Joshua's Birth Story
Sarah had the great honor of attending this beautiful birth and when Lindsay wrote asking to share her birth story, the answer was a resounding YES!!! There’s simply nothing more miraculous than witnessing a baby being born. And this goes for ANY method of delivery, vaginal or cesarean, in ANY environment. If you have a birth story to share, we want to help you inspire others through your message. Send us the details: sarah@bloomphysicaltherapyandwellness.com We can’t wait to hear from you! Now, enjoy this amazing story full of grace and hope. It is a beautiful, centering reminder for us, that even in times of uncertainty, babies are born and life continues. Thank you, Lindsay!
This is more than a birth story. It is a journey that began long before, and will continue long after May 8 2019, the day I gave birth to Joshua Edmond Duryea.
We made the decision to have another baby shortly after Layla turned one. We began the planning, and all that comes with it—fertility tracking and the things entailed with growing a family. What we didn’t plan on was the significance of his conception, his arrival and his life.
This story begins during a time of deep confusion and tremendous loss.
My brother, Joshua Dollar, passed away in August of 2018. He was just 31 years old. His body was found in his apartment in Washington D.C. the early morning hours of August 21, 2018.
I was home from work with my daughter Layla the day his body was found. I received the call from my mother.
I cannot attempt to convey the utter shock and devastation I experienced in that moment. In an instant my world was muted; dark. I’ve known pain before, but this unsurmountable. In a single breath the whole world, as far as I could see, had shattered… and my heart with it.
My brother. My baby brother. He that held so much promise. So lovable. My brother who touched lives, left lasting impressions and always had a way of lifting any face into a smile.
How? HOW, God?! How could this be happening so soon after losing my father? Two of the most amazing and influential men in my life, now reduced to a memory.
The last time I spoke with my brother was about a week prior. I sent him a quote from a recent reading of Max Lucado: “You were loved in heaven before you were known on earth. God has no bad ideas” His response: “love you, Linds”
My brother was broken. He wrestled with darkness. He fought multitudes of battles. But, he was real. He didn’t pretend to hide from it, or impress a facade. And now my future projected only bleakness without him.
There are so many questions and unknowns surrounding my bother’s death. Likely many questions that may never be answered. Time has continued, but healing is unfinished—an occurrence that I’m learning is lifelong.
The day and time of his death was never specifically determined. The devastation left in his wake, however, is absolute and ongoing.
Joshua Dollar’s memorial service was held on August 31, 2018.
I took a pregnancy test the day before this, on August 30th. It was positive.
We were not able to determine the hour of my brother’s death, but I do know that our baby was conceived on August 10, 2018.
Though the exact timeline relationship of Joshua Dollar’s death and our baby’s conception is uncertain, the proof God works is. He works outside the confines of time, and that is the only certainty my heart needed then, and needs now. He took my brother to his heavenly home, and simultaneously gave me a child.
When I look back, I realize how God was at work. He is at work. I’ve learned despite our ever-changing seasons of life, he is all and everything BUT changing. He is constant. My heart has grown in my loss, and it has softened in my joy and blessings. Life. Beautiful, overwhelming, painful and dazzling life. I’ve stumbled through it— the murk and thickness of my hurts. But, I’ve also leapt from cloud to happy cloud with songs of thanksgiving on my breath. No matter, there will always be a season where I will need catching and rescuing, followed by a season of rest and receiving. It is the song of my life. It is the song of so many others, since time began. It will be the song of life for the remainder of our time here on earth. But, oh, how marvelous to see how we grow in the process, recognizing these moments are being used to shape us. God is at work—from the first light of our world’s day, in the darkest moments of our nights, and into the new morning.
“Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning” Psalms 30:5
Pregnancy
Although I was thrilled by the revelation of being pregnant, my heart was shattered by my recent loss. I didn’t know how to be. I wasn’t entirely sure how to receive it. I was similarly at a complete loss of how to share it— with anyone aside from my husband, my mother and my sister.
So, I didn’t. For almost 16 weeks.
It was an agonizing first trimester. I couldn’t feel joy without feeling ashamed at being happy. I became angry at my grief, because it was sabotaging my joy! During that time I had to learn how to manage not only my roller-coaster emotions, but raging hormones, and serious first trimester sacral and hip pain! I returned to work full-time (as a physical therapist), and was exhausted. On two different occasions I remember leaving work borrowing one of our clinic’s crutches because of immense hip pain.
I was desperate for something to give. I finally made the decision to share my news with my mother and father-in-law, and soon after other friends and extended family. I honestly remembering feeling scared of everyone’s reaction. I was afraid our news would minimize the remembrance of my brother, or that the weight of my brother’s loss would trump the anticipation of this new life.
But, sharing was releasing, and it was renewing.
Still, the days were long. The heartache was strong; palpable. The growing life in me, too, was strong. I rocked back and forth, between the urge to succumb to my grief and the rejoicing I owed my unborn child.
I was haunted by memories of my childhood and happiness I found there, haunted by the revelation of the depression my brother, Joshua, battled as he fought countless life battles, and sorrowed at the moments we could have shared robbed by his untimely death.
I reveled in my growing belly and what it represented, delighted at every flutter and kick. I dreamt with excitement of the future and the life we would give him or her.
And, so began the rhythm of my pregnancy; the rhythm of this new song. Today, I marvel at how depicting that journey was to my own life: happiness, contentment, tragedy, sorrow. And each time I look back, I see God at work.
I knew I would have this baby at home even before I knew I was pregnant. I did extensive research, thankful for graduate school that taught my how to research and dissect quality evidence. Finding out the news of my pregnancy following my brother’s death only strengthened my decision to have a home birth. Something about the experience of loss and death has convinced me to trust the organic, natural process of life. I wanted this experience at home, where I felt safe and my surroundings were familiar and born of love.
[Of course, there was much more involved in my decision to birth at home, more than just a “gut instinct” or “right of passage”—all of which I’d be more than happy to share to whomever would ask. However, that is not the purpose of this story. ]
Chris and I chose a lovely midwife, Marilee, and her assistant, Krista. We began my prenatal care. I looked forward to each visit, elated at the progression to each new pregnancy phase. Marilee visited us in our home at each visit. We became familiar with one another and I was delighted at the ease and compatibility of the relationship. She quickly became acquainted with our house and our family’s culture, falling seamlessly into place and became much more than just a healthcare provider. She was able to meet our sweet toddler (whom whole-heartedly participated in each visit), my mother, Chris’s mother, my sister and her kids, and our pups. Any and all were welcome at our festive prenatal visits. We had tea together, dinner together, breakfast together, talked about everything possible baby and pregnancy related, talked about life, talked about baby-day dreams and what I envisioned my delivery to be like and include. Marilee promised to make my desires (as long as they were safe and within reason) a reality. Each visit was no less than an hour. Marilee became part of our family. She was skillful and knowledgeable. She conservatively approached each phase of my pregnancy journey with confidence, and empowered me to do the same. Her guidance through the pregnancy process confirmed my home-birth decision, and I became more and more excited as my due date approached. And, it was quickly approaching.
Chris and I made the decision to not find out the gender, another instinct to “trust the process” and let it all naturally unfold. Yet, I strongly suspected the baby was a boy. And, to my surprise, so did many others.
Around 22 weeks, I made the incredibly difficult decision to wean Layla from nursing. She was 23 months. I don’t know if it was the grief or the hormones, but I found myself being more and more irritable with each nursing session. I knew it was time. Layla and I had shared a magical breastfeeding journey up until then, and I wanted to remember it that way. We did our best to gently and quickly wean, but it was an intense pe- riod for all of us. And, a much more radical adjustment than I anticipated. Breastfeeding consumed many hours of our days together. We were like a package when she was in utero, and breastfeeding was an extension of that. It was an emotional change, but still a very necessary one. We survived it, but not without the dedicated help of my husband, his constant encouragement to trust my intuition….and many, many prayers.
Fall faded into winter and into the second trimester. Christmas came and went. January followed, and Layla turned 2! My niece, Amelie (Joshua’s daughter), also celebrated a birthday and turned 4 on January 15th. Two days later we received the crippling news that she was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL).
How could this be? We were still stumbling, barely back on our feet. This precious child—who just lost her daddy, who is so young, who is so innocent—was now forced to fight for her life. After so much recent loss, shouldn’t we—certainly this small child—be immune to further blows?
I didn’t know how much more my heart could take. I spent hours on my knees asking God to spare my brother’s only child. My prayers seemed to be answered with Amelie being introduced to complication after complication, her life literally hanging in the balance. Each moment that she survived was a relief.
I plunged quickly back into an abyss of sorrow, anxiety and severe confusion. My God, WHAT were we to learn from this?! I was affected so incredibly deep by her illness and her battle. I felt so hopeless. I knew in my heart I would barely survive if we were to lose her too. I felt each nightmare Katya endured as if this child were my OWN. [I will never try to compare the emotional trauma to that of which my sister-in-law experienced through this. I admire her as one of the strongest and most graceful humans I’ve ever met.]
This hurt debilitated me to the core! This little girl was so precious to me, for she was the very likeness of my brother, down to her smallest mannerisms. Looking at her face, was looking at Josh. Hearing her talk and giggle, seeing her delight in the people and world around her was experiencing every remnant of my brother. Her life was a blessing to me when Josh was alive, so her very being was nothing short of a lifeline to me after he passed.
Amelie has survived battle after battle— physically, mentally and I imagine spiritually—at an inconceivably young age of 4. She has endured what no human should ever have to endure, and she has done so as an innocent child. Her story will be a light for so many, and certainly for me. [Amelie continues to be treated for ALL, but has grown in strength and beauty and is on the road to a complete recovery, each day lending to a healthier version of this amazing child]
Spring came, and the third trimester with it. Yet, where was the joy that was promised, and why couldn’t I feel it? Once again, I felt consumed with my grief. I found myself trying to be distracted with birth preparations. It wasn’t until recently I realized how God used these distractions to protect my state of my mind, and my sanity.
It took longer than it should have, as these circumstances tend to warrant, but eventually I gave what was so utterly and terribly outside of my control over to God. I painfully began to recognize how His hands are far more capable than mine.
A friend shared a book—one that was not pregnancy related—that had the most relevant and necessary impact on me:
“I wouldn’t have written my story this way. I would have avoided anything that looks like dust… And what a tragedy that would be. My controlling things would prevent the dust required for God to make the new He desperately desires for me. And isn’t that what all His promises hinge on? Old becoming new. Dead things coming to life. Good from evil. Darkness turning to light. If I want His promises, I have to trust His process. I have to trust that first comes the dust, and then comes the making of something even better with us. God isn’t ever going to forsake you, but He will go to great lengths to remake you.” -Lysa Terkeurst It’s Not Supposed to be This Way
Labor
I felt ready as third trimester arrived. I spent countless hours of birth material readings, listening to home birth podcasts, prenatal yoga and red raspberry leaf tea sipping.
I finished my last day of work on a Thursday, May 2nd. My forty-week date was May 4th, the day contractions began.
I was excited as they began. We were so ready to welcome this new life. My contractions became steady and more frequent. I called Marilee. She told me to continue monitoring them, to take a nap, maybe a walk…and to call her later if I needed anything. I laugh when I think back to this day and reflect on how wise my midwife was. At the time, I think I expected a more urgent response from her. But, I took her advise and took a walk thinking this would escalate things.
It didn’t. So, I took a nap. Things continued to slow. This began 3 days of on/off prodromal labor.
On Tuesday, May 7th, Layla and I went strawberry picking. It was a beautiful day and was forecasted to be so for the next several days. We went home for an early lunch, had a picnic on the front lawn and lay on a blanket to watch and label the cloud creations. It was a slow-paced and peaceful day.
I’m so thankful for these hours with my girl. Our bond is strong, but was about to significantly change, as is the relationship journey of mother and child.
We took a nap and I fell into a deep sleep. My body was tired and I was growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing day. These naps were necessary, most especially this particular one.
Contractions began again that evening. I was mindfully aware of them, but continued through the routine of making dinner and putting Layla to bed. The contractions progressed into the later evening and I eventually mentioned them to Chris.
By nine o’clock they were strong and close enough together I felt a call to the midwife was appropriate. I was officially in active labor. As with all of her previously sound advice, Marilee suggested I rest. She would be making a few preparations and then would be en route shortly. Krista, her assistant would likely make it here first.
I was distracted by the strength of my contractions, but so terribly excited. It was finally happening!
Krista arrived a little after 11 pm. She took my vitals and listened to baby’s heart. Everything was going wonderfully. She made herself at home and busily began preparations, confidently and efficiently arranging supplies. She wisely suggested Chris and I go to bed and sleep while we had the chance. I knew it was good advice, but was confident I was too excited to sleep. Plus, how could anyone possibly sleep through this intensity?!
I called my mother and filled her in on the current happenings. I had made the decision to have her present during the birth of her 6th grand-baby. She had lost so much in her life, particularly in the last 5 years. I desired, and needed her to witness the joy of a new life being born, perhaps for her healing, or for my healing, or…for both. She lovingly agreed. She had been very encouraging and supportive in our decision to have a home birth. Her presence was the necessary piece in the day unfolding as it did. I am forever grateful to the woman she is, the mother she is and the grandmother she is. She has been my pillar.
I texted my friend, Sarah, to let her in on the unfolding of things. I asked her to be on stand-by as a doula. She has been a long-time friend and a woman I greatly admire and look to for advice in so many areas—from physical therapy (she graduated several years before me and was a great encourager during my schooling career), to birthing babies (she has five children, her 4th a girl born just 3 weeks after Layla at home, and just recently her 5th baby, also at home!), and beyond. Sarah was such an essential figure during my labor; I’m talking rockstar-status doula performance, and I’m entirely convinced I could not have done it without her there. She continues to play a critical role in my life as a very valuable friend and confidante.
As Krista suggested, Chris and I crawled into bed. Surely enough, I was able to fall asleep for a few hours. During that time, Marilee and my mother arrived. They made their preparations and eventually settled and nestled in in the living room to also get sleep while they could.
When I woke I became acutely aware that my contractions had slowed. I became nervous that this was another false alarm and just a stronger version of prodromal labor.
Layla woke at her usual time (about 6 am) and Mom intervened and was able to entertain her as I laid in bed to rest as much as possible. But, of course, Layla eventually wanted Mama. Soon, the house began to buzz as everyone awoke. Krista checked baby’s heart once more. Marilee suggested I go for a walk. The morning was cool, a bit cloudy, and beautiful. Chris, Layla, Mom and I went for a walk. It was slow and I lagged behind at times to stop and breathe during a contraction. The walk accomplished its purpose and contractions began to strengthen. By the time we made it home I was having a difficult time focusing or keeping conversation due to strength of the contractions. Layla whom was ecstatic to have everyone over to “play”, was starting to question what was wrong with Mama. We talked frequently with Layla about baby’s upcoming arrival ever since we found out we were expecting. This morning, I assured her that baby would be coming very soon and Mama’s body was going to work very hard to get baby here. I had not entirely decided whether to have her present during the birth. She was so sensitive, but I wanted to weigh the decision depending on the circumstances and time of day. Our back-up plan was to have Chris’s parents care for her.
Sarah arrived shortly after we returned from our walk and I remember feeling so reassured having her there. I knew as soon as she walked in it was the right decision to have her come.
Mom announced she would be going to Salisbury so she could check on her pups and offered to take Layla with her. As soon as they left, Krista sensed my body relaxing. She mentioned just as much, and I realized she was right. Maybe it was best to follow through with the back up plan, although my heart felt a little crushed that she wouldn’t be here to witness her baby sister or brother arrive.
My contractions continued to be strong and sporadic in their progression. I trialed many positions: kneeling at the bed, kneeling over the birth ball, side-lying (while Chris gave an amazing glut massage), strolling around the house, pausing wherever I stood to breathe through a contraction. I remember contractions were intense and at times consuming, but all together manageable. I listened to my baby day playlist, watched my brith affirmation video, stretched, breathed, danced/swayed with Chris, snacked and napped.
Krista and Marilee intermittently listened to baby’s heart. All was well.
Mom had returned from Salisbury and dropped Layla off at Chris’s parents. She made a delicious spread to feed the birth team. I had no desire to eat much of anything except crackers. Everyone did a wonderful job of making sure I stayed hydrated, and Sarah made me a smoothie that was delicious and full of calories; just what I needed.
By afternoon, I was feeling quite exhausted. Contractions continued to be sporadic. They were intermittently happening so close together with such intensity, I though to myself that surely it was getting close. But, then they would slow again, and I’d repeat a similar scenario as before, including two hot showers.
I went for a walk outside. It was gorgeous. The dogs (Sam and Bourbon) were lazing in the lawn at as much ease as any other day. The neighborhood had it’s familiar sounds of cars driving by, neighbor’s dogs barking, a distant lawn mower. I thought to myself, “doesn’t anyone have any idea what is happening?”
I was shocked at the length of my labor at this point. Weren’t subsequent labors supposed to be so much faster? Mid afternoon arrived and I had just finished a bout of intense and LONG contractions very close together. After these once again slowed, Marilee suggested checking my cervix for the first time. I had convinced myself as part of my birth plan to avoid any cervical exams, but I was exhausted and thought this might be encouraging. Surely I was close to being fully dilated.
I was 5 centimeters dilated. I was devastated. I had a full 5 centimeters to go. I had been in active labor for 19 hours at this point. I wanted to cry. I think I probably did cry.
The proceeding of events are unclear after this. Things were progressing more steadily and my mind started to enter a state of subconscious that often accompanies a birthing mama holding this space and phase of labor. I remember moaning and rocking through contractions. I remember taking several trips to the bathroom and just settling on the toilet. This felt so very comfortable to me. The pressure was awful and I was sick of peeing myself. It seemed like a logical place to camp out for a while. I continued to moan through contractions— on the toilet, in the shower, on the birth stool, kneeling, on my side. I prayed. I cried. I prayed more, specifically for deliverance. I cussed. Was labor this horribly painful with Layla (of which was also unmedicated)?
I threw up. More than once. Tried to drink water, ginger-ale, anything to replenish. But, ugh, everything felt like sand in my mouth.
A voice; a voice continually reminded me to breathe and breathe deeply. The voice would breathe with me. Warm hands found aching, fatiguing muscles—an instance of heaven. Sigh in, exhale deeply out. In. Out.
I think I went back to bed and fell asleep, waking with the intensity of each contraction. Marilee checked my cervix again. I was now seven centimeters dilated at this point. Hadn’t it been hours? And only 2 centimeters more? I told myself I was strong. I breathed, low and loud, savored each lull between the climaxing wave. I was strong. An intense wave. But how much longer? A break. Ok, I can do this. I am doing this.
And, so went the rhythm of my mind vs my body; rocking between doubt and resolve.
I rolled back to my side to settle myself and calm my mind. A contraction hit and was relentless, well over a minute. I pushed up onto my hands during the strong ones, or rocked back and forth, moaning and trying to remember to breathe. Collapsed back to my side in between. This seemed to go on for eternity.
I had to get up. Anything for some kind of relief. For the love of God, when would this be over?!
Immediate relief. Ok. I’m ok.
With helpful arms I walked back to the bathroom. I remember it was dark at this time, and windows and shades were still open.
“SHUT THE WINDOWS!” It’s humorous now that of all things, that seemed so urgent in that moment.
I made it back to the toilet to sit. Vomited again, in a bowl, barely bile. Chris sat in front of my on the tub and held up my head up.
The pressure was unbelievable. I was certain this baby was going to rip open my behind. Marilee or Krista, I have no idea who, monitored baby’s heart. Everything on their end sounded fine. Everything on my end (in my mind) was not. This is going to have to end. Soon.
Someone, I think Marilee, asked what I was feeling. I could only utter the words, “Poop. Pressure”.
“Why don’t we try to go back to the bedroom?” someone suggested.
Hands guiding me back to the bedroom in between a contraction. A contraction hit half-way there and I braced myself at the corner of the dresser and someone’s arm. The contraction had to have been almost 90 seconds. And I was barely getting a 30 second break between them.
I made it to the bed and tried to will my legs to climb up onto the mattress per Marilee’s suggestion.
No. I can’t. So, I kneeled.
I heard someone call (a little too loudly in my opinion) for Chris. Within a moment he is prone on the bed and face to face with me.
A contraction hits and I raise up to high kneeling and reach for Chris, arms around his neck, and brace for dear life. Another 60-90 second wave. Moaning becomes loud, borderline hysterical (or so I imagine). I’m convinced I was screaming. Breathe. Breathe.
Moan. Breath. Moan. Breath.
The wave tapers, and the break is sweet. I hear an ambulance and think to myself, perhaps that’s for me and I will welcome it.
Another unrelenting wave. I look up to Chris, and remember thinking, Save me. Please.
There is commotion around me. Efficient and calm commotion. But, I barely notice as another contraction comes. I cannot keep on. Short rest.
So. Much. Pressure.
Another contraction, followed by a welcome rest. And quiet. Then, Marilee’s voice, “Lindsay, I want you to push your baby out. Take a deep breath and push”.
More voices urging me to push.
Push? I haven’t consciously pushed a single time so far. Does this mean the baby is coming now? Why are they telling me to push? The contraction deafens me and wracks my body with the most intense pain I have ever in my life encountered.
Then, a rush of immense relief almost equal to it’s counterpart. A rush of fluids. A relief so unbelievable I was convinced I imagined it.
But, I knew in the deepest part of my heart I hadn’t. My baby was here. My promise was here. My precious child was finally here.
Baby’s screaming fills the air; the most beautiful sound ever to fill a room.
Chris’s voice, “guess what it is?”
I don’t care. I just birthed my baby. Boy or girl, my baby is here.
Marilee gently guides me to reach down and pick up my baby. “Carefully, watch the cord.”
I reach down and pick up my precious baby. Shaking with fatigue, weeping with joy, dizzy from pain I pull my baby to my chest. A beautiful, red, screaming baby boy.
I weep, he screams, and we sway. Together, yet separated by the action of birth. But, here in this moment, still one. We sway together. “Mama’s here. My sweet boy. My sweet boy. Mama’s here.”
And, I worship. I sing thanksgiving. I worship. To a God who is at work. In this moment and all the moments before. In the deepest recesses of my mind, during my deepest pain, in the glory of this moment, and in my joy. Now, yesterday, and tomorrow.
I don’t know how long I stayed kneeling, rocking with my boy. I do remember the joy. The refulgent, brilliant joy. The room was dim, but everything seemed to glow.
The room felt saturated with the relief of the moment. Exhaustion was shared by everyone, but vanished in light of the miracle just witnessed. Tears. And I’m told not just from my own eyes.
“You make all things new
You turn the bitter into sweet
You turn the winter into Spring”
Joshua (Hebrew; “saved by Jehovah”)
Hands guided me to standing and onto the bed where I sat and gazed at this tiny human, this marvelous life. He was perfect. So beautiful. I could do nothing but marvel at him and the intensity of my emotions.
The postpartum hormone intoxication seemed to be immediate. I was flooded with warmth, release, shock, and awe. The love felt in the room was palpable, a burning fire.
The exhaustion crept in, yet my body felt RENEWED. I could barely lift my arms, but I could feel the strength of this new bond—in my heart; in my core. It was paramount to the physical depletion.
My husband beside me, gazed with me. He had been my anchor, as he always is. Now, I could see the adoration in his face , beholding his wife with his newly born son.
Calm commotion in the room. The sacredness of the moment continued, but conversation began to flow gently. Exclamations and more gazes at the new babe. Smiles, kisses and hugs from the women who had endured by my side.
The placenta was delivered, with moderate discomfort and pushing. I became acutely aware of the trauma that occurred down below.
The babe transitioned securely to my chest, umbilical cord still attached and strongly pulsing. His cries lessened as I soothed and cooed and he acclimated to his new surroundings. Breasts stayed close and ready for his instinctual latch.
Calls were made to Chris’s parents, his brother and my sister. Heart-felt and loving congratulations ensued.
The baby latched and began nursing flawlessly. The hormonal flow was consuming. This connection, sometimes called the “Tree of Life” occurred at 10:19 pm, the significance of that time so bittersweet in ways I cannot explain in this current summary.
Over an hour later, after the cord finished pulsing and was clamped, Chris cut it.
Conversation and events gracefully transitioned. Baby, born at 9:23 pm, was eventually weighed sometime after 11. He weighed in at a solid 8lbs 4 oz and measured 20 inches long.
We named him Joshua Edmond Duryea, a living tribute to my brother.
The night consisted of other delicate details not purposed for this account, and eventually ended peacefully.
The story, however, goes on. It goes on in the loving memory of my brother, Joshua Dollar. It goes on in the life and miracle of my son, Joshua Duryea. It goes on in the life of this family of four, and each of the cherished extended family members who have all changed and grown for the richer in our brokenness and in our joy.
There are still dark nights, uncertain days and so many unanswered questions. I’m often caught in the unbalanced whirlwind of the chaos that accompanies mothering a toddler and infant, hardly able to find the time (or the energy) to sift through my thoughts, or reflect on these years that have changed me so copiously. But, every so often, in the rare and tranquil moments, I see the promises unfolding, even under the heaps of dust. I see where I am being made into something new from the “unglueable pieces”.
The story will continue. It continues in those shattered pieces, each broken heart and confounded disappointment. The story continues in the relationships contrived in heartache and refined in love.
The story will continue because a God that makes the old new, who turns dark into light, and makes dead things come to life is a God that is at work. And, He is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.
“Be at peace,
Tempest tossed seas of soul,
Give me rest,
From doubt, and fear
Sun find my face,
Light find my heart,
Song find my story,
Smile find my face,
Be at peace,
Be at peace,
For my life is finite,
And these storms,
Have raged too long,
Even winter,
Must surrender spring”
