Janie

I realized today that I don't talk about Janie much on here.

I may not talk about her a lot on my blog, but I think about her a lot. Lately, I've been thinking about her much more.

May 10th marked the 5th anniversary of her flight Home, and May 13th was the 5th anniversary of her being born still, no breath, small, delicate as a breeze, into my heart.

I knew it was coming. I was thinking about it back in January, even as I was about to give birth to Lucie. Janie's just in my heart like that, all the time.

I find myself really thinking about her this year. 5 years is significant in so many ways to me. I think back on how her leaving us just shook me to the very marrow of my bones. I think about how you can never be prepared for the loss of a baby, a child. It sneaks up on you and blindsides you, right in your deepest being.

5 years ago, it hurt to even draw breath. Every day I was sure I was going to shatter into a million pieces. I marveled that the world didn't stop and that all creation didn't mourn with me.

5 years ago I could actually taste the pain. The daily, minutely, incessant heartache was bitter, acidic in my mouth, like the metallic taste of blood when you accidentally bite your tongue. Food did not nourish me, because I knew I was dying too......

5 years ago I didn't know what 5 years down the road would look like. I couldn't imagine living life for any length of time without my Janie. To think of not being able to hold her, nurse her, breathe in her smell, I thought it was more than I could handle.

5 years ago. Such a lifetime ago, it seems.

What is life like now? Well, I can tell you that I do miss her. I do hurt for her at times, and yes, sometimes it will take my breath away for a moment, just a moment. I suddenly feel, when we're all gathered together, that someone is missing........

But I'm still alive. I didn't lay down and die. Gradually the breaths I took got deeper and longer, until the air I breathe is fresh and clear again, and my lungs could handle life again. Yes, I still carry the pain, but it's a softer, more gentle ache now. It doesn't hurt to stand up today. I can know stand and I can think of her, most of the time, without gasping aloud at the sharpness of grief.

I can say that she is the fabric of who I am. I carry her with me like a treasured locket around my neck. Her life inside of me is a part of me, and God chose me to be her mom for the purpose of showing me a knowing, a kinship, if you will, with other moms with whom, before Jane, I never desired to walk.....

But now I'm one of them too. I carry a legacy of deep pain, of scars, of countless tears, but this deep pain, the scars, and all of the tears I've cried in the last 5 years are not unknown. I am not alone. I think the consolation of knowing that there are others out there who are seasoned travelers along this road is strangely comforting.

I take great comfort in the fact that my Janie Rose sits at the feet of Jesus, able to clamber up in His lap, to gaze deeply into His fathomless eyes, to touch His face, to run and jump and breathe the essence of Heaven without this world's pain! Yes, I wish that she was here! But how can I want her back so much when a part of my heart thrills to know where she is?

And I know, in the scarred hand of Jesus, that He holds a bottle. I know, in that bottle, for all eternity, are all of the tears I've cried for my girl. Each tear has a name, and each single, small, salty offering in that bottle, each word written on those rivulets, He knows. I know this with a certainty!

So now, I go forth from this 5 year path stronger, more steady, knowing that grief does not kill, and pain, that pain that I used to think was my worst nightmare, has only been another level to my becoming. I carry that baby in my heart like the Lord carries me in His heart......

And I go on.

Happy Birthday, Janie

Today is Janie's birthday.

I was going to post a picture of her tiny little feet, but I tried to upload it and it just wouldn't work. Apparently there was an error somewhere...

No matter. It's okay if I don't have a picture to go with this post.

Janie's birth was just like all of my other births, easy and relatively short at 8 1/2 hrs.

I was induced via a pill called myselprostin. You'll have to forgive me, I don't know how to spell it. I was given two very tiny, very significant pills in a paper cup after checking into the hospital and getting all hooked up to the contraction monitor and the IV.

Two little pills. Not even as big as Tylenol. The smallest pills I've ever seen, really.

But they did their job. We had waited four days in hopes that my body would kick into labor naturally, but it didn't.

That day was actually a very peaceful day. There were no worries or fears. My favorite nurse was on that day and attended me exclusively. That really helped. She really is the best nurse there is and we've actually had her many times during our other births.

At about 5 pm, my mom and husband both decided to go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat, since nothing was really happening and we didn't know how long it would be yet. I labored with my friend Shawna in the room, just her and I. She had also had a stillborn baby, and was a very close friend who had let me pick her brain about her experience and who agreed to come with me that day, to have someone who understood nearby.

It happened that, at about 5:30, I started to have some really tough contractions. I knew birth was imminent. I had one painful contraction, and didn't even push, and she slipped out very gently.

My mom and husband both missed her birth.

Anyway, the staff and my nurse at our hospital really came through for me. They treated her just like any newborn and told me I could hold her as long as I wanted. There was a tiny white gown, with her name hand embroidered on it in pink, and a tiny diaper, just for babies her size. She had her own little bracelets..........

My nurse made a plaster cast of her footprint for me to have forever, and snipped some of her baby fine, barely-there black hair for me to keep too. I have her tiny bracelet, and it's almost the size of my husband's wedding ring!

Looking back, I wish I had held her longer. It was very difficult for me. You see, she was absolutely perfect. No physical abnormalities. Perfectly formed......but her little face was crushed. That's the sad, hard reality. We didn't get to have any serene, airbrushed black and white pictures of her....no pictures of me holding her surrounded by my family.

That's why I didn't hold her for long. I just couldn't. Because she wasn't a C-section baby, and because her delicate bones were so fragile, coming down the birth canal actually crushed her face.

I need to tell you that.

I need to give cold, hard facts.

It helps me to absolve myself.....

I did a lot of beating myself up over the fact that I didn't hold her for long. She was a breath, a barely-there weight in my arms, and I will tell you the truth: I wish I had held her longer. I've never told another living soul that except my husband.

I was thinking about what kind of post I wanted to do today. I know that my posts have grown incredibly long. I'm sorry for that.....My heart is incredibly full.....

Anyway, we wrapped her in a pink fleece blankie printed all over with red cherries and we kept her with us till about 9 pm that night.

We did have a memorial service....

What I really want to say, and what I really want you to know, is that I survived. I didn't only survive, I have thrived. I really have. I'm not even a shadow of that person that I was that day.

Thank God.

Happy Birthday, my angel.......

I remember you, Janie Rose Gilchrist.
Born on May 13, 2004
1 lb 12 oz
14 inches long
My Angel Baby
I will never forget.

Finding Out.

So I bet you can all guess what happened that day when I went to the hospital for an emergency ultrasound.

Yes, our baby girl was asleep.....

She had gone to sleep that morning in my womb and woke up in the arms of Jesus.

We learned that she had passed away, probably that Friday, judging by how my amniotic fluid had significantly decreased.

My husband was at work when I went to the doctor that day, and I had the kids with me at the doctor's office.

On the way over to the hospital, for some reason, my van made a beeline, seemingly of its own volition, to my church. I jerkily parked, stumbled out of the van (leaving my kids in there) and staggered into the office, barely coherent. I collapsed in a chair at the front desk and basically went into hysterics. Pastor and his wife heard me and, after trying to tell them that I was expected at the hospital, they totally took over.

Pastor's wife said she'd take the kids, someone called my husband, and my friend Kim took me to the hospital so I wouldn't have to drive.

Shortly after I got there Dave got there too.

The ultrasound was done and Janie's death confirmed.

We were given the option of inducing labor right then. But my favorite nurse was there and she said I could have the baby on Thursday when she was on shift.

I chose to have Janie on Thursday, May 13th.

I don't want to belabor the story further. It was a sad, seemingly hopeless time for me, a time in which I truly almost had a crisis of faith. I was so freaked out, leading up to May 13th. The time was surreal in its total nightmarishness and its total misconstruction.

Somebody told me that day that in God's plan, there is no such thing as premature death. All of Janie's days were written for her before she was even thought of, and she lived the appointed number of days that God alloted for her.

I know now that God didn't take her away from me because He didn't like me. I know that nothing I did or didn't do caused her death. I know that she wasn't in any pain, that she went from a supremely safe place to the safest place in creation.

My friend told me that she was absolutely certain she had heard from God and that God had told her He was going to heal Janie. She was totally devastated and embarrassed when she learned that Janie had died. But I held no offense toward her, because my spirit never witnessed to what she said. However much I wanted to hold on to Janie, I knew in my heart that she had died and flown to Heaven.

He did heal her. She lives now, totally perfect and totally at peace. She sees the face of the Ultimate Father, and gets to hold the nail scarred hands of her Best Friend and walk in the fields of Heaven with Him by her side. What more could a mother want for her baby? What better Father can a mother ask for for her baby?

It was a very hard Mother's Day that year, as Janie was born right before Mother's Day.......but I'm so much fuller and richer since having her. I thank God for every day I had with her, short as they were. I still miss her and sometimes wonder what she looks like and how it would feel to be able to kiss her tiny feet and smell her hair again. But God has done such a work in my heart and spirit since she was born.........

Janie Rose Gilchrist's birth was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

It was my awakening to Who the Lord really is.

It was the start of my becoming.

May 10th.

This day.

Four years ago.

Since my horrible, nightmarish ultrasound with Janie, when they told me she would die, life had pretty much stopped. We were living a new normal now. The odd thing is, I was able to laugh a bit at things that struck me as funny. I see now that I was in shock. My mind had gone on autopilot to protect me from the unknown.

Ever had that happen to you??

Dr Whelan had called us the day after the ultrasound to strongly encourage us to at least have an amniocentesis. He knew our stance on terminating the pregnancy, and he just is too decent to even ask. We were aware of the risks of the amnio and told him that my baby was at enough risk already and we didn't want to put any more stress on her by invading her world. He totally supported us in this and said he'd be available 24/7 for us, if we should need him for anything at all.

The same day we talked to Dr W, the doctor-from-hell called and also strongly urged us to have an amnio as soon as possible. We explained to him that we had talked to our primary OB and had opposed the amnio with our primary OB's full support. He told me he thought we were making a mistake, but he wasn't going to force us to do the amnio. Gee, thanks!

At this point, one day after the ultrasound, we felt like we were walking in a nightmare and were wondering when we were going to wake up.

I had also gone into Dr W to hear Janie's heartbeat. It was normal, and she continued to roll and squirm and hiccup her way into our hearts.

During my pregnancy with Janie, from the moment we felt her move, she and Daddy had an established routine they went through every morning before he left for work. Every morning, without fail. Daddy would lean down and, with his face very close to my tummy, would say, "Bye Bye Janie! Daddy loves you!", and she would kick him in the cheek! I just know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she recognized her Daddy's voice. She would get very excited when he talked to my tummy.

This morning, May 10th, was no different. Daddy leaned close.....

And said.....

"Bye Bye Janie! Daddy loves you!"

She gave him a kick and he left.

That evening, I realized that I hadn't felt any movement from her for the whole day. This was very odd, since she was usually pretty active. I didn't get scared right away. I called Dave and he told me she was probably just sleeping.

I had bought one of those things that you can put on your belly in late pregnancy and hear your baby's heartbeat with. It was kind of like a Doppler with headphones. I remember putting that on my belly and listening intently for her heartbeat. I did this periodically throughout the day.

Nothing.

This was Friday.

Dave said perhaps those Doppler-with-the-headphones weren't that accurate.

By Saturday I was very worried. My Janie had not moved since Friday morning, long, dreadful hours. What could be going on in my womb??

I remember sitting on the toddler bed in the girls' room, watching as they cleaned it up, and the strangest thought popped into my head, totally unbidden....

I wonder what it's like to plan a funeral for a baby.

I decided to call Dr Whelan on Saturday, just to let him know what was going on. He said for me to get into my bed, lay very still and really focus in on Janie. He told me to have some sugar or caffeine, put on some music, and just focus. He told me to do this for four hours and see what happened.

I did. I focused so intently, for all I was worth.

Nothing.

On Monday I called Dr W's office and told the nurse what was going on. She asked me to come in right away and we'd take a listen with the Doppler. She told me not to worry, that sometimes babies got really quiet in the later stages of pregnancy.

I was by myself that day, but I immediately piled all of my kids in the van and headed over to the doctor's office. I live about 5 minutes from the office.

That ride to the doctor was one fraught with thoughts, disjointed, feverish thoughts, coming too fast into my mind for me to catch.

That was a Monday I won't soon forget.

hiccups

Yesterday we had a gathering of family in honor of Russell's 13th birthday.

I call it a "gathering of family" because our dear friends were there, and in our sphere, our dearest friends are like family to us.

We had my chili with all the fixins and hot fudge cake and ice cream to top it all off.

It was a good afternoon spent in the fellowship of believers, ones who have loved with us and laughed with us, and yes, sobbed with us too over the years.

My friend Stephanie was here with her husband and their four children. Stephanie was with me when Miss Sofia was born two years ago, and what a calming influence she was! She's someone I'm very comfortable with, having known her for many years now.

She has prayed with me and given me words of wisdom and let me cry with her. She is someone who just feels my heart.

We were talking about babies, of course. She was remembering some of her pregnancies and births and she got to talking about her littlest man, who will be 7 soon. He had the hiccups and he was not happy about it, for, in his life, hiccups are just one more thing conspiring to slow him down! She remembered that in the womb he had been her baby that always had the hiccups and he wasn't very happy about it then either!

Then, as natural as you please, I said, "Janie was my one who had the hiccups allll the time."

It was so easy, so normal, like I was talking about one of my living children.

Before then, I had hesitated to talk about her. It's an issue of not wanting to make others uncomfortable, of not really knowing how others would handle her life and her death. I mean, she wasn't born alive and didn't live with us, so she never really was, was she? Her life is over, right? Not for me. Her influence and her ministry is very much alive in me. She started my becoming!

I have not really talked about her much at all these past four years.

But yesterday I did. And it so surprised me....

I feel free today.

Never alone, always at home.

I am not alone.

I am home.

I am not drowning in the water of grief and despair and anguish any more.

Praise God!

I ended my post yesterday with the words "that day was the beginning of the end."

That may have sounded hopeless, helpless, to some of you, but let me explain.

That day was the end of who I was.

That day was the end of the old me, and the beginning of my becoming. I didn't know that then, but I see it crystal clearly, with startling clarity, now.

Becoming takes a long time. I wonder if it is ever finished.

In my deepest heart, I just knew, intuitively, that I was not alone that day. And the next day, when the shock had had a chance to wear off, I felt that sense of being held, of being sheltered, of being in the secret place of the Most High God.

I still feel that. That feeling never went away.

I believe that God has a very special grace, a very special care, for mommies who have lost babies. The only reason I know that is because I'm in the middle of that care and grace right now.

And that is the reason why I am able to sing this song. I love this song. I'm poetic by nature. I'm lavish by nature. I love a beautiful turn of phrase and that's the way I think.

That said, being poetic and thinking in poetry, I still couldn't write a better song than this.

It says every thing I ever wanted to say to my Father. It expresses every drop, every drink, the very essence of what I feel for the One Who has rescued me.

I don't know how to say exactly how I feel.
And I can't begin to tell You what Your love has meant.
I'm lost for words.
Is there a way to show the passion in my heart?
Can I express how truly great I think You are,
My dearest friend.
Lord, this is my desire,
To pour my love on You.

Like oil upon Your feet,
Like wine for You to drink,
Like water from my heart,
I'll pour my love on You.
If praise is like perfume,
I'll lavish mine on You,
till every drop is gone.
I'll pour my love on You.

Phillips, Craig and Dean, from the CD "Let My Words Be Few"

Four years ago. Today.

Walk with me on this road that leads to my past.

I will need you to hold my hand as I once again navigate that road.

I will need you to offer up your most earnest prayers on my behalf as these words unfold from my heart.

Bear with me as I try to convey to those of you who may not understand, and have mercy on me as I try to help those of you who have never experienced the magnitude of loss, grief, and anguish to comprehend my story.

The significance of this day stares me in the face.

On this very day, four years ago, my life shattered. Life as I knew it was gone.

Normal means something entirely different now than it used to, prior to that day.

Walk with me.......
***********************

My second level ultrasound was scheduled, and April 23rd was the day. I was unruffled. Not worried in the least.

My mom went with me, along with my two smallest daughters, who were 1 and 3 at the time.

I had never been to this office before, didn't know the doctors or staff from Adam, and it was a strange experience to be in a place where nobody knew me and nobody knew the baby in my womb.

I didn't have to wait long. They called my name and I went in. Alone. Mom had stayed out in the waiting room with my two toddlers. I was still totally calm and collected, actually excited to get to see my baby in sharper focus.

Again, the requisite pulling down of the pants and the warm, slick gel on the belly. Familiar feelings.

The ultrasound was going to be very involved, much longer than the normal 45 minutes normally called for.

The tech was a man. I remember thinking that this was the first time I had had a man technician do an ultrasound on me. I was a little shy and embarrassed. I'm still modest after all this time!

The scanning got underway quickly, and he lingered over an area for quite some time. I remember, in sharp focus, how we laughed at how big my bladder was! He chuckled, because I had taken the order to drink 32 oz of water very seriously. I'm good like that! I take doctors' orders seriously....

I noticed he had a puzzled look on his face, and he finally said, yes, her heart was tipped, but usually the ultrasound shows some sort of mass that is pushing on the heart, thus the tipping, but he wasn't seeing anything like that, really no reason for the tipping. He chose to call the doctor in, and, just as he walked out to summon the doctor, he uttered the words, "I'm seeing some other things that concern me too".

I started sweating.

This was not what I was expecting. Not in a million years does a mom dream about hearing those words spoken to her during an ultrasound of her cherished, loved unborn baby.

Remember, I was alone in the room. Solitary. By myself.

The doctor came in. I still remember his name. I'm not likely to forget it in this life. Dr Abell. He was medium height, dark haired, glasses, doctor-looking.

He came in. And this is where my world tipped upside down on its axis.

This man proceeded, without even glancing at the ultrasound, to tell me that my baby would die. That "the fetus" had a lethal chromosomal abnormality that would kill "it". If "the fetus" didn't die at birth, "the fetus" would certainly die shortly thereafter.

He then recommended immediate termination.

To which the tech said, "She's already past 23 weeks."

The doctor said, "Shoot".

My hands, even now, four years later, tremble with remembrance.

Doctor Abell told me that I had a one artery umbilical cord. He said that "the fetus's" ventricles in the brain were "slightly" enlarged, and that the heart was tipped.

I'm sure, if I had not been lying down on that table at that very moment, I'm quite certain I would have fainted. Dead away.

I suddenly had tunnel vision, and things around me became dark, like I was going to pass out.

He asked me where my husband was. Russell and Dave were in Seattle, celebrating Russell's 9th birthday as father and son. Blissfully, joyfully unaware of the rending that was happening in a city 3 hours south of them.

He told me to call my husband to come right away, right away.

At this point, I was in total shock. Literally. I heard what he was saying, but it was like listening to someone shouting underwater. I felt like I was drowning in that water.

I told him that my mom was out in the waiting room, and not once, not once, did he suggest going to get her to come in. Not one time.

I was alone.

I heard something that sounded like my voice say, "Are we talking Down's Syndrome here?" And he said, "Most definitely NOT."

I began to breathe very fast and hard. I kept saying, over and over.....

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

He became very concerned and called a nurse into the room, who repeatedly asked me if I was okay.

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

It was all I could think of to say.

I somehow managed to pull up my pants and get off that table. I somehow managed to walk out into the waiting room when it was all over. I must have looked like I had had the fright of my life, for my mom took my arm and asked me what in the world was wrong.....

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

She was very frightened when I couldn't speak and could scarcely walk out of that place. She remembered that I hadn't eaten in over 6 hours and frantically yelled for some crackers or water or something. A nurse materialized and gave both.

We made it out of there, with two toddlers, the very epitome of innocence and life, following.

Blissfully unaware.

We drove through a McDonald's close by and stopped to eat in the parking lot, where I poured out the whole story to her in broken, dissonant chords that were a rude imitation of my voice. I heard myself from far away, and it was me. Only it wasn't really me.

I remember things now that I forgot then.

I remember that Dr Abell never told me which chromosomal abnormalities he was suspecting. I recall that he never once looked at my baby or referred to her as a she or as a baby, not once. I remember how brisk and business like he was that day.

I remember that his white coat was stiffly starched and ironed to perfection.

I hated him.

God forgive me, but I hated him and wanted to do him harm.

He didn't tell me that my baby may die inside of me. He didn't tell me that she would be dead not even a month later. He didn't suggest that I see a perinatologist, nor did he refer me to one. He didn't suggest that, as a specialist, he could follow this pregnancy through with me. He didn't tell me that I had just been given what is called a "terminal pregnancy diagnosis" from him. He didn't say that I should be classified as high risk now.

He didn't.

I was ignorant of the prognosis. I was totally unaware of what could happen.

We just didn't know. We just had no idea.

And that day was the beginning of the end.

A foretaste of what's to come

I was sitting here in my broken down rocking chair and a thought hit me, out of the blue.

I remembered that, 4 years ago, I was pregnant. I was scheduled to have my 20 week ultrasound this very week. So I scheduled my ultrasound here in town, at our radiology place, and I was so excited to go! I couldn't wait to see our baby on the screen. There's something about an ultrasound that instantly makes a mama feel so much closer to her unseen baby. It gives face to the flutterings and kickings going on under your heart, doesn't it?? I always look forward to my ultrasounds with intense joy.

This ultrasound was no different. I was expectantly waiting to see our baby and to see if we could find out if we would be adding a boy or a girl to our clan. I had been to this place before and knew the technician who would be doing my scan. That was great, having someone familiar see our baby with me for the first time.

I got on the bed, with my pants pulled low and the requisite warm gel on my tummy. I was literally trembling with excitement!

As she placed her wand on my tummy and slid it around, I was able to see, on the screen, a baby!!! I could place hands and feet and a tiny head! If you have had many ultrasounds, I think you become skilled at deciphering what's what on that blurry, black and white screen.

All was going calmly and smoothly, and you know those techs aren't real chatty!

About 10 minutes into my scan, she suddenly said, "Do you have any heart problems in your family?"

Keep in mind that I was by myself. And I said, "No, not at all," thinking to myself, what a strange question to ask me!

Nothing else was said, and we found out we were having another girl!!! This would be girl baby #5 for the clan! YAY!!!

Fast forward a week. I went in to my doctor for a routine appointment to hear the results of what I was sure was a normal ultrasound.

When I got in there, my dear Dr informed me that there was a question about our baby's heart, and they couldn't be sure what the deal was. He told me that if there was a problem, many surgeries can even be done while I was still pregnant and baby was in the womb. I was shocked because I had been prepared for normal news.

Dr Whelan ordered a second level ultrasound at a clinic in the closest big city, an hour south of us.

I was still trying to take it in. I was really still thinking about when Dr W had said that it was probably nothing, but he wanted to be absolutely certain. I was hanging on to that and was sure it was nothing.

Oh Lord, I had no idea what You had in store for us. Just a few weeks later we would begin a journey that was frightening. Bewildering. Surreal. The journey that You asked us to walk was not the journey I would have chosen. But You saw the beginning from the end, and in Your total wisdom, You chose us to be our girl's parents.

Thank You.

A Post in May

I've been thinking lately. Wow, what a big surprise!

I think I spend my life thinking deep thoughts that nobody understands but me and God.

That's okay. I'm a contemplative person. It's how God made me. I was born that way.

I used to annoy myself, and try to be someone else, because who wanted to be friends with someone who spent their time thinking about deep stuff? I used to be so uncomfortable because often I would never have anything to say in a gathering of lots of people, or I would chastise myself or beat myself up for being too wordy or tell myself that I talked too much about weird, silly things.

I think I'm over all that now and I've come to accept who I am.

I've felt a post brewing in my heart for some time now. May is the perfect time for me to write it. I'll tell you why.

We had a stillborn baby.

It will be four years on May 13th since she was born. And I still carry that deep pain around with me. I've realized, over the past few weeks, that it hurts. It still hurts. The pain is part of who I am now.

And I've been contemplating that, because that's what I do. I store things like that in a place in my heart and then I study them. Usually out loud. I look at it from all angles, every facet, every different meaning and color.

I think I added the pain of my two miscarriages to the pain of losing our 6th baby. And sometimes that compounded pain takes my breath away.

So, in an effort to be free, to live joyously and out loud, I will be doing a post on May 13th about our baby girl who does not live here on earth with us. Maybe I'll do more than one. It's my way of healing. Writing about those days and weeks is therapy for me.

I've been remembering. I've been taking out the memories from the dusty reaches of my being and seeing things I didn't see before. I want to tell her story, and I want to tell it to all of you.

I want to tell her story because I want you all to know that you are not alone. If you have that kind of silent pain sitting inside your heart, you are not the only one. I want to tell a story of hope, of loss, and I want my story to point steadily to the One Who has been steady for me all these years.

I pray that my story can be a story of healing. I believe one of the reasons I've been allowed to experience pain like that is so that I can be closer to the Lord, and hopefully I can lead other women there as well.

I pray that as I write her story, the Holy Spirit will be very present. If I can be a conduit for His ministrations, I say, Lord bring on the memories and the pain and the loss, for I want your words to flow out of my mouth.