YES.

You have clicked on this blog post likely because you are dumbfounded by our recent social media confession about what the last few weeks have been like for our family.

THE MEYER FAMILY IS GROWING.

**All the swear words.**

We got an email recently that rocked our souls to the core. Our sweet Jude's birth mom is expecting and asked us to consider parenting her baby.

Josh read the email first and called me breathlessly with his I've got big news gaspy, "Lovie, you will not believe this!" intro. He was correct. I thought he was messing with me.

The day before this, we had spent time deep in conversation about what our response would be if this hypothetically ever happened to us. That's the world we live in...we play out, over taco salad, what our response would be to our children's hypothetical biological siblings. Oh adoption.

We landed on "Oh hell yeah, we would say yes. How could we ever say no to that?" Hypothetically.

Little did we know that God was preparing our hearts and allowing us nothing but excitement, knowing we were already on the same page.

YES. YES. YES.
Our very best YES.

Josh and I have always dreamed of having four children. We have said over and over again to anyone asking that we were done on our end, but if God were to hand deliver another baby we could never say no. We didn't think our hearts or bank account could handle another adoption (side note, they can't. HA!), so we were happy to close that door and love on the three precious babies we worked so hard to have under our roof. BUT GOD.

He has a way of writing our stories that we could not ever imagine. I am not that far out from the painful nights I cried for JUST ONE BABY. I am not so far removed from the surgeries, shots, and procedures that threatened my only growing desire for the title of MOM. I still swallow hard when I think about the 29 year old girl on the operating table surrendering her reproductive organs to massive, life sucking tumors. I am barren. I was stripped of that portion of my womanhood and I still carry those scars with me every single day. BUT GOD.

He has allowed so much to be taken from me. But, here He is, swooping in with a double portion.

This December, we will welcome Jude's biological sibling into our home with open arms and grateful hearts.

Fact:
1. We will have 4 children 5 and under.
2. We are very much still financially recovering from Jude's adoption
3. We do not have the cold hard cash it will take to make this happen.
4. Jude and our new baby will be 10 months apart.

Here's what I know and have clung to in the wake of the past few weeks:
1.  I can think of no better way to spend my days than caring for these precious lives. That God would entrust another soul to be shepherded and nurtured by us as his or her parents is such an honor and isn't something we take lightly.
2/3. God will absolutely provide for our needs. He has been faithful and He can be trusted to do it again. It is our job to obey his calling on our lives. It is His job to fill in the gaps. This is absolutely the hardest challenge to face as we prepare for this. "God math" works because He takes our YES and makes the numbers miraculous work. Josh and I face every single bit of this with trust in our Savior to make this work.
4. This is the part that makes my heart instantly sink. Jude's precious birth mom has to do this again. I cannot describe to you the pain that this brings me. I watched her do this in February. It was the third time I have watched a woman deny her mother's heart for the good of her child. It is horrific, sobering, and holy. I hold my children's' birth families in such high regard that it physically pains me when I think about her having to do this again. I am honored that she entrusted me with Jude and the thought of her entrusting me to mother another baby for her is something that is completely sacred. But I know how most people will respond to this type of news on this short of a timeline. Let me be very clear - it is not my place to judge her or her actions. Heartbreak has a way of making us want to numb our pain. I do it, you do it, we all do it. The way we do it will absolutely be different (I might turn to mindlessly eating and binge-watching Netflix), but it is our reaction to heartbreak. I can't imagine the pain she was in after she handed Jude to me and left the hospital empty handed. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't think about that moment and the pain it has caused someone I love and respect. It is my job to love her and support her. It is not my place to judge her. Thank God, because I do some pretty boneheaded things sometimes, and I am so thankful I answer to God only for my actions. She is precious to me and I would walk through fire for her and we will not allow any judgement to come her way for this. She has our love and support and I will hold her hand again and love her through this very broken, hard time. This is the deep dark place where God loves to do his very best, restorative work. He LOVES to redeem sad situations like this for His glory which is why we just get to sit back and LOVE her.

This is adoption. It is bitter and it is sweet. A roller-coaster of beauty and brokenness. Here I stand hand in hand with my beloved ready to face the music once again. We are so grateful.

This week I have thought a lot about the story of Job. God allows everything to be stripped from his life, but he remains faithful. And God blessed him with a double portion.

I just want to be faithful...so here's my yes, Lord. Bring it on!

Ellen Dale Dykstra

It is with such broken heart that I write this letter to my sweet Auntie Ellen. I cannot believe this is happening and that you won't be popping by my house ever again, but despite this feeling like a completely out of body experience, I am going to sit down and tell you exactly what you meant to me and my family. 

Dear Auntie Ellen-

It is hard for me to even fully understand the impact you've had on my life the past eight years. You have loved me so wholly and fully that your absence is crippling and I find it hard to even take a deep breath when I think about never hugging you again.

You have taught me by your actions what it means to be a Godly, faithful, and committed woman. You immediately broke into my heart and wiggled your way in. You instantly cared about me and spent time getting to know who this girl dating your nephew was. You asked a million questions - literally. I remember the smile on your face when you realized that this was it for me and Josh. You instantly accepted me as your very own.

Our engagement was a whirlwind. You planned my shower with the other aunties, finding ways to really make me feel special and to welcome me into the family. You always found ways to compliment me and make me feel safe. You LOVED pouring over my registry with me, commenting on any sort of baking item I picked and suggesting things I might have overlooked. You wanted to help set me up to be a good wife.

And then we got married! You came to our wedding and as always, you were the life of the party. Everyone knew who you were and commented on having met you and having had a conversation with you. That was you...you saw a room full of new people as a mission  to connect with people and instantly found common ground with them.

After we got married, you knew the intimate details of mine and Josh's struggles to have a baby. You called all the time. You asked a million questions. If I had a procedure done, you drove up to be with me. You filled my fridge with groceries and baked goods and you sat with me for hours listening to me cry and question. You were very frank with me that your plans for a big family fell apart in a tragic way and that life wasn't always fair in this department, but that being a mom was worth the heartache. I remember you laying on the couch with me drinking coffee as you made sure I knew I wasn't alone in this struggle.

When Josh turned 30, you helped me throw him an awesome party. You opened your home and helped me plan a chili cook off. When there was an issue with the appetizers (like someone forgot to make them...HA!), you grabbed your wallet and keys and ran to the Mexican restaurant down the street and bought guacamole, salsa and homemade chips. You never missed a beat.

Around this time we all found out about the BRCA 2 gene. I remember when you tested positive. You were the first to firmly declare that you would have all of the preventative surgeries, no questions asked.  You never hesitated. We were all so thankful you didn't hesitate when they found precancerous cells in your breast tissue. We all felt like you had dodged a bullet.

When we got the craziest phone call of our lives that we would be parents, you dropped everything and drove up with a truck full. A crib, 2 matching dressers, a brand new car seat and stroller, and boxes and boxes of diapers overwhelmed my little condo as we held each other weeping. This was it. Our baby was about to be here and you were there to make sure all the details that weighed me down were taken care of.

Once Hannah was officially here, you would drive up for snuggles and shopping sprees. You would spoil us with expensive candles, frilly dresses, and long lunches at Panera. You always gave Hannah a book or two, and you would drop everything and read to her when she crawled up in your lap. You'd shamelessly bust out every goofy voice you had, not caring at all about how silly you sounded. I loved watching you with Hannah. You loved her like a grandma. You were so proud of her and you delighted and cherished your time with her.

When I was struggling so much with loneliness as a brand new stay at home mommy, you'd come and be my friend. You assured me that I would make friends with other moms and that I was doing the right thing staying home with my new baby. You suggested MOPS- who knew what an impact that suggestion would have on my life. You encouraged me with cards and little gifts here and there, telling me what a good job I was doing and how proud you were of me. You always SAW me Auntie, even when I didn't really know what was going on.

As Josh and I continued to battle down the road of infertility, you held me so close. You cheered me on with my IVF, and even gave me a shot when I couldn't bare the thought of shoving one more needle in my stomach. I think we all knew in our hearts that our family wouldn't happen biologically, but you held me up and supported me knowing that I needed to land on that on my own time.

Once Josh and I decided to go for a second adoption, you were right there with us again. You wrote a check, and bugged everyone else around you to do the same. That was a long 18 months, but you were right there with me. Some days you would pick me up at 9 am and stay with me until Josh was on his way home because I think you knew how hard this was on me. You made it your personal mission to support me, and your love language was coffee, chocolate, and shopping.

And then you got cancer. I hate that word. I can't even type it without a bitter taste popping up in my mouth. Cancer. You, of all people! You always had so much energy and were so full of life. I remember when you told us how scared we all were. But you battled hard and beat it even though it came for you pretty damn hard.

I will never forget as you were going through radiation, Josh and I were having a party at our new house and I called you crying because Josh was stuck at work dealing with a natural disaster, and the driveway was a solid block of ice. I never dreamed that within the hour you would be at my front door, shovel in hand. I had spent HOURS working outside trying to clean the ice off, tears streaming down my face, and there you were ready and willing to put in a few hours with me.

We cleared it together and when we got inside, I made you a k-cup and asked about radiation. You lifted up your shirt to reveal giant blistered burns under your arm. I burst into tears seeing it and knowing how hard you had just worked for me and how much pain you must have been in. You smiled at me and told me about how much God was using you. You told me all about the women you were meeting and talking to as you got your chemo and radiation. You told me about how you were even offering rides to women who you saw taking a taxi for treatment. You even dared to wonder if this is why you had cancer - so you could be a light in that dark hospital.

That was you Auntie - always wanting to make a difference, to leave your mark. You poured yourself out for others always. Once you were truly back on your feet, you had a new lease on life. You volunteered for things that mattered to you and used your gifts to really bless people.

For the past 4 years, we have done a Christmas party together where we would invite everyone we could think of to come shop with us (you with your jewelry and me with all my bags). We would have so much fun doing this. It was always a real shit-show, me rolling in at the last minute to set up and you tossing together some "stupid simple" appetizers. Mostly your friends and a few of mine (who I begged to come) would shop and eat, and your home was always filled with laughter. I loved doing those parties with you. You always believed in me and supported me. I know you could have sold way more without me there, but you always included me and turned these parties into fundraisers for our adoptions. I was always impressed by how many people you could get to show up at your parties. Women just loved you and loved being included, and you treated them all so well.  My favorite part of those nights was when we would close up shop and plop down at your kitchen table to eat the leftovers and laugh about the night. You'd always buy your guests a bottle of Bath and Body Works hand soap, and you'd let my girls pillage the leftovers and bring home the good smelling soap that mama was too cheap to buy them.

I loved my time with you. I had no idea we were cramming a lifetime of memories into our eight short years.

We were supposed to start our own business together with Sarah throwing extravagant birthday parties complete with bakery quality cakes. I cannot believe the creations you came up with for my kids' parties. I will never be able to order a cake again without my heart breaking in half thinking about my favorite baker being in heaven now.

Every summer, we would empty our crawl spaces of the junk we should have just donated and attempt to have a garage sale at Auntie Kathy's house. I'm pretty sure most summers we barely broke even after Dunkin runs and garage sale expenses were covered, but those two days of sweating our asses off outside were some of my fondest memories. We would haggle with people over our crap and laugh like a bunch of hens. You would make your amazing chicken salad and almond bars and we would fall into bed those nights, having worked hard shoulder to shoulder with each other all day. I would give anything to be doing that with you again this summer.

Last summer, we spent an entire week together on the lake in Minnesota. We spent one last summer as a family packed in a house (this one was big enough to handle us), sharing a boat, and making meals together. You were the queen of the kitchen, but one day we convinced each other that it was our turn on the boat. We had Uncle Rog take us out for a crazy boat ride on the tubes. You were so full of life and SO crazy out there on the tubes. I remember at one point stopping (likely because someone fell off) and saying to you "Can you believe you beat cancer and now here you are tubing with us kids?" You had a twinkle in your eye because you knew every day was a gift.

Right after Gabriel died, you met me for coffee. We were two hearts that just got each other. You told me about your miscarriage and how empty you felt afterwards. You helped me heal while also challenging me that God wasn't done writing my story.

Before Jude was born, your vision started to get blurry. The day before we left to go meet our son, you called me to wish me luck. I was overwhelmed and didn't really have time to talk, but I answered anyway. We talked for 2 hours that day. You asked your usual million questions. I knew the drill and instantly felt calmer telling you all about our trip and what I was nervous and excited for. What I didn't know was that was the last conversation I would have with you where you were yourself.

That blurred vision turned out to be brain cancer. Ugly, nasty, life clenching brain cancer that inevitably spread to your spine and then...all over.

I am so glad I answered the phone that day. Right after Jude was born, they cut into your head. I cannot imagine the pain you were in, but you took it, hoping that this would buy you time - time to watch your son graduate from high school, time to see him off to college, time to still be a wife to Uncle Rog, time to keep living the life you so loved. That time went by way too fast. Five months later, time was up.

I really believed God would heal you. You believed it too. I spent today reading and rereading our text conversations. You trusted God so faithfully. We didn't get the answer we were all hoping for, but I know if you were here now, you would tell me that God had a better plan and that heaven is SO much better for you.

If you were here, you would hug me and tell me it was going to be okay. You would crack some smart-ass joke and make everyone laugh. You would bake up a storm and cook food for everyone and comfort all of us. You would handle every detail with grace and make it all look so easy. That's what you always did. You jumped in and cared for all your people.

Even on your death bed, you had us laughing- yelling out when we talked about making a Starbucks run. I know you were placing your order. I cannot believe we never get to have a coffee date again. I cannot believe that you won't be here this summer to go on a tube ride. I don't know how to live without you Auntie. You've been a mother to me, a grandma to my kids. You've touched my life in such profound ways, and I never once let myself think about what life might be like without you. I am angry and heartbroken. I want you back, not just for one more day, but for forever. I want you to snuggle my babies and read them stories. I want you to pick out their Easter dresses. I want to eat good chocolate with you and laugh good hard belly laughs. You've taught me so much, and yet I am not sure I would ever be ready for the lessons to end.

I love you. Beyond words. I can think of a thousand other instances where you've shown me love and been such an example to me. I hope that during your life, I was clear with you just how much you meant to me. I don't know how Heaven works but if you can read this, I hope you know I have been changed for the better.

This weekend we will celebrate your life together. We are broken, sad, and bewildered. But your life is a celebration of strength, valor, and faith. You took your last breath as the song "It Is Well" played, and I believe deep in my heart, it really was well with your soul. You loved hard, and you finished strong, and while I don't know how to function in a world without you, the legacy you leave behind challenges me to do the same.

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good"

--Wicked- For Good--

With all the pieces of my broken heart, and until we see each other again in Glory, 

*MB*

Jude Norman Meyer

Jude- Servant of Jesus, The Praised One.

Norman- A faithful servant of Jesus who wanted to meet you so badly, your heritage.

JNM- Just like your Daddy who ADORES you.

Welcome to the world Jude Norman Meyer.

February 21, 2017

2:42 PM, 6 lbs, 11 oz, 20.5 inches

Your Daddy and Mommy have been waiting with great expectation for your birth.  Your sisters could not be more in love with having a baby brother all their own. Welcome Jude Norman Meyer to our family.

Let me tell you the story of our journey to you, sweet Jude. 

We started the adoption process well over a year ago so full of hope and joy and feeling so confident that this would be a quick process. But the road to you was long, full of heartache, and tears, and your daddy and I had to constantly remind ourselves that God had called us to this and that no matter what, we had to keep our eyes on Him. 

The more we discussed your name, the more we fell in love with it. Back in December we went to Tuscon for the holidays and visited The San Xavier Mission and saw candles lit to Saint Jude. The whole way home we were reading about how Saint Jude is the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. Your daddy and I were starting to think that maybe our hopes of meeting you were a lost cause. We took great comfort in knowing that God was writing our story and that our little Jude was not a lost cause. We bought candles and lit them when our hearts were feeling low and desperate and we would pray for you and your mom as we waited for you.

And then one day, when we were the most discouraged about this whole process, we got a phone call that changed the trajectory of our lives forever. Your precious birth mom had picked our family. 

Just like that, you had a story and we let our hearts love you from afar. Just like that, you brought us so much joy and excitement. Just like that, you reminded us that God is writing this love story, and my sweet Jude Norman, it's a good one.

You have changed my heart, little Jude. You have caused me to surrender so much to the Lord and to seek His face like I have never done before. Your little life has been a miracle and we are just beginning- I have felt God whisper over and over, "If you think this is big, just wait. This little one will change the world."

Throughout this process, your Daddy and I have felt called to invite people into this. Instead of keeping secrets and shouldering all of this burden by ourselves like we've done in the past, God kept beckoning us to be bold in sharing your story. He wanted to use your life to point so many to HIM. What a gift it has been, and I think I could confidently say, your story has changed A LOT of hearts. 

And my goodness, do you ever have a fan club. So many people have prayed for you. So many people have supported our family and helped us get to this day. 

Today, your sweet mama signed papers that officially allow you to join our family. I have witnessed her sacrifice and love for you. She loves you fiercely. She wants a life for you that she knows she can't provide and her sacrifice is gut wrenching to witness. She is our family now. You are a boy with two moms and our love for you will never run out. Never doubt that she adores you, never doubt the surrender it is for her to deny her own feelings for you so that you can have more. You are loved beyond words and she will always be treasured and adored and honored in our family as the woman who gave you life.

Adoption is bittersweet. My greatest joy comes at the cost of her greatest sorrow. It's a swirl of light and dark, joy and sorrow, but ultimately it is about love and God's grace in always redeeming the hard and sad with joy and dancing. You are our rainbow after the storm and you are bright and beautiful and just what our hearts needed.

And today, Jude Norman Meyer, we dance. Our hearts are so full they might burst. We adore you and praise God for your life. May you always know your worth. May you feel God's love for you every single day of your life knowing that His plans for you started well before you came into this world. He moved and orchestrated all things for your good and today, we celebrate God's goodness.

WE LOVE YOU JUDE!!!!

Cheers to 32!

Wow, I am 32 today! I feel like just a few years ago, I was bar hopping for my twenty-first birthday. And here I sit in the family room of my own home, with my dog laying next to me and my two precious girls snoozing upstairs. I loaded the dishwasher a few minutes ago without being asked, and I have a smidge more than a $1.72 in my bank account, so I am clearly figuring out this adult thing well.  So much has changed and yet I am still totally the same girl I've always been- wild, silly, full-steam ahead. Everything has changed, and yet everything is still the same.

When I turned 30, one of my best friends told me that this was her favorite time of her life. She told me it was a different milestone type birthday that freed you up to really be who you are and not care so much about what everyone expected from you. She was right. This new decade has come with a lot more boldness to just be me, no apologies or explanation. Take me or leave me....but I'll always be me, so please don't leave me.  I need friends. Like actually need them. Friends are like oxygen to me, and I crave good quality connections more than anything else in life.

But maybe not more than laughter. Good, deep, belly laughing is like medicine to me. I sometimes cover my mouth when I am in public because I want to laugh so much harder than feels appropriate for any given situation. Year 31 introduced me to the Enneagram and it all makes so much more sense. I am a 7 - always ever seeking fun, and I am okay with that.

The Enneagram taught me that the wild and free stirrings I feel deep in my soul are actually God given. So when I need an adventure and doing the mundane things in my life starts to feel like I am suffocating, I am not being irresponsible by giving into the whims that take me here and there.  Rather, I am being me, and it makes God smile.

This year also brought the most intense sadness that I have ever experienced, sadness that might have choked out a younger me. But, I am old enough now and comfortable enough in my own skin to sit with this and let it all out. I am heart broken that my son died. I miss him every single minute of every single day. But, I am still me. I am both the dark, deep sadness that I carry and the light joyfulness that God put in me before I was even born.

This past year brought a level of friendship that I have so desperately longed for.  It brought me women who love me so deeply and walk alongside me no matter what, women willing to sister me even when I am not sure how I feel (my feelings are completely mixed and messy sometimes), women who love me for me (even if I am dark and twisty - an emotional space I am so not used to).

And then there's this sweet guy I am married to. He is just so darn faithful to me. He loves me no matter what. He tolerates my ups and downs and holds me close when I cry. He is my biggest cheerleader and closest friend. Every year gets a little sweeter with him.

A friend this week talked about 'staying in her lane' in regards to doing what she knows she was made to do and not letting other things, no matter how good they are, grab her attention. It has really stuck with me. Most of the time I feel like a total lane changer- "OH! That lane looks fun! Look what she is doing..."  So this year, I am going to focus on staying in my lane and doing the things I know I was made to do while allowing others to do their thing. What a concept, huh? I will not let FOMO get the best of me! For a 7, this is actually mind blowing. Stay in your lane, MB, no matter what parade comes along to grab your attention. I am the Grand Marshall of my own parade!

So here you go 32 year old self. Be kind to yourself. You are doing the best you can. Your car is messy, it just is, but it doesn't define you. You have it together in so many other areas of your life. Let it go. And sometimes you are the Pinterest mom everyone wants to hate on. Whatever. You love making crafts and baking and creating your home. And sometimes you drive by Jewel and grab a batch of premade brownies because playing with a friend was what called to you over going home and crossing another task off the list. Keep running hard after God even when you are out of breath, tired, and sweaty, and you feel like you cannot take one more step. He is moving and you know it, so don't give into the temptation to sit on the couch and watch Bravo until you can go back to bed. Love harder. Be kinder. Give more. People are so much more important than things. Be gracious. Laugh hard in public. Be the most MBizzle you can be and make no apologies for it.

Here's to 32! I have a feeling this year will be one of the best years ever.

Gabriel Aaron

Gabriel Aaron

God is my strength. Light of God.

We first heard about Gabriel on July 20th, 2016. Our first match with our agency was seemingly falling through and our social worker called to tell us another birth mom was interested in our family and was due on October 1, 2016.

We talked and prayed so much about this situation. We were elated at the thought of having a Chicago baby in the fall. We continued to receive situations from our consultant as we waited for more information about this woman and her pregnancy.

And somehow, no matter how promising the other situations seemed, we were drawn back to this baby - our son.

The adoption world works at two speeds - recklessly fast or dreadfully slow. We were in the dreadfully slow category waiting to meet his mom and officially be matched with her.

We prayed for our son for 37 days. We prayed for months and months before that as we headed into this process, but we prayed for Gabriel specifically for 37 days.

We did all the things we were too afraid to do times before. We made a nursery for him and spent a whole Saturday setting it up. This became a sacred space for me. I would sneak into his room early in the morning and sit in the rocking chair and pray for him. I would sit there dreaming about his birth and holding him for the first time. I would imagine what he would look like, how we would announce to our friends that he was here. I dreamed about one Saturday opening my home up to friends and family to come "Sip and Snuggle" our new little guy, muffins and coffee and immense amounts of joy filling my new home. I thought about him being the first of our three children to be welcomed into the "718" and thought about what a blessing our new home would be in this time.

I talked to friends about having a son. We laughed about my all girl world being turned upside down. We talked about travel baseball and entertaining active boys vs. coloring all day on the floor with little girls. We hoped and dreamed with our friends about this baby as we anticipated October 1st with full and open hearts.

And then we met with his mamma. We sat upstairs at our agency's office sneaking peaks at her as she got out of the car and made her way upstairs. We awkwardly hugged, both fully aware that this meeting was big and that we both knew so much about each other despite having never met. It was like a first date...but at the end you get a baby. It went so well and we left excited! She loved us and we were confident she was going to follow through with signing the papers to make him our son. That's what we were focused on - getting past that 72 hour mark where she could officially make him ours. We had no idea we would never even get to that point in this process.

There are certain "what if's?" that all adoptive families think through when they are matched with a baby. What if she changes her mind? What if the father contests the adoption and we have to fight for this? You calculate your risks and think through the possibilities that could go wrong in the time between being matched and that official paper signing.

But we never, in our wildest dreams, imagined that our son would die.

A few days after our meeting, our birth mom texted me and told me that she was concerned because she didn't feel him moving. We made a plan for her to go to the hospital to have him checked out. Being the optimist that I am, I was positive that he was just getting bigger and it was harder to feel his movements in a big 34 week belly. Josh somehow knew though. He tried to warn me and prepare me, but I wouldn't hear it. We spent all day Tuesday (Aug. 23) praying Gabriel was okay and asking God to give us good news.

And then, the dreaded phone call came. Thankfully, our agency knew to call Josh instead of me. But when he saw the directors name pop up on his phone hours after we knew she was in the hospital, he KNEW. No chit chat. He answered the phone with "Is he gone?"

He called me and I knew within one word that my dreams were being shattered. Poor Josh. I wept. Josh left work and his commute home seemed to take 10 years.

The plan was for his mom to go back to the hospital the next day to deliver him. She needed a little time to pull herself together and rest before facing labor. She wasn't sure what she wanted, but everyone around us was telling us that we would probably be better off not seeing him.

But my mother's heart was not okay with that. He was mine too and I felt restless and empty. I cried so much I could barely see out of my eyes. This was painful and awful, but not having a place in this was frustrating and made me feel barren all over again.

I went to bed on Wednesday night exhausted and positive I wouldn't be able to sleep. She had started laboring, but I knew it probably would last all night. I prayed that she would reach out to me if she needed me, secretly hoping she would, while at the same time knowing it would be horrific to be there.

And God, being faithful and gracious to me, even in the impossibly hard, made a way for me to be there.

Around midnight, I got an SOS text from our birth mom. She told me she needed me and couldn't do this without me. It took me all of two seconds to get in the car and head to the city to be by her side.

We talked and talked. Her contractions were consistent, but she was dilating slowly. We cried together, prayed together, talked about our plans for the future. We all feel asleep around 7 AM and about thirty minutes later, she woke me up and asked me if I would help her come up with a name. She had decided she didn't want to name him when she made her adoption plan, but now she felt like we needed to come up with something together. So we did.  In the dark of the hospital room, with our tear-stained faces illuminated by the glow of an iPhone and monitors, it lept up at us....

Gabriel Aaron. Our son. Two mothers completely broken. Dreams shattered.

Around 8 AM, she started to feel like it was time. A whole mess of people came into the room and began preparing. A part of that preparation was the doctor explaining to us what he would look like and feel like. His body had begun decomposing and everyone warned us that it would be very difficult for us to see him and hold him. But we knew we could do this and we knew we HAD to do this. Gabriel deserved to be held and loved and cried over.

I held her hand the entire time. We locked eyes and I told her she could do this, that she was strong and that she was brave. At 8:57 AM, he was born. The stillness and silence of his birth was gut wrenching. We both kept listening for a cry, just a glimmer of hope that a miracle could still happen. But he was silent and lifeless.

They took him away to weigh him and we listened intently as they called out 3 lbs 8 oz. A healthy weight for 34 weeks of gestation.

Then they wrapped him up and had the chaplain come in to pray over him with us. The room was spinning as they handed him to his birth mom. We inspected his little body, wrapping him up and counting his fingers and toes. She called out the family resemblance she saw in his nose and eyes. It was horrifying and hard, but love overpowered our fear and we just kept holding him.

Then it was my turn. She handed me my son. His little body fit in the palm of my hand. I sat in the rocking chair in the stillness and wept over his little body. I told him every dream and hope I had for him and for his life. I told him how much he was wanted and loved and how excited our family was to call him our own and welcome him in. I told him that he had changed me. He showed me the meaning of unconditional love and what it means to be a mother. I told him that I could not wait to meet him in heaven. I told him I was thankful he wasn't in pain even though I was positive my heart might burst without him. I told him I was positive my grandma was rocking him in heaven and that our other heavenly children would be there playing with him and welcoming him into perfection. And then I just spent some time focusing on him in Jesus' arms, perfect and whole.

And then we knew it was time. We got the nurses, kissed him one last time, and prayed together. We had said all the things we needed to say. We had loved him and held him and honored his life. As they took him away, two of the nurses who had been there for his birth came to tell us that they two had babies in heaven as they both had delivered stillborn babies themselves. God's hand prints were all over this tragic morning.

Gabriel Aaron, your little life has changed my life forever. Your Daddy and I will never forget you. You were loved and wanted, and an answer to our prayers. Your life was precious and a gift and even though we are competently shattered that you aren't home with us today, we know without a shadow of a doubt that you are made perfect in heaven and we will see you again.

Rest in peace sweet boy. Rest in Jesus Gabriel Aaron.

Happy Birthday Yocky!

My Dear Sweet Hannah Grace-

Happy 4th birthday my love! I am altogether confused as to how it is possible that my little girl is 4 years old today. But the calendar says otherwise, so today we celebrate you and your life and all thinks pink and frilly and ballet.

You, my dear Hannah, have my whole heart. You are one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I have ever met in my life, and you are only 4. I cannot imagine how you will develop and grow into this gift, but I cannot wait to watch it all happen. You care deeply. You love with your whole heart. I hope you stay that way for the rest of your life!

Watching you grow into a better dancer this year has been one of the highlights of my year. You work hard and focus in class so that you can master every move. You are quick on your feet and graceful. I love to watch you dance. How fitting that you asked your teacher to come to our house to teach you and your friends for your party.

You are bold. You don't shy away from asking for things you need or want. You look strangers in the eye and order food or ask questions. I love this about you and love to see you express yourself in such a polite but direct manner.

You love your friends passionately. You talk about them, buy stuff for them, create dozens of pictures everyday for them. Keep loving your friends. I am learning even now just how meaningful those relationships are. Have LOTS of best friends. Allow people in to see your life, no matter how crazy or messy it is. You need them and they need you. Love deeply and you won't regret it.

Watching you as a big sister is incredible. You love Eden more than anything. Hugs in the morning, smooches at night, reminding the guy at Costco to draw a smiley face for your sister too, you always have her back and I love that about you.

Your passion for worship literally moves me to tears. I love how you wiggle your way into my arms at the start of church and how you sing loudly and boldly. When your little hand flies into the air in worship, I can't fight back tears. I love to see you love The Lord. I pray every single day that you continue to grow in your faith, and be positive of this - your daddy and I will do everything in our power to make sure you know God and know how much He loves you.

Hannah Grace, you came storming into our lives 4 years ago today. STORMING. You turned our lives upside down. We battled for you, and let me tell you, you were worth it. I would walk through fire for you then and now. You are more precious to me than anything in this world and I pray that you know that in your heart today and for the rest of your life. I am your biggest fan and will always be by your side ready to do battle with you, laugh hard with you, hold you when you are sad, and push you when you need to be reminded of how strong you are. I am your Mommy, your cheerleader, your biggest fan.

My world would not turn without you Hannah. Today is one of those days for our family...one of those huge, monumental days where we can't help but thank God for you. We thank God for your special friend who carried you for nine months and protected you because she knew you were worth fighting for. She could have made a different decision. That is not something that me or your daddy take lightly. The choice she made was gut-wrenching but it was also life-altering for YOU and HER and US and we are forever thankful for her and everything she did to make your life matter.

So today we are busy making special treats and turning our house into a ballet studio to celebrate your birthday, but in my heart, I am celebrating your life and everything about you that I love. I am overwhelmed by how much I love you. To think that God loves you even more than I do completely blows my mind. You have captured our hearts and we just want you to know, WE ADORE YOU HANNAH GRACE.

When Christmas Doesn't Feel So Merry

Merry Christmas Eve.

Today while packing up for Christmas with family, I was struck with the overwhelming feeling of gratitude mixed with extreme sadness. I am a reflective person and milestones like holidays always make me think back on my life and the road to where I am today.

Why the sadness? I can remember Christmases past where the pain and longing in my heart for a family of my own was palpable. I felt like my heart might break in half and like I was carrying this massive load of pain and hurt and disappointment. I wanted to be busy sneaking around with presents from Santa. I wanted Christmas dresses to iron and little reindeer pajamas spinning in the dryer. And all I had were doctor appointments, negative pregnancy tests, and giant holes in my heart with each passing month.

We battled. And Christmas, a time centered around family and friends and goodness all around, made me feel even more alone and desperate.

This picture was from the last Christmas before I became a mom. My heart was broken and I was consumed by what I was missing. A friend snapped this picture without me knowing, but it sums up where we were that Christmas. Trying so hard to be okay with what we had going on, all while screaming inside that this was not what we had planned for our lives.

I feel compelled this Christmas to take pause and remember those around me who have lost significantly this year. I had to stop, in the middle of my preparations for this crazy next 24 hours and take a minute to share with you what I know in my heart to be true. God loves you. He sent His Son as a baby 2015 years ago so that you would have HOPE. He is orchestrating things in your life and even though the pain and emptiness is there, I promise you He is in the middle of it with you.

To my friend who is mourning the lose of her babies this Christmas, God sees you.
To my cousin who can't crawl into bed alone after watching her husband die well before he was old and gray, God sees you.
To my girlfriends wishing they had a ring on their finger and a car full of kids this Christmas, God sees you.
To my friend who knows that the baby she is carrying is struggling, God sees you.
To my sweet friend waiting for that 'you've been matched with a baby' phone call, God sees you.
To my friends who are struggling being away from their family this Christmas, God sees you.

If Christmas brings more pain than merriment this season, please know that you are seen, you are loved, and God is working on your behalf, now and always.

Merry Christmas loved ones. Please be kind and gentle this Christmas. Love your friends and family well.