There's a question people keep asking me... and I keep lying.
They keep asking if I'm ready... which, I suppose, is a pretty common question when you're nine months pregnant. I keep smiling and telling them I am.
I'm not though... not at all.
How do you get ready for this? How can you ever really be ready for something you know will change the entire course of your life? How do you prepare yourself to hold in your arms the child you've carried... to finally see her face?
As I sit here I can't help but let the last nine months run through my mind.
I'm six weeks pregnant and already there are complications... and I'm sobbing... asking my Jesus to please let there be a heartbeat. Telling Him how badly I want to keep her... but how I'll love Him either way.
I'm sixteen weeks... and I wake up to blood... there was so much blood... I scream for Micaiah... and on one of the coldest nights of the year we drive to the emergency room while he prays... because I have no words.
I'm lying on bedrest... and the songs in the night... they come. And I lye awake and I pray... I dream about her... I fear she won't make it... every ultrasound I hold my breath. And you... all of you... you surround us. You show us what it is to be part of the body of Christ... what it is to be held when you feel most fragile.
I feel her move for the first time... there are no words.
I make it to twenty-three weeks and they tell me my daughter is "viable". And we rejoice because the hematoma that threatened her life is almost completely gone.
I'm 33 weeks and go in for a routine ultrasound check "Your baby... she's much too small. We need to monitor you very closely." Again we pray. Again we hope. Again we wonder if our sweet girl is okay.
Wednesday... Dr. Goerish calls and tell me her lungs are not only not ready... but her levels are low... very low... especially for a baby this small whose mother has been given steroids.
Thursday... Micaiah and I lye awake in bed on the night that was supposed to be Jayda's birthday... he can't sleep.... "I just want her here... I just want to bring her home... with us."
Friday... We have an ultrasound and learn that Jayda has barely gained any weight in the last week and a half. She is still not even four and a half pounds. We drive to the cities in silence... we've been here before... the place of much being unknown. But in that moment... it's just too much. There's little left to say. We're scared. No one can tell us for sure what is wrong with our baby. No one can tell us if we will be able to take her home or not... whether she'll be okay or not. No one can tell us what to expect or plan for... because no one... not even the Dr.'s.... really know.
Today... I finally break. It feels like we've been walking this road for so long... we've been standing in this place for months... the place where the lights go out and we stand in the dark and we wait. Wait to hold her. Wait to deliver her. Wait to see whether or not she is okay. Wait to see her beautiful face...
Theres this song I couldn't stop singing this morning... because I knew if I stopped I'd just cry... so I just kept singing the words over and over and over... Yes, we feel like we've been standing in the dark. Yes, we are weary and scared and there are days when we feel like we don't know how much longer we can do this. Yes, we lye awake at night and wonder about our daughter. But in the midst of that... in the mix of it... He still gives the songs in the night. We still feel held even when we're crumbling... we're still hearing Him even in the long hard silences when we don't have anymore words to give eachother. Not one step have we taken alone. And although we're scared... He's still the same.
I feel like Moses right now... when he was on the mountaintop and had to keep his arms raised. And when he couldn't do it anymore... the other two they stepped in... and they held his arms...
I feel like that's been all of you. We we haven't had the words to know how to pray... you've covered us. When we didn't have the strength to do one more day.... it's been your letters... your phone calls... your constant encouragement that kept us standing. You've held us up...
Many of you I don't know... I've never even met you... and yet you've surrounded us.
And I guess what I'm trying to say is this... No, I'm not ready... You don't get ready to behold a miracle... you don't ever really get ready for your whole life to change in a moment. You are never fully ready for what's meaningful. You don't get ready to be fully and completley undone.
But if there is one thing we've learned in this entire process... is that it isn't really about being ready... It's about the songs in the night... the holding... the knowing that He knows every ache of our hearts and every tear we've shed... and that each of them matter more than we will ever know.
And as much as I'm scared... as much as I feel so unready... I'm just going to keep singing my song... because when everything feels so uncertain...
This is what's certain for me...
"My Help Comes From the Lord"- The Museum
When sorrows come and hope seems gone...
Your the Rock I rest upon...
When waters rise and I can't breathe...
Your the Love that rescues me...
Out of the darkness I lift up my eyes
Unto the hills... I feel my faith rise...
Maker of Heaven, Giver of Life,
You are my strength... my song in the night.
My Refuge... My shelter.... now and forevermore...
My help comes from the Lord.
This is the last post I'll write before we meet our sweet girl. And I just want to say thank you... for holding our arms up... for listening to us as we share our hearts and our fears. For loving us in the midst of our uncertainty. For covering us and our sweet daughter.
On Tuesday when we bring this sweet girl into the world... would you please hold us up one more time? We love you more than you know. Thank you for being part of our story... part of Jayda's story.
Thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus to us.
Much Much Love,