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Promises

"The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised."  Job 1:21(b)

I sat on the cold linoleum floor of my bathroom with my back pressed against the locked door.  My sister, Lynda was on the other side asking if I was okay.  My silence was her answer. There are no guarantees.  No measure of what is fair.  No rule that says I deserve what I desire.  There are only promises.  Promises that say whatever is asked of me, the trials I face, the burdens I must bear; I will not be alone. We named the second baby Aren. I wrote this entry in my journal on May 19th, 2005.

Do you look at me from heaven, and search my upturned face? Do you wonder if I miss you still, or if someone could take your place?
I know I think of you at times I imagine who you are I want to hold you close to me, but I cannot reach that far.
I know heaven is the perfect place, and I'm sure you wouldn't trade But in a dream you could visit me so your memory won't fade.
I knew you for a littl…

The dream

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.'  Jeremiah 29:11-12 NIV

And life continued for everyone around me.  It didn't stop because I wanted it to.  I wondered when I would feel like laughing again.  I wondered if anyone had hurt the way that I was.  I wondered when I would cry that last tear over my loss, and then I realized I never would.

God was there the moment I was told my baby wasn't alive.  Right beside me feeling my desperate need to change what was already truth.  He knew before I did what was to come, and he allowed it to happen.

I had a little promise box in my room that was filled with small cards containing scripture on one side and quotes on the other.  One day I stood there holding it and prayed that God would speak to me.  The card I chose read, "The Lord is close to…

In the beginning

I first became interested in writing in the 5th grade.  I was required to write poems and short stories, and I enjoyed it.  I found encouragement through my good grades, and the "nice work" of my parents.  Over the years I fulfilled the required assignments given to me by my English professors, but once college was behind me my pencil fell silent.  It wasn't until 2001 that I picked it up again.

It was October 1st, and I had just been discharged from the hospital.  I had learned that the child my husband Tim and I were expecting had died inside of me.  The loss of my baby left me aching and raw.  I found myself empty.  Sympathizers did their best at consoling, but they couldn't understand how the loss affected me.  No one knew what to say, and in truth nothing said would have made a difference.  I wanted to be alone so I could think.  Think about the child who would never be. 

The little one who was a part of me for such a short time was more than an idea to me.  The …

To blog or not to blog? Oh what a question. . .

From the suggestions of my husband and a few other friends, I am beginning a blog of my writings.  I don't claim to be a talented writer or poet, but I find enjoyment in expressing myself through written words.  Writing is therapy.  It can be beautiful and raw.  It is tears and laughter.  It is thoughtful and enriching.  My writings are a snapshot of me.  My hope is that you, the reader, will find something that you can relate to, find hope in, or just enjoy.