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 baby was worthy to be named. Not knowing if it was a boy or girl, we chose Mathia meaning "God's gift."  The meaning may seem inappropriate to some, but the reality of losing this little one has taught me more about God's grace than any other experience in my life.  The grace of God is by far the best gift that I have ever received.


In my pain, I wrote this poem to Mathia.  It is the first time I remember using writing as a way to heal.


My sweet child who is so dear
I wish to kiss 
And hold you near


I wish to see your little face
To hear you laugh
To watch your grace


I wish to see you growing tall
And wash your knee
After you fall


I wish to comfort you in tears
Help you grow strong
And face your fears


I wish that you were here with me
To call me "Mommy"
Up on my knee


But since you can't be with me here
My wish for you 
Is to have Jesus near.