Anticipation.

I have made it to the halfway mark. My baby tracker emails have welcomed me to the second half of my pregnancy. Everyday, my first stretch after I wake up, (or the nagging urge to use the bathroom) reminds me of the little miracle who has taken residence in my belly. My first few steps out of bed are filled with an awe-filled appreciation - and sometimes disbelief - that I've made it another day.

It has only been recently that I have honestly allowed myself to feel connected to the baby girl inside of me. Even though I can't feel her yet, I am able to allow myself to think about mornings in the near future when the reminders of my blessing come in the form of sweet little cries from a crib down the hall. I have bought baby clothes for the first time for my own child. And even though I can't yet bring myself to take the tags off and throw away the receipts, I can safely find myself imagining a diapered butt in each of the ruffled, pink onesies.

I'm getting there.

Even to call her by name has caused my heart to skip a beat time and again simply because of the disbelief that I'm finally here.

I'm finally to the point of anticipation.

I am well aware that God may have other plans for me that may never allow me to hold this little girl. But these days, those thoughts are joined with the idea that God very well may have plans for me to not only hold this little girl, but watch her take her first steps, and to watch her graduate from high school, and to even get married and have kids of her own.

As Matt and I drove away from our ultrasound last week, having just seen a perfectly growing little girl, kicking and yawning, he said to me, "I still feel like something has to go wrong. I feel like after all we've been through this year, I can't believe our doctor uses words like, 'perfect' to describe her."

Our feelings are not full of doubt and pessimism, but rather a holy fear of an all-powerful God who keeps this child's heart beating yet can stop it in an instant - today or in the next 90+ years of her life.

Lord willing, we will welcome a baby girl into our family mid-November. We pray that we be able to hold her and kiss her face on that day...and for many days after that.

Thankful for that anticipation.

comforting others...

A couple of nights ago, I got in bed...nauseous. I was in a bad mood because I have waiting (impatiently) for 7 weeks for my sickness to ease up to no avail. It was early....only about 9:30pm. My pity party kept me up for a bit, until I realized I wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon. I felt stillness next to me in the form of my husband, who had journeyed off into dreamland. I was wide awake. This was so unusual for these days since usually I'm asleep minutes after my head hits the pillow.

I picked up my iphone, and opened facebook (of course). And then I knew why God was keeping me awake...

It was at that very moment I learned that just seconds before, a friend of mine, due only two days after me, had just posted the news that she lost her baby at about 12 weeks. My heart sunk for her. Right there in my bed, I felt the same despair and heaviness I had on many nights after my miscarriages. I cried in disbelief and knew of nothing to do except pray. And suddenly, I knew what it was like to be for all of those people around me who lay awake at night with ME on their minds. And it was so humbling.

My mind went into overdrive about how I could use my pain to care for Erin. Do I call her? Do I write her? I will definitely pray, but what do I say? I found myself trying to recall the things that were said to me from which I felt comfort. And I remembered all-too-well the things NOT to say, too. (Those never leave your mind). And, I fell asleep praying.

The very next morning, my heart heavy for Erin and what I know she was feeling on the morning of her D&C, I stumbled across this blog by a woman who had lost a child and has worked through the pain and process of mourning on her blog as well. As I read her words out lout to my sister, tears flowing, I KNEW how to help Erin. This blog entry summed up the emotions that I felt this year, packaged in a few paragraphs, and she is SO RIGHT.

My heart breaks for Erin, and for anyone who suffers a loss like this. And even though I could probably muster up some advice and tips for Erin for surviving the next few weeks and months, I knew that the best thing to give to her was my broken heart. I have cried nearly DAILY for her.

I've cried for YOU daily, Erin.

And I want her to hear that because I know it helped me most - to hear that other people hurt deeply for me, and that I wasn't alone.

You're not alone, sweet, hurting friend. Our comforting Father (along with me and an army of prayer warriors) are with you.

See my heart?

To try and give you a glimpse inside my mind over the last month or so (or the last year, for that matter) would only leave me short of describing the emotional roller coaster and mental battle I've had going on within me. Even though I've been told I wear my heart on my sleeve, (and tears and snot on some days) trying to explain my heart will prove to be impossible - mostly because I can't often pinpoint how I feel at most given moments. But I'll try...

Today, I walked out of the doctors office from my "nurses appointment" for the third time this year. I felt tired after listening to all the things I can and cannot do during pregnancy. My nurse was sweet. What is typically an hour long info session where the new mommy-to-be (me) gets to ask any question desired to the nurse (which was me, twice before this time), turned out to be a heart-to-heart with a woman who has watched me walk through one of the hardest years of my life. She has seen me enter a room with anticipation of a beating heart, only to walk out in tears, heartbroken from the lack of life inside me...twice. She has fielded hundreds (hundreds!) of phone calls from me, scheduling appointments, follow-up appointments, offering test results, and two tearful pre-op phone interviews, and she has offered her congratulations and her condolences.

"I was so happy to see your name on my list today, Katie. I can't wait for next week when we get to see your baby on screen again," she said as we walked out of the room.

I walked out her door and headed back down the long hall to my car, fighting back the tears from the love I just felt from a seemingly total stranger. As I was walking, with my bag of books and pamphlets and samples in hand, I saw another door that I've frequented this year - the door to the Surgi-Center where I had both of my post-miscarriage procedures done. I nearly lost my breath as I remembered the last time I walked in those doors, swollen, red eyes, exhausted from my sleepless night before. What finality those doors signified.

And I wondered if I would have to walk through them again soon...

I looked ahead, and kept walking. I felt such tremendous peace and knew I wanted to write about that moment. Why? Why do I share my heart so willingly, exposing my raw pain in detail?

Here's why...

One. I need to keep reminding myself. At some point in my painful journey, I've understood the truth of Christ and really believed in that hope. And at other times, I fail to understand truth, and avoid seeking Christ for help. So I write it down for me. When I'm doubting that truth, I can go back and read what I have known to be true at one point and remind myself that there is Someone else in this with me who can confidently take one foot and put it in front of the other because He's marked that path.

Two. So you (my three or four loyal readers) can see who is guiding my journey. If I wrote this story myself, I'd probably have spoiled the ending already. Thankfully, I'm not the author of my life. I see a new chapter unfold daily and because its such a mystery to me, I KNOW it must be from God. And I want you to see Him.

Three. Because I don't want to miss it. I heard this phrase used this year by a father who had just lost his son. His faith was so solid that he KNEW that something that made so little sense to him had to have a holy purpose, and he didn't want to miss seeing that purpose. And I don't want to miss it either. When I'm buried in diapers and dreadfully tired (Lord willing), I don't want to forget what it felt like to walk past those doors today. I don't want to forget what it feels like to be on my knees in thanksgiving because of a beating heart.

Four. For my babies. Maybe one day, they can read their mom's words and will know the extent of my love for them, and how it pales in comparison to their Heavenly Father's love for them.

April 7th.

I've heard a lot of things that mom's appreciate while their kids are growing up - things that they are thankful for that they don't want to take for granted. Some as little as a certain type of pacifier or a special "miracle blanket." Some may say its that show that gives them the thirty minutes of peace and quiet. Others will breath the words, "I'm so thankful she wasn't hurt more," or "I'm so glad there's a treatment for that."

And one day, I pray I'll get to that point where I have those things to be thankful for.

But I'm thankful I'm here in this place, on the original due date of our second baby, with just one small thing to be thankful for.

A heartbeat...of our third baby.

And I will never take it for granted.

Praying for the Carpenters

This is 3 months old Graham Carpenter, whose short life ended yesterday. His mother, Shelly, wrote on her facebook status this morning that they were "living a nightmare." Throughout the tragedy in my life, God has used people like Shelly to intercede and approach the throne in prayer on my behalf and when I didn't have the strength to. And now I'm asking you to do that with me for Shelly and her family.

Hope.

Oh, 2009.

I still can't believe the year we've had. Although the memories of 2009 still seem as vivid as if they happened yesterday, looking back on a year ago seems so far away. God has done amazing things in my life - things that made no sense to me at all - and He was sovereign through it all.

I could view this year with some stats and feel pretty hopeless; two failed pregnancies, months of unemployment, countless new babies being born all around me, numerous months of trying to get pregnant, and a broken furnace to top the year off (a pricey replacement). And although I could throw my hands up and say "Good riddance, 2009!" because of what it seemed to cost me, I think I'd rather view this year through a different lens....a lens of hope.

Two failed pregnancies can look like two little lives that have impacted so many others - that are worshipping at Jesus' feet at this very moment. That's hope.

Months of unemployment can look like a summer of counting my blessings and seeing ALL that I have...and all I don't deserve. That's hope.

All the new babies around me can look like lives that glorify God that will be raised to join His Kingdom. That's hope.

I'm still breathing. I have a home. My husband loves me. I am a child of God. Hope, hope, hope and hope.

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
- Romans 8:18

Born to reign in us forever

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel's strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver,
Born a child and yet a King,
Born to reign in us forever,
Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.
By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all sufficient merit,
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.