"Mama, I'm going home!"

Kevin and I spent the Monday and Tuesday before the Wednesday Jan. 29 "Homegoing" service with our families sharing notes and talking, healing. Things kept popping up on our front porch without a knock, without a word. A white baby blanket, intricately hand stitched with a cross on one corner and an “H” on another corner. It was folded cross-side up when we got it. That made us smile. When we discovered the “H” on the other corner, that made us cry. Good tears. Kept in a cup – or a barrel – or an ocean – by our Heavenly daddy who has the right-sized vessel for our tears already ready for each of His kids (Psalm 56:8). A bracelet with three charms on it: a K, an L, and a G. Each initial has our respective birthstones attached. Expressions of personal love from personal friends brave enough to enter our hearts head-on. Hearts-on, really. Two horsey “lovies” – more on those soon; they produced incredibly strong emotions.

Our dining room table was turning into a holding space for pretty things, gifts of love. I pulled out a picture frame, our first baby present, given to us in early autumn. The bottom of the frame has the words “Tiny Miracle” across it. Truth. I didn’t have a good picture to put in it until last week’s ultrasound. Blurry, but it is the best of the bunch. 

We also felt and held the collection of precious items the hospital gives to parents who lose a child. The lock of hair nurse No. 5 had preserved for us. She said she didn’t even notice it until our baby was “all cleaned up.” Just one tiny lock – Dr. Seuss style is how I envision it to have sprung out of our precious Gabriel’s head. It is chocolate brown; beautifully strong in color. It is by far the most tangible evidence we have since it is real hair from our real baby boy. And it’s the only physical part of him we will see this side of heaven.

The inked footprints and handprints the hospital also gave us. Because of the intense swelling, they look more like prints from a bear cub, but it’s our lil’ brown bear, and we smile looking at those puffy paws. On that same certificate-style piece of paper were the measurements, pounds, ounces, date, time. The hospital gave us the medical ID tags Gabriel would have worn if he had lived on earth. A tape measure with 17 inches marked off on it. (I didn’t need to see that but I’m sure it’ll be nice to remember down the road.) The hospital even gave us a beautiful tiny hat and gown – in case we didn’t have one already for Gabriel’s only outfit. (We did have one – I tried to describe to family the white hand-made day gown and the tiny, tiny, bonnet that another dear friend made. We took lots of pictures.)

The silent gifts on the doorstep seemed to come all day long. Or was it days? Six white roses from our church. White mixed flowers from our friends. It was nice that, at first, everything was white. Clean. Pure.

At some point, springtime yellow daffodils from my parents and homemade chicken soup thanks to Bonus Mom. Our cozy home smelled and looked wonderful.  Laughter as our sisters hung out with each other and our dads told stories and our moms chattered and chattered.  Our widow friend and best local friend came over and shared their time and their tears and some joyous moments with the Holts and with us. Our widow friend – I hate calling her that but this whole anonymous thing is hard – had found refuge in our church’s small chapel the night of our delivery; she had to finish the gown. Our best local friend had a migraine the night we were in labor and she stayed up praying for us until midnight – fighting her own personal head pain. These two women told us all this afterward; we had no idea they loved us this much. We had a hunch. But God doesn’t deliver hunches; He delivers full punches – of truth, reassurance and love. These two friends are two of His best kids; they make us better too.

Kevin and I were a little nervous after everyone left our house Tuesday night.  So we read the Bible, separately but together. We went to sleep after asking for rest during the night and strength for the next morning. More thanksgiving; more surrender. A few more tears.

We woke up on time and fairly well rested. I wore a cobalt blue sweater and a scarf – orange and blue – War Eagle!!! – that my Bonus Mom had given me for Christmas. Black pants and my big red coat. As always, Kevin looked great – think 7-up ad from the 80s – “crisp and clean and no caffeine!” in his suit and bright red tie. Black long coat and bright red scarf. My gloves didn’t match, but that’s Ok, they were both black so I’m sure nobody noticed. Kevin didn’t wear any so I pressed my hands into his once we were there. We are like puppies in our continual comfort of one another. That’s nothing new.

My parents and sister picked us up to drive us to the graveside to wait about half an hour until 11 am arrived. The Holts were already there in their rental SUV, so we parked behind them.  Kevin and I had decided how to use the sitting time – it could go one of two ways – immediate tears opening the sisters’ floodgates or peace in the moment. We sought peace; we had prayed for it and God delivered. The idea for what happened next came to me that morning when I was trying to calm myself down through scripture. Where else could you turn really?

First, we slipped into the Holt’s vehicle. I read the first chapter of Genesis. Kevin read the last chapter of Revelation. Our tone was steady; we read at a composed pace. (I say our because even though he’s a Kevin and I’m a Lee, and we do have different voices, when we married we became a we. In fact, one of our good friends dubbed us “Kee” while we were still dating. We haven’t fought over that middle “e” yet. We probably never will.) Our senior pastor once said something like, “Of course, when you read something, it’s best to read the whole book. But if you want to catch the drift, read the first part and the last part.” Genesis chapter 1 is so good because God says, “I did it, and it was good” over and over and over and over again. Revelation 22 is equally hopeful and joyful with an edge of “I hope you paid attention because this is serious.”  We did the same thing with my parents in their Suburban. I had clocked it by reading it out loud to myself earlier that morning. It took 8 minutes total – perfect to minimize downtime for worry (insert your favorite pet sin here – fear, doubt, dread, hysteria?) to creep in. Plus nothing scares Satan away more than a dose of reality, you know, the written Word.

My dad then had our car-full hold hands – a la football huddle style – and he sputtered through a tear-filled song he had come up with sometime earlier. He changed the words of the Advent hymn “What Child Is This” to lyrics befitting our little boy. (My earthly daddy is pretty cool. My sister gets her crying gene from him. So sweet.)

Those lyrics are:

“What child is this?

We have laid to rest

In the arms of Christ

Is now sleeping?

Where angels greet

With anthems sweet

While mortal eyes

Are weeping.

This, this, this is Gabriel.

God’s messenger

Who was sent to us.

Gabriel now rests

In the arms of Christ

And his message to us

Is be joyous.”

Changing lyrics is nothing new for my Dad. Right after he retired in 1999 or so, he spent a good deal of time submitting country songs to producers in Nashville. I know because I typed the lyrics for him since my parents didn’t, and still don’t, have a computer. That’s a decision by choice, not by ignorance or lack of ability. Anyway, “Little girls and hookers are the ones who wear red shoes” and “Hug me like you mean it; I aint gonna break” haven’t made it big in Nashville – yet!  He thought Reba would be best for the Red Shoes one. I love my dad.

Right after that, our widow friend and our best local friends – migraine girl and her husband, the one who set Kevin up with me – pulled up at the very last minute so we hopped – I shifted – out of our cars and walked to the graveside together. I couldn’t fully grasp the size of the group gathered. Later I would find out more than 100 signed the book. At some point the book was taken away and the rest of the line couldn’t sign; I don’t know. I just know we walked into a circle of love.

Before we got to our chairs, I handed a “lovie” that Forrest’s mom had given us to the funeral home director. She had given us two actually – two tiny identical baby blankets for wrapping up baby with a horsey stuffed animal (perfect animal selection for me) at one corner of each blanket to make it even more cute and cuddly. The night before, Kevin and I had slept with the one that would be buried with Gabriel that day. Before we went to sleep, I had taken a picture of the lovie resting on my aching chest. Then I had taken a picture of the lovie draped over Kevin’s shoulder – you know, the burping position. We cried in that moment, of course. But at the graveside, we were calm. No tears fell. Off to the side, the funeral home director would discretely put the lovie we loved inside the casket before closing it for the last time. No drama from this mama.

Parents flanked on each side of us; sisters sitting behind us; pained faces all around. But Kevin and I just leaned into each other as we sat and listened to the preached Word. We didn’t have to use the tissues I had stuffed in our pockets. I’m still amazed that we didn’t cry. But, again, that’s how God works. In daily doses: minute by minute miracles of peace and patience and providence. What probably looked like a crazy little smile crept across my face from time to time. We were burying our baby but God had already set him free. His corpse was in that coffin but his soul went to the arms of Jesus days before. Praise God for accepting him just the way he was. And for immediately making him whole and complete – something Kevin and I could not do.

Lots of side hugs, tight hand-squeezes, well meaning moments absorbed into our smiles. A bear hug – by comparison – from the one other guy who knew the most – our wonderful doctor.  He was also the first to sign the book – that meant he probably stood in the cold the longest – with our regular nurse alongside. LOVE THEM. Love that tiny detail. Busy schedule? No problem. Full hearts. They were there. Ahhhhhh. Peace.

The graveside service itself was beautiful and so appropriate. It was in the mid-20s but the sun was shining. Or do I mean The Son was shining … near us? My high school class of 1995 sent the most colorful, beautiful flowers for the graveside. They were the only flowers there, and they were perfect.  Bigger than the tiny casket, they had to sit on the ground nearby. A bunch of people probably didn’t see them, but I did. And I loved the gesture.

We had asked people to wear bright colors to the graveside and they did. They really did. I loved the neon ski jacket that one office friend wore. I loved the church friend who said she got her brightest coat dry cleaned just for the occasion. I loved hearing about Facebook friends from Texas to New Jersey to D.C. who wore bright colors that day too. One even knitted a new scarf – wow. Talent and time. I loved that our ministers delivered the most pointed and loving sermon on Gabriel’s role as messenger. I loved that our community group shepherd spoke. I loved that even though tons and tons of our friends have kids, the only children there happened to be an old volleyball/junior high friend/current real estate client who brought her two kindergarten or less aged girls. I had my two beautiful brightly colored happy n playful girls. Good stuff. (If there were other kids there and I just didn’t see them, I’m so sorry for the oversight – we could only see so many people at a time. Little ones would’ve been even easier to miss in the crowd!)

We saw friends we hadn’t seen since our wedding. Kevin was incredibly appreciative of the work friends from his former job who came. That was a beautiful, first class gesture on their part. They were joined in faith and compassion and respect. (When your position is terminated, you don’t get a chance to say goodbye. By nature, it’s an impersonal process – policies are in place to protect the company, which makes total sense. Kevin had wanted a more personal goodbye, and at our son’s graveside, he was afforded that. It meant a lot to him. Good people; good stuff. Good God. A tender mercy we did not see coming.)

The real estate community also turned out big time; my company is made up of loving people who’ve supported us from the very beginning. So rare in an independent contractor setting and so wonderful to feel and see. I found out days later that the head of our company was there too. As owner, he was in the process of rebranding our company – a first in my eight years with the group.  He would announce the new name and launch the full product line the following week, but he still made time to support us. Unbelievable yet the whole experience has been unbelievable by standard expectations. Realtors from other firms came; clients came – some from years ago – so cool. Again, we couldn’t see or talk to everyone, but it was nice to be warmed – literally and figuratively – from the crowd.

After the “Homegoing,” a smaller group gathered at wouldn’t-you-know-it, our community group shepherd’s home for food, fellowship and fun talks. Our parents and sisters could really see community in action, sincerity of kindnesses, and generosity of spirit. The hospitality was overwhelming. Nearly every person I spoke to had shown us some specific kindness, had given us some touch – in prayer or word or deed – that was incredibly special and hit our hearts at the exact right time. The house full of love was humbling. It felt more like an “After Party” than anything else. It was a good day. A very good day. And human love is a fraction of God’s love? That means the real After Party is going to be a total blast!

Here is a copy of the message our Sunday school pastor said that day:

“Today is sad. We are not supposed to lose our babies at 31 weeks. That’s not how God intended this world or the creation circle to work. This is truly sad, and Kevin and Lee, please know we are grieving for you and with you in these moments.

But in the short time I have with yall this morning, I want to praise the Lord for little Gabriel – because his life, though only being 31 weeks, was extremely significant to God, to you, his parents, and to us, the body of Christ.

Gabriel is a great name. In the Bible it means “man of God.” Gabriel was an angel that was truly blessed because he was the messenger to Zechariah and Elizabeth about their pregnancy and future baby boy, John the Baptist. Also, even more unique and special was that he was the one to announce to Mary that she would be bearing a child, and he would be “great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end.”

Gabriel was a messenger of good news, and he was truly blessed for being that angel to carry out that duty.

Gabriel Holt was also as blessed because he, too, was a messenger of good news. His message was not to announce this glorious and magnificent savior, as Gabriel the angel’s was, but it was nonetheless powerful and important. Gabriel Holt’s message to me, and to all of us today, is that Jesus is King. You see he only lived for 31 weeks – 217 days – but during those weeks he was in a place that nobody else could reach, be, hang out. He was isolated from the world in his mother’s womb, and when we learned of his condition, we couldn’t help but ask, “What can we do?” or “How can I fix this?” The answer was, “We can do nothing, and we can’t do anything.” What Gabriel’s life and condition did for us as the body of Christ is to expose our insufficiencies and weaknesses in this world. Gabriel’s little life forced us to realize our total dependence upon Jesus as our King, because He can do all things. “Nothing is impossible for God,” Gabriel the angel says later in Luke, chapter 1. It is only with God that there is any hope for healing.

Though Gabriel could never speak or have a conversation with Kevin and Lee or any of us, it doesn’t mean he didn’t have a message. His message is that there is a king, and he is in control of all things, and we are not. We are His beloved creatures that He loves dearly, and He wants us to cry out to Him. He wants us to need Him. What little Gabriel’s life did for me and for many of us is that it forced us to see our need for Jesus. That is a message I want to hear and need to hear daily.

But that is not the only message little Gabriel Holt had for us. You see, in the Bible, Gabriel was an angel that stood in the presence of the Lord, and that word ‘stood’ means “to wait upon your superior.” Little Gabriel this day is standing before His king, “praising Him and waiting upon His king,” and that is only the case because of his King’s – the Lord Jesus’ covenant promises. Kevin, Lee, and all of us can have full confidence that little Gabriel is waiting upon his King in heaven this day, this morning, because his King loves him. His King gave His life for him. His King was faithful to His covenant promises, which are for us and our children.

I hope you see that your baby boy, little Gabriel, had a message just like Zachariah and Elizabeth’s baby boy had, and that is that there is a loving King that has come to rescue us from all our pain, agony, sorrow, confusion, tears… and His name is Jesus of Nazareth.”

For those of you keeping track at home, the other scripture read or said included: Isaiah 43:1, John 6:35, John 10:14-15, Psalm 34:18, and Luke 1:19.

You should know I’m not one of those scripture-quoting people. I’m one of those look it up, check it twice, have my husband check it once, scripture-seeking people. In my girls’ Bible study sometime last year, we were all given a verse to read and mine was in John. John 3 in fact. So there I turned, ready to go. Problem was they were talking about 3 John, not John 3. So I read out of the wrong place – entirely. (Probably loudly). They sweetly corrected me. I was embarrassed and it totally showed I hadn’t done the assignment/advance reading/what-do-you-call-it? homework? from the week before. They know I rarely come to Bible study prepared; that’s fairly common for me. I think just being there is half the battle. But it was still embarrassing. =)

My point is if you’re reading this thinking I’m a walkin’ talkin’ Bible scholar, I am not. I can’t tell you a lot. I can just lean into it a lot. And keep trying. And keep seeking. (Think Matthew 6:33 – and, yes, I just Googled it from the keyword “seek.”) Oh, and it was only about a year ago that I finished reading the Bible for the first time – cover to cover starting with G and ending with R. First time. Thanks to an app that did all the work for me. I’d scroll and read until Kevin’s Kindle told me to stop for the day. I repeated that for 90 days. It took more like 110, but no biggie. I started Nov. 19 of 2012, three days after my birthday that year. Funny, I finally read it because I thought it would make me a better mom. And it did.

“The Grace of the Lord Jesus be with all. Amen.” -- Revelation 22:21

"Watch out for that first step, it's a doozy!"

Cabbage leaves and frozen peas,

Things I’ll never serve are these.

Foams and sprays and circles, creams,

Things I talk to - silent screams.

So if I thought I felt like a mom for the last 31 weeks, I guess you could say I’m in touch with that reality even more now.  I keeping getting the worst songs – worst to Kevin’s sophisticated musical ear – in my head and I sing the same short phrases out loud to myself. “She’s a brick – house. She’s mighty, mighty – just lettin’ it all hang out.”  …. Or … Alicia Keys’ “This girl is on fiiiiiii-yaaaaaaa.” …. Or …. a little known mid-90s lyrical masterpiece: “She’s lump. She’s lump. She’s lump. She’s in my head.”  (Not really. I think my head is the one thing that is not under construction. Time will tell if I’m right about that).

Half of me benefits from heat; the other half requires constant cold. Head to toe, stillness is a good thing, so here I am writing again. My goal is to be a Mc DLT where the cool stays cool and the hot stays hot. Some of you will think I should be singing Madonna’s “Express Yourself” and aim to be more of a Big Mac, but, I promise, our situation is a little different. 31 weeks, no baby to nurse, etc.  I’ll spare you my solution for accomplishing both temperature controls at once. But if there were an Olympic sport for such a thing, I would be tempted to enter since creativity is the key to survival, I mean, success. And modesty is no longer a word in my vocabulary, so why not ‘Go for the Gold’? The real question is:  would it be the summer or winter Olympics? I’d be a powerhouse contender if I could compete in both – Phelps, who? I’ll show him what it means to sink or swim.

The graveside service on Wednesday was beautiful. Short, sweet, Godly and, yes, joyful.  They even called it a “Homegoing” not a funeral or burial. That’s not even a word – which shows how counter-cultural it is to believe in God’s promise that this life is temporary and our real home is in heaven.  I’ll get to all that in a minute or 60. Or in another post; hard to tell.

Jan. 25 – Every good birth story starts with contractions. I’m so thankful I got to post the Ease On Down the Road blog on Saturday before we went to the hospital. (It helped that I had no idea we would be going to the hospital. Blog time does not correlate to real time. So that post was a recap of a full week of activities.)

Contractions may have started Wednesday night, Jan. 22, just hours after what would turn out to be our last ultrasound. This was the night I joked that our baby might be a boy because the kicks were more like insanely strong punches of protest. We’d watch our baby literally bulge up under my skin in a round, alien-like manner. The pain was intense. I didn’t know what it was but Kevin rubbed me and I whimpered and we stayed up half the night.

I’m not a big fan of taking medicine but the next day we called to find out how much Tylenol I could take. We thought it was Braxton Hicks contractions – totally normal for third trimester. I figured the pain was extra intense since we had no amniotic fluid to cushion the blows. Walking was supposed to help or moving into a different position; both did help. Kevin got me a heating pad – why have I never known how wonderful they are??? – and Thursday night and Friday night were dreamy by comparison to that first night.

Friday night we were attending a two-hour dinner/seminar by Paul Miller, author of The Praying Life, one of the really great books I recommended in an earlier post, and the straight back chairs were doing a number on my comfort. Contractions or crazy kicks picked up again, and I left during the last prayer because I was in mucho pain. Ever the planners, we had taken two cars in case that happened.

It was a cool seminar. Part of how Paul Miller taught us was by having us pray silently to ourselves for five minutes at a time – just the closed-eyed-individual and God. After, the speaker would ask people in the audience to say what made them nervous or guilty or fearful or awkward about that prayer time. Toward the end, he asked us to write down one thing we would ask God for if we were a child and only put our needs first and asked like the answer would be a resounding YES! I wrote down one sentence:  “I want my baby to be healthy.” Everyone – I hope everyone – had their eyes closed or were at least looking down because for the rest of the 4 minutes and 55 seconds, I did that quiet trembling cry where you don’t want anyone to see your eyes leaking so you close them extra tightly – think ostrich with head in sand – because like a child if you can’t see them, they can’t see you.

We were supposed to pray for five minutes, an eternity. I just repeated over and over again “please. Please. Please.  Please.” I could only do that for so long without melting into full-body, turn-off-the-microphones, time-to-stare-at-the-crazy-girl sobbing. So instead, I spent the rest of the time convincing myself maybe they’ll just think I have a cold and I’m sniffling. I was trying to squeeze the tears inside, not outside. (Great, because trying to control things has worked so well for me in the past. And because you’re supposed to be thinking about what other people are thinking about YOU when you’re supposed to be talking to God. Good job, Lee – very pious of you.) Oh well, God knows what stood behind my please, please, please. He knows I could only point to the sentence written on my page. In fact, I had turned the notebook over so no one else could see my childlike request. I had to point through the book – I couldn’t even hold it upward. Good thing God has X-ray vision. He’s even better at reading thoughts. He does His best work in times of extreme weakness. When you’re 100% empty, He has 100% of your space to fill you up with Him. And that’s what He wants to do with us in this life – to make us full with Him.  So, physically, I sorta held it together – not really – and then when the final prayer started, I left, got to the foyer door, and then burst into hardcore tears from there until the light at Walnut Grove and Perkins (not far) where I figured I should start paying attention to my surroundings. Outburst over.

In hindsight, not knowing about 27 hours later I would be in labor, this was as close as I would come to a line in the Bible when this one guy says – paraphrase, “Dad, I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me do this.” Of course this guy in all His perfection – being the Son of God – also added the line “but if it’s what you want, Dad, let it happen.” He was a man, feeling man-sized pain and dread, talking to His Father on the night before he was going to be mutilated and murdered on a piece of wood to save the entire world from their sins.  He knew He was not only going to die but to suffer greatly, and He knew it’s why His father put Him on earth some 30 years before. Wowsers, that’s some self control and discipline.

That night, in that fellowship hall, I did not add that last line. I only had the begging part down. I am the great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great (times however many generations) grand-daughter of a chick named Eve, who at a piece of fruit that damaged our relationship with God the Father that meant I’m naturally sinful, living in a broken world and unable sometimes to add the “Thy will be done” part. When instructed to talk to my Heavenly daddy like his child, it was desperate. The three-year-old equivalent would be like begging for candy over and over again until the parent caves in.  Some 27 hours later, Heavenly daddy said, “No candy for you. Not in this moment. It’s not what’s best for you – not what I have planned for you. I love you and will protect you. I will hold you in my arms. I will comfort you. I am yours and you are mine.”

Grace is the concept that makes my child-like prayer OK. Grace is unmerited favor – something that is given to you when you don’t deserve it.  It’s the concept that –  thanks to that one Father sending His one Son to earth to die for my sins – and for anyone who says “Thank You” to Him for that – that we are expected to come to Him bringing only what we have on us or in us. It’s a CAYA sorority party. We just mess it up a lot by trying to wear the perfect outfit, say the perfect thing and then try to act nonchalantly like we are CAYA casual when really we spent a long time thinking about what to wear and what to say.

Grace says “I already knew that about you. I made you. I love you. Be uniquely you. But look to me for every need, and I’ll make you the YOU that you were meant to be.”  And then I’ll mess up again by forgetting the “thy will be done” and then Daddy will pick me up again and give me more strength for the next moment.  It’s a circle of love – and no human can make you see it or explain it into your heart.

 Decent night’s sleep Friday night thanks to the Tylenol and heating pad and probably good old fashioned exhaustion.  Saturday morning’s shower told me I was in too much pain to go to the second portion of the seminar. (It was a big deal to have Paul Miller in town. He’s Jack Miller’s son and he ranks right up there with C.S. Lewis and Tim Keller in terms of his strong communication skills and honest faith.)

Kevin went, and I got back in bed to time my contractions. As I type this I realize what a nut job I sound like. But remember, I thought it was normal preterm stuff and we weren’t “normal” patients, so I expected the abnormal TO BE normal. And I have a freakishly high pain threshold. And I still didn’t want to hurt the baby I had inside of me because I still wanted that baby to surprise the medical world and be healed by the touch of God. Like I had joked with my Bible study girls early on, Holt is so easy to spell – it would look good in a medical journal! Or it would be cool if the ultrasound equipment – all of them, every time, for two weeks from November until January – and once at an entirely different office – was, in fact, broken or missing a light bulb or something. Anything. =)

(Sidenote, when I thought I was having Braxton Hicks contractions I thought of Dr. (or Doctors??) Braxton Hicks a lot as I walked around like a little old lady literally watching my phone clocking pain. I get it – smart people like to put their names on things; scientists like to be credited with what they discover. But why in the world would you put your name on something like that? That’s like saying – call me cancer! I found it first! Call me Crohn’s disease – I discovered it, and it’s horrible so I want my name on it. What? What? I envision ol’ Braxton Hicks as not having a woman in his life during the time of his medical breakthrough because if he had, the woman would have told him to call it something else.)

Saturday at 1 pm Kevin was home, and he served me what would be Gabriel’s last meal, a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. I won’t go off on an Elvis tangent, on how being a tour guide at Graceland was my summer job after high school graduation; on how my casually mentioning that to Kevin on our first date is a huge part of what got me a second date; on how Kevin’s girl (long space to emphasis platonic) friends called him Elvis in high school in New Jersey. I won’t go into all that, but you know me by now, I just did. Thank you Heavenly Daddy for this wonderful detail and connection. It’s almost like you’ve known my path since the beginning of time? It’s almost like you care about my goings and comings – even what I put in my mouth?

As I type this, I’ve just finished a bacon sandwich thanks to about a pound of bacon another friend brought over. No need to elaborate there either – but I will. On a fifth or so date, Kevin fixed me an indoor picnic in his apartment in Cordova. He had spent the last several dates collecting food intel on me, and he served bacon sandwiches, sushi, brie, chocolate covered strawberries and tons of other randomly perfect things I’d mentioned so far. I also got to see how well behaved his dog was, lying by the picnic blanket not eating the food. I remember thinking I could nevah-evah do that with my dog. You can tell a lot about a person by how well they listen and by how their dog behaves. (Other people’s dogs, not mine, of course.)

The pain is severe and now walking it off is no longer working, so we decide to call our doctor. Husband tells doctor the contractors are still only lasting one minute – a classic sign of Braxton Hicks – but that the frequency has increased from seven in a half hour at 7:30 am to about 12 in the same timeframe at 1 pm. Doctor says go to the hospital. I had Kevin write down a list of questions to ask: how much Tylenol should we take; can we come in first thing Monday; what changing signs should we watch for? Doctor says go to the hospital. Husband says Ok, I just have a few more questions she wants me to ask. Doctor firmly but politely interrupts with a great idea! – go to the hospital. Husband is calm and says OK. He has such a servant’s heart he wanted to give me answers to my stupidly naïve questions but it was clear our questions weren’t relevant. We pack a bag and a bunch of food – theme overload – and we go. I told Kevin this is just practice; we’ll be home by dinner. We were peaceful.

The first area is called triage. I joked that it’s like we’re on M.A.S.H. The admissions person wasn’t born in time to know M.A.S.H. She would be the first of many people young, young, younger than we are. But that’s a good thing; they all had much more energy than we did and the brain power to back it up. We stood in the waiting room and prayed together. Saturday about 3 pm. – totally empty room, which was nice.

Kevin remembers all the names of all eight of the nurses and their shift schedules. I would list them all here to show gratitude because they were ALL great, but I keep trying to keep people anonymous.  The first one likes horses, has a farm, and gave me anti-contraction meds. She said we’d be home in time for dinner, too. The meds made my heart race and a quivering shake settled in, another side effect. The meds worked immediately but three hours later, the contractions came back despite the meds.  Second nurse said I was dilated one centimeter, and she thought she felt a “baby part.” I explained that our situation was a little different, that she was doing a great job, and that it was Ok for her not to exactly know what she was feeling. She said she was going to call our doctor.

He was there in less than 10 minutes, sporting a smile and his favorite NFL team T-shirt and calmly talking about his son’s ball game and his pizza dinner. Kevin and I had already decided pizza would be good for dinner when we got home. That sealed it! Then our doctor said I was three centimeters and he felt a knee. He said we’re going to have a baby tonight; get your epidural ASAP; and I’ll see you over there. We had ruptured but he didn’t say that out loud; the first of his many silent moves that were filled with love, love, love and professionalism.

Nurses 3 and 4 had the same name so they were kind of a blur to me. Once we were settled in the delivery room we met nurses 5 and 6, the ones who later would stand on each side of me and coax me through this. Each had wonderful bedside manners. Our doctor would be the quarterback, of course. Super K would be by my head to my immediate right, holding a steady gaze into my eyes even when I stared through the ceiling tile or closed my eyes altogether.

But first, I forgot, we called my parents around that 4 pm/5 pm from triage to say, “Hey we’re at the hospital; it’s a trial run; we’ll be home tonight, and we’ll let you know if you need to feed the dogs for us.”  Of course, that changed. Kevin called the fingerprint person and the Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep person; he had a copy of the Delivery Action Plan I had printed – showing the steps we’d take if we have a live birth or a still birth. It had all the names and numbers. We never had to give a copy to our parents. Planning, smanning. It was in God’s capable hands. Turns out the fingerprint person and the photographer had already ministered to me in our get-to-know-you conversations. They would never be at the hospital; they would not capture any moments. That was not God’s plan either.

So now it’ll make sense when I say my parents walked in the door sometime 8ish that night a little before we were in the delivery room ready to do the epidural and then inducement. Of course God put light and hope in the epidural story. It was two guys – young, strong, sweet. One was a resident but all I heard was TRAINEE!  INTERN! Shouldn’t he hand the big needle to the other guy? That wasn’t my call, so instead I encouraged him, joked with him, and told him this was going to be a piece of cake. He did a good job explaining the risk. I liked that he said it so fast that most people probably wouldn’t hear the whole “you acknowledge you are legally aware this could kill you part.” They just hear the “initial here” part. Gotta love a good paraphrase. It was like I had jumped into the middle of one of those hair loss commercials where the side effects are way, way worse than having thinning hair, but I wasn’t allowed to change channels.

You have to relax your back entirely for the safest results with this spine shot. That was the task-at-hand so I draped myself limply over a standing nurse, nurse no. 5., and relaxed. One last soft hug of surrender. That encouraged the needle men. They said I was doing great but that my spine was tight – meaning the bones were close together, I guess – so experienced guy coached new guy how to maneuver things around, you know, during it. Super duper, but it was worth it because very soon after I didn’t feel a thing. Not a leg, not a hip, not a thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhing. Turned out it was the most perfectly placed epidural of all time!!! (To me.) Before the guys left, I had one more question: did they know my widow friend’s husband? He was an anesthesiologist. Experienced guy did! Yay! I told him we see his widow all the time, that we’re very close friends, that we’re so thankful to have had that special connection on this night. I laughed and said I thought it was best to ask them about it after the work was done, not before. They left. Good job, new guy!

Now I was at five centimeters and nurse no. 6 felt the bottom of a foot. She said she tickled it. I said, “Thank you for loving our baby.” I think that’s when her heart started to melt for us, but I can’t say for sure. I don’t know at what moments this nurse was in or out. I had no idea her hand came out covered in blood. Kevin saw that and told me about it later; everyone protected me from it visually. More grace in the moment. I think we still had a baby heartbeat about this time but I had asked the crew to monitor our baby silently. I didn’t want to hear when the heartbeat stopped. Nobody needs that kind of information. I think at some point, they only monitored me. I think, at some point. It’s not important as to when.

Sometime later that night, our doctor popped back in and this time he stayed. Nurse no. 5 said I was “adequately” dilated. I wondered what that meant. I would have liked to hear a word like abundantly or profoundly or overly dilated, but I stayed silent – for once. My parents left. It was after 10:45pm I remember because I was concerned about my parents driving home really late at night and I asked them if they were going to set a time in their heads that they would just leave and come back in the morning. I asked if they wanted to meet our baby no matter what and my dad said yes, that they were staying.

 Dad looked sad and tired; Mom was doing her Nervous, Bouncy, Interrupty, Busy Mom Thing. She is one of a kind; she deserves all caps. Kevin did his patient, reassuring, comforting, calm thing. And I did my normal, keep-the-big-picture-in-mind-while-living-for-the-moment thing. Nurse No. 6 – I’ll call her Favorite Nurse from now on because she was – addressed Nervous Mom and monitored me and was wonderful. I remember Mom offering a helpful suggestion for how I should proceed, and simultaneously noting how different I am from my sister, and I calmly said, referencing the Bible again, “I’ve left and I’ve cleft and if anyone will do that it will be Kevin.” (Genesis 2:24).  It gave me flashbacks to our wedding planning, which will sound SO weird, but it’s true. More grace in the moment.

Labor and delivery was a Holy Spirit-inspired thing. Don’t take it from me; take it from Favorite Nurse. Favorite Nurse, the trim, slim, young woman with a ponytail, encouraged me, assisted our doctor and could feel the calmness and peace. She saw the most horror – second only to our doctor – who held our baby flat as his feet, then body, then shoulders approached. I don’t know how long it took. I know I had about a minute and a half between contractions. I know I couldn’t feel them but the group said we were making progress. I trusted their instructions on when to push. At first it was three pushes per contraction then they slowed me down to just two per contraction. Is that when it happened? Did they decide to give me a break since our baby was already in heaven? I have no idea. All I had was Kevin’s steady eyes, our prayers, patience and repetition of action. Our doctor didn’t say much but eventually said I was doing great. I had been asking for pointers on how to push better/more efficiently since I couldn’t feel anything and honestly wanted to do better. When our doctor spoke up I asked, “Great like halfway there?”

“Great, like 75% there,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

That’s when I knew our baby was in heaven – for sure. It was reinforced because when I said I understood that’s when tears started falling out of Favorite Nurse’s eyes. She knew I knew. There was no rush. 75% meant the head was stuck, or last to go, however you want to say it. Save the best for last? Our wonderful doctor could see I was Ok so he asked me if I wanted a drink and laughed that Catholics can drink anywhere – or something like that. Kevin and I practically said at the same time, “We’re Presbyterian! We can too!” I added, “Gin and tonic with lime would be great. Normally I’m a Beefeater girl, but let’s make it Tanqueray, and I hear they only have it by the case here….” I directed my side remarks to nurse no. 5, the more serious of the bunch. Doctor said, “I know a guy” and then we were back to contractions. How much time went by? I don’t know. Mere minutes I guess. Baby was taken away instantly. The swelling was so severe, our doctor didn’t stop to notice whether it was a boy or a girl. Later a nurse said it’s a boy. Boy – ha! – was that a surprise!! Kevin and I whispered to each other: Gabriel? Yeah, Gabriel. And it was so. Kevin went outside to tell our parents in the waiting room.

In the meantime, four men from church had gathered in the waiting room in hopes of a live birth, to support Kevin and me, to pray, and to wait with my parents there. We were hugely honored that they’d leave their homes in the middle of the night to love, love, listen and pray, pray, praise. Favorite Nurse said she was thankful they were there for us, too. It was the same four men who had gathered at our home the night the fetal specialist told us our options for our unhealthy baby. That worst night. Those same four men: our two pastors, our one community group shepherd, and Kevin’s weekly Bible Study leader – all good friends too.

Meanwhile back in my room, our doctor encouraged me not to see our baby. The swelling, the birth process, the effects of the failed kidneys. Both nurses said the same thing. They all told Kevin the same thing, separately. It was decided. A variety of things happened after that that I’ll skip. A variety. Of Things. Favorite Nurse took the lead from then on. She said she was grieving with us, and I believed her. When her shift ended at 7 am, we were already on another floor in another room. They were extremely thoughtful to move me away from the newborn floor.  Favorite Nurse couldn’t leave. She just stared at me like a puppy with these longing eyes that soothed me. I kept saying we were Ok. I’d been saying it the whole night – God’s got this. He doesn’t make mistakes. Favorite Nurse knew that in her heart, too.

Finally, she walked over and held my hand standing in the place Kevin had stood and Kevin stood beside her and she prayed for us. She said all the things our hearts were saying. I wish I had an audio tape of that prayer – she said it so perfectly, echoing surrender to God, thankfulness for Jesus and patience in the moments ahead. It was the best part of the entire experience. She left.

I didn’t sleep during the 23 hours we were there; Kevin got a little shut eye but not much. By 3:30 pm the next day, our doctor cleared us to leave. A few friends had come and gone and went and saw Kevin in the waiting area. Our widow friend had dropped off the gown that Gabriel would be buried in. Since we didn’t know gender for sure, it was all white. Perfect.  That story really affected nurse No. 8, our last nurse. Nurse 7 was Ok. Sweet and Godly, but we didn’t see her much so we didn’t bond as much. Nurse No. 8 was special too. She had been searching for a community church to join and had just moved to Cordova so she was really interested in our church and what we do. The gown prompted me to tell the story of our widow friend who we weren’t close to – really close to – while her husband was alive but then after his death we started tutoring her kids weekly and now we’re so close that she’s made this beautiful gown. We took a ton of pictures of it since we’d never see it on Gabriel.  Then I referenced a text that the widow sent us at 8:11 am that Sunday morning saying her husband “is holding a little baby boy this morning. Thank you for allowing him to watch your boy while you watch ours. Tears flowing.”

That’s community – on earth and in heaven. Nurse No. 8 got it. It takes a few minutes to be cleared for check-out and we were packed and waiting for the final wheelchair ride when Favorite Nurse walked through the door – with her husband of nine or so months.

It was their day off and she often doesn’t see her husband for three days at a time because of his medical job and there they stood. We couldn’t believe it. She came back to check on us, to introduce her husband, to grieve some more and to love some more. She told us she went to church that morning – after working a 7-7 shift – and that she told some friends she had one of the roughest nights at work but also one of the most peaceful nights at work – because of God. There ya have it. Favorite Nurse for the WIN! I had just finished writing down our church web site info for Nurse No. 8 and had also written our blog address down on the back of a card for Favorite Nurse in hopes that Nurse No. 8 would give it to her. Sure enough, that’s when Favorite Nurse showed up so I handed it to her personally.

I was wheeled out a back way – again, very courteous of the well trained staff – and we went home. Home sweet home. Kevin sweet Kevin. Peace sweet, sweet peace. It was Sunday, Jan. 26. –  23 hours after the practice run. Zero hour of the new, new normal. Thank you, Jesus.

“The Lord will keep

your going out and your coming in

from this time forth and forevermore.”

Psalm 121:8

Glory to God for the gift of Gabriel

Kevin, my strong Christian leader, husband, best friend and now caregiver, keeps things so lucid in my head. He has the gift of clarity and conciseness. It’s only right to start with his words from an email sent early on Sunday morning Jan. 26 to our Grace Group/Wednesday night small group friends who we were supposed to go to Sunday brunch with.

“Our baby was born at 11:54 last night. Praise the Lord! His name is Gabriel and he has gone to be with Jesus. He was stillborn. Lee and I are so thankful for the love God has shown us! Thank you all for all of your prayers. We really did feel them and they got us through this time.”

We are having a graveside service at Memorial Park cemetery Wednesday at 11 am. In lieu of flowers, please praise God with us and pray for continued peace and patience. Or check out www.forrestspencefund.org to learn more about one of my role models.

No doubt, on Wednesday I will be crying and reeling from emotional and physical pain. And hormones? Forget-about-it.  I will warmly embrace tight hand squeezes in lieu of full hugs. (Remember the phrase “in lieu” is only reserved for really, really important things.)  As I told a friend today, I resemble more of a mummy than a mommy at certain moments. =) Hug Kevin extra tight. And our parents and our two sisters.  Our sisters are both excellent criers. You’ll recognize them instantly. I LOVE THEM BOTH and we are so honored they’re both flying in to be with us. Safe travels to them and Kevin’s parents. Love is descending upon Memphis, TN.

Tears aside, Wednesday we will celebrate the life of a child spared from the pains of our broken world. At its core, it is a joyous time to gather to present back to God someone who was already His. To emphasize that, we’re encouraging people to treat it in the celebratory nature we intend. I’ll be wearing a bright red coat for three reasons: Christian funerals should be joyous and colors indicate joy; it’s among my warmest coats and it’ll be about 27 degrees and windy; and thirdly, like any new mom will find valuable: it fits without popping the buttons!!

I got the idea this morning to encourage others to wear bright colors, if it suits them, because of a memory from attending my best friend’s mom’s funeral almost a year ago. Everyone was in black, like we tend to be at funerals, and everyone was freezing because they quite naturally – myself included - allowed society’s standards to trump personal warmth. That is everyone except the two precious little girls of my best friend’s brother. They came as they were – something God tells us to do every day. The two girls wore their bright pink warm jackets, and they happily trotted alongside their parents as the extended family walked from the family car to the grave. I remember thinking at the time of how perfectly appropriate their behavior was in God’s eyes. Jesus said, “Let the children come to me. And do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.” – Matthew 19: 14.

 So do what you want; come as you are; be warm in heart and spirit because we certainly won’t be warm in that weather! Now, don’t read it this way: “Must buy hot pink coat that I’ll never wear again so Lee will know I love her. No, no, crazy friend. No, no. Colorful ear muffs would be fine and then you get the bonus of being extra sweet AND extra warm.” Also kidding. Wear what you already own; come as you are!

I don’t possess the gift of brevity like my husband, but I do have time to sit, rest, recover and continue my written therapy. That’s what the rest of this is; take it or leave it. =)

It’s a BOY! That was a surprise, but then again the last 48 hours have been full of surprises. The only thing that wasn’t surprising is God’s everlasting touch of comfort and peace around us. At some point, I’ll probably share the Godly experiences from the time we walked into the hospital Saturday afternoon thinking I was experiencing normal pre-term contractions until current day. This isn’t the time for that. This is the time to praise our Lord together for giving us a tiny life lived to unite us to our brothers and sisters in Christ, to unify our marriage, to crystallize our purpose.

Like Kevin said, Gabriel Holt went from womb to heaven some time before a steadily labored, Holy Spirit empowered, calm, breeched birth Saturday night. It’s nice that our human part of the work wrapped up just minutes before the Lord’s Day, a day of rest. He was 5 lbs and 1 oz. He was 17 inches long. Although I never saw him nor held him in my arms, I know every inch of him and every ounce – as only a mother knows. Gabriel had collected appreciable fluid since our last ultrasound just three days before when the estimate was just under 3 pounds. Saturday was 31 weeks to the day.

The Bible’s Gabriel – of the Old and New Testaments – was a messenger of God. God the Father sent Gabriel to run important errands for Him on earth, but heaven was always his home. Like Gabriel of the Bible, Baby Gabriel Holt’s feet never touched the ground on earth. In hindsight, I like that. I spent so much time thinking we were having a girl that I didn’t think about the ramifications of our selected boy name until now.

Our son Gabriel was a messenger of hope for Kevin and me; a reminder of God’s love for us; a miracle in his mere existence. He was a personal miracle since we thought it took us a long time to conceive. He was a family miracle because he brought me closer to my parents. He was a community miracle because he brought me closer to my church family and my friends – old and new. A few of our most encouraging friends are ones we simply wouldn’t have known were it not for our son.

God has no limits and there is room for more miracles after miracles after miracles that we will never know of. We’ll never know they happened, or will happen one day. I learned from my original Bible Study leader who died earlier in 2013 that the greatest prayer is one of praise – that God be glorified. It was always her first prayer request before asking for healing of her cancer. To God alone be the glory. Kevin and I continue to ask for that as our No. 1 prayer request.

At church our 30-somethings Sunday School class is broken into smaller community groups. We have “shepherds,” couples in their mid-50s who lead each group serving as mentors, friends, and companions – with more experience in their faith walk and in life – to guide us and party with us and pray with us along this big weird road trip that is life on earth.  

Obviously, the leaders are called shepherds because we’re pulling from the Bible, our blueprint on how to try to live. (Emphasis on try).

I’m so glad I’m a sheep of the One True God – that “the Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” Not because I have what I want in this life, but because I’ll have eternal life in heaven.  My shepherd is the only One who can offer that; he’s the only One who sent His son to die for our sins to save us a place in heaven with Him and with our perfectly made son. (By the way, our Gabriel is whole and complete now. He has two good kidneys; his warped bones are straight and strong; his lungs are clear; his swelling is gone; his soul is secure). My shepherd is the only One who accepts us the way we are – inwardly deformed, sinful, fallen by our very nature – and He says that’s Ok. He loves us anyway. He loved us first. Hooray for that! And hooray that scripture also says Jesus is coming back to earth some day and “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:4). I would be cool with Jesus coming back today.

We are very sad. Very sad.

But our grief reveals our love for our son – and we wanted him to feel loved. ((Dear G., Sorry about calling you a girl so often, sweet Gabriel – that’s explains your increasing kicks of protest as we routinely rubbed you good night in the last few weeks. =) My bad. Just goes to show God the Father knows more than the mommy on earth – down to the tiniest of details.))

As deep as our love for our son is, it’s nice to know God the Father loves us even more deeply. For that, we praise Him.

“For you formed my inward parts;
    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
    my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

 Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
    the days that were formed for me,
    when as yet there was none of them.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
If I would count them, they are more than the sand.
    I awake, and I am still with you.”

-          Psalm 129: 13-18

Ease On Down The Road

It’s wrong to think about food first, but again, we’ve been so blessed near and far by the people who are pitching in and keeping our 2.23 tummies full. Thank you, thank you. The oven part of our gas range broke this week and I haven’t had to use the oven itself thanks in large part to the kindness of others (and my love of pasta), so I’m a happy girl. Kevin says he can fix it. I say it’s stove shopping time! We’ll see how that pans out. Pans out – get it?!!!! Ah, me….

We’ve had our latest appointment with our baby girl. That’s the first news –  she seems to still be a girl! Never certainty with that due to the no amniotic fluid, but it’s good enough for us. Second, her abdominal fluid has doubled; not what I was hoping for. Hello, manna for the moment. We will gobble you up and praise, praise, praise for today’s time with our little lady – even this moment. They gave us a weight estimate for the first time: 2 lbs 13 oz. That’s about 23% of where other babies would be. They gave us a 4D view for a minute and it was beautifully and uniquely ours. Fortunately, she seems to have Kevin’s nose. She has my open mouth and constantly moving lips. =) Kevin was with me this time, so they gave us extra time together. I love our nurse. Giving, they are. Yoda-sized, baby is.

We’ve gotten a lot of prep work done since we don’t know what kind of time table we’re working with. We’ve picked out a plot at Memphis’ Memorial Park in the original Babyland. We’re not putting hard money down until the time is upon us – cue the miracle!!, but the prep is part of the process and we’ve found a peaceful spot nestled among babies from the 40s and 50s and there’s something cool about that to us. We’ve lined up a local artist who does newborn hand impressions in clay and a wonderfully supportive photographer who does volunteer shots with a national group called “Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.” She said we’ll want it even if we experience a stillborn birth and even if we don’t look at the pictures for 10 years. She’s done this a lot, and she says we’ll still want, so we are doing it. I trust her. As God would have it, of the four photographers who do this volunteer work in MS and TN, she is not only the best based on her portfolio, but she is a strong Christian; she has a sister named Shannon; and she was best friend’s with her grandmother. Those who’ve known me my whole life will see the similarities shining through in that long sentence. My scrapbook is a growing box full of love; it just needs to be organized and, well, scrapbooked – not my forte – but a friend is letting me dump it on her, and I’m sure it’ll come back to us wonderfully made.

In non-baby news, Kevin’s position at work was terminated. It was a surprise – corporate cutbacks – a January necessity – nothing personal. He had been there six months – last in, first out, as they say. God is as in control of our finances as He is our health, and we are doing great. Kevin is a planner, a provider, a leader and a family man. Kevin walks the walk. We’re blessed to have a generous severance especially since he worked there for such a short time. Don’t confuse our dependence on God with a lack of effort or involvement to excel in our lives on earth. We use the brains He gave us. We are working like dogs to find the next best job opportunity, and we are not idle. We are so thankful for the men and women who are also networking on our behalf and pointing us in promising directions. Personally, it has been a tremendous blessing to have Kevin by my side at the funeral home and at all the weird places we’re going – big and small. I broke down while returning a shirt with a snag in it at the maternity store the other day, and he was there to say my name and phone number and address when I couldn’t speak through the sobs. I think our shared experiences are also wonderful to prepare his heart for our journey together toward the future. Most dads don’t feel like dads until the actual birth, but Kevin is getting to take the baby steps – ha! – with me now. Although incredibly painful, those steps will, in hindsight, become cherished memories of us being united as a couple and standing under God in peace with Him and with joy for our baby girl. 31 weeks as of today. Peace out.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 4: 6-7

A girl, Grandmum and glucose

We celebrated Christmas a week early with my parents in Memphis, which meant a gorgeous rack of lamb, umpteen presents and lots of love all in a candlelit Colonial Williamsburg setting. This is not me painting a pretty picture of the quaint life of retirees. My parents really live in a cottage covered in ivy, really don’t have a microwave, and really prefer dinner parties illuminated by fireplaces and candles rather than electricity, which “can cast an ugly light on guests.” Wait, what are you saying, Mom? Please don’t get me wrong, I love her style and her stances. I could bottle the strength of her opinions and sell them as high octane fuel for the faint of heart. Or our government could use them to blow people away without ever seeing it coming. In fact, a very obvious God-made part of this journey has been that I’ve never been closer to my mom. She’s been loving and supportive, and if it makes her feel better to feed me a second lunch from time to time, I’m happy to help her satisfy her motherly instincts.

Then we set out for Christmas in New Jersey. We broke the 17-hour drive into two days: 14.75 hours from Memphis to Harrisburg, PA in my 2001 Camry with 190,000 miles on it – you know, our good car. It was, um, uncomfortable. But I alternated between sweets and salts and waters and bathrooms, and we made it. I only tried to crawl under the seat once and I never swung at Kevin who was singing songs and reassuring me the whole way. We have two labs. The good one (Kevin’s dog Maisy) comes with us. She gets the back seat with fluffy toys and a sheet protecting the car seats and cushioning her ride. The enthusiastic one (my dog Samson) stays at the kennel in Memphis. Sammy has too much heart to fit in the car much less in my in-law’s home. Like the Dixie Chicks, he needs Wide Open Spaces. 

Day Two of our Holt Family Road Adventure – keep in mind we’ve done this for the last three years – we pick up Kevin’s 97-year-old grandmother in Mechanicsburg, PA and make the final three-hour drive into New Jersey. I wanted to be fresh for this leg of the trip – I hadn’t seen my in-laws since our baby news, and I wanted them to see that I was Ok – clean, well rested, and bright-eyed. Kevin finally had a Christmas carol singing partner in “Grandmum” and someone who appreciated, no was enraptured in giddy joy by, his Paul McCartney impersonations. I was on the back seat with Maisy and some luggage. This year the walker fit in the trunk, a very good thing. Grandmum is doing great – a constant inspiration to us. She is sharp as a tack, independent, ready for anything, and makes me smile to hear her stories. Her only sign of aging, other than bones that have bent with time, is her vision. When Kevin turned on the windshield wipers to wash off the bugs, she began a 10-minute process of unfolding and putting on her clear plastic hair cover. It wasn’t raining and we were still an hour from home, but she was going to be ready – and she didn’t need help. Let’s face it: her generation does not take chances when it comes to having perfectly placed hair. She also brought her own water bottle – to soothe her singing throat and minimize stops. I love her. During our visit, she put me to shame – fewer potty breaks, better outfits, and more energy than I could muster. I got to eat all the chocolates with nuts though! That’s one point for  Big Mama, still in my PJs at 10 am while she had gotten up who knows how early to not only be dressed for breakfast but to put on a Christmas pin to match her earrings for the day. LOVE HER. She is such a wonderful role model for how to live at any age – with a patient and positive attitude, spirited sense of humor, and do-it-yourself determination.

Christmas was a blast – family, food, fun. My Bonus Parents are the best - greatest huggers of all time; the most generous and gracious hostesses. We enjoyed good fellowship with friends and honorary aunts and uncles and their grown kids and their kids, too. Uncle Kevin had tons of fun wrestling with our nephew and niece. The days were filled with laughter and relaxation, and the nights were filled with steak, scallops, chicken parm, homemade meatballs, standing rib roast, candied bacon, chocolate pie, homemade cookies, sister’s FAMOUS cupcakes, and hugs, hugs, and hugs. We shared some really special moments the more loved ones I got to see and share our Ok-ness with. In short, I’ve never felt so loved. Good folks abound in the Garden State. They are my family and I adore them.

Next thing I know we’re heading 17 hours southward, broken into two days, just in time to celebrate New Year’s Eve with my Love. Lobster tails, taters, and we were GOING to have sparkling cider for me and crème Brule for dessert. But (insert sound of screeching brakes here) I went cold turkey on sugar because my nurse called that afternoon to say I failed my glucose test. I can’t say that I was surprised. Sugar is my friend. Roundness is my specialty. Every day I wake up, I achieve a New High Score – not that I care, but for some reason the nurses keep tally of that sort of thing. And when you have an ultrasound every two weeks, there’s no shortage of data to pile up. (Seems like my weight chart was like that little yodeling hiker on the Price Is Right who merrily chugs up the mountain and you hope he stops before he falls off the cliff so the nice lady who doesn’t respect personal space can win a toaster. I mean, that’s what I’d envision; it’s not that I’ve ever watched that show.) Plus, it was Lady Santa season. Plus the winter look is to layer. Plus I get hungry at night and even Cheerios has 1 gram of sugar in it. Plus maternity clothes are wonderful and I may never give them up. Plus I would have offended holiday hostesses from Memphis to “the City” if I didn’t sample a selection of their lovingly prepared treats. I am Southern; hear me hum as I fully enjoy a yummy something.

But, I really didn’t want gestational diabetes, so I purged on oatmeal, blueberries, salmon, raw almonds, salad, beans, walnuts and Greek yogurt for exactly seven days until my next test. Fortunately for my planner brain, this coincided with January 1, the “NEW YEAR!!” so we called it a week-long detox and Kevin joined me in every step except the skipping alcohol part. He is human after all. Instead of snacking, I also reorganized practically every storage space in our entire 1,165-square-foot castle, including our t-shirt drawer, which doubled capacity without getting rid of a single shirt. A few of you will find that last sentence to be the one thing you want to email me privately about. And I can’t blame you. The tip is that good.

It’ll sound crazy but I enjoyed the four-hour full test at my doctor’s office. You have to understand how awesome my doctor is. He came to sit with me and visit for awhile. He showed me a funny youtube video. He told me about his fan rage during a recent NFL game. He is wonderful and genuine and kind. Another God note: I didn’t realize it until a couple of weeks before Christmas but my doctor was really, really good friends with my uncle who passed away from cancer July 5, 2012. My uncle was also an OBGYN and my doctor was so close that he helped care for my uncle during his in-home hospice care in his final weeks/days. I can’t tell you how often my Mom has said she wished she could talk to her brother about our baby situation. So when she found out the two extremely well respected professionals were beyond tight, she felt like she had the reassurance that she had longed for. Thank you, Lord! God knows the full story before we have a clue. I see that time and time again.

When I told our doctor whose niece I was, his immediate response was “You’re going to make me cry” as he leaned against a counter for instinctive support. He had already been incredibly kind to us for months when he didn’t know our connection. Now he knew who he was serving and it truly affected him. He is solid gold to me. And his staff is just as awesome as he is: loving, caring, supportive, often flat-out hilarious too….. He’s in private practice, which means he maintains a small, clean, personal waiting area – unlike the puppy mill waiting rooms I’ve been in before where if you’re crying, they charge you per tissue and announce over the loudspeaker something like: ‘the crying area is down the hall and to your right, but first please follow the flags to the billing window on your way to sign the waiver acknowledging you may or may not have future crying that would activate the Multiple Tissue Pricing Plan.’

So in short, I would’ve been fine in the waiting area with his other patients, but it is a four-hour test with blood drawn each hour, so they let me hang out in a private room where I could watch videos, talk on the phone, and be insulated from other new mommies who ask well intentioned questions that lead to my awkward answers. Long story short, I passed the full test – thanks to God and the salmon He created because I had some serious sugar to counter physically. That same day we had an ultrasound like normal except this time they discovered two new things about our baby: possible gender and possible life expectancy change. The happier news is that the umbilical cord was lying behind our baby’s legs so the blood in the cord allowed for our nurse to see a little bit more clearly between baby’s legs. It didn’t look like a boy so they think she’s a girl! Of course, we still have no amniotic fluid; therefore no crystal clear determination, but this is good enough for me to refer to her as a she from now on. I didn’t like saying “it” and grocery store strangers first question is always “what’s the gender?” so it’s nice to have a one-word answer now that hopefully won’t lead to more Stranger Danger questions.

The second piece of new information also came from our ultrasound. This time, for the first time, it showed our baby has started to collect fluid in her abdomen – at 28.5 weeks. We will learn much more at the next two-week ultrasound because the abdominal fluid will have either: disappeared, stayed the same, or increased possibly filling other parts of her. That last option is what I don’t want because I want to make it to late March for a live birth. I want just a few minutes to say hello before saying goodbye – until I see her in heaven, of course. I know God will present the path for us that IS best for us, and I know His will may not align with my desire for a live birth. I’m Ok with that because He knows what I can and should handle and/or experience, and He will protect me – even from myself and my naturally sinful and often wayward heart. My entire life is already written on God’s heart so what counts is how I respond to His actions, not what those actions actually are going to be. Time will tell and God will provide – each minute of each day in a manner that is best. Sometimes people pray for what they want and forget the “Thy will be done” part of every prayer. Please don’t forget that part if you’re out there praying for us and our baby. Sometimes well meaning Christians think faith equals no pain. But if you do “look it up, dear” (awesome ‘80s TV encyclopedia ad reference), the text is clear that suffering is a normal part of the Christian walk. It’s a given, not a maybe. It’s different for everyone and comes in all shapes and sizes. You may not hear about it if you’re not entrenched in a community of believers. But I garrre-ruuuunnn-tee (now I can’t stop making TV references) you’ll realize it once you really get to know other Bible believing Christians. It’s there just under the surface waiting for someone to ask a follow up to the polite preliminary “How are you?”

Keep in mind 28 weeks is the average time in which this kidney condition is diagnosed. So it makes sense that we’d notice physical changes about this time (28.5 wk ultrasound). What’s miraculous is that we received an accurate diagnosis a full two months ago – at 20 weeks. God gave us a huge heads up to process things and plan and figure out what not do to. Previously, the nursery was going to be ready by Jan. 31 and there was going to be a joint shower with another friend in New Jersey over the holidays. These things didn’t happen because God told us so early and with such clarity. We are incredibly thankful for that blessing and for the time we could spend with our little one together – starting at 20 weeks instead of what would have been even more shocking – finding out the initial diagnosis at 28 weeks, or even later. We’re doing our parenting now – singing songs, talking, laughing and reassuring our little one that she is Ok and she is loved. That time has blessed us also with ongoing and sound advice from other parents who’ve lost infants in a similar way. More on that another time.

That’s it, folks. January 7 was the fourth anniversary of Super K and my first date. (I’ll spare you from our sappiness. Hmm, that rhymes with happiness. Shucks.) January 8 was the friend-who-set-us-up’s birthday as well as, of course, Elvis’ birthday. Have a wonderful season of organization, warm fireplaces, full hearts and praises for God’s mercies – new each day!!

“The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.

- Psalm 121:8