to have Your heart

The house is dark and Micaiah sleeping. And I found myself again lying awake... eyes wide... mind racing. It's been four days since we left the ER. I don't think we ever really imagined four days could change the flow of our life so dramatically. We are simply overwhelmed at the sheer number of you who have called, written, offered to bring meals, visited, and brought our family before the throne of God in prayer. We are humbled beyond words. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts... those of you who have entered into this with us and come alongside us. We are moved by your willingness to be Jesus to us.

For me... the last four days have seemed like weeks. As I lye still growing this sweet miracle I've had many hours to ponder in my heart the events in the last year of our lives. Micaiah and I never have moved slowly... life and the way we live it has always been at least slightly chaotic and incredibly full. We met and four months later were engaged, six months after that married, one month later I left college to come alongside Margy at Grace Refuge, eight months after that pregnant. Our life was full of children and messes and people and fellowship and our first year of marriage has flown by at an incredible pace. That night though, lying in the emergency room... everything in our lives just stopped. The blood kept coming and the tears burned hot in the corners of my eyes as we waited for what seemed like an eternity for them to bring in the ultrasound that would let us know. We walked out several hours later holding radiology reports and information on the signs of miscarriage. I don't know if it was the sheer exhaustion of it all or the simple fact that I was overwhelmed by how quickly things can change, but for the last four days... I've simply felt numb. I haven't cried, haven't known how to pray, or even how to feel. Kid's are no longer running wild... I'm no longer holding babies. The parents have started to look for someone else to care for their children. I'm not reading devotions to 3 year olds or praising Jesus for the 2 year old who finally learned how to use the potty. I'm not laughing with mommies at the end of the day as we revel over how fast they grow. Our house isn't loud and full and full of people. Now, I lye here... still and silent... and I wait. And I've just felt kind of numb to it all.

Until tonight.

The tears are starting to come a little bit. The quiet and the stillness are starting to sink in. And I'm realizing why. I don't think I really know how I'm supposed to feel right now. I realize that many pregnancies survive this... and then I try to find as much information as I can about it... and hear the stories of those who have lost their babies because of it. The clot could dissipate completely in a day... or it could stay the same for weeks and months... or it could grow and cause things my mind just can't bear to think about right now. While I realize that on the grand scale of things that could go wrong... this is most certainly not the worst. For us... this is a pretty big thing. I'm caught in the middle. I trust God with my child... completely, wholeheartedly, fully trust Him. I know He can heal this baby in a second. And I told Him a long time ago when we first had complications that we would love Him and give Him praise nomatter what the outcome. Then, there is the other side. There is a very real chance something could go terribly wrong. What we fear most... could happen. And at the same time that I want to plead with Him to just make it all better... I remember something Beth Moore said a long time ago that has changed the way I've prayed. "God, protect us from everything but your glory." Because as much as I want Him to just make this better... I don't ever want to miss the glorious work he does in situations that, to us, seem most terrifying and uncertain.

I'm stuck in the middle. I trust Him... but I'm afraid. I love Him and know that all things work together for good... but I want my outcome. I want to see the world with His eyes and love with His heart... but I don't want it to have to take something like this. There is so much I want to tell Him right now... so many tears I want to let Him have.... and yet I'm unable to utter a word because maybe then I won't feel the full weight of it.

It's so tempting to want to look at the statistics, the medical explanations, to want to get an exact measurement of my hematoma so I can know how it compares and how much greater that puts this baby at risk. It's tempting to want human answers and try to fill the stillness of my days with knowledge of what this means. But today, I realized it changes nothing. The hardest words my Dr. said were these...

"For now, we watch and we wait."

I've never been very good at waiting. And a week seems like an eternity when you're waiting to make sure your baby is okay. A week of waiting before you get to watch that little heart beat is a very long time. But as I wait... I remember.

One of the most frequent and fervent prayers of my life... Jesus I long to have your heart...

As full and chaotic and vibrant as our life was just a week ago... I'm beginning to understand that at some point... a stillness and a waiting has to come. I have longed my whole life to have a heart like His... And as I lye here each day I'm gently nudged to hand over the pieces of my heart that I so desperatly want to hang on to. My dreams. My expectations. My flow of life. My fears. My deepest longings. There is nothing better than hours of silence to make you examine the places of your heart you have yet to offer Him.

And tonight... the numbness is slowly melting into tears and confessions. I feel the weight of it... but I also feel His hand.... And I've learned that when no human answers can satisfy... sometimes all I have to do is just hold His hand and give Him my heart.

It's been far too long since I spoke with Him for hours in the dark of night...

Jesus I long to have your heart.

We cling to the unchanged.

As we drove my teeth chattered. I was so cold that my body shivered, making it difficult to let the tears come. It was twenty-something below... nearly 2am. And the five minute drive from our house to the hospital seemed like an eternity. I remember Micaiah's hand grabbing mine... I remember as he searched for words to know how to pray. And I remember the feeling of blood that wouldn't stop coming.

When we reached the Emergency Room my eyes were wet with tears as I tried to answer their questions. I stumbled as they asked me my name, where I lived, how far along I was, my birthday, how much blood I'd lost... I remember thinking how surreal it was to stumble over such easy questions... just trying to keep it together... to remember anything beyond seeing that terrifying clot of blood and fearing the worst. I remember silently thanking Jesus for my sweet nurse who reassured us that my heart rate was probably just low because of all of the excitement... who saw my obvious vulnerabilty and was so kind as she gently reassured me it was okay if I bled on the hospital bed. When the brought in the ultrasound machine I remember praying the same words I'd prayed just ten weeks earlier "a heartbeat... please Jesus a heartbeat..." It took her a minute but she found it and we watched in awe and wonder as our child kicked and moved within me... heartbeat strong and steady. I remember thinking that whatever was going on inside of me was something we could handle as long as that little heart just kept beating. They ran numerous blood tests and eventually brought in an an ultrasound technician. She was quiet but kind as she wheeled me through the hallway to a special room. We were in there for almost an hour as she looked at all different areas of my womb and took pictures to send to a radiologist in the cities. I savored that hour... watching our baby kick and move and wiggle. Seeing tiny fingers and toes... a perfectly formed little mouth.

It was nearly 5am. when we returned to my room. We were quiet that night... sometimes there simply are no words. We didn't have words for this... for our fear or for our relief. We simply waited. For good news... bad news... any news that would help us understand what was happening. As I laid there in the dark room trying to rest my thoughts drifted back to earlier that night.

I'd woken up in the quiet of night with the feeling that something was terribly wrong... I felt the strange wetness beneath me and immediatly knew it was blood. As I stood up to get out of bed I could feel something shift... The next thing I remember is looking down at a clot.. the size of which made my heart sink....

It was six am. now and the results were in. They handed them to me and explained that they'd found a lemon sized hematoma (blood clot) next to my placenta. Their only guess as to what had happened that night was that something had shifted causing the hematoma to press against the wall of my uterus and cause a rupture which is what caused the clotting and bleeding. They sent me home on bedrest and told me to consult with my OB Monday morning. We were thankful for the exhaustion as it made sleep come easier that day.

The next morning I talked with my OB and she gently explained what this could mean for our child. "Our main concern is that if this hematoma gets bigger or shifts it could cause the placenta to detach from the wall of the uterus and cause your baby to loose it's blood and oxygen supply. We'll need you to come in for weekly ultrasounds from here on out to closely monitor you and make sure it doesen't grow." Another concern further down the line is that hematoma's can cause premature labor. When I hung up the phone I just sat there... The nurse had said something that kept playing over and over in my mind... "It's amazing how quickly things can change."

And as I've had a couple of days to think about it I've realized something. Some things have changed. This is not what we would have chosen. This isn't a road we ever wanted to walk. No one wants to fear the loss of a child. We are no exception... we prayed for a healthy pregnancy just as everyone else does. But as much as fear sometimes tries to take over... we hold closely to the things that never change. Our God is the same as he was before we ever walked into that Emergency Room. We still feel His comfort and embrace as we face a road that feels so uncertain. And as we search for the words to pray... we rest in knowing He hears our hearts. And while we pray for the hematoma to shrink and dissolve or to allow to the baby to grow unhindered... we know that whatever the outcome He holds this chid in the palm of His hand.

For now, we do not take one day that this child continues to grow for granted. And as I lye here, I'm thankful. I'm thankful to have so much time to lye here and cover this child. I'm thankful for the people God has already provided who are praying for us and bringing us meals. And I'm thankful for a husband who has dropped everything to pick up the load of household duties and financial provision. And although this road feels so uncertain, I am so thankful we do not walk alone.

We covet your prayers. And for those of you who are praying on our behalf... thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.

I will continue to update weekly with each appointment.

Much Love,
Kayla

A Womb for the King

There were fourteen of us gathered in the small sanctuary. I'd come that night nearly feeling crushed by the weight of many things... It was as if I had felt the darkness of sin and despair and endless night far more deeply that last couple of days.

But that night... as the candles were lit and the music began... we remembeed in reverence the night that holiness touched the unclean. The night that the sacred was born amidst all that was profane. The night a King stepped down from His throne to romance a world that lay in endless night. That night, fourteen voices worshipped a Lord that abandoned His home to walk our sod, feel our pain, and cry our tears. We beheld our King that night... the one that gave up the riches of heaven for the poverty of the earth, the one who came wrapped in human flesh to blot out our darkness with His blood. The King in whom the soul would find it's worth. That night the heaviness I'd carried in was overwhelmed by light.

As my own womb swells with life this winter... I cannot help but think about the weight she carried. To be the womb to Emmanuel... to feel Christ kick and move within her must have given her such tremendous joy mixed with such an incredible sense of weight. As she held her deliverer in her arms did her soul feel it's worth? Did her longing and aching for a savior cease the moment she beheld his face?

Oh, Jesus have I remembered to see your face? To be a womb for you... a witness of your redemption? Or have I forgotten.... how big the small things are.... how seen the unseen is? Have I dare forgotten the extravagance of your gift to humanity?

A couple of days ago I recieved a most unexpected and extravagant gift. One that took my breath away and made my eyes brim with tears. I dare say it was the most moving gift I have ever experianced coming from human hands. And although the gift itself was extravagant... more moving still was that it was given to me... on a day I least deserved it. A beautiful reminder of the redemptiveness of grace... to be given freely extravagance that we do not deserve.

To be redeemed by a King who kneels....

For years Israel waited with longing for their deliverer. And today... two thousand years after his coming... we forget to long. We forget to wait with great anticipation. We forget to again let our souls find worth in our King. Amidst the lights and trees and gifts and lists of things to do we forget this extravagant gift of hope to a dark and broken world. A baby who scrubbed the world of it's profanity.

I don't want to miss it.

That night... as the fourteen of us woshipped the birth of our King we were asked a question...

"What treasure is God asking you to bring to the King?"

Under my tree lye presents for so many of those I love. What have I brought to my king?

So this week I have been on my knees asking Him what I could do or bring...

And this morning he brought something my mom did back to memory. I was in first grade at the time and just feeling incredibly unsure and scared. I didn't want to go to school... I wanted to stay at home... with her. And she could have been one of those moms who just said "tough it out"... I know many who would have. But she didn't. My mom came with me to school.... and sat with me in the reading circle as we read stories about Dick and Jane. She offered mercy when I was scared and unsure. She let go of her day and her agenda. And although she probably had no idea all that was going on in my little heart... she offered mercy anyway. She stayed anyway. And the impact of that event and so many like it has been huge. I credit much of the strength and self-identity I have to my mom. She was an incredible example of mercy and understanding. She has always been a womb for Jesus. Quick to give undeserved grace and slow to judge.

I think thats what he wants of each of us... to simply be a womb for Him. To offer extravagant love and mercy to those we feel least deserve it. To be a person who offers redemptive grace... To reach out instead of reaching in. To pick up the cheerios one more time.... and to do it with gratitude in our hearts. To sit with the unsure and scared and give up our own agendas.

To be a womb for the God whose only agenda was to offer hope to humanity.

Merry Christmas... may you be blessed by the extravagant gift of His grace.

Kayla

Her name was Blake.

When I was in Africa two years ago... there was this cold night in November that I still remember as clearly as if it were yesterday. It was the kind of cold that is completely chilling, where nomatter how many blankets you have or layers you wear, that deep mountain cold still sinks into your skin and makes you shudder. I was sitting outside of my hut crying... looking up at the vastness of the sky... that endless African sky. The stars were brighter than I'd ever seen them. I remember that night so clearly for many reasons. I remember when she came silently and sat beside me. I remember her words and her voice and her arms. I remember her eyes and how deep they became when she told me that she understood. Her words that night, healed my heart. Her willingness to come and sit beside me under the blanket of cold and beauty of African stars changed me. Two months before that moment she had been a total stranger. We lived an airplane ride away. We led completely different lives. But not there, not in the Kibera slum. There we lived a bunk away. We taught in the same one room schoolhouse. We were broken by the same people and moved by the same resiliance. Our lives there were bigger than we ever imagined they could be. And she doesn't know it, but I think the most profound thing she did her entire time there... was sit beside me and tell me her story. She told me about walking through the Valley and how for days it felt like she wasn't going to survive her pain. She told me how deeply her heart hurt and how she never thought she'd ever be the same. She wasn't the same. The valley changed her. It made her able to easily reach into the depths of the hearts of other with her ease and her smile. It made her real. She laughed more than anyone I've ever met... and she made people laugh so hard they cried. She was comfortable in her own skin and had this unique way of making those around her feel like they could be too. She had a faith and a belief deep and stong and genuine enough to put most to shame. And in her there was no hint of legalism or judgement. She taught me it's okay if not everybody likes you. She put people in color categorys like green, blue, red, and yellow and however those colors made her feel well, whoever made her feel that way was that color. She told me I was pink... and that normally she didn't like pink... but that she very sincerely liked me. She was memorable not because of her thick Southern accent, or the fact that she snorted when she laughed or even because she was all that special... but because I could see the frank sincerity of Jesus in her unlike anyone I'd ever met. There was a sweet simplicity in her faith that, at that point in my life... I'd lost. And she reminded me that sometimes all you have to pray is "Jesus... heal my heart." or "God... this really hurts." She wrote me a letter (and in it told me she didn't write letters so I should feel honored) I still have that letter. And every time I read it, it makes me smile. I've grown much since the last time I saw her. I've changed. And she helped start that by showing me that it's okay to just be who you are even if people don't always like it. It's okay to like being a "pink". It's okay to embrace things about the way God made you rather than always wishing you could be different. She changed my perspective. And that was a priceless gift.

Her name was Blake. And today as I prepare for my last few days at Grace Refuge (more to come on that) I am reminded at how blessed I have been to have many like her in my life. Those who have sat beside me and given me the most precious pieces of themselves... their stories. Those who have lived life alongside me and known my ugliest self and liked me anyway. Those who have made me laugh but cried when I cried. Those who have forgiven me when I've wronged them and loved me with a love that holds no conditions.

Today I talked to my best friend Lauren... who is a continent away at the moment (which one of us has been for most of our friendship) and I had five precious minutes with her. And even in those five minutes she reminded me why she is my best friend. She's not afraid of the big stuff. She's not afriad of tears. She's not afraid to say the wrong thing. And she's not afraid to love someone like me.

There are many like these two. Many like Blake and Lauren. And I'm so thankful to have people like them to walk with... to share life with.

Margy and I have stood side by side for the this past season of my life... raising kids and finding beauty amidst the mundane. She has taught me more than she will ever know and forgiven me more than I deserve. And as I think about leaving this place... my eyes fill with tears. And then I remember Africa... and how hard I cried the day I left. And I remember that there are seasons of our lives for a reason. Places we need to be for a little while so we can embrace a part of the heart of God that maybe we didn't know before. And my, have I seen His heart here. And my, am I grateful that once again he will show himself in this next season.

So thank you... Blake, Lauren, Margy.... and all of you who have shown me what it is to love Jesus with all your heart and yet be completely real, flawed, and authentic in the process.

Much Love,

Kayla

The sacred mundane.

Today... I'm praying I might see the sacred amidst the chaos...

The glorious in the mundane...

Today I'm asking the Father to never allow me to take one minute for granted.

Because I want to see the flame in the bush...

I want to trust Him for the manna.

Oh to see His face in everyone I meet...

I want to stop and smell the roses... to spend hours on my knees not because of routine or obligation... but sheer desperation and love. To be someone who doesn't count the cost or the miles or the time. And I'm far from that... far. But my hope... my prayer... today is to be ushered into that place where more often than not I'm not so far from that.

Sometimes I get stuck thinking that the three loads of dishes aren't important... that the unending laundry isn't big enough... that the daily chaos of life is too much. But today, I remembered that doing the dishes can be holy. The laundry can be sacred. Holding these kids is worship. It's all in how much I give of me while I'm doing it. It's all in the gratitude or lack of it. It's all in my heart. My hope... my prayer... today is to be someone who sees these as big things... important things... things that remind me to always give thanks for the bounty we have and the lack we've never known. Oh that my heart would remain that pure.

Today I'm praying that I might see the sacred amidst the chaos...

thump thump.

I drove to the road that I've driven so many times... the place I've gone for many of my most difficult conversations with Him.... and before I even got there... the tears were falling and my heart was aching.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

My heart is beating wildly and the tears are pouring... I'm sixteen and life is far too confusing. I'm watching my very best friend walk a road that will hurt her deeply... knowing there is nothing I can do. And I'm driving that road... because it's the place it all comes out for me... it's the place where it's impossible for me to hide anything from my Jesus.... it's the place where there are no lines, boundaries, boxes... it's just Him and my broken heart.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I'm nineteen and I'm driving that road.... weeping because I know He's asked me to walk away from someone I dearly love. I've just moved home and all of my plans for what I thought would be my life seem to be crumbling. I feel alone and scared and vulnerable. I ask Him if it's ever going to get easier... I ask Him to restore a broken situation. I ask Him what in the world I'm supposed to do with my life. I tell Him how deeply I love Him but how lonely it feels to walk this road.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I've just returned from Africa and I don't know where to go next.... My heart is having hard time adjusting to life... here. It was the hardest, most terrifying, heart-wrenching things I've ever done... and yet, I miss it. And I'm on that snowy road asking God how to bring the way I lived there... here.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I'm working in the foster care system... and my heart is shattered. A little boy who was neglected and abused has just been sent home. Only my heart isn't just breaking for him... but for all of them... each shattered little life, each bruised soul. And it's forcing me to look deep within the walls of my heart. I'm beginning to see the gentle leading of the hand of my Jesus... ushering me into a place I know I'm not prepared to go. I'm beginning to understand the ache in my arms and the prayers in my heart for these children I barely know.....

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I'm crying... but this time it's tears of rejoicing. I'm driving that road like a giddy little girl. I've just met Micaiah... and I know deep within my heart that I'm going to marry this man. That day God and I smiled together. That day I saw the redemption of many things. That day... was the day I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God always keeps His promises.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I've just moved into Grace Refuge and I'm falling in love... with the ministry.. with the kids.. with the outpouring and overflowing of life springing from this place. And I'm on that road asking God if this is it. My heart is drawn to this place in this way that is strong and deep and overwhelming... and I simply know I'm supposed to be here.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

It's just days before I'm supposed to get married... the snow is falling and so are my tears. There is nothing more frightening nor more beautiful than knowing you're about to give your entire heart to another. I love him, more deeply and with a differen't kind of love than I've ever loved anyone. He is everything I dont' know how to be and gives me this picture of another face of Jesus that I have simply fallen in love with. But God... will I know how to love him well? Will I add to his life? Will I be able to give him all he deserves?

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I'm twenty-one and it's the day of my wedding. I'm driving through snow drifts in Micaiah's tiny little car... my hair all curled and my heart racing.... And the peace floods in. Today I'm going to marry him and I have no reservations. I have no fears. I simply know. I love him, and I'm well aware my love alone will never be enough... and that day, on that road.. my Jesus reassures me that His love will always be what mine cannot.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I't a few months ago and Margy and I are juggling diapers and lunch and crying and a house that we simply cannot keep up with. There were twelve of them today... twelve small little children... each here by His hand. And I'm driving that road so overwhelmed by it all... Feeling so completely inadequate to play such a role in molding the clay that is their lives. I'm asking God if there isn't someone more qualified... more patient... more loving... more kind than me to love these precious little children.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I'm driving that very road with four small children in the back. We are singing songs and laughing... and as I come to the valley on that road that is my very favorite spot... Tears well in my eyes for all I've been given. These four little babes are praising the Jesus I've prayed they'd come to know. And their delight is the most beautiful worship I've ever witnessed. And my life has never felt so complete.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

It's a few days ago and I drove to the road I've driven so many times... the place I've gone for many of my most difficult conversations with Him... and before I even got there... the tears were falling and my heart was aching. This day was different. This situation, different. More painful, more raw, more desperate than any before this. Because this time, I was driving that road as a mother. A mother, who, for a week had been bleeding. I drove that road a scared mother who knew what this kind of bleeding could mean. And that day, my prayer was differen't than it has ever been. It was simple. "Please Jesus... please." There were a few more words but I just kept repeating the same thing.... "Please....." But it was on that day that I realized that this was all I would ever truly be able to do for the child within me. I realized that the most significant thing I could ever do for this baby was simply cry out His name. I didn't need any other words... He already knew. After all, he is the God whom.. on all of these drives and through all of these years has always known. So on that day I prayed that I might have the courage to love Him well and call out His name even if the news we heard that day in the exam room was the news we most feared....

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

I layed on the table and looked at Micaiah as they placed the ultrasound over my womb.... My heart was racing... "please God... a heartbeat... please."
And then I saw it... a little flicker of light dancing across the screen.
And then we heard the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life.

thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.

Thank you. Jesus.... thank you.

created life.

Look very closely.... there are two pink lines.

Amazing really, that two pink lines can change your life.

I crept back into bed after seeing those two life changing lines... and for a moment just reveled in how much I love my husband.. how lucky I am to be held by a man who protects and cares for me as though I am rare and precious. And then whispered into his ear "Want to know something?"

He nodded.

"We're going to have a baby."

And we smiled. God is fabulous at breathtaking moments. And I love that our life together seems to be full of them.

The rest of that morning is a memory I'd like to keep for myself. The sacred moments after we found out that our lives will never be the same. In the dark, quiet warmth of morning we embraced together an incredible gift. To know and be known by a God who took our love and out of it... created life.

More to come soon. Promise.

Much Love,

Kayla