Day 5: Until We Meet Again Terri. . .

Life had been hard lately and she was tired. The waves of this world had crashed on her shore one too many times. Beaten and bruised head to toe without a blemish to prove it. Her struggle was wearing her down from the inside out. Day after day she had faced the storm, and gave it everything. But it wasn't enough. Morning came. She lay there. She let it have her. Eventually she found herself on her knees--surrendering.

"I'm at the wall Father. I have nothing left. I have given everything. I have done everything I can think to do. . .I. am. broken."

She pulls her body through the motions. Get up, get showered, kiss the hubby and kids, hit the road. Another day has started. Drive to work, walk to the office, sit down, and check email before making the rounds. Nothing new besides a notice for a new arrival needing a visit--another high-risker. . .some woman from a nearby town on bed-rest with her second. "Why not", she concedes, telling herself "I'll drop in during my lunch break."
_______________________

[knock on the door]

"Come in." Probably my lunch. Ugh. I swear I'll throw up if I see another milkshake. Ok--they aren't that bad.

"Name and birth date" the server asks.

"Seriously, Monica" as I roll my eyes and smile. "Three, Nineteen, Eighty-Four and it's Snow White. Just look at my legs--any whiter and I'll be clear--then they won't need an ultrasound to see this baby."

"Very funny" she chuckles. "Enjoy your lunch".

"I will. Have a great afternoon--we'll see you tomorrow." I reply.

'All right--you can do this Hill' I cheer internally. I brace and grab the bed rail with my left arm, and shift from my right side to my left. Ooouuch. I swear, I could register for a rest home today--I drink prune juice, wear a diaper, and my joints throb like I'm ninety--sheesh!

Shiloh kicks. I smile.

"I know. I know, baby. Just two and a half months and I'll get you a bigger playpen. How about we dine to Mozart sweetheart. You'll love it-I promise. And someday I'll teach you how to play. . ."

(knock at the door)

Hmm. I wonder who that is. Probably Kris to check vitals.

A pretty woman with long hair and a gleaming smile pokes her head in. "Hi. I'm Terri. I'm from the branch here. President Smith emailed and said you might want some visitors--are you busy?"

"No, no. Of course not. Come in!" I stammer as I push my food tray away pleased that I have a reason to delay consuming MORE food.

We chat like two school girls at recess. I'm talking about my husband and boy--she's telling me about her girls. I make her laugh about my decision to apply for a nursing home and she's telling me about all of the places she's lived. Time disappears for a few minutes of our existence.

She promises to visit soon. I happily nod and thank her for coming.

And she keeps her word. She visits me every few days, bringing me lunch from the 'outside' (heaven bless her for that), DVD's to watch, and rich conversation to pass the time. I become enamored with this woman who seems to hold the sun, the moon, and the stars in her eyes. She's beautiful, and smart, and down-to-earth good, and real. And whenever the hours get long she's there. My luck seems too good--'how can this woman give so much to me when I have nothing to offer back?' I wonder. But she comes again. She tells me this time that she's catering an event and won't make it back for a week.

"I've got 48 days left" I tell her. "I'll be here."

And I was. . .
______________________________

"Haven't you heard?" the nurse says. "She lost Shiloh yesterday. They delivered a little boy early this morning. She's alone in her room if you want to visit."

She walks to Room 241, and knocks on the same door she'd happily entered so many times. But not today. She walks in and sees her, the woman she'd come to love over the past few weeks--lying there like always with a grin on her face and tears brimming her eyes.

No words come. What can she say? She holds the little mother as their tears together fall and she listens to her bed-ridden friend recount the past twenty-four hours.
_____________________________

"I don't understand this, and I don't have to. I don't need answers, but Terri--I have nothing left. I have given God everything. I have done everything I can think to do. . . I. am. broken. Is this what God wants--for me to realize I am broken with nothing left to give so that he can fix me and make me whole" I ask my friend.

"I am going to tell you something." Terri whispers as she wipes a tear from her face with the back of her hand. "I know what it is to feel broken. I came to work a few weeks ago and I had hit my wall. And then I see an email from President Smith talking about some girl that was pregnant and on bed rest needing visitors and I thought why not--I need this. I need to get outside of my little world and serve. So I came--and Hillary, you saved me."

"No" I declare. "You've got it backwards Terri. You saved me."

"It looks like we saved each other." Terri says.
___________________________

When Terri walked out of my room that day we left without exchanging phone numbers, or emails, or anything. I don't even have a picture of her. Our lives crossed for this moment in time and the intersection was so precious and perfect that I think we wanted to leave it that way.

Whether in this life or the next Terri, thank you. And God be with you until we meet again.

Day 4: Midnight Musings

"Charity is not an emotion or an action. It is not something we feel or do. Charity is who the Savior is. It is His most defining and dominant attribute."
-Sheri Dew from If Life Were Easy, It Wouldn't Be Hard

That's why real charity, the kind we read about in the scriptures--'never faileth'.
Ours on the other hand, does.

Sister Dew also explained that charity is a bestowal, a gift from our Father to all true followers.

"Thus when we plead for the gift of charity, we aren't asking for lovely feelings toward someone who bugs us or someone who has injured or wounded. We are actually pleading for our very natures to be changed, for our character and disposition to become more and more like the Savior's, so that we literally feel as He would feel and thus do what He would do."

Since reading that last week I have daily plead (sometimes multiple times a day) with all of my might, mind, and strength (see Mormon 9:27; Moroni 10:32) to have this gift. Because I am weak--a super weak mortal. And I need it. I have hungered for it--wanted it.

And then last night before floating away into sweet slumber I read about a couple who is precariously posed to start down the journey we recently embarked on--waiting for their unborn child to die. . .
After the shock and numbness wore off thinking about the storm this family is about to endure, I quickly slid out of my warm sheets and hit the hard ground to plead a stranger's case with full purpose of heart before my Maker. And afterward I thought, is that charity? Or at the least, is that a byproduct of charity? Pleading and pulling for others the way we would for ourselves--advocating their cause? That is what the Savior does for every one of us, and we follow that example when we apply the Golden Rule in doing for others what we hope would be done to and for us. Is it, I wondered.
Maybe.
I don't know--we're dealing with the gospel of Hillary here--I have no clue.
But if it is, everyone of you has that gift. You have pulled, and pushed, and plead our case. My heart is so full just considering that. I don't deserve it--I don't feel worthy of it.
But thank you nonetheless. Thank you for your prayers (past and present). We have felt them and they have made all the difference.
What can I say?
I owe you.
(a lot.)

Day 3: Pezzunts

Sunday naps aren't long enough. just sayin'. conversation that just occurred with the slightly (Okay, super) cranky three year old:
Colt: Mommeeee, I wanna pezzunt
Me: A 'pezzunt'?
Colt: Okay.
Me: Why do you want a 'pezzunt'?
Colt: I wanna pezzunt, okay Mom. Go up-sairs, open pezzunt.
Me: Honey, I don't have a 'pezzunt' for you.
Colt: I wanna GO HOME! (His answer for everything. That, or 'I want thaus-udge' [sausage])
Me: You are home.
Colt: (crying)
Me: (chuckling) Do you need a hug?
Colt: Hey, don't laugh Coe-tun. Coe-tun need pezzunt. (walks off, comes back 10 minutes later and dives straight into it while crying) Hey! I wanna pezzunt. Mom, I wont a pezzunt. Coe-tun need a pezzunt.
Mom: (no response, maybe he'll forget about it)
Colt: (runs off to Dad) I wanna pezzunt Dad, okay.
Dad: (no response, thinking maybe he'll forget about it. men don't mess around)
Colt: Dad, I wanna pezzunt.
Dad: What are you saying? I don't understand you.
Colt: (runs back to me) I wanna pezzunt Mom. (Buzzer on dryer goes off)
Mom: The house is on fire Colt. RUN!
Colt: (pause) I wanna pezzunt. huh. someone is still in birthday mode. twenty minutes later. . .
Colt: Mom, I wanna duice (juice). I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: (eyeroll, this again?)
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: Colt, I want to understand. Why do you want a present?
Colt: (hopeful) A Pezzunt.
Mom: Why?
Colt: A pezzunt.
Mom: No, why?
Colt: A pezzunt. I wanna juice.
Mom: If I get you a juice, can that be your present?
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: (Crap)
(Dad walks in office)
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.
Mom: You want a present?
Dad: THAT is what he's been saying?
Mom: Yeah, what did you think he was asking for? (mumblings in the background from Colt about pezzunt going on)
Dad: I don't know. I thought he was saying p-e-n-s-a-k-e.
Mom: Seriously?
Colt: I wanna pezzunt.

I don't know why I shared this conversation. Maybe because Grandmas read this blog and I shouldn't just blab on about me. Or maybe because my run-ins with Colt secretly thrill me, and I can't get over that kid. He saved me. I am so grateful for that little guy. I think Blaine and I would have had a completely different experience losing Shiloh if we hadn't had Colt.

I've read about a part of the grieving process, and I don't know if this is just with individuals that lose babies, but they call it 'empty arms' and your arms literally feel empty. I had this really bad right after I lost Shiloh, and I still do once in a while. For me, I am super aware of my arms when it happens and they literally feel heavy--they ache like crazy. Sometimes, I'll sneak downstairs in the middle of the night, scoop Colton up and just hold him and rock him in the dark until I get too tired. He fills that void right up. I thank my Heavenly Father everyday for my two boys, and for sending them in the order He did.

They are the best 'pezzunts' I've ever had.

Day 2: All is Well, All is Well

Today is the 24th of July, the day members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints celebrate their pioneer heritage.

At age 19 I had the opportunity to take a month long tour across the United States to study the American Heritage, American Literature and Church History sites. It was AWESOME--one of our stops was the Winter Quarters Temple and Visitors Center.

This temple is unique because the grounds encompass a cemetery. The juxtaposition of the Lord's house where families are sealed for eternity and the cemetery where families are separated for time is inspiring.

I didn't appreciate this fully at 19.

And I didn't really 'get it' at 25 when I lived in Iowa and would come to this temple.

At 26. . .I get it.

My Dad told me that when he saw Blaine and I kneeling across from one another to bury Shiloh that he was overcome with an image of the pioneers crossing the plains, burying their babies in the ground.

[This] statue stands in the center of the cemetery. It signifies the couple pressing on through hard trials. The cemetery here in Winters Quarters is a children's cemetery. Many families suffered the loss of a child or children.
(http://www.mormonchic.com/gospel/ch_tour_winter_qtrs.asp)

Today, I am grateful for my pioneers. It is a happy day.
And all is well. . .

Day 1: The One I Almost Missed

Oh Colton, my dear Colton. Someday, I will tell you all about the little brother I tried so hard to bring home to you, and how you were my saving grace when I couldn't make good on that. But just for today, it is all about you my little man.

This year, I nearly missed my oldest boy turning three, and the thought of that was completely devastating to me; nonetheless, I was a momma on a mission bound and determined to spend the rest of my summer in the hospital. Alas, both of my boys decided they wanted to be June birthdays. (Kids always make you eat your words don't they!)

So even though I would have died (honestly) to be in a hospital bed, I am ironically incredibly grateful that I was present (and vertically oriented might I add, in my own home for that matter) for my big boy's important day.

Here's to you Colt. I love you.

Notice the birthday cake BEFORE. . .

and AFTER (hmm, suspicious)

Sampling Great Grandma Calaway's YUMMY chocolate cake

You can't see it here, but there's a HUGE grin plastered on his face.

Hard Working Boy

Showing Mom his tools--one second before trying to give me a low-grade nose job.

I Just Love Lemons

Yesterday I watched a Glenn Beck show where he challenged his viewers for the next forty days to regain the honor in their lives, to fill themselves with 'faith, hope, and charity'. I realized today that I had done that very thing while on bed rest with Shiloh. (A brownie for you Hill!) For forty days I had worked to develop an 'attitude of gratitude', to see the glass half-full, recommitting myself to living more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ.

And then my son died. . .

And I thought, do I cease rendering God thanks, do I slacken my efforts to live His law because things didn't go as I had hoped?

NO.

So, for the next forty days I am recommitting to making lemonade from life's lemons, to praising Him who 'gave, and [He who] hath taken away' (Job 1:21). What can it hurt?

And I am challenging you to do the same. That's right--YOU. Slap a Pollyanna "Glad Game" sticker on your hinny and join in. Get a piece of paper, heck-get a blog and start writing down what it is that you are thankful for the next forty days of your life. By August 31st you'll have a nice stack of entries detailing the Lord's hand in your life. Hmm, you might think about sharing those compositions with the people you love. I did. And apparently it helped some of them.

Just something to think about.

(P.S. Plus I promise to use more pictures this go around--just thinkin' of you Cassie and Craig--we know how you roll! haha)

See ya'll tomorrow!

Not Forever

Not Forever.

That is what I whispered as I dressed Shiloh for the last time, as I gave him just one more kiss, as we closed the lid on the only home his body will know, as we laid him to rest, and as I got in the car and drove away. . .

I've thought a lot about this, and I've decided to share the remarks I gave at Shiloh's burial with you. You are probably thinking, 'She spoke? Crazy woman!' True. True. But I had to--I know him better than anyone and there were some things that had to be shared. So I'm sending this out into the universe. I pray it helps someone reading this.

I was on bed rest with Shiloh from late April to early June. While I was in the hospital, I was almost too weak to make it to the bathroom five steps from my bed let alone shower by myself for five minutes so I would wait until the weekend when Blaine could come and help. One time, I returned from the shower and noticed that a floral arrangement my dear friend had brought me now had large white flowers blooming that I hadn't noticed there previous to my shower. I asked Blaine if they had been there before.

'Yeah, they were there' he said.

'No', I told him, 'I don't think so'.

Again he reaffirmed to me that they were there and I realized that I must be losing my mind so I didn't say anything further until one of my favorite nurses Chris asked if I was upset that she had added some of her homegrown peonies to my floral arrangement. She explained that peonies bloom for a short while and she thought I would enjoy them. I of course thanked her and we all had a good laugh, but it sparked my curiosity about this plant. I found it ironic when I learned that under ideal conditions, peonies bloom from late April through early June.

In seven weeks of existence my precious Shiloh influenced more people and did more good than many do in a lifetime because he changed one heart--mine. I thought that I was working with God to save my son, but I realize now that really my son was working with God to save me. I gave him the body he wanted, and he gave me the new heart I desperately needed. If that were all that came out of this experience it would have been worthwhile--but it isn't. Our family has been changed for the better. Many other families have been changed as well.

The day I delivered Shiloh, one of the three high risk physicians that handled my case spoke with me and he expressed how important he felt naming a child was and that he was fascinated with the name we had given our baby and its meaning. His father and grandfather had both been Seventh Day Adventist ministers so he of course recognized the biblical origin of the name Shiloh. I told him that Blaine and I felt strongly that our son exemplified the meaning of his name which in Hebrew is, "His Gift."

"While that fits" my doctor said, "That is not the meaning to which I was referring." See, in his bible the meaning of the word Shiloh is peace or tranquility and it derives its meaning from what in our scriptures would be referenced as Isaiah 52:7 which says,
"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!"

As Aunt Gaylene so eloquently said, 'Shiloh didn't have to utter a word to bear his testimony.'

I want to join with my son and testify to you that God reigns.

When I first realized that Shiloh was gone, my doctor was beside herself-she couldn't accept it, and my nurse was literally wringing her hands exclaiming, "There can't be a God--what kind of a God would allow something like this to happen to someone like you."

And I remember that I wasn't crying. I just held my nurse in my arms as she sobbed and told her, 'It is okay. God didn't take Shiloh. It will be all right."

How is it that I could say that at that moment?

Because it is true. I know that it is true. God is so good. He is so kind.

In Isaiah 55:8 the Lord says," For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways..."

C.S. Lewis once gave the following analogy:

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first , perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently, He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is he up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of- throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace."

I would borrow from Truman G. Madsen and add that he is making us living temples--and it is in the temple that we come to truly understand where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going.

Elder Russell M. Nelson once said, "We were born to die and we die to live. As seedlings of God, we barely blossom on earth; we fully flower in heaven."

Shiloh has fulfilled his mission on this earth, and he has gone on to greater things as has the man in whose arms he will figuratively rest until he is again in mine.

Last Friday, I was reading from the Book of Mormon, First Nephi where Lehi is recounting to his two oldest sons his vision of the tree of life. In verses 10-15 of Chapter 8 it reads:

"And it came to pass that I beheld a tree, whose fruit was desirable to make one happy. And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the fruit thereof; and I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. Yea, and I beheld that the fruit thereof was white, to exceed all the whiteness that I had ever seen. And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy; wherefore, I began to be desirous that my family should partake of it also; for I knew that it was desirable above all other fruit. And as I cast my eyes round about, that perhaps I might discover my family also, I beheld a river of water; and it ran along, and it was near the tree of which I was partaking the fruit. And I looked to behold from whence it came; and I saw the head thereof a little way off; and at the head thereof I beheld your mother Sariah, and Sam, and Nephi; and they stood as if they knew not wither they should go. And it came to pass that I beckoned unto them; and I also did say unto them with a loud voice that they should come unto me, and partake of the fruit, which was desirable above all other fruit."

In chapter 15, verse 27 Nephi addresses his older brothers when they question him concerning their father's vision. "And I said unto them that the water which my father saw was filthiness; and so much was his mind swallowed up in other things that he beheld not the filthiness of the water."

I wondered, 'what other things were consuming Lehi's attention?' If you trace the footnotes back you learn that this filthy water is from the river that Lehi's wife and children are standing by in his vision. The patriarch of this family, who has gone on to taste of the sweet, redeeming love of the Lord is beckoning to his wife and sons with a loud voice to join him and experience for themselves true joy. Lehi's attention is so riveted on his family members, to the point that he doesn't notice the filthiness of this river that stands betwixt them--yet, in the end, that filthiness will bar his posterity from enjoying the fruit he longs to see them partake of. Is it so different for us? The patriarch of our family isn't focused on the filthiness that surrounds us--his attention is riveted on his wife and his sons, and he is beckoning to us with a loud voice to join him.

Will we?

My favorite scripture comes from the Joseph Smith Translation of John 13:8-10. The setting is at the last supper when the Savior is washing the feet of his disciples.

"Peter saith unto him, Thou needest not to wash my feet. Jesus answered him, If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me. Simon Peter saith unto him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head."

May we allow ourselves to be washed clean by He alone whose right and joy it is. Might we never allow those who have gone ahead to truly be dead to us--may we recognize and accept their invitation and cheerfully do all things that lie within our power, that we may find no empty chairs at our family's table is my prayer and I say this in the name of our beloved Savior, even Jesus Christ. Amen.

Finding My Footing

We left our oldest son at our house for a few hours last night in pursuit of our youngest son at our Heavenly Father's house. The doctrine of Forever Families is beautiful, and it is real.

(Shiloh's burial outfit, sewn by his Great Aunt Gaylene Teshima)


Blaine and I watched a beautiful family bless their newest addition on Father's Day. . .I saw a father bursting with pride pick up his child dressed in white and give her a name and a blessing. And I felt robbed. Tears rolled down my husband's face and my own. An hour later I sat watching the grandmother of this baby hold her with such tender care. A grandmother who in her own life had lost as we had. . .twice.
I stopped feeling robbed--and started feeling blessed. She speaks the language of loss, whose vernacular I am becoming acquainted with. And the thought came that maybe I could be for someone else what this woman has been for me. I am so grateful for her.
Do you think it happenstance that her path crossed mine at this point in the journey?
Do you think it chance that I crossed yours?

I don't.

We are His Hands.
(click here)

Lacing My Boots

Sorry I disappeared. To the observer, I've been busy--but I feel numb inside. Like someone rubbed Novocaine on my brain. It's different than I thought it would be. Grief, that is.

It doesn't have definitive boundaries--no starts and stops. It just stretches on and on. Not that you are sad all the time--heavens no. I'm not Eeyore with a perpetual thunderstorm over my head (sorry, the nearly 3 year old is way into his Pooh and Friends puzzles, must have been on my mind. What a whiz kid. 25 piece puzzles are child's play for this boy. sorry, tangent.)

No, grief is different. No two experiences are the exact same. And no one can tell you how to grieve because each of us experience and interpret things differently. Anger, sadness, disappointment, frustration, annoyance--they tell you it is normal to experience these things. But the fact is there isn't anything normal about this. The crying I expected--every morning, every night, sometimes in between for the heck of it. And even the aching emptiness--longing for a baby to hold, breaking anew when I walk past the baby section of a store, or hear a baby cry. But the nightmares, the questioning, the flashbacks--like salt in a wound that refuses to heal. This may sound awful but sometimes I just wish it could all go away. (Que the Toys-R-Us theme please and pour me a bowl of Trix. ugh.) At other moments it feels surreal. Did I really go through this? Does my life history now include the death of a child. . .a son. . .a beautiful son?

Yes. This is your life. This is a part of you now. Face it--you're down in the valley. Put your boots on and start climbing the mountain. Besides, the view from the top will be spectacular as it always is. Then you'll go through another valley, and there will be another mountain to climb--on and on. It might feel like Everest, but it isn't. Odds are, this is conditioning for a future climb. That is life. And it is a great life.

As my neighbor back home said, 'God, don't remove the mountain--just give me the strength to climb it.'

Thank you God for the climb.

Excuse me while I go lace my boots up.

For a Friend

Shiloh brought us many miracles. One of them is the acquaintance of a family named the Knickerbockers.

Amanda and Peter Knickerbocker welcomed their darling daughter into this world at the ripe ole' age of 24 weeks. Like us, they live a distance from the NICU where their little princess has been fighting for her life for months now. This week marks the original due date and they are enduring yet another set back that delays bringing precious Charlotte home. This little girl has beat all of the odds--can we help them over this latest speed bump?

As much as we need your prayers, they need them more. I know you won't let me down.
Thanks.

If you would like to learn more about this amazing family click here.
Then go count your many blessings.

At Least...

Sigh.

I don't fully understand why things have gone the way they have, but I respect my Heavenly Father's will and recognize that He has dealt very kindly with us.

It's like Blaine said yesterday, if everyone's problems were tossed in a pile, we would gladly dive in and retrieve our own. Our little world has been shattered and our hearts are broken, but in the grand scheme of things this isn't the worst thing that could happen and there are so many others out there suffering more. It doesn't feel that way but we know that it is true.

At least we have one another. At least we have our oldest son here with us. At least we have all of you to help us. At least we have the gospel and the knowledge that families can be forever to sustain us. At least we have the hope that we can have more children. At least our Shiloh didn't have to suffer. At least...

We are so blessed. We are so fortunate. Life is still so very good.
I have my husband Blaine and our two beautiful boys. Three miracles.
I am the luckiest girl in the world.

To My Contracting Uterus

June 11, 2010

To My Contracting Uterus,

I would like to lodge a formal complaint concerning your performance as of 10 o'clock yesterday morning. While commendable that you managed to complete in one hour what took you two weeks on your initial assignment, your failure to notify me concerning your intentions is unacceptable and reflects poorly on your otherwise clean record.
It was rather disconcerting for my husband to discover me writhing and screaming on our bathroom floor while our oldest son shrieked with delight and joined in Mommy's new game of pounding the ground with her fist. Seriously, the man has been through enough this week. Several other parties have expressed their disapproval including but not limited to my darling doctor, my friend Carol, and my father-in-law, all of which were subjected to my agonizing screams while talking to aforementioned husband on the phone.
I recognize that you have had a somewhat difficult work week, but hope that in the future we can work together and follow protocol in any and all procedures relative to your line of work. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to our future interaction.

Sincerely,
Your disgruntled owner
____________________________

Apparently I missed the memo that post-delivery uterine contractions worsen with every pregnancy. You have all failed me. Consider yourself warned.

(Go ahead and laugh. I did. A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down. Have a great day. We love you!)

Someday

I. Do. Not. Want. To. Blog. Today.

But we don't always get what we want, do we. And I realized today that this is why I am here. I thought the last six weeks were the trial. No, unfortunately they were not. They were preparation. THIS is the trial. And while part of me wants to curl up in a corner and die, I know I am supposed to share at least parts of this journey we are taking down a road that has no maps. Maybe there is someone out there who will read this, and it will make their journey easier. Maybe it will just help me. I don't know.

Can I add a small disclaimer? I can't guarantee that this ride will be altogether pleasant. It might be like a roller-coaster ride. Ups, downs, loop-DE-loops, shooting bursts of speed, and slow climbs. Please respect that--please withhold criticism on how we choose to ride. We are feeling a little bit beat up, and even though I have agreed with God to do what he asks, I haven't agreed to share all of my life with you. Just this. Please be kind and considerate. Recognize that if we meet someday or talk on the phone, my husband and I don't have an obligation to discuss anything or answer questions we don't want to. I'm just trying to do what I am supposed to, praying it will help someone. anyone.

Yesterday morning I woke up and realized that the nightmare I had was the reality I am living. I descended into my own personal hell and let it swallow me. Eventually I emerged, grabbed my scriptures and finished reading in Moroni about how the Nephite men were fed there wives and children. Umm, ok--that wasn't quite what I was looking for. Not helpful. Round two...

I end up reading a talk by Richard C. Edgley entitled 'For Thy Good' and the following hit me like a ton of bricks.

"There are few of us, if any, who don’t walk the refiner’s fire of adversity and despair, sometimes known to others but for many quietly hidden and privately endured. Most of the heartache, pain, and suffering we would not choose today. But we did choose. We chose when we could see the complete plan. We chose when we had a clear vision of the Savior’s rescue of us. And if our faith and understanding were as clear today as it was when we first made that choice, I believe we would choose again.

Therefore, perhaps the challenge is to have the kind of faith during the hard times that we exercised when we first chose. The kind of faith that turns questioning and even anger into acknowledging the power, blessings, and hope that can come only from Him who is the source of all power, blessings, and hope. The kind of faith that brings the knowledge and assurances that all that we experience is part of the gospel plan and that for the righteous, all that appears wrong will eventually be made right. The peace and understanding to endure with dignity and clarity of purpose can be the sweet reward. This kind of faith can help us to see the good, even when life’s path seems to be layered only with thorns, thistles, and craggy rocks.

When Jesus and His disciples passed a man who was blind since his birth, His disciples queried, “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?

“Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him” (John 9:2–3).

I do not believe our Father in Heaven causes the tragedies and heartbreak in our lives. But as the “works of God” were made manifest in the healing of a blind man, so also the way we face our personal trials may manifest the “works of God.”

I found his wording of the refiner's fire interesting. Because that is what this feels like. It feels like we have been lowered into a raging fire, flames licking our skin and charring us entirely. And even though we know that this fire will eventually burn out, all we can focus on are the flames. And the pain.

But as he said, all of us are burning. All of us are in pain at some point or another. The loneliest hours of our lives are universally experienced by every human soul--part of the bargain. And I realized in that moment that this fire is not meant to consume. As Hymn 85, How Firm a Foundation states:

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design …
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine. …

Someday this raging fire will diminish and become a glowing ember. Someday it won't hurt so bad. Someday it will all be over and we will all be together again. Someday.

I am grateful for that.

Day 39: Attitude of Gratitude

This will be my final attitude of gratitude entry.

Our precious Shiloh went home to his Heavenly Father yesterday. Yes, we had a baby boy. A beautiful, healthy boy. 2.9 lbs. 13.75 inches long. One hour he was with us, the next he was not. There is not an explanation.
There is no blame to assign--no judgments to be made. No answers.
'the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.'
-Job 1:22

I don't know why this happened. What I do know is that Shiloh has changed more lives and done more good in his short existence than many of us do in a lifetime. And I am grateful for that. I'm grateful for the lessons I have learned, grateful for each of you, grateful for the six weeks God gave me. Our hearts our broken, but we know that this is not the end--this is just the beginning. We are not the first to walk this lonely road, and unfortunately we are not the last.

So we will take it a day at a time. We have been practicing for six weeks. There are some inevitable dark days ahead, but that doesn't diminish the light of this precious soul we were privileged to know. I feel like the excerpts from the following talk capture our feelings perfectly.

"How fragile life, how certain death. We do not know when we will be required to leave this mortal existence. And so I ask, “What are we doing with today?” If we live only for tomorrow, we’ll have a lot of empty yesterdays today. Have we been guilty of declaring, “I’ve been thinking about making some course corrections in my life. I plan to take the first step—tomorrow”? With such thinking, tomorrow is forever. Such tomorrows rarely come unless we do something about them today.

My brothers and sisters, may we resolve from this day forward to fill our hearts with love. May we go the extra mile to include in our lives any who are lonely or downhearted or who are suffering in any way. May we “[cheer] up the sad and [make] someone feel glad.” 11 May we live so that when that final summons is heard, we may have no serious regrets, no unfinished business, but will be able to say with the Apostle Paul, “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”

We love you. We thank you and appreciate your continued prayers, support and love as we try to go forward with our lives. Lives hopefully that will be lived in a manner that will make us fit for the privilege of our children's presence in the world to come.

This story is not a tragedy. Our happily ever after will come. We just have to get through the intermission.

Day 38: Attitude of Gratitude

HI and welcome to another round of HIGH RISK PREGNANCY FEAR FACTOR!

Our contestant today is a stay-at-home mother from Central Wisconsin currently living in Room 241 of a hospital 1.5 hours from home. [cue audience sigh] She enjoys showering, milkshakes, and the occasional visit from family. Give a warm welcome to Hillary....

[contestant wheeled onto stage. gosh, they get lazier by the day.]

Today's challenge is straight forward. Hillary's broken placenta [cue boos and hisses] will take her as close to labor as humanly possible in an attempt to make her scream 'uncle' and abandon all hope. Should she do so, she will be wheeled to labor and delivery where she will undergo subsequent testing and possible delivery. If she survives, her reward is a pepperoni pizza and an hour long nap.

We remind our readers that these challenges are conducted under the highest supervision and should NOT be attempted at home.

Let's get to it!
Hillary, are you ready?

HUH?

And it looks like her placenta is coming on strong. Yes, there is increased bleeding.
How is it Hillary?

UMM, GROSS.

Ah yes, and the contractions have begun as well. Are you noticing any changes Hillary?

Have YOU ever been pregnant you DORK?
Yes, I notice.

Wow, watch out! We've got a feisty one here today. All right, now finally notice doubt and despair attempting to penetrate Hillary's mind. Hillary, what are you thinking?

I'm thinking that if I give up I'd be denying 6 weeks of miracles that evidence otherwise.
I'm not doing it!

Well folks, there we have it. She is not giving up.
And look, the contractions have slowed and bleeding is down to a minimum. Doubt and despair have all but evaporated.

It looks like this mother of two is going to get that pizza and nap after all.

Well, that's all we have for today. Join us next time for another adrenaline packed, thrill-filled adventure on HIGH RISK PREGNANCY FEAR FACTOR.
__________________________

Sometimes God calms the storm. Sometimes, He lets the storm rage and calms us.

Thank you for your prayers. I needed them today.
Thankfully, all is well. All is well...

Day 37: Attitude of Gratitude

I am not a patient person. I've been known to tell the microwave to hurry up when I'm heating pre-cooked bacon. Yes. It is that bad. I blame my Grandma Beth. I inherited a genetic disorder from her called hyper-butt syndrome (Mom says it skips a generation), and it makes it impossible to not go 100 miles per hour regardless of the task.

Coincidence that I may end up being on bed rest for over 12 weeks?
I think not.

And the ironic part is it is self-induced! I choose to subject myself to this day-after-day. My nurses tell me that a lot of women refuse to do what I am doing--they can't get past the inconvenience it creates, and shift their focus from a me-centered universe. They put their own agendas, desires, what have you before others. Essentially, it is selfishness: that inability to delay gratification, or apply focus and dedicated effort to a worthwhile cause.
I was a very selfish person. This is helping me to be less so.
I am very grateful for that.
A life lived for yourself is not one worth living.
Trust me.

'Patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of fears. Patience means active waiting and enduring...It is not simply enduring; it is enduring well.'
-President Dieter F. Uchtdorf

I don't want to sit (sorry, lay) here and strip my gears waiting and wondering why oh why has this befallen me. No, that would be dumb.
I want to endure well. It's a trademark quality of all the great men and women I look up to.
I've been false-starting the race of my life for years and running faster than I have strength trying to keep up with others while all I really needed to do was lace up my shoes, step on the track and give it my best.

Thank heavens the Head Coach pulled me aside for a few minutes to explain all of this.

Day 36: Attitude of Gratitude

Hi everyone. Sorry I am late posting today. My family came to visit and I couldn't stand to take one second away from them to blog.

We are at 28 weeks. If you have been reading our blog you know what this means.
It's incredible. A miracle.
Our hearts are full and we are grateful for each one of you and for the mercy our Heavenly Father has shown us. We are so blessed.

Enough said.

Day 35: Attitude of Gratitude

With a condition like mine, emergency delivery is a real possibility and there are procedures in place should that need arise. I'm not planning on using them, but they are there.
Super.
As a precautionary measure, the hospital has what I lovingly term 'rip cords' strategically placed wherever I might be; in the bathroom, in the shower, above my headboard.
When pulled, they signal to the nurses station that there is an emergency, and immediately someone is sent to investigate. Now granted, my room is right outside the nurses station, so I could just as easily yelp, 'HELP!' should something go amiss, but nice to know I'm covered either way.

I was thinking about other figurative 'rip cords' I have in my life that signal for help when I am in an emergency.
The one I have in mind is priesthood blessings.

(I recognize that there may be some reading this who aren't familiar with my beliefs. If that is the case, there is a wonderful website you can go to if you would like to learn more: lds.org
feel free to check it out!)

Anyway, I was thinking about how literally one minute after I was told that our baby was most likely not going to survive, Blaine was there and I was able to ask for a blessing of comfort.
How different would my experience have been if I hadn't had access to that amazing resource? Would I have gone home and just continued to live my life as the doctor had recommended versus going on bed rest as I felt prompted to do?
I don't know.
But what I do know is that I am so grateful to be married to a man who lives his life in such a way that he can offer that to our family in times of need. I am grateful that in my youth I made the decision to date worthy young men, and made it a goal to be wed to a returned missionary in the Lord's holy temple.
All of those course corrections and determinations we make along the way come back to bless or burden our lives. Thank heavens I got that one right--I married my best friend. I am so grateful for him. Grateful for who he is, what he brings to my life, and that he has made me a mother. I look forward to being together again someday...I love you Blaine.

Day 34: Attitude of Gratitude

Ever talked to someone on the phone who won't let you get a word in edgewise? And they are going on and on about the same things you have heard a thousand times before and you could literally put the phone down, walk away for five minutes only to come back and reassure with some 'mmhmms' and 'oh reallys'? The ones you roll your eyes at when you see the caller ID. . .
Yea, them.

That was me when it came to my prayers.

'dear heavenly father,
thank thee for this, thank thee for that
please give me this, i am a total brat!
amen'

I say that was me.
Curious how sincere and genuine my expressions to Heavenly Father became when I recognized my dependence upon Him. Sad that I haven't always recognized how desperately I need Him.
Prayer should be an opportunity to commune with God, not commentate on ourselves.
Commune means to communicate intimately. Intimate interaction would require a certain level of familiarity to my way of thinking, and I think that is impossible to achieve if you don't really know who it is you are communicating with.
And it is funny, I used to concentrate so much on the verbage and structure of my prayers. Now, I've seen that when I honestly try to communicate that that stuff comes naturally out of respect to Him whom I am addressing.
I'm not even hitting the tip of the iceberg yet, but understanding this much has made my prayers a much more meaningful experience. There isn't a rush, and it isn't one more spiritual chore to check off the list.
I want to pray.

I never have to be alone in my hospital room. There's always someone to talk with.
I am grateful for that.

Day 33: Attitude of Gratitude

Like Father, Like Son
an ah-hah moment from 2:30 a.m. last night

The Savior said, 'The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.'
John 5:19

One of the last recorded acts of the Savior's life occurred while on the cross when He petitioned the Father on His enemy's behalf,
'Father forgive them; for they know not what they do.'
Luke 23:34

If both of these statements are true, then the Savior learned to forgive from His Father's example. John's account elaborates on this point:
'For the Father loveth the Son, and sheweth him all things that himself doeth'
John 5:20

So who/what is God's enemy and how does He forgive?
In the scriptures we read that,
'the natural man is an enemy to God'
Mosiah 3:19

What then is 'natural man'?
Alma tells his son Corianton in 41:11 that natural man is
'in a carnal state...in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity...without God, contrary to the nature of God [and to] the nature of happiness.'
Part of us, all of us--that portion that is fallen, full of sin and weakness stands in direct and total opposition to who our Heavenly Father is. That is why we cannot abide His presence in our 'natural' state. Why as Alma said:
'...we shall not dare to look up to our God; and we would fain be glad if we could command the rocks and the mountains to fall upon us and to hide us from his presence.'
Alma 12:14

OUCH!

Yet, our heavenly Father loves us, and delights in giving us, His children good gifts. The most important of which was the life of His ONLY begotten Son, who was offered up as ransom for our fallen and sinful state, that the demands of justice might be appeased, making Him both a just and merciful God. He provided us an advocate--a lawyer to defend us, a witness to testify on our behalf.
Any fool knows that nothing in this life is free--so what are the attorney's fees in this, the trial of our life. From His own words, the risen Lord commands,
'repent...confess your sins. Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me.'
D&C 19:20,23

So simple, yet so hard for us mortals. I have hung onto what as my brother-in-law has aptly called my 'favorite sins' for a long time. Those things that are readily justified or too difficult in my mind to forsake--all of us carry them around like a monkey on our back.
I have plead with God to remove them from me at times. I see this experience I am going through currently providing the perfect climate for these changes I have longed for, but been too weak to make happen.
He knows me so well.
I cannot fathom a love so great that you would sacrifice your only child for it. I can't understand it fully, but I can appreciate it.

Just one more thing to be grateful for...

Day 32: Attitude of Gratitude

I was reading from Ether this morning. The account of the Jaredite's barges being driven by winds to the promised land.

The Jaredites are told to build water-tight vessels to cross the water with, and enter into them, "commending themselves unto the Lord their God." (Ether 6:4)

The verses following struck me.

Paraphrasing:
"...the Lord God caused that there should be a furious wind blow...towards the promised land.
when they were encompassed about by many waters they did cry unto the Lord, and he did bring them forth again...the wind did never cease to blow towards the promised land...and they did sing praises unto the Lord...did thank and praise the Lord all the day long...and the night...because of the multitude of his tender mercies."

So here are these families who have left everything they are familiar with behind them. For 344 days they are tossed to and fro, buried in the depths of the sea and driven forth by the wind--and they rejoice in it!

They found joy in the journey. They recognized the mercies of the Lord during the trial.
They saw the Lord's hand during their suffering, not just after.

It is easy to get upset when the Lord sends wind our way. But without wind, our boat never moves--we don't reach our promised land. We have to have the wind. And in recognizing the purpose behind the wind, and He who provides it-we find joy and peace in the journey.

I love this verse from the hymn Be Still My Soul:

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide the future, as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

I'm grateful for the wind in my life...