needs to run away. Run away and never return. Simba does. Scar doesn't want to take any chances and send the hyenas after him. Simba ends up losing the hyenas when he goes through some pretty thick thorn bushes. They decide it's not worth getting poked over- especially when on the other side is a desert. There's no way he can survive there, right? Fortunately for Simba, he's found by meerkat Timon and warthog Pumba, who are outcasts themselves. They take Simba to their jungle oasis and teach him their motto of "Hakuna Matata" - No Worries. Fast forward and Simba is an adult now. Still living happily with Timon and Pumba, completely oblivious to the turmoil now plaguing his former homeland. That is until, Nala, his best friend from childhood shows up. She tells him that Scar and his hyenas have ruined the Pride Lands. There's no food, which is why she's out hunting so far from home. She is overjoyed that she's found him, because now he can come home and take his place as the true king. Simba, battling guilt from thinking he killed his father and with a healthy dose of "Hakuna Matata" tells Nala, he won't be going back and he definitely won't be taking his place as king. After arguing with Nala about why he won't go back, Simba is pacing, feeling sorry for himself, feeling lost. Enter Rafiki. Kooky baboon/shaman. Rafiki begins to follow Simba. 

S "Who are you?"
R "The question is, who are you?"
S, hangs his head "I thought I knew. Now, I'm not so sure."
R "Well, I know who you are. Shhh. Come here, it's a secret." Pulls Simba close and begins to sing gibberish. 
S, frustrated "Enough already! What is that supposed to mean anyway?"
R "It means: You are a baboon and I'm not." he laughs.
S "I think you're a little confused."
R "Wrong! I'm not the one who's confused. You don't even know who you are!"
S "Oh, and I suppose you do." he starts to walk away. 
R "Sure do. You're Mufasa's boy. Bye!" He runs off. Simba chases after him. He finally catches up to him meditating on a rock..
S "You knew my father?"
R "Correction, I know your father."
S "I hate to tell you this, but he died. A long time ago."
R "Nope! Wrong again. He's alive! And I'll show him to you. You follow old Rafiki. He knows the way!" They run through a bung of dense mangled tree limbs and vegetation before reaching a pond.
R "Shh. Look down there." Simba quietly approaches the pond, where he sees his reflection.
S, sighs "That's not my father. That's just my reflection."
R "No, look harder." He turns Simba's head back toward the water. He touches the water with the pointer finger of his other hand. This time, as the ripples clear, Simba sees Mufasa's reflection, rather than his own.
R "You see, he lives in you."  Simba hears Mufasa's voice say his name and looks up.
S "Father?" Simba sees clouds swirling, leaving a giant, lion-shaped hole in the middle. Eventually, Mufasa appears in the giant lion-shaped hole.
M "Simba. You have forgotten me."
S "No! How could I?"
M "You have forgotten who you are, and so forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the circle of life."
S "How can I go back? I'm not who I used to be."
M "Remember who you are. You are my son and the one true king. Remember." Mufasa's cloud begins to recede, continually urging Simba to "remember" until it disappears altogether. 

Having received the motivation he needs to return to the Pride Lands, he sets off. In the morning Nala, Timon and Pumba notice Simba missing and Rafiki simply tells them "The king has returned." Nala is ecstatic and his friends can't let him face peril alone, so they catch up to him just outside the Pride Lands. Simba is surprised at what he sees. The once verdant, fertile Pride Lands are now nothing but dead plants and dust. Simba tells Nala to rally the lionesses, he's going to find Scar and asks Timon and Pumba to be a distraction for the hyenas. As Simba approaches, he hears Scar yell for his mother and demands a status report from their hunting party. Simba's mom, Sarabi, tells him everything is gone and they have no choice to move on. Scar tells her they're not going and since he's the king he can do what he wants. Sarabi tells him that he's not half the king Mufasa was. As Scar strikes her, lightning flashes and Simba appears. Everyone thinks he's Mufasa, until he reveals his true identity. Simba tells him that he's back to take his place. Scar points out that he has the hyenas on his side, but tries to use guilt to break Simba, by making him admit that he killed Mufasa. As Scar continues to egg Simba on, he inches him closer and closer to a cliff. Simba loses his footing and slips off, ending up in the same position that Mufasa had been in. As he dangles there, Scar admits to Simba that he is actually the one that killed Mufasa, this gives Simba all the oomph he needs to launch back up on to the rock and pin Scar. Scar admits to the whole pride what he just admitted to Simba, at which point, mayhem ensues as it's lions (and Timon, Pumba and Rafiki) vs. hyenas and Simba vs. Scar in the battle for the Pride Lands. Eventually, good prevails and the lions reclaim control over the Pride Lands as life-giving rain begins to fall. In the end, Simba and Nala are having their only little lion cub raised over a fully recovered Pride Rock. 

As I watched the scene above, I thought how nice it would be on days when I was feeling lost and confused, overwhelmed by the feeling of losing myself to have someone, like Rafiki, come up to me and go, "I know who you are! You're God's kid!" and remind me where my true identity comes from. 

The next morning I woke up with a notification on my phone from Pinterest, letting me know that they found some pins they thought I'd like. I opened the app, and the very first pin they thought I'd like was a beautiful water color floral wreath painted around the words "You are a child of God."  I was completely speechless. Speechless, and overwhelmed by the reminder of who I really am. I am a child of God. 

In my last blog post, I shared about some of the anxieties and worries I faced during pregnancy. 

A couple weeks after the event of that post, we had an unseasonably warm sunny day. It was so beautiful that Caleb and I decided we needed to be out and about enjoying the weather, instead of staying indoors. We decided to go disc golfing. 

We had only gotten through a couple holes before I started having some pretty intense, frequent contractions. By the time we had finished four holes, they were bad enough to where I told Caleb we needed to go home. I was sure once I got in the car and sat down and started drinking more water, they would subside some. 

I had dealt with some contractions earlier in my pregnancy and had been instructed how to handle them then. So we started our drive home. 

About 10 minutes into the drive, I noticed my contractions weren't easing up any. I decided to call my doctor to see what I should do. After a frustrating series of calls that led nowhere, we arrived home. I went inside and did all the things I knew to do. I took a bath, I put my feet up and I drank a TON of water.  I don't remember if I ever got a hold of my doctor's office or not. But by about 7, when I'd been having contractions for about 5 hours, I decided we needed to go ahead and go in to labor and delivery (l&d). 

When we arrived, they checked us in and wheeled me back to a triage room. The nurse that wheeled us in made polite chit chat and mentioned that we weren't the only people that had come in tonight, that the heat had caused problems for a lot of women that had just forgotten they needed to drink more in the heat and gotten dehydrated. I assured my nurse that I'd been drinking water religiously all day and that I didn't think that was my problem. 

I put on my super fashionable hospital gown, left my urine sample and got all hooked up to a million different monitors. The nurse came back in after awhile, really excited that she could tell from my urine sample that I was actually being truthful about the amount of water I had been consuming. Which meant dehydration was not the reason for my contractions. 

The nurse was great, very helpful and reassuring. We were there for about an hour and a half having various tests run before finally being discharged, saying that there wasn't anything wrong with me or the baby and that I would probably just need to take it easy for the rest of my pregnancy. 

The whole day was fairly stressful. Contractions are not a lot of fun. They're even less fun when you know you're way too far away from your due date to have a baby.  When you add to that the feeling of helplessness you get from feeling like you don't know for sure what to do and can't get a hold of someone you trust (in my case my doctor) to get you through it, it makes for a hard day. But I realized, even in the midst of my crazy, stressful day,  I never once was worried that I was going to lose the baby. Was I frustrated that I had tried *everything* I was told and *still* couldn't stop contractions? You bet. Was I concerned about how we would work things out if he did happen to make an entrance early? Sure. But not once, not a single time, did any thought of losing him enter my mind. And given my mental state two weeks prior, I know that there's no way I stayed that calm on my own. It was only because I had started trusting God every day, day by day, that I was able to have a peace about his safety during that stressful situation. 

  As you will know, if you've been following my blog, we found out in August that we were pregnant. It has been such a crazy ride, and I have been struggling through most of it. The testimony I want to share today is about my pregnancy on some level, but really more about my own walk with Christ and will probably require some back story, which means this may get fairly long. 

  The first pertinent piece of back story is that this is my third pregnancy. Caleb and I lost our first baby, a little boy, at about 34 weeks. While that was a very difficult thing for us to go through, it in and of itself had many testimonies surrounding it, which I will have to share another time. That was five years ago. 

  So, fast forward to August. We find out we're pregnant and we are absolutely over the moon. I soon start feeling the effects of the pregnancy and I am sick all the time. After the initial shock and excitement of finding out we're pregnant started to wear off, I started to become a little more worried. I would worry that if it was a a little boy I wouldn't be able to handle it emotionally. The hurt from losing our baby is still a thing I struggle with on a frequent basis. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to process if we got to keep this boy and not our other one. I worried that I wouldn't be able to look at him with out being reminded of the hurt and loss we felt when his brother died. ...and that was only the beginning. I found myself eventually hoping that it was a girl. Olivia wanted a girl and we had all the clothes already, so a girl would just be easier, I decided. 

  A few days before we were supposed to find out, I had a craving for chips and salsa. I hadn't had any cravings so far this pregnancy, but when I was pregnant with our son, all I wanted to eat all the time was Mexican. Like, if he hadn't been born with a sombrero on his head holding maracas, I would have been floored. Now, Caleb thinks I'm crazy, but in that moment, the moment when nothing but chips and salsa would do, I knew that we were having a little boy. And suddenly, I wasn't as excited to find out what we were having anymore. I didn't know what to do. I let my worry take away from what should have been an exciting part of my pregnancy.

  A few days later, Caleb, Olivia and I were at the doctor's getting a sonogram. I held my breath and hoped against what I knew we were going to see. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was reading to much in to things. It could still be a girl. Please let it be a girl! Needless to say, it was not a girl. I handled the news only slightly better than Olivia, who started crying saying she wanted a girl and flat out refused (for weeks) to acknowledge that it was a boy.  I, on the other hand, managed to not cry and kept repeating my mantra "happy, healthy and whole" to myself, which is what Caleb and I have told people, when asked what we want. After losing the first one, it just seem so trivial to care about anything else. (Says the woman who was fighting back tears. I know, I know. I'm not proud of it.)

  If I thought I was worried before, I wasn't prepared for the amount of worry and anxiety that I would feel in the coming weeks.  I started to worry about everything. What if I just couldn't grow boys? What if we lost this one too? What if I let Caleb down again? What if I let our families down again? (Please understand that never once have they even hinted in anyway that they have felt let down or that I have failed them. It is just my own worries and guilt projecting on them) What would happen to Olivia if we lost the baby? Would she be okay? 

   I found myself having these thoughts fairly regularly. Most of the time I could push them away, knowing that they were ridiculous, unfounded fears. However, there were a couple times where they hit just at the wrong time and they were harder to dispel.

   One time in particular, we had gone to pick up a crib. While we were at the store, I asked Caleb if we could look around at the baby clothes. I hadn't bought anything for the baby yet, and I thought that maybe if I found some adorable little outfit for him that things would start to look a little brighter.  Unfortunately, we were looking in the dead of winter, so most of the stuff we saw was nothing that excited me too much. I finally found a couple onesies that I liked and was walking around with them in my hand. That's when I saw it. A little wool newsboy cap - just like the one I had bought for his brother. I lost it then. And I mean big, ugly cry in the middle of Babies 'R' Us lost it. I walked over to where Caleb had gone with Olivia (who was so over looking at baby clothes) and sat down with them. Caleb patiently held my hand and waited for me to calm down enough to tell him what was going on. 

   I told him that I didn't know that I could do it again. I didn't know if I could buy all the cute little boy clothes and wait and hope and day dream about seeing our baby in them, only to have to box them up and give them away, unused. I didn't want to have to do that. Caleb listened patiently, and then told me that we wouldn't have to do that again. While he meant well, it only made me more upset. I reminded him that nobody thought we'd have to do it the first time, either. And while I was able to stop crying, eventually, I felt along way from being consoled. 

   I went through the rest of that day okay, but still kind of sad and worried in the back of my mind. That evening while Caleb was putting Olivia to bed I was doing something in our room, I don't even remember what. Looking for a book maybe. When all of a sudden, a song that I remembered from my childhood, maybe, but that I hadn't heard in years started running through my head. The chorus goes like this:

          "One day at a time sweet Jesus that's all I'm asking from you
           Give me the strength to do everyday what I have to do
           Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus and tomorrow may never be mine
           So for my sake teach me to take one day at a time."
   
   As this song ran through my head, it hit me like a freight train. God needed me to trust Him. But more importantly, I didn't have to look at the big picture and worry about it and try and figure it out. God wanted me to come to him daily and trust Him to take care of my baby and to take care of me through out my pregnancy. Now, I know that this seems like Bible Basics or Christianity 101 maybe, but I have always struggled with trust. With needing to see the big picture, instead of just the next step. This song reminded me "trust" was a verb it was a thing that i needed to do. Daily. It reminded me that I wasn't in control, but more importantly that I wasn't alone. That there was Someone that wanted to help shoulder my load. To take my fears upon Himself so that I could be comforted. Someone who wanted to protect me and the sweet little boy I was carrying, but who also wanted me to ask for that protection. Who  wanted me to trust Him enough to admit that I was weak and that there was nothing I could do in my power alone to protect this baby I love so much, and reach out to Him because He can and then trust that He will.

   I felt at peace for the first time in my entire pregnancy. I was eager to share with someone, so I texted my mom. I told her how I loved that God can take something we barely remember and bring it to the forefront of our minds to give us exactly what we need when we need it. She, of course, was curious as to what I meant. So I told her that a song that I barely remembered from when I was little popped into my head and i proceeded to tell her what song, and what it had helped me see.

   She texted me back, and told me that what I had told her had made her a little emotional, and proceeded to tell me this:

          "That was a song actually that Grandpa sang. It's always been one that Gma and Gpa both knew. But after Gpa got sick with his cancer the first little bit and initially couldn't walk, he testified that that song came to him and gave him strength. He was walking again with the walker and such and from what I remember the dr told him he'd never be able to do that. He eventually got so sick he couldn't even use the walker, but that was always a theme song he sang to give him strength through his illness. Grandma then sang it a lot after grandpa died to also gain strength. You probably heard grandma sing it more than Gpa...if ever. But it was mostly sang after he got sick and gave him strength."

   My grandpa died when I was four. I don't have a lot of memories of him. I remember him making me laugh, I remember him being ornery as all get out, and probably most important, I remember how much he loved me and how special I felt whenever I was around him. It was because of those sweet memories that I had asked Caleb when we found out we were pregnant, that if it was a boy, we name him Crawford (my grandfather's name). He agreed, and it has been my one bright spot through out all my worry and anxiety. 

   Despite being one of the youngest grandkids, and being only four when he died, I always felt a strong connection to my Grandpa. Probably because I got told how often I had things in common with him, and I loved those things. I cherished them. I realize now though the thing I have the most to cherish from him, is a thing I didn't even realize he had given me: an example of faith in Jesus Christ to the very end. It's now my prayer that I can be like him in that way. That I can pass on the legacy of faith that both he (and my Grandma) lived out to my son, and that he can grow up to have a faith like the man he was named after.

   This pregnancy has been such a crazy ride, but I am so grateful that I was able to learn this lesson. That I was able to be reminded of just how much my Savior wants to help me, and how I don't need to be afraid to ask Him for help or to tell him my concerns. And I love that He did it in a way that would be meaningful to me, connecting two people that I love dearly together. I can't wait to meet my sweet boy and hold him in my arms and tell him all about the things the he and great grandpa taught me. 




    

                           Baby Crawford smiling at his last sonogram

My Grandpa Crawford, holding me (in the red) and my cousin on his lap. 

     It has been far too long since I've written anything. There are so many things that God has done for me that I haven't had the opportunity to share with you, so I'm going to take the opportunity to play a little catch up now. This will probably make for a super long post, but bear with me- it will be worth it. 

     The first testimony I want to share is just a quick one about Cooper. I think I've mentioned my rascally, but lovable pooch on here before. But in case I'm remembering in correctly or in case this is your first time here, let me tell you a little bit about Cooper. We got Cooper as a rescue puppy from our local shelter the month before we got married. He's part husky and all mischief. I think within the first couple months we quickly realized he gets super traumatized whenever we try and contain him. We've had him escape from plastic dog carries (chewed his way out), metal dog crates (bent the metal on the bottom of the door enough to get out), our work room (clawed and chewed through a 2 in. solid core door), our work room again (clawed through the replacement solid core door which we had reinforced with a piece of sheet metal). Cooper does not like being cooped up. The other thing we quickly learned is that Cooper loves to run. And given that nothing seems to be able to contain him, he is able to escape pretty easily when he wants too. He is an opportunist and never misses a chance to get out when he wants to. Just recently Cooper started acting up a bit. He started clawing at our basement door to get down to where my mom is staying. He started standing by the front windows just whining. I could tell he was itching to get out again. I tried keeping him outside a little longer than usual, letting him play and run a little longer, hoping it would help quench his desire to escape. Needless to say, it did not and one day a couple weeks ago, I heard him pawing at the front windows. It took a little too long to dawn on me what he was doing, and even longer to remember that the windows were  open. 

     By the time I got out to the front room, he was gone. He had clawed a hole through the screen and jumped out the window. I was home alone with O, so I quickly got her in a jacket, grabbed a leash and a treat and ran out to the car to try and find Cooper. I explained to O that Cooper ran away and that I would roll down her window and let her call to him. O, being three, thought this was all great fun. I, however, was less convinced. As we were getting ready to pull out of our driveway, I notice one of the neighbor kids approaching our van. He asked me if that was our dog that was out. I replied that it was. He told me that he and his mom had tried to catch him, but that he had ended up running from them and gave me the direction he went. I thanked him profusely, since knowing which direction he went is half the battle, and continued to pull out of the driveway.

      Before I even finished backing out, O turns to me and says, "Mama, did Cooper get out?" "Yes, baby, we're gonna go look for him though." "We didn't say a prayer." I stopped backing up and turned around and looked at her, grateful for this tiny little person who is constantly reminding me of what's really important in life. "You're right, sweets, we didn't. Would you say one please? Ask God that we will find Cooper soon and that He will keep Cooper safe." (It's my biggest fear that Cooper's going to get out one of these days and run straight into traffic and get hit.) So Olivia began to pray and I began to drive in the direction that the Neighbor Boy had indicated. Sure enough, before O had even finished her prayer, I heard the jingle of Cooper's tags. As soon as she said "Amen" I pulled over to get out and get him, but as it turns out that was unnecessary. I pulled over and opened the door and he hopped right in. I didn't have to chase him, I didn't have to coax him with the treat, he just jumped right in the car. It was by far the easiest time I have ever had chasing Cooper down, and I know that it was because of that sweet little girl who had reminded me that we needed to stop and pray. 



     The next testimony is a little longer and a little more personal. I mentioned last September about some issues I was having with ovulating on my own. The issues resolved for awhile and then for whatever reason, I began to have troubles ovulating on my own again. Unfortunately, the doctor I had been seeing moved to a different state, so I had to start all over with a new doctor. I hate getting new doctors. So, I put it off for awhile, and eventually, around July I bit the bullet, chose a new doctor and went in for my yearly woman's visit. 

     At my visit, I expressed my concerns to the doctor and he pretty much said what my other doctor did. He couldn't really understand why that would be happening and, yay, ordered more blood work. He told me to come in on the 21 day of my cycle for the blood work, which would let us know whether or not I ovulated, and then if I hadn't started by cycle day 35 to come in and see him, because I would need to be put on meds to, at the very least, start my cycle and most likely, fertility meds. 

     As day 35 got closer and closer, I got more and more worried that I would have to take fertility meds. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to take them and had never had such a strong aversion to taking medicine before in my life. All I knew is it was not a thing I was looking forward to. Caleb, bless his heart, knew this and offered to go with me to my appointment. Day 35 rolled around and we went to the Doctor. I was a mess. My stomach was roiling, I was sure that I was going to have to take the meds. We got called back to see the doctor, I left my urine sample with the nurse, and we began the wait to see the doctor. 

     About ten minutes later, the nurse came back in. She started taking my vitals and making small talk. As she was recording my heart rate and blood pressure, she looks at me and asks, "And you already took the Clomid, right?" I looked at her and shook my head.  "No, that's why we were supposed to come in today. The Doctor said we'd discuss it today." She smiled and held something out to me. "I misunderstood. I thought you had already taken the Clomid, so I did this." I looked at what she was handing me and realization dawned. I was speechless as I handed the positive pregnancy test to Caleb. "I'll give you all a moment to process this," the nurse said and stepped out of the room. Needless to say, there were lots of tears and hugs  and prayers of thanksgiving said in that doctor's office.

     I look back on it all, and I am so grateful for the journey we took to get where we are today. I have learned so much. I learned compassion and empathy for those women that desperately want babies and struggle so much to have one, I learned patience, and I learned (most days) to let what I had be enough, to be content with the blessings God had given and not be sad and depressed because I felt like they weren't enough. And I'm even grateful for the struggles we had, because if I hadn't been having problems with my cycle, if fertility meds hadn't been imminent, Caleb wouldn't have been there when I found out I was pregnant, and I can't think of a more perfect way for us to have found out than as a family. O is over the moon and waiting for baby to get here. She's convinced the baby is a girl and already calls her Sissy. Here's hoping she's not heart broken if the baby comes and it's a boy. ;) 


      Now, finally, an announcement. If you've stuck with me this far, bless you. You're a trooper. I promise it's not much longer now. 

      When I was a little girl, my grandma crocheted beautiful afghans for all her grandkids. She let us pick out the yarn ourselves. I remember going to the store with her and feeling so special as I perused the rows and rows of beautifully colored yarns. After I picked my yarn, I remember being so amazed watching her as she took this yarn and turned it into a blanket. It was magical. One day, I asked her if she would teach me. She did, and I fell in love. Over time however, I became so busy with school and sports that my crocheting fell by the wayside. A few years ago, with the help of youtube, I rekindled my love of crochet. I loved crocheting out at my grandma's house, though she had long since stopped crocheting and now that she has passed, it's something that helps ease the loneliness a bit when I miss her. 

     I have thought for awhile, that I might want to start selling some of the things that I make. I just always came up with a good excuse not to do it. However, a couple months ago, I decided it was time. No more stalling, no more excuses. So, on that note, I invite you to check out my Etsy shop, BethelBoutique, which you can visit by clicking the Bethel Boutique tab above. It will open the link to my shop in another tab. Right now, the pickin's are kinda slim, but I'm planning on adding more items in the next couple weeks or so. I'm also hoping to find a way to sell directly through the website, so keep your eyes open for that as well. If you have questions about the items I sell, or would like to talk to me about ordering something please email my business at bethelboutique15@gmail.com.

Whew! You made it! This is finally the end. Thank you again for reading!    

   My plans for a college degree got put on hold a bit when my husband and I found out I was pregnant. I was currently attending classes at the time and I had missed a week and a half of classes with what I thought was the flu. When I found out I was expecting, I realized the best thing I could do was withdraw from classes that semester and return when my kid(s) were old enough. This past year, I decided I wanted to at least finish my Associates Degree so that when I went back to school I didn't have to worry about my credits transferring as much. 
   In January, I began my last class: Anatomy. I knew it was going to be hard. I just didn't know how hard. 
   Two or so weeks in to the semester I was getting ready for my first (and what my teacher said would be my hardest) test. The test was on a Monday and I was planning on spending the weekend studying. That plan was cut short when O got sick. Four days before my first test I had a baby that wanted nothing but snuggles from her Mama round the clock. Even when Caleb was home and would try to take her, she would be fussy until I took her again. Sunday or Monday, I don't remember which, I was feeling frustrated because I hadn't been able to put in hardly in of the studying that I had wanted to. I was sure I was going to do poorly on my test. As I was walking down my hallway thinking about how frustrated I was, a scripture popped into my head. It says "I give unto men weakness. that they may become humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them." (Ether 5:28). 
   When that scripture popped into my mind, I realized that God had allowed something to come up that would keep me from studying so that I would have to rely on him. Armed with that knowledge, I continued to study in the moments that became available to me and when I wasn't able to study, I prayed. I prayed that God would help me do well and that most of all, he would help me to trust Him. 
   Monday rolled around, and as I walked to my class, I became more and more nervous. As I sat down to take my test, i realized I hadn't prayed yet. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and said a little prayer. I turned my grade over to God and told him I would praise Him, no matter the outcome of the test. A peace settled over me,  my nervousness went away, and I was able to focus on taking my test.  About a week later, our tests were handed back and I was ecstatic to see that God had blessed me with a good grade and humbled by the knowledge that He had been true to his word and taken me at my weakest and made something good come of it.  
   Little did I know, He was just getting started.  Some time in late March I was playing volleyball in a recreational league. While warming up, I jumped/landed/twisted funny and ended up tweaking my back. I was in a little pain, but we were shorthanded that night and so I played anyway. By the end of the match I was in so much pain I could barely move. I could not remember the last time I had been in so much pain. For almost an entire month, I would end up being almost completely couch-bound, as it was the easiest, most comfortable place for me to be. For that month, I was unable to attend my class. I kept up to speed by emailing my professor and watching SO. MANY. youtube lectures, dissections, slideshows, etc. Thankfully, my professor was super understanding and let me come in as I felt I could, which for the first three weeks was for the tests only. I was worried that my absence would hurt my grade, even though my professor was understanding. However, having learned that sometimes God needs us weak to trust Him, I prayed that He would continue to make good things come from my weakness and that I would be able to finish the semester in His strength.
   I went in to this semester expecting it to be challenging intellectually. I never expected how challenging spiritually  it would be. For the first time that I can remember in an academic setting, I relied more on God taking care of me than on my own knowledge and ability to learn. And while I did end up doing very well in the class, and I don't want to down play the huge blessing that was to me, the bigger blessing was having to lean on Him to get there.
   I learned so much in my anatomy class that, honestly, I've already forgotten. But I will never forget learning to trust God in my biggest moments of weakness and seeing the blessings that come from that. 

   Every morning, O and I try and have prayers for a good day and for protection for ourselves and for our loved ones throughout the course of their day. One day last week, I was getting ready to take our dogs out. When we take the dogs out they tend to get a little excited and become a little unruly. I have tried to teach O to stay by me so she doesn't get knocked over. This particular day, on our way out I noticed that one of our dogs had already made a puddle on our wood floor. Not wanting O to slip on it when we came back in, I thought I would put a paper towel over it and clean it up when we came in. While my back was turned, O decided to go over where the dogs were and in the process got knocked over and busted her lip and cut her gum. 
   I called Caleb to let him know what was going on and that I was trying to stop the bleeding. There had been so much blood that I hadn't been able to assess the damage yet, so I told him we may or may not end up needing to take her into the doctor. 
    After calling Caleb, I texted my mom (who used to work as a dental hygienist) to see if I needed to take her in to the dentist or not. She said it probably wasn't a big deal but I should call my dentist (my aunt) and speak with Maria (her current assistant) about it. 
   I called my Aunt's office and explained to Maria what had happened. At this point I had been able to check the tooth and it wasn't loose and it hadn't changed colors. My aunt asked me to send her a picture because her only concern was whether or not the cut in her gum could have cut an important muscle in your mouth.
   I sent her the picture and got a response a short time later that everything looked as good as it could, considering and that as long as I kept O from eating things like toast that could reopen the cut, she should be just fine.
   When the adrenaline from the situation settled a bit, I was left with an overwhelming relief and the knowledge that God was watching out for my baby. Her tooth was spared, the muscles in her mouth was spared, and while I know she was in a little bit of pain, it was negligible compared to what it could have been if she had busted or tooth or needed stitches.    I am so grateful for God's protection over my family, even in the little things like baby teeth. I am happy to say that it's been less than a week and all that's left is a very little scab where her lip busted open. God is good. 

   Caleb and I had started talking after O was born about when we thought a good time to try and have another kid would be. We talked about a couple different time frames, and eventually decided when she was around two we would start trying to have another kid. In May, we decided we were ready. I was already scheduled for my yearly gynecologist appointment that month, so once we got the okay from my doctor we started trying. 
   The next month I was tentatively hopeful as the date of my expected period came and went. However, a week and three negative pregnancy tests later I called my doctor to see if that was normal. They had me come in to get my blood drawn for some tests. 
   The results of the test came back showing that I hadn't ovulated that month. I was pretty discouraged. I felt like my body was betraying me. I felt like I was letting Caleb down. Without ovulation, you won't get your period, so my doctor prescribed a medicine to force my period to start. The hope was that that would be enough to remind my body what it was supposed to be doing and  that the next month I would ovulate on my own. 
    The next month I had to go in again and get blood drawn. When my doctor's office called the nurse asked if I could come in that afternoon, I was fearing the worst. I figured if there was good news, or even the same news, they would have told me over the phone again. I called Caleb and asked him to go with me since I was so nervous.  When my doctor came in to talk with us, he explained that I hadn't ovulated again and that he didn't really understand why. So he ordered more blood tests, just to make sure my thyroid and other glands were working the way they should be. Fortunately, that blood work all came back normal. So I had to take the medicine to force my period to start again and come back three weeks later to get my blood drawn. 
   The first couple months, I had been doing everything I could think of to track ovulation, to encourage ovulation. I read all the articles I could find about ovulation. It clearly hadn't worked. So, for this month, I decided that as hard as it was, I was going to give my burden to God and relax. So, I did. I gave him all my fear that I would never be able to ovulate and have another baby. I gave him all my stress about tracking everything. I gave him all my guilt about feeling like I was letting Caleb and our families down. There were times I would feel the stressful thoughts creeping up on me, but when they would come I would remind myself that "God's got this" and I would be able to relax again. 
   The day of my blood work came around and as good as I had done the rest of the month at trusting, I just couldn't quite relax. If I hadn't ovulated, they wanted to start me on a fertility med that would make me ovulate, and I really didn't want to have to take it.  I needed to be able to get the blood work done in the morning, which meant I needed to take O with me. She was very good. While we were waiting for the nurse to draw my blood, she sat down on the bench next to me and we talked. I explained that a nurse was going to come and poke mommy with a needle and take a little bit of mommy's blood but that it would be okay. We talked for awhile longer when she stops, looks at me and says, "Mama, fine. Mama, fine." while patting my leg. Needless to say, her innocent reassurance that I would be fine was exactly what I needed to help me relax and once again, give my burden to God. 
   That night Caleb came back from putting O down for bed and told me that O had prayed "Mama. Doctor. Needle." This was the first time she had ever prayed for a specific need for an individual and I was humbled that it was me. 
   A couple of days later, I got a call from my doctor's office and was told that I had ovulated on my own. I was so happy. I was relieved that I didn't have to take the fertility med, I was relieved I didn't have to take the medicine to force my period to start, but most of all I was grateful for the unwavering faith of my two year old which helped me get through it. God hears even the smallest of prayers, even ones that aren't prayed in full sentences.