The Aftermath

While I was pregnant, I dreaded having stretch marks. My thought was “I didn’t choose to become pregnant. I’m less than confident in my body as is; could I possibly avoid making it worse by scarring it with stretch marks.” I used lotion religiously and repeatedly scoured my love handles, stomach, and thighs for lines of any kind.

I didn’t get my wish. There I was months later, having just delivered our beautiful baby girl, and the marks grew. With every passing day, I saw new lines develop from thin air it seemed. As much as I tried to avoid them, they showed up all the same. I wasn’t necessarily heart broken, but the thought of myself squeezing into a bathing suit with these lines on full display crossed my mind a time or two. I wasn’t heart broken, but I wasn’t happy to see them...

But my perspective has shifted. Here I sit 5 days after losing my perfect precious baby girl. I’ve been heart broken and distraught. Never did I expect to have to walk this journey, and there are moments I don’t. There are times I’m crawling or curled up in a ball trying to gain the strength to make it back on my knees. But I’ve been blessed with small glimpses of God’s Grace time and time again since I said goodbye to my Blakely.

As I stared into the mirror tonight before I showered, I saw a million little lines that told her story. With every mark left on my body, I’m reminded of every day I carried her in my stomach. As I watched those lines develop, I also saw my precious baby love and be loved over the most wonderful 5 weeks of my life.

I’m thankful that God’s gifts (no matter how small) tend to lie in places we least suspect. I’m thankful for the marks that I once dreaded and the memories that reside with them.

I’m stuck in this weird limbo. I am terrified of forgetting my baby. I don’t want to forget her smile, the sounds she would make when she was asleep, how she would grip my finger, the feel of her skin, kissing her forehead, saying “I love you, Blakely”, how she ate like she was starving. The more I think about her, the more I cling to her and the memories I have of those 5 weeks I had with her.

But with those memories come so much pain. I have the pain of remembering the last day I spent with her, how awful that last night with her was, the sight of the ER and feeling absolutely and totally helpless as I watched my baby slip away. All I want to do is rewind and cherish each and every second I had with Blakely. I regret every complaint I ever made of having to wake up with her during the night. I ache at the thought of all the dreams I’m having to let fade now that she’s gone. For every precious memory, there seems to be a painful memory as well.

I’m told it will never go away...and in the moments I wish the pain would fade, I panic at the thought of forgetting Blakely entirely. Unfortunately, it seems like it’s all or nothing. If I choose to hold onto the good, I have to live through the bad. She’s worth that. She’s so worth remembering and holding onto even if it means walking through the excruciating memories of how she left. She’ll always be my perfect precious beautiful baby, and I can only hope that the pain might eventually fade, leaving my precious memories with her behind.

Today I got really sad multiple times thinking about Blakely. The first time we were in Loveless Cafe near Franklin, TN. There was a dad and a little girl sitting near us and he just kept playing with her and interacting with her and I couldn’t keep from thinking about how it would have been a place I would have loved to take Blakely. No matter her age, I would have wanted her there. I’m a dad. I have a baby. She may be in Heaven, but I’m still her daddy.

Next, we were at a fall festival in Franklin. They had live music and on the stage was a big group of people ranging from maybe 8-22. I saw a little girl up on stage playing a little acoustic guitar and I thought it was really cute at first and thought about Blakely and how I would’ve wanted to teach her and play with her. Then, as I watched this little girl play, she actually knew what she was doing. That was really hard for me to see since I know that could have been Blakely. I would have loved to teach her guitar, or whatever instrument she would have liked, and played with her and cheered her on. I would have loved to worship with her. Now, I know she is with Jesus and He is teaching her. I will still worship Him and show my daughter how to do it.

The last time was when we were at Ole Red, Blake Shelton’s honky tonk in downtown Nashville. I was on my phone and saw Abigail had posted on Facebook her hand and foot prints along with a post about missing her. Seeing her hand and foot prints was hard and all I wanted to do was hold her hand again. I loved when she would grab my finger or the side of my hand - or even my beard or shirt. I want to hold my baby again. I love her so much and I miss her more than words can describe.

See you soon, Blakely.

We need to be honest about the depth of our pain in order to truly convey the reach of our Savior’s ability to heal.

Through this whole experience, I’ve come to see how shallow my desires have been through 27 years of life. I’ve spent days and nights worrying and wondering about the resources I have access to. Will we have enough money to cover rent? Will we have insurance to cover the appointments we have set up? One thing right after another seemed to have tipped the scale from peace to panic in an instant. Oh how I wish I would have seen or realized where importance really lies sooner.

Relationship is so much more important than resources.

We were created to live in relationship, trusting resources for survival would be there. No need for worrying. No need to spend minute after minute, and hour after hour, wondering if Jesus would come through for me. When Adam and Eve were walking through the garden of Eden with their Heavenly Father, I don’t believe they were worried about what they were going to eat or where they were going to lay their heads when they went to sleep that night; they simply lived in the moment, walking with God and living in uninterrupted relationship and communion with him.

It was only when they started worrying about the things they had no right to control and placed more emphasis on their resources than their relationship with God did the fall occur. As I sit here and listen to a song saying “I just want to be where You are”, I wonder if that’s truly my only desire. I believe Jesus gave Tyler and I a little glimpse of His longing for us by giving us those 5 weeks with Blakely.

There were moments within those 5 weeks that I could have chosen to worry and sometimes I allowed worry to win; but looking back, my cares and concerns were more resting on spending time with her than the never ending to do list we had been consumed with prior to her.

Sitting where we are today, without our precious little girl, I want to place my cares and concerns in relationship more than resources.

When I’m left with nothing, I plead for something...

Today had been a pretty good day, considering we’re 15 days removed from everything that happened. It seems like we haven’t seen Blakely in months while it’s only been a couple weeks. I guess life kinda stands still for a while after it’s been completely shaken to its core. Maybe that’s its way of getting its bearings. Regardless, these 15 days have been the longest, most excruciating of my life.

Tyler’s been saying it just about every day, but there’s just a constant ache under the surface. Sometimes I can push it down enough to give my mind a break from constantly analyzing and reliving the same 5 hours over and over, but it’s always there in some capacity. So much so that I honestly could burst into tears at any moment, and I have...in the shower...about 15 mins ago...for about 15 mins straight.

I don’t know if I just let it all build up or if this was just a particularly large wave in the constant sea of emotion I’ve been trying to swim through. I just started crying, because I couldn’t escape the thought that I could have done something to prevent Blakely’s passing and had I done that mystery thing, she would still be here with us and everything would be so different.

You see, I’ve analyzed every second of those 6 hours we spent in the ER and even the hours after the fact. Doctors asking us question after question about the days leading up to us coming there, the symptoms that we saw, warning signs we might have missed. Me wracking my brain for anything that might help, but ultimately resulting in me identifying every little sign that might have told me something was wrong and even fabricating moments that lead me to wonder “did I do something wrong?”

“Is this all my fault?”

So as I stood in the shower, I reached a breaking point. I wasn’t going to find an answer to that question while containing it in my brain, so I found myself stuck in this constant cycle of wondering what I could have done differently and then subsequently concluding that it was my fault. And that’s too much for a grieving parent to handle mentally or emotionally.

So I took my question to the One I knew would be able to give me an answer or at least some peace. I fell to my knees, completely vulnerable and defeated just as I had in the middle of the ER room. I put out my hands as if I had something to offer but knowing full well that I have never felt so empty.

I just started to talk (more like cry out) to Jesus on the shower floor, my tears flowing down the drain. I asked him if it was my fault. I asked Him for peace. I asked him to quiet Satan and the constant reel of memories and questions. I verbalized every little thing I missed about being with Blakely and being a mom. I thanked him for each of those things I got to experience with her and I told him I give him every bit of me, even though I feel so small. And finally, I ask him to hold my baby for me.

To some degree, I’m still desperately searching for something I can control or manipulate to make things better, but it’s when I take things back from God (like my thoughts, circumstances, grief) that I become vulnerable to my enemy’s attacks. God has told Tyler and I time after time that this was going to happen anyway, regardless of what we did; but my refusal to simple allow that to sink in and live in that truth causes me to constantly live in the past with no hope of changing it instead of looking to the future and the healing that it might hold.

So on my knees in the shower, completely vulnerable and defeated, I accept that truth and choose peace with the hope of healing. I choose to see the way Jesus has moved through tragedy instead of alternate realities where this tragedy doesn’t exist. I choose victory with the pain tonight.

Fading dreams and the courage to cultivate more...

Today, Tyler brought up the idea of going to Hobby Lobby to find a wreath for Blakely’s grave which I immediately jumped on (rarely does Tyler want to go to Hobby Lobby, let alone bring up the idea himself). So we ventured out of the house to run errands and find Blakely’s wreath.

Honestly I didn’t think about how tough this errand would be. I shouldn’t have been shocked seeing as I’ve been constantly caught off guard by my emotions and waves of sadness that seem to materialize out of thin air. But there we were walking around Hobby Lobby, and I spent 30 minutes holding back tears and trying to push back the thought that the sights provoked.

As we walked through the fall and Christmas decorations that littered the vast expanse of the store, I watched dream after dream fade away. All the Halloween costumes she would never wear. The pumpkins we would never carve with her. The Christmas movies we would never watch with her. The presents she would never open. The stocking we would never hang. One by one, I was hit by the magnitude and depth of the void my tiny baby left behind. And the death of each of these dreams just seemed to widen it even more.

That’s the danger of dreaming in the first place...dreams that are never realized, and I’m not sure but I feel as though the pain stings just a little bit more because we came so close to seeing them come to life. We spent 6 months dreaming and envisioning what our lives would be like as a family of three and were even able to live out a glimpse of those dreams in the 5 weeks we had Blakely with us. Now, all of a sudden, we are forced to bury those dreams that still linger 17 days after she left.

I know we’ll be faced with fading dreams every day for possibly the rest of our lives, but that doesn’t mean I should stop cultivating new ones. I always want to remember our baby girl, but I don’t want to let life pass by while I live in a constant loop of what ifs and unrealized dreams. That won’t bring about healing for me or honor Blakely and her precious little life.

I want to remember her, share her story, and allow Jesus to do what He intends to do to the fullest measure; this includes healing and daring to dream again. My Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays and everyday life won’t look how I envisioned, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be absolutely breathtaking nonetheless. It might not be pain free, but different doesn’t mean it’s a lesser existence or that life will be miserable from now on. I will dream of future days when we can hold our future children tight and tell them how beautiful their sister, Blakely, was. Many dreams have faded away, but I’m ready to cultivate more.

My prayer has been that we would glorify You, honor You, and worship You. That we would help others, through this story and testimony, to do the same. But You’ve given me something else to think about. Not only do people need a beacon of light to guide them to glorify, honor, and worship You through times of tragedy and suffering, but perhaps more than anything in those moments people need a beacon of light to guide them to simply come to you. Can we become too preoccupied with attempting to move forward that we forget to come back to God? Do we forget that You are, in fact, a good good father?

When my parents arrived from North Carolina at 3 o’clock in the morning after Blakely had passed away, there wasn’t a thought in my mind about moving forward. My only thought and desire was to be embraced. My dad, who is a good, good dad, immediately came and embraced me and, while crying and holding me tightly, said, “I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Immediately I felt two things. The first was how I, as a dad, longed to hold Blakely in my arms as if she hadn’t passed away and be able to comfort her and say, “I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Even now, that thought breaks me.

The second was that my dad’s embrace, comfort, love, and presence was necessary. To be held by my dad in the midst of such pain... it comforted me. Although, at this time, pain and hurt come in constant and frequent waves, moments like that bring comfort.

The comfort, love, and presence provided by my dad is a direct reflection of the Lord. In the darkest of times... it’s necessary. In the most joyous of times... it’s necessary. To glorify, honor, and worship You, Jesus, in the storm is crucial. But I believe the message You are giving me now provides a beacon of light in this seemingly world-ending tempest - to come to You.

We all need a reminder to come to the Father.

“So if you are suffering in a manner that pleases God, keep on doing what is right, and trust your lives to the God who created you, for he will never fail you.” - 1 Peter 4:19

Lord, I truly hope we are suffering in a way that brings glory and honor to Your name. In all honesty, some days it feels like I’m just existing and sitting through the suffering and that seems like the best I can do. It so easy to just stare at the pain for what it is and think “I don’t know how it can possibly get better.”

How do I move on from this? Or does a little part of me permanently live in this state for the rest of my life? I’m not sure if I will get an answer to these questions anytime soon. Here I sit, hit by moments of immense pain, only to find moments of relief when I can rip my mind away from the memories or the drastically shifted future.

I want to find a way to live in the present and have the courage to face the pain as it comes without obsessing over the imminent pain that lies in the days to come. Yes, a big part of me wants to mentally prepare for what Christmas, New Years, next semester, her birthday are going to be like so I’m not blindsided by the pain, but I’m finding that this only forces me to proactively experience that pain every single day, hour, minute, and second leading up to it.

Regardless, it’s going to hurt when those days finally arrive. I believe God will take care of tomorrow. I believe He’s completely in control of the next hour, day, month, and year. I believe He has a plan and I have a choice whether I’m going to continue to participate in it or be silenced and sidelined by the suffering I’m living in.

With Blakely passing away, we have experienced an incredible amount of pain. Unbearable, indescribable, empty, and aching pain. At the same time, we’ve experienced a hope that has been overwhelming and confusing.

As humans, we want to mourn and grieve. This response is good and healthy. Jesus grieves and mourns with us, feeling all that we are feeling. However, not only does He hold us in our pain and suffering and mourn with us, He provides us with an infinite hope.

This hope was and is - every single day - the most amazing and confusing thing I have experienced. In moments where I long to be angry, sad, frustrated, or even desire to feel lost, He finds me. He gives me hope. A hope that renders me unable to fall into the pit of despair.

Then I begin to think of the cross. I’ve been truly following Jesus for almost a decade, but since I can remember I’ve believed in Jesus and knew that He died on a cross so that I could go to Heaven and be with Him for eternity. But God has a way of taking concepts I think I understand and breaking them open and showing me more and more.

Becoming a father enters the picture. I see my precious little baby come into this world. I watch with wonder as she cries and is cleaned up and checked all over. Morgan receives waves of “thank you” from me as I am so grateful to her for carrying Blakely and bringing her here. Every moment I can, I’m holding her, changing her, staring at her all that I can. For 8 months I’ve been called a father, now I get to be one. The love I had, have, and will always have for my baby was infinitely bigger than how small she was. I now had the eyes of a father, so I begin to understand how the Father sees us.

Then the cross becomes infinitely more meaningful. I am so grateful to Jesus. Not only because He died for me, or my wife, or my family, or my friends, or my neighbor...but because He died for Blakely. That, even though she was only here for 5 weeks, she would be spending an eternity in Heaven with Jesus and that we would be united with her and see her again.

Never have I been more thankful for the cross of Jesus Christ.

It's been 1 month.

One month since our world was completely turned upside down and shattered. One month since I last felt Blakely wrap her hand around my finger. One month since my heart was broken beyond repair.

Yet, in the past month, I have never felt more seen. I have never felt more supported. I have never felt more loved. It’s been a month of awkward moments, telling our story to unsuspecting strangers, absorbing the tears of those that love us and Blakely, and living life torn between not wanting to disrupt everyone else’s normal and not wanting to pretend that everything’s okay.

This month has been the hardest month I have had to walk through as will each month in the foreseeable future. As healing starts to take root, I have a hard time letting go of the pain and hurt that I feel because at least I’m feeling something. I don’t want to become numb to the pain of knowing I won’t see Blakely again in this lifetime. I don’t want to become numb to the pain of seeing imprints she left here and know that imprints are only seen when something is absent. I don’t want to allow myself to put up a wall to shield myself from pain.

I don’t want the fear of being numb to prevent me from stepping into healing wholeheartedly. I want to have faith that I won’t become numb. I want to experience the pain and hurt as well as true joy and restoration.

Back to the Basics

Recently, our worship team was ministering in Nebraska at the Assemblies of God Youth Convention there, and our friend Blaz’ suggested sitting down and doing a devotional as a team between sets. As we met in a small make-shift conference room there on the campground, we didn’t end up doing a devotional at all. Blaz’ just asked what Jesus had been doing in us lately or even just that weekend. Julie spoke on God increasing her faith, I talked about asking Jesus to help me/us not just “make it” or survive that weekend but to be open to receive and be an active participant in what He wanted to do, Blaz’ talked about the new perspective he’s gained in regards to being a servant of Jesus and those around him.

As we went around one by one, we shared how Jesus had been moving, but one member seemed hesitant to share. Nathan spoke up almost as if he was ashamed of what he was about to say. He spoke about how he feels like he’s still struggling with “beginner Christian” stuff like trusting Jesus, walking in faith, and keeping his life from seeming like it’s falling apart. He felt as though he shouldn’t still be struggling with this stuff.

As he continued to speak, I happened to look over at Tyler, who was silently crying while listening to Nathan talk. I saw a new depth of understanding and wisdom in him as he waited to speak until Nathan was finished airing out his frustrations with himself. Through tears, Tyler started by saying this.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from what I’ve walked through recently, it’s that the “basics” are the only thing that matters. For me, I’ve never been more thankful for the cross and what that means than I am right now. It’s because of the cross (the most basic aspect of our faith) that I know I’ll see my daughter again. Through my thankfulness for her salvation through the cross, I’ve become even more thankful for myself.”

The “basics” of our faith are our foundation. Identity, salvation, trust, these are all things that we consider to be “basics” but if those aren’t present within us, we can’t grasp those things that we consider to be “deeper”. We have nothing to stand on in the first place. The foundation is so important.

When God called Christ the cornerstone of the church, he was saying Christ is the one person that the entirety of the church rests upon. This can also be applied individually. Our relationship with Jesus and understanding of His sacrifice are the most fundamental and foundational aspects of our faith.

There is no shame in establishing that foundation once and then a million times after that. If we never revisit and occasionally reinforce the foundation of our physical home, the house we’ve built on top will inevitable and unexpectedly crumble. Never be ashamed of seasons that seem to lack the things that we consider to be “deep” but are vital to the stability and steadfastness of our foundation of faith.

“Christ is all that matters, and he lives in all of us.”- Colossians 3:11

Do the next right thing.

Tonight, our second night in Boston, Tyler and I went to go see Frozen 2 in IMAX. It might seem like a silly thing for to adults to do, but we’re more like children disguised as adults so there we were. We knew a few things about the movie beforehand but all in all I was flying blind. I honestly didn’t expect Jesus to speak through this movie.

But there we were about 3/4 into the movie and Anna is singing the darkest Disney song ever written and I’m struck by the lyric “just do the next right thing.” Tyler and I have been dreaming about what Jesus wants to do in and through this next chapter of our lives. We know it’s something big. We know that Jesus wants to use our story and Blakely’s story to touch lives, but we’ve been kind of overwhelmed and seemingly unequipped to make all of this happen.

If we want to start a foundation, how in the world do we go about doing that? If we want to jump into worship full time, what does that practically look like? There are so many things beyond just those two dreams, but we have no clue where to go from here.

I know Jesus has a plan. Through just how He’s spoken and what He’s set into motion even before we knew Blakely was coming, it’s clear to see His provision and power through all of it. He’s constructing something beyond what we can comprehend at the moment, because we still aren’t able to grasp the big picture.

Just what has resounded in my soul lately is how senseless fear is and all that’s expected of us is to do the next right thing. Neither of those things are easy to apply. Before Blakely passed, I could think of a billion things to be afraid of at any given moment. Ultimately my greatest fear actually happened; and I’m still somehow standing. Jesus had equipped me to simply stand and do the next right thing that comes along. Gosh, the Holy Spirit can do so much more through one righteously standing soul than anyone can do through micromanagement and business.

When it’s all I can do to stand, that’s enough. When I can’t see what’s coming around the corner, I’m only required to take one more step in faith and deal with what I can see. No amount of worry, doubt, or fear will bring the sense of safety that walking in true trust and faith can bring. I won’t be a captive to fear. I’ll do the next right thing.

Transitions and Doors Ready to Walk Through

This morning, Tyler and I find ourselves right around the corner from our hotel in an awesome coffee shop. We just finished talking about the balance between breathing life into dreams we feel like God had laid on our hearts but also not jumping ship from one calling to another without completing everything God’s laid on our heart for the latter.

This is where I become unsure of myself. I love dreams and vision and the hope of new things to come, but I hesitate when it comes to actually taking a step in a new direction. Whether it’s just stepping through one newly opened door or running through 12 doors simultaneously, no door is void of a little bit of fear and hesitation for me. This is funny because just yesterday we were talking about the lack of fear that I feel I have now. Maybe God saw and identified this fear when I was blind to it.

I think ultimately I fear making mistakes that prevent me from putting life into reverse and allow me to go back to before the mistake occurred. While I like to think this is me being cautious, this also prevents me from moving at all. Subconsciously, I decide that because the waters I’m wading in are peaceful and safe, that I should just stay in the shallows instead of taking a chance and stepping into the deep. And I know these dreams can only be birthed in the deep.

These dreams require an amount of faith I have yet to demonstrate. These dreams require me to take a step. They won’t just materialize out of nothing while I splash around in the kiddy pool. I’m starting to think I’m gonna have to start to swim before God tosses me the life vest and assurance of safety. I guess that’s what true faith looks like.

Our dreams of starting and operating a blog that will minister and bring healing to unmentionable pain, writing songs and leading worship that brings praise out of pain, speaking at conferences about how great and loving our God is and how faithful he’s been in the midst of our worst circumstances, starting a foundation that brings glory to God and adds to his kingdom daily. There’s so much hurt that our eyes have been opened to since we lost Blakely and I know down deep in my soul that we’ve been called to minister to that hurt someway, somehow.

God, please make it clear when you would like us to take a step and in what direction that step should be taken. Let the next right thing for us resonate deep within us. Make it impossible to ignore and help me to silence the fear just long enough to jump. Lord, I don’t want to miss out on what you have for us to do just because I was too scared or hesitated too long to take a step through the door. Make me brave and steadfast. I want to swim in the deep end.

When you begin to accept that, though the path can be treacherous and seemingly impossible, it’s your unique trail God designated you to blaze, you begin to dig deeper to take just one more step forward. When you become determined to keep walking, you put yourself in a position to see that many things are attainable but are dependent on your pursuit of those things. Hope doesn’t just fall in your lap. Sometimes you have to search, and even fight, for hope. I refuse to believe hope is lost beyond recovery. I have found a resilience in myself; a firm refusal to believe that hope can and will escape me. I’ve looked for it in the faces of strangers, in doctors’ explanations, in the stories of those who have walked similar paths to my own. Even in the moments when I let myself sink a little and experience the heartbreak and hurt and darkness and pain, I refuse to give up the search for hope. My God is a good good father, and because his mercies are new every morning and he gives me strength to face each and every day, my hope is renewed every day as well.

The Good of Getting Away

Today as we’re standing in the middle of the Edinburgh Castle surrounded by people exploring the ins and outs of the centuries-old stone walls, I just asked what the point of this was. Why am I finding myself halfway across the world from home in the wake of losing someone so precious to me? What good am I wanting to come from this?

In that moment, I realized there can be a lot of good to come from getting away from my circumstances and situations for a while. With that comes a warning not to use this exclusively as an escape. This trip isn’t meant to be just a way to distract us from the pain and hurt that exist back in Missouri.

I think when we aren’t mindful of the purpose and the good that can come from interrupting the norm, we sink into our default mode of simply wanting an escape; we want a break before the continued cruel reality that we live in sinks in again. If I don’t like my situation, I can simply ignore it and live in that blissful ignorance for a few days. I can revert back to my childhood and pretend I reside in a different existence for a little while.

As nice as that can seem for those few days, I can’t help but wonder if that makes returning to reality that much harder. As I was looking forward to this trip with Tyler (and as I normally do what I’m looking forward to a particular event in life), I found myself thinking about the days that will surely come upon our return. What good will this trip do or will it do any good at all to not only allow us to rest and relax but also shift our long-standing reality in a positive and hopeful direction?

I don’t mean to sound like a negative Nancy and I’m not saying we can’t just enjoy getting away every once in a while, but I don’t want to be constantly living in a state of looking forward to the next escape. Something that’s been striking me lately is the amount of time between escapes that is wasted or we spend just surviving. So much of my life is spent in these waiting periods, yet I put way more stake in the brief moments where I can pretend the waiting doesn’t exist.

As I stood there today in the castle walls, Jesus told me the good that could come from this if I was mindful enough to allow it to happen. Getting away, as Tyler and I are doing, can allow me to gain a fresh perspective on how beautiful life can be. As I stared out over towering crags that surround the beautiful architecture of Edinburgh, I could literally see the beauty that is the greatest efforts of man surrounded by the most majestic creation of God.

Isn’t that so fitting for this place in life I find myself? How beautiful are the things God allows me to craft when they are surrounded and protected by and knitted into the very plan of God. The circumstances and reality of the loss of Blakely is one that is impossible to outrun or hide from no matter how many seas I cross or miles I span, but I’m not running. I want to learn the lessons and hold onto the hope that keeps growing greater and greater in my soul. I serve a God who is a loving Father. My greatest of achievements, including Blakely and every child Jesus blesses us with in the future, are safest and most beautiful when I realize that He’s surrounding them. There’s still a lot of beauty left in this life and I intend to experience it to its fullest.

“It makes it easier, now more than ever, to say, ‘Lord, come quickly.’”

Maybe we’re hyper-aware. Maybe we’re just sensitive to it. Maybe what they say is true: 1 in every 4.

Morgan and I, after losing Blakely, found ourselves in contact with many who had experienced very similar losses. From family, to friends from college, to the woman we spoke to at the insurance company, we couldn’t believe how many have experienced this.

We woke up this morning to the news that Kalley, a worship leader at Bethel Church, and her husband Andrew Heiligenthal lost their 2-year old daughter. Immediately we prayed over them many of the things we know we needed, but even better what God knew they needed during this time.

After reading article after article, it was clear they did many of the same things Morgan and I did after we lost Blakely. They prayed she would come back. That God would raise her. That He would “do it again.”

And they worshipped, even when He didn’t.

Why these things happen, we do not know. Why God doesn’t always intervene when we appeal to Him in our darkest moments, we cannot say. But what we do know, and can say, is that He is there in the aftermath. He brings peace that truly does surpass all understanding, He brings comfort, and, most of all, He brings hope. Out of our sorrow, He brings music and beauty - worship. Out of our deepest mourns, He releases His spirit.

My prayer is that those we know and those we don’t see the beauty, power, and meaning of the promise of the Cross as they walk through this journey. He is hope, He is peace, He is the promise.

Mo(u)rning is coming...

As this decade and year comes to a close, we normally look at the new year as a time of hope and of renewed goals and aspirations. This new year isn’t one void of this hope, but one that also isn’t void of the pain, grief, and obstacles that are bound to carry over after midnight.

I know family after family, home after home, and loved one after loved one who is looking at this new year through a lens of mourning and grief. I am one of them. As I’ve walked through what seems like valley after valley in my journey through my grief and loss, I know two things to be true.

Mourning is here and will keep coming. But morning is coming as well.

In the minutes, hours, days, and months since my reality has been suddenly shifted, I’ve sought hope in blogs, conversations with doctors, research, and other people. I’ve silently begged for someone to tell me that it gets better; that someone would be able to assure me that there will be a day when I can look forward to the future and back on memories with a sense of remembrance but also of hope. Despite looking and finding it in glimpses, no human has been able to offer this kind of hope...

But Jesus.

I don’t want to be someone who thinks they hold all the answers, but what I’ve found is my coming morning laying in the words of Jesus with every painstaking step, prayer, and conversation with him. His hope isn’t fading and is one that can be leaned on when standing isn’t an option anymore.

If you are looking at the new year with fear, doubt, grief, and hopelessness, or you know someone who is, please know that while mourning is coming, morning is approaching as well.

Light invading darkness...

When we think about dark places, we think of cemeteries, dungeons, prison. Places that are void of joy and light. After all, darkness is just the absence of light.

While there are places that everyone considers universally dark, your dark corners might not match mine, and vice versa. As I’ve been sitting during my quiet time today, I’ve been reflecting on my personal dark places. If I could name a place that I would give anything to forget about it would be the hospital where we said goodbye to our daughter. Not that the hospital did anything wrong; in fact, I can’t express how thankful I am for the people that worked so hard to give her a chance at life up until her last breath. Despite all this, our only experience with that place is one seeped in pain, hurt, and grief.

With all that being said, my soul is caught in a tug-of-war of sorts. While I dread walking into that hospital again for fear of being overwhelmed by the memories of that day, a little piece of me in the deepest part of my soul longs to see that place filled with light and peace and joy.

I believe that is the essence of the power of Jesus.

“For God didn’t give you a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-control.” My heart isn’t absent of fear, but this little piece of me knows that the presence of darkness and fear signifies the need for light all the more.

I long to speak hope to the nurses that cried along with us and prayed for our sweet daughter every minute of those painstaking hours. I want to thank the doctors that tried everything they could possibly think of to save Blakely and let them know just how much their work matters. I want to let the EMTs know that we saw just how much they cared about her with every tear they shed in secret. We walked through the worst moment of our lives with a crowd of people that desperately wanted to give us hope but couldn’t.

And everything within me wants to return the favor and let them know we have a hope that has sustained us and will continue to hold us up. I want them to know that the One who has offered that hope to us was with us every moment in that ER room and He deeply desires to offer that hope to them and every other family that walks into that hospital who will inevitably experience the same trauma we experienced.

I may fear that place, but the hope that resides in me and that I have to offer overrides that desire to avoid the darkness. This power and this love I have silences the fear. That is the power of my God.

The Art of Recognizing Greatness

Sports have been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember. Whether I was running a race, playing basketball, practicing my fielding in softball, or simply watching the Cardinals on TV, I wanted my team to win. “Wanted” is a little bit of an understatement here. I remember countless times when my family and I would be standing in the living room screaming at the TV when a call didn’t go the Cards’ way or cheering until we were hoarse when they would mount a comeback. People, I LOVE winning.

With that being said I have never been much of a trash talker. I was always quick to identify my own or my team’s flaws and I would fervently celebrate when I was associated with a victory of any kind, but I don’t make a point to trash talk other people because I know that even if I’m 100% confident in my team or myself, that confidence won’t always produce a win. I’ll have to eat my words and a piece of humble pie.

I also don’t like being trash talked for a similar reason. I find it to be unnecessary, unfounded, and unproductive. My husband thinks it’s a blast, but my logical non-confrontational self thinks it’s a waste of breath and bears no purpose but to create conflict out of thin air. I don’t personally like it, but this is a common mindset that often bleeds into other aspects of our lives.

Trash talk often involved identifying failures in the opposition and using them as ammunition. For example, when the Patriots lose, everyone who doesn’t particular like the Patriots find the nearest New England fan and pours out their utter joy at the Patriots demise. Many of the opposing fan actually consider a lose for the Patriots as a win for them even if their team was knocked out of playoff contention 5 weeks into the season. We can get by with this mindset in regards to football, but one point I want to drive home is...

Victory isn’t synonymous with another’s failure.

In fact, rooting for the demise of another or hoping for their failure serves no purpose in furthering your success or brightening your future. If your wish of their demise comes to fruition, you are not being elevated in anyway.

For me, in my current situation, I’m trying to be understanding and supportive, and genuinely happy for those around me that are announcing pregnancies and having babies and posting updates every month. Sometimes it requires gritting my teeth and asking God to give me that heart that is genuinely happy for each of them, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t remind me of how much I miss carrying Blakely, meeting her for the first time, and watching her grow for the 5 weeks she was here.

While struggling with this, it’s hard not to look around and say “Why me, God? Why did it have to happen to me?” And I have asked that question over and over and over again. Thankfully, I have a husband who has been so good at communicating and being vulnerable and one night he shared how he had been struggling with the same exact question, but he had received an answer. “Because many of them wouldn’t make it. You can make it.”

I have never been more frustrated, angry, and encouraged by one answer. Left to myself, I didn’t want to be found “strong enough” if this is what it costs me. I wanted to scream about how unfair all of this is and how incredibly frustrating it was to know that our daughter was taken by something only .2% of people experience and even then, IT’S HARDLY EVER FATAL.

But even in that reasoning, when I sit long enough to actually listen, God reminds me of just how in control of everything He actually is. He reminds me of how having Blakely was a gift as was every moment we got to spend with her; it wasn’t a right, it was a gift. He reminds me that I’m not the only one who has had to endure this and in fact, I have been equipped to take up this story and use it to help bring hope to those who have. And he even reminds me that the rarity of Blakely’s condition can serve as a form of reassurance in the future.

So I continue to push forward, trying to guard myself from ill will toward those that honestly did nothing to deserve it. I want to work to celebrate with others without their victory serving as a reminder of where I lack. I want to remember this...

If the greatness and blessings in others’ lives reminds you only of the weakness and darkness in yours instead of serving as a reminder of the greatness of our God, you are not in a position to experience that greatness and blessing yourself.

“Then God said you him, “This is my covenant with you: I will make you the father of a multitude of nations! What’s more, I am changing your name. It will no longer be Abram. Instead, you will be called Abraham, for you will be the father of many nations. I will make you extremely fruitful. Your descendants will become many nations, and kings will be among them!” - Genesis 17:3-6

God has spoken to Tyler, and I truly believe it's for the both of us. God spoke to him just a few days after Blakely died, and said “you will have a harvest of spiritual children and biological children.” When Tyler heard this, he knew that this promise will have repercussions in this life and the next.

When we get to Heaven, we firmly believe there will be people there to greet us that we have never met before. We believe they will be there because of Blakely’s story and our story. This drives us to be faithful to the new-found dreams and visions God has placed on our hearts.

While this world is fallen and as a byproduct, we’ve had to wade through the worst pain either of us could ever imagine in losing Blakely, God’s good grace tells us that our story hasn’t ended with Blakely’s heartbeat. We’ve heard stories of people on the other side of the world choosing to follow Jesus through the telling of our story. That is the transformative power of our God. Our darkest hour can be used in the brightest of ways if we choose to walk with Jesus through that hour.

The other half of that promise (biological kids) brings us reassurance while we’re on this earth. We know we are and will always be Blakely’s parents. We also want babies that we can hold in our arms here. This promise told us we will have children. We firmly believe we won’t have to endure this tragedy again. I will have healthy pregnancies. We will have tiny fingers grip ours again. We will have sleepless nights. We will have a family on this Earth.

Lord, help me to hold onto these promises and do my part to see them come to fruition. Help me to trust you when doubt is knocking on the door. Just as you spoke this covenant to Abraham, I believe your word is true and it won’t be forgotten. I pray that I would become pregnant. I pray that that pregnancy would be healthy and void of any complications with preeclampsia. I pray that we would love our children each uniquely and that our love for Blakely would be evident as well. Lord, I trust you. Use our story for your glory. Until Heaven’s my home. Amen.

Homesick for Heaven

Prior to three months ago, I was terrified of the unknown, including the ultimate irreversible unknown: death. I’m a person, like many, who don’t like change or stepping into something blindly. Like a true Missourian, “show me” is a motto; I need to see it before I believe it.

Of course, we all know this isn’t possible with eternity. Many times, I treat the day as if I have an unlimited number of them on deck. I can’t imagine or fathom not waking up to my husband in the morning, having my quiet time with Jesus and drinking my coffee, going about my normal everyday routine looking forward to the next exciting break in that routine. Prior to October 12th, death frightened me even though I know Heaven resides on the other side.

On October 12, and many days after that, my mindset took a sudden shift. I love doing life with my friends, family, and especially Tyler. I have no desire to leave this life right now, but my fear of the unknown and what I haven’t seen have been trumped by the desire to spend eternity with Jesus and my daughter.

As we were walking into Dollar Tree with my sister and brother in law, my heart became so excited at the thought of seeing my baby wrapped up in Jesus’ arms as I walk through the gates of Heaven. Nothing provoked that thought in that moment, I just think my heart exists in a stead state of anticipation. Heaven has to be real. That’s not just wishful thinking; I believe that in order for the peace that Tyler and I have felt to exist on this earth, the Source of that truth has to be real as well as the domain He has promised.

Heaven isn’t just real though. Every day I live on this Earth just confirms the fact that Heaven is my home. Losing Blakely just expedited the process that I believe a lot of Christians walk through later in life. Not only is my Savior waiting for me, but my daughter is also anticipating my arrival.

I am convinced that if my daughter, so tiny and fragile, can face death with such bravery, I can too. I never would have thought that my precious little daughter would be able to teach me such a life-shaking lesson in her last moments before meeting Jesus, but she did. I remember standing there in the aftermath in the ER hoping that she hadn’t been scared and being so proud of her. She was so brave. And because of her, I become a little more homesick for Heaven every day.

This morning I remembered Tyler set a voice command for our new Echo Dot; so upon saying “Alexa, it’s Jesus time,” she started playing our Blakely playlist. As You’re Gonna Be Okay started playing, it hit me a little differently than it normally does. I listen to a lot of worship music in everyday life so it’s easy for me to eventually stop experiencing the feelings and emotions that were originally attached to a song.

That didn’t happen this morning. As it started playing, I found myself back in my parents’ living room trying to grapple with the fact that I won’t see my daughter on this side of Heaven again, and at my old church in Nelsonville, MO walking behind Blakely’s casket on our way to lay her to rest. I remember singing this song in moments when I believed every word I cried out and moments when I sang them trying to remind myself of truth when I felt completely void of hope. I listened to it this morning with the new knowledge that I’m not pregnant and we’ll have to wait another month to see if that might change.

Life has been unbelievably difficult the past few months; but I remember, in the days after Blakely died, it was so important to me and to Tyler to worship in the midst of it all. Death had dealt an awful blow to our little family, but we needed Satan to know he hadn’t won. Death would not rip us apart and what was meant for harm would bring more glory to God than we can fathom.

We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna spend eternity with our precious little girl and our Father who gives us that hope. We’re gonna see a great number of faces that we won’t recognize but are there because Jesus used our story to get to them. So I’m gonna take one step after another after another in the meantime. It’s gonna be okay.

This morning as Tyler and I were listening to the song Here Again, the lyrics said “not for a minute was I forsaken. The Lord is in this place.” Immediately, my mind flashed back to the moment I was most tempted to feel forsaken and forgotten by God, but even then, He reminded me that he hadn’t left.

We were standing in the ER watching them give Blakely chest compressions. I had never felt so lost, so helpless, in such disbelief that my reality had been flipped on it’s head in the most painful of ways in a matter of a few hours. Tyler and I stood there, one moment unable to look away from Blakely and unable to bear the sight the next. We wavered between crying out in pain and standing completely still struggling to comprehend what was happening.

I firmly believe this, because I experienced it in that moment; God is such a good Father and does everything he can to comfort us and remind us that He’s still there in the darkest of places. The ER staff allowed my parents and Pastor Isaiah to come back and be with us as they were still doing CPR. Through their own pain in seeing their granddaughter already gone and their kids in such pain, they surrounded us as my dad kept saying “He’s here, He’s here.”

I couldn’t feel Him, I couldn’t see His hand at work, but I believed what my dad was saying. I knew I wasn’t forsaken. I knew He hadn’t turned His back on us. Sometimes God knows our hearts and minds aren’t in a position to hear his gentle whisper through all the chaos so He uses others as a mouthpiece, and I couldn’t be more thankful He did. My Father found a way to get to me in that moment, and that's something He has never stopped doing. He always finds a way to get to me.

Last Tuesday (2/18/2020) I believe I heard the Lord say Morgan is pregnant. I’m writing it out as an act of faith. Lord, let it be so. I love you, Jesus. Amen.