every day

there are a list of very special days in my life - you know, those moments when you think, "that was the best day of my life!" or, "i've never had a better week." we all have lists of the best days that ever happened to us.

while i stand here in the kitchen washing dishes (well, i was washing dishes. now i'm blogging, but i'll get back to washing dishes in a minute.), jack is taking apart the narrow cupboard holding all our tupperware. we now have a tupperware floor. i love it. 

listening to him, i can tell when he's leaning forward and finding a new container to toss to the side, and i can sense when he's found a favorite item, and wants to hold onto it for a while. he's crawling through the chaos, right this moment. now he is throwing the lid to a soy sauce bottle at the oven. it makes an awesome (terrible) noise. the sunlight is golden. he is content.

i have a list of favorite days and weeks, but since jack, it really feels like every day is special. every day since his birth has been floating onto that roster of best times ever. every day feels significant. 

this is one thing i never anticipated would come from having a baby. he seals our marriage. he makes our days whole. he points us to Jesus. we now know for sure (if we didn't already) that we definitely don't have life figured out.

it's kind of amazing and totally wonderful.

in remembrance

when you find out you're pregnant, you begin to arrange the rest of your life around that baby.

you wonder about finances, you plan where everyone's going to sleep...what kind of routine you need to be on, how to eat better, and what kind of birth you're going to have. 

we are a family for four, even though you only see three.

our fourth member never took a breath.

she never opened her eyes.

i never held her in my arms.

she was almost 7 weeks old when i realized four days before mother's day that my double heartbeat was cut back to one.

i lost my second baby, and from tuesday to sunday, i was numb to all the blood, all the cramps, all the heartbreak. the ground soaked up all my tears, all my yearning, all my desperation. i couldn't stop her delivery. i couldn't stop my body. i couldn't bring her back. it was a whole week of death.

i felt hollow and empty for a while.

i wrote a few things, and i'm going to put up an excerpt here from one of the journal entries.

Jesus, You knew that Shalom would only live to be 6 or 7 weeks old. for some reason, that was the perfect length of life You desired for her. she was meant only for Your arms, but today i can't help but mourn her.

she had begun to purpose a new plan in my heart. i opened my heart to her - planned her birth and life the second i suspected her. i wanted her and was so excited to add her into my life - our lives. 

i took her for granted, too - the fact that i was pregnant felt like old news. i took her for granted.

i don't, now.

Lord, i feel like i'll never be the same - never be healed or whole - how can i move on? can i be so thoughtless to her? it's a hard mountain looming over me. i can't see ahead and i need You to cross this way with me. i'm not really sure how to honor Shalom.

i lost my baby. all her potential.

she could have been, would have been mine.

but i'm so empty.

she was being knit together, but You stopped her.

because she had fulfilled her purpose.

she accomplished what You sent her here to do.

and then You sanctioned her departure - her body stopped growing and she went to meet You.

i praise You.

i praise You because even in this, it corresponds with Your everlasting faithful and lovingkindness. 

and i praise You because You do not deal lightly with me, anyone else, or death.

i praise You because i believe Shalom is with You.

i praise You because i believe You orchestrated the details of her life and death and that You cared for her. 

i praise You because You hold the keys to death and Hades; You are the Author of death and life.

i praise You because You are faithful.

i praise You because You are the God of the Bible and not some helpless or distant God who sympathizes but never intervenes - this world is Yours and all that is in it.

i praise You for Your goodness.

i now know loss, and i am certainly permanently changed. i am not wounded that i need to be healed, and i feel whole because Jesus Christ is my everything. He is my portion and He is my praise; i will hope in Him even when the whole world is ripped out of my hands. i don't understand Him always - i don't understand His ways, but i do know that all i see is not all there is, and as a rule, what is seen is temporary. only He is permanent, and i own nothing.

 i still ache - deeply - when i think about Shalom. i was pregnant, but you'll not find a baby in my arms or leaning on my knees. i have nothing to show for my second pregnancy, but i do have a newly broken heart that will never be mended, because it's not supposed to be stitched up with cheap twine; it's beautiful the way it is.

Lord, i am Yours and You are mine.

animal encounters of the worst kind

THIS JUST IN:

a tyrannical hornet is nesting its stupid self on our back porch wall. it's an assassin - an UGLY kind with a big fat triangle face and huge stupid antlers that look so ridiculous on its fugly head. i hope it gets struck down by a righteous bird of justice.

it's misshapen and horrible and arrogant, sitting perched like it owns everything its weird bubbly eyes see. scouring the landscape, it snivels and simpers and rubs its deformed claws together, plotting and drooling over its next victim: me.

so...the cats scamper outside because i've opened the door to spray varnish over some paintings, and i notice it clipped to the wall with its hideous tentacle legs after i've already deposited my paintings and varnish - i slowly back away because its twitching, following my movements. it can see me and it's watching me.

i back inside the house and carefully slide the door shut. scribble has escaped, and is frolicking after a pack of butterflies fluttering around on the porch. i think to rescue her, but i'd really rather get my aerosol cans out of the 129074129387293587 degree weather before they explode.

i crouch back outside and snatch them away, and even though they are planted right beneath the watchful eye of the revolting beast, the monster remains on the wall, spasmodically shuddering while it turns to follow my movements.

stupid shrimp bug. I CRUSH YOU.

then i varnished my paintings out front. the cats were being dumb outisde, so i decided they ought to come inside; its too hot!

i ushered ninnymuggins inside because her pitiful face was already mashed up against the glass, and then grappled with scribble, trying to be quick (although, apparently i was moving too quickly) WHEN THE MONSTROUS DEMON LAUNCHED OFF THE WALL HISSING AND BUZZING UNTIL IT SMASHED INTO MY HAIR - STINGER FIRST. I FLUNG SCRIBBLE AROUND, SHAKING MY HEAD, TRYING TO GET THE SCUM OF SATAN'S REVOLTING BUTT OUT OF MY FREAKING HAIR. I SWIRLED INSIDE, SWINGING THE CAT SO SHE FLEW OUT OF MY ARMS AND I SLAMMED THE GLASS DOOR WITH MY HEART IN MY THROAT.

and the cats both lay on the ground, flattened out and staring at me like this:

and i scrambled around looking for weapons - flamethrowers, machetes, grenades, rocket launchers...ANYTHING TO WIPE THAT MILK LIVERED MAGGOT PIE OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH!!!!!!!!!

but, all i found were jack's toys neatly piled up on the ground, so i've hucked a couple of blocks and hit him once. his grotesque visage is angled toward the door at all times, but now he's trampling around my doorframe, trying TO GET INSIDE!!!! WAYWARD RUMP-FED MEASLE. (thank you, olde english)

as soon as he backs away far enough, i'm going to scramble his useless brains with tile scrubber chemicals.

DEVIL.