i will still love You

I'm sitting across from eyes of understanding. My heart pouring out.
The words flowing freely between our hearts. The sharing of Grace. The leaning in.

I hear myself speaking. Saying, "My God is everything". The words catch in my throat, thoughts turning to my Littles.
And still I force the words out. Reminding my heart I know this to be Truth.

The night passes and I am filled with fire. Burning for the hearts of mothers. Determined to fight for them.


To grab hold and be a vessel of Relentless Grace.


We scrub and play.

I am vacuuming the bits of our living from the floors. And my Littlest, he comes. All smiles. Walking behind his cart. And his image is etched into my soul.

I scoop him up, whispering plans of a diaper change, and pouring love into him. He sucks in air as though he may scream forever. Protesting the interruption of his proud moment. And then he loses control.

His little body takes over and he is turning blue. Pleading for air and unable to let it in. His body stiffens, back arching, arms bent in a tonic pose. And I am in pieces.

I pull him to me. Pleading, "Breathe, baby. You have to breathe!". His eyes roll back and he is limp in my shaking arms. I am touching him, rubbing his skin, yelling now.


"Please God, please help me!"


He seizes. Limbs jerking and shaking in broken, wrenching movements that shake the world from beneath me. Little eyes open, shallow breath creeping in.

I am searching for him. For the reflection that I know as well as my own. And he is not there. His eyes fixed to one side.

I am dialing. Impatient that three numbers are way too many. She answers. I am crumpled.

"My baby, I need help he stopped breathing...".

 "Give me your address." She says. And I do. The words, as familiar as my own name, rolling out over my prayers.

They are on their way. Coming to fill this space in my helplessness.

She asks me. And the story pours out as he lays on the floor of this room I prepared for him.

The room where I sat and rocked when he lived within me. Where I prayed for him before I knew his face.

My hands touch him. Caressing his little body willing the air in. Memorizing his every curve. Pleading.

My breath pouring into him. Loving him alive.

Big slips into the room. "What's wrong Mama?". I hear myself answer, "Open the door for the firemen."

I am asking him to be bigger than his seven years. To reach into his child-size faith. And he does.

The room fills up with heroes. Strong hands gathered around my baby. Their wisdom, their love, their sacrifice pouring out.

She says, "They will take care of you now." And she's gone. I wonder if they can.

I am reliving the moments. Trying to give every smallest detail. While my Big stands quiet in the corner, arms wrapped securely around Middle. My two loves, standing there between their tall dreams of the future. Dreams of big red trucks and man-sized boots.

My baby begins to cry softly, as if from far away place. The heroes give me comfort. Pour out the words they don't have to say. Give more than necessary.

Then I am watching them strap his carseat to a stretcher. Him cradled in the arms of a tall hero in blue. Arms that hold him as though they belonged to his Daddy.

He sleeps. Comfortable in his seat. Watched by those that can help.

And I pause there for a fragment, soaking in the thought of giving my baby to these strangers.


My God pouring peace in.


They want me to leave my boys with someone. And I know immediately they must stay with me. They must hear my fear. Must pour out their own into my familiar heart.

Big puts on a coat. And slides sleeves over Middle. Walks him to the car. I grab a blanket scattered with monkeys. And pajamas to cover little, dimpled arms and legs.

We are driving. Following an ambulance. Heading out into the world. Missing a carseat, missing a piece of me. I am repeating five words. Five small words.

"I will still love You."


Insistent. Defiant. Surrendered.


I am talking into the phone now, telling Mama words that sound like a different language. A different life. And we are praying.
She is 3000 miles away and she is there in my car. I hear myself say, "I have to go, I have to talk to the boys."

We talk of fear like we've never felt. And Goodness that never ends. Of coming home without him. And clinging to Grace. Praying His will be done. Words weaving our hearts together. Tighter, stronger. Into each other, into Him.

I am standing at the back of an ambulance. My eyes feeling like windows to someone else's life.

A voice breaks into my thoughts.
It is a hero. Cooing, asking for smiles. Giving of himself.
And I see my baby lying in his seat, a tiny polar bear clenched in his chubby fingers. His eyes confused.

We are walking in. My hand on his leg. Him on a stretcher.
 My heart in God's Hands.


They weigh him and hook up machines. Sticky pads and beeping scattered over his tiny parts.

At last he is in my arms. Breathing on his own. Settling into my body. I am feeling him again. My heart finding his. He looks up at me and I bend. Noses rubbing.

He smiles. And I know he's still there.


We wait like this for hours. Me content to stay forever in this moment. Them hearing his heart. Reading his body.

The doctor returns tells me he's fine. And I think I must not have understood. He's fine? Everything is normal.

They tell me he loses control of his breath and can't get it back. His nervous system takes over. It will probably happen again. I am relieved and terrified.

And I am overwhelmingly GRATEFUL.

More hours pass. Feeling like lifetimes. And I am driving home. All three pieces of me right where they belong. Three boys riding behind me.

And I am immeasurably GRATEFUL.

I walk into his room. His sleeping body wrapped around mine. His warm breath on my neck. And I still see the heroes. All six, bent over his little body. Pouring out their strength.

I lay him in bed. His crib full. My heart overflowing.


And I am indescribably GRATEFUL.

I am constant prayers. Constant Thanksgiving. 

Eucharisteo.

You, my Lord, are everything!

I will still love you! Even in the darkness.

"My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken."  Psalms 62:1-2


What he had - Complicated Cyanotic Breath Holding Spell
Something I had never heard of. Something every parent should be aware of.

waiting

I feel it welling up from some deep cavern in my soul. A familiar ache. A relationship strained.

My mind ignites. Quickly racing to define this crack, this broken place. This pain coming from my thread bare heart.

If I can just make sense of it then it won't leave me broken. Won't leave the rivers flowing down.

But I stop. Take a breath. Lean in to Grace.

I surrender to the ache. The scraping of my heart. The refining fire.

For there is no value in what I do not feel. 

It is in the waiting that the Truth is found.

When my heart is spinning in its brokenness, I am lost. 

It is in the leaning in, the listening, that I hear the Words in my soul.

And I wonder how many times could I have saved a relationship, a connection from unraveling if I had only leaned into Him. 

If I had quieted my explanations and found comfort for my heart in the quiet Waiting.

If I had embraced the ache, caressed the wound.

Held my hands up. And found myself on the other side still holding out my heart.

Waiting, open and raw. Arms held out welcoming my friend into Grace.

"Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord."  Psalms 27:14

give me less, make me more

It has been a week since I first peered into his life. This one they call Jonathan. He lives within me now, swirling around my mind. I find his face in the moments of my days. I am captivated.

He is caught in the space between a boy and man. Searching for someone to define him. Pleading to know he is loved. And they have let him down. Those that carried him inside themselves, held his tiny body when it was new and fragile. They have forgotten him.

I wonder at the very reality of that. The ability to walk away from a child.

I look into my little Blessings. Scattered around the table. Amber sun setting their hair to gold. And I wonder... How do you walk away from a piece of you?

I know Jonathan. I know this pain. I have lived this piece of his journey. I too have a father that doesn't know how to stay.

I have felt that ache. Spent days, faced pressed against the glass willing him to come. I have lived broken promises. The pieces to my puzzle jumbled and missing.

Jonathan. He is aching. He is humble. He is quiet, afraid to hear his own voice. Afraid if he speaks his heart may shatter.

He is filled with the determined nobility of a man and the timid gentleness of a child.

I spend days aching for him. Aching for me.
And suddenly I am raw. Open and jagged. And I am groaning.

I am ungrateful.

I feel like I am standing here naked. Exposed suddenly. The gory truth of my heart spilled out in front of me.

Then I hear it. The Words spoken straight into the core of me.


"Jonathan has ME. In his Everything!"


And what else is there? 


Jonathan's God is Everything.

My God is Everything.


The asking wells up from somewhere deep within. And I am scared to let it breathe. Afraid of giving in. Yet I want nothing more than to surrender to this longing.

It begins as a whisper. A quiet pleading.

And then it slips out of me with the hush of a dry snow falling.

"Give me less."


I feel the warmth of it. The pure surrender, the power of letting go.

"Give me less."


Now I am pleading. Willing away the clutter of my life. The things I must get done. All the insignificance that I give my Lord's energy away to.

All the ways I am wasting away.

"Give me less. Give me less."

The times I choose obligations over hearts. Chores over cuddles. The worry, the striving. The comparing.

The complaining.

Loneliness over my Lord.

"Give me less. Make me more."


And the world is ablaze. The trees are dripping with gold. The sun warm on my face.

The same sun that touches Jonathan. This boy that has to be a man. This boy with so very little that has given me this gift of so very much.

I will always remember him as I pour out words to our Father. I will always remember him when my heart whispers its loneliness. 

Jonathan reminded me to sing.

To love when it is a choice. To reach out my hands to give when they feel so empty. To choose joy.

To choose hearts.

To fill my ache with Worship.

May I ask you to take a moment to read about Jonathan and pray for him.

There are so many children all over the world that urgently need our Compassion.

The simple, quiet truth is how desperately we need them.

I pray you will open your heart to them. Even if only for a minute to cover them in prayer.

just breathe

There is quiet now. I sit still and frail.

I began this day with a bounce in my step. Plans to conquer the mountains of laundry left by the small explorers.

Made breakfast, dressed little bodies, and brushed tiny pearly whites.

Then set off to climb my mountains. With Littlest in tow, Middle and I sorted and carried. Then we settled him in to play. And we headed to the laundry room for a date with my favorite invention.

We pulled from the basket and filled up the drum. He said, "It's easier with two hands. Is it, Mama?". I said," Yes, love. But we have more." And we counted to four. I poured in the soap and he pushed the buttons. And we went to find the brothers.

We came into the kitchen and Big yelled, "Mama!". I looked down the seemingly endless hall to see Littlest lying on the floor. Color fading from his face.

I ran, suddenly aware of every thread in my being. Scooping him up, limp over my knee, pounding his back. Praying.

Breathe, just breathe.

Dragging a finger through his mouth, feeling nothing. Shaking him, pleading. Digging deeper this time, knowing if it won't come out it must go down. Must make room for air, more air.

He begins to breathe deeper, color returning. His little body now slightly holding its weight. I'm clutching him trying to get him to bring eyes to mine. Trying to find him.

Our eyes meet. I say in desperation, "Kiss Mama!". He weakly does. And I cling.

I stand, the arms of two littles wrapped tightly around my trembling legs. Arms clutching my baby.

And I breathe, just breathe.

Doctors are called. Tears are spilled. Words are woven. Little fears soothed. And we are more alive than when we woke to this day.

It was tiny cap to a door stop. The little things I have fretted over so many times. They have been glued tight. And now it has turned cold and the super glue has let go.

I am fragile. And I am GRATEFUL. 

And Grace speaks to me. And I am faced with the magnitude of times He watches me and pleads with me.

"Breathe, just breathe."

one piece door stops (because I need them, and hadn't had the chance to order)

don't get too busy

an unexpected adventure

An escape from the confinement of their chariot. A moment savored. We scramble out in search of Beauty in this day of concrete errands.

Sometimes even I have no words...

birthday crumbs

I force open eyes that feel as though I've spent the night in a sand storm.

Tiny kisses fall across my face. "Happy Birthday, Mama!"

Grace has brought me to this place. This day of looking back. Looking in. Peering down deep into this fragile life. Sifting through pieces. Glass that has been rolled by oceans of grace.

I am. I have. I love. More than I ever knew I could. Heart hanging open, held together by strands of little words and arms thrown about my neck.

I am filled with gratitude. Spilling over. Undeserved.


thirty two crumbs, held up in these small hands ~


Relentless Grace


autumn sun dripping from golden leaves


round velvet cheeks, and deep blue eyes


dark chocolate


words, on the page and pouring out


"mama", spoken straight into my heart


music, filled with worship 


the smell of grass cut neat


the smile of a dear friend


the Treasures


laughter


clean laundry

Promises


tomatoes in the full of summer


disappearing beneath the bubbles in the middle of the afternoon


promises broken, moments lost


wounds


The Word


three healthy babies


the comforting sound of Southern bugs singing their evening song


knowing the hand holding mine, just by the feel of it

the afternoon sun painting our adventures gold


my Compass


trees burning with red


a sun-drenched nap on a cool fall afternoon


clean sheets

the Wind across my face














 a crisp apple in a tiny hand

pain, the way it moves you 


love lost


being Carried


growth, stretching, straining, trusting, surrendering




Thirty two years. Beautiful, painful, blissful, Clinging years. For each moment, each tiny crumb I am immeasurably grateful.

For the winding, shifting journey. For the times I fell, scraped and bleeding. My Father reaching down and picking the bits of gravel from my wounds. Healing this weary heart. I am Yours.

And to those that have shared my journey. For a fleeting moment, for a lifetime. I am overwhelmed by love.
You have been my foundations, my walls, my windows filled with light. You have been my wounds and my joy. The faces of my thirty two years. My reflections. You have the pieces of my heart.

I am so very grateful.