It is 10:37 PM. I have two little girls sleeping in the room across the hall, neither of which feels well. My husband is filling up his tank at a nearby gas station and heading to Centennial Women's Center, the temporary home of our youngest. I am sitting on my bed, knot in my stomach, mouth dry, waiting on a call from nurse Laura to hear what the next steps are for Josie and how big of a step back we have taken. Honestly if I was a drinker I would be on my third glass of wine. A smoker, on my fourth cigarette. A stress eater, through at least a pint of Ben and Jerry's. But instead, in some weird way my addiction of choice is writing. And so I write.
Often, more often lately, I hear from people who love me, mostly women. They tell me how strong I am and what an inspiration my faith is. I wonder if they are really listening, reading, watching me. Because friends, I am a mess. I am a complete and utter weak mess of a mama. I haven't taken a full breath in five weeks. The only reason I eat is because I force myself so that Josie Hope has food. I cannot sleep. My stomach is sick. I can barely talk on the phone too anyone close too me. Every time my daddy calls I fall apart. I haven't spoken to my brother but once in a month so as to avoid the same response. And on Friday I drove from the hospital to Doc's office and I sat in his lobby a cried for 20 minutes. Poor Doc. The strength that I do have I use to get up, to pump, and to take care of my girls at home. Honestly, I didn't even realize that you could be as tired as I am and still walk, much less function as a mother and a wife (sorta).
And so tonight, as my husband left he prayed for our sweet girl and headed to see her. I checked on the two running fevers asleep in their room and then I hit my knees. I was all tapped out. There was nothing to say. He already knows what I want and what I need. So instead I just cried with my head on the carpet until I felt enough relief in the pit of my stomach to get up again.
There are no words for what is happening in my home, in my heart. There are no words for the loss of our sweet boy. There are no words for what is happening in the hearts of those affected by the tragedy in CT. There are no words for Hunter's mama and daddy. There are no words for what the parents of Harrison Hudson have gone through. There are no words for parents who bury children or families who lose loved ones to violence. There is only Jesus. The only hope that any of us have who are fighting or who have lost their fight is in Him. A beautiful, matchless Saviour who lives in a kingdom where there is no death or pain or fear or sickness. A kingdom that is filled with the children that we miss. A kingdom that I will one day call home as I hold my precious little boy whom I am certain has his daddy's dimples.
So tonight as I sit and write and wait for news about my sweet, tiny, beautiful miracle I will cry out to Him. I will beg Him for peace in my heart and for breath in the sweet little girls lungs. And I know, without a doubt, that He hears me. He may not answer just the way I would like Him too or as quickly as I would like. But He is listening. He loves me. He loves her. He made Josie Hope and she is here only by His hand and for that I will praise Him. Even though I am weak and a mess, I will find strength in Him when I need it knowing I can do ALL THINGS through Him who gives me strength. He is my strength and my inspiration. Without Him I am nothing.
Thank you for praying. We are humbled by your love.