One Month.

It's been one month since we said goodbye.
It feels so much longer.
It feels like just yesterday.
But I guess that's how grief is.

I'll be totally honest.
My house is a mess.
There are dirty diapers needing to be washed,
Hampers full of clothes needing to be washed, folded, and put away.
And dishes needing to be washed.

I'm trying to keep busy but I have little desire to keep up.
I spend a lot of time sewing these days.
It's productive, enjoyable, creative, and keeps me busy.

I feel like a bad mom to the boys.
I'm struggling to be there for them.
They are changing.
Right in front of me, they are changing.
Changing, growing, learning and...and I'm missing it.
Because I feel like if I move forward,
if I go on, keep going...
that it means I'm forgetting my third child.

And if I forget her...
then she'll be gone.
Lost forever.

I feel stuck.
Stuck in life.
Stuck in my blog.

I have so many review commitments I need to fulfill, giveaways to be done,
and other things I want to blog about too but I can't seem to do it.
I never thought or imagined that I would be in this place.
And I just don't even know how to add in other content to my blog again right now.

One month later...I'm still in that place.

Today I realized if I were still pregnant I would be 11 weeks.
I felt both of the boys move for the first time at 11 weeks.

I ache for that feeling.
That feeling of movement of life inside of me.
Those first few baby butterfly kicks.
The ones that only I could feel.

I feel like some people get it.
But so many...most...don't.

Few call.
Less come.
Life moves on.

But here I am.
Still grieving.
Still broken.
Still hurting.

When you give God your heart and it all falls apart.

Two months ago I never thought this is where I would find myself.
Two months ago I never could have imagined how different I would be.
Two months changes a lot.

On February 1st my husband and I attended a wedding.
Probably the most beautiful wedding I have ever had the honor of attending.
The bride and her family have been friends with ours as long as I can remember.
My sister and the bride best friends since they were four.

The wedding was beautiful and was more like a worship service than a typical wedding.

They spent their first moments serving each other by washing each other's feet and worshiping their Savior.

Her father gave her groom a charge.

Things about her heart and holding and protecting it.

I had been going through some stuff and really stuck with me.

The next day while at church while still thinking of the wedding and some of the personal things we had been dealing with for months just got to me.

I cried and worshiped in a way I have never experienced before.

Uninhibited.

Carefree.

Unreservedly.

Completely.

Recklessly.

I had this moment alone with God while standing in a room full of people.

And I heard Him say to me, "I will hold and protect your heart if you will let me. I can't promise that it'll never be broken or hurt but I can promise that I will always hold it in my hands. I will always be right here holding all of the pieces and will help you put it back together when you're ready. If you will let me."

So that day in church I said "Yes" to God in a way I never had before.

I had trusted Him as a child. I had followed Him half way around the world as a teenager.

But I fully gave my heart to Him and said "Yes. Here is my heart, I'm trusting you with it" as an adult. We sang a new song in church that day and as I sang and poured out my heart I for the first time really meant what I was singing.

"Here we stand our hearts are yours,

Not our will but yours be done."

But then two weeks later He whispered softly to my heart again.

Reminding me that their was something I was holding on to.

"You said you gave me your heart but there is this piece

 right here that you are holding on to so tightly."

I know God but what if you don't do this right.

What if I'm not ready for this? What if I can't do it?

"You can trust me. And if it all falls apart I will be right here

holding all of the pieces."

So I did.

I gave up the last piece.

The piece that was trying to control if we had another baby or not.

You see, I had all of these plans. 

These goals and dreams that I didn't know if I could do with a newborn and two older children. I liked our routine and schedule. I was seeing ways I could grow my blog and my etsy shop. I could see in two years, maybe less, we would finally be debt free.

But I thought another baby...well that will change things.

We'd need a new car.

Could I handle being pregnant, all of the pain that goes along with my pelvic condition (pubic symphysis dysfunction), and still be the mom I want to be to my two older boys?

So I was holding onto that piece.

Two days later, after fully giving God my heart, God planned our family for us.

I was pretty sure I was pregnant but it was too early to take a test.

So I waited.

When I was two days late I told my husband that I thought I was pregnant.

I took the test and we watched and waited.

Three minutes.

That's all it takes.

One line.

Two lines.

Pregnant.

For one week I wrestled with how I felt about being pregnant.

I would feel excited and happy. Catch myself with my hand on my stomach.

Then the next minute I would wonder how I'm ever going to really do this all.

Then I heard Him whisper softly to my heart again... "Trust me."

On Wednesday, March 12th my husband called me and said "Find someone to babysit the boys. We need to go out this weekend. We need to celebrate. We need to get excited."

I told him that he was right. We needed to get excited and that every baby deserves to have their parents happy and excited about them.

Two hours later it started.

I went to the bathroom and was shocked at what I saw.

I tried to keep calm and hopped it was nothing.

When my husband got home from work I told him what was going on and we went to bed.

But when we woke up the next morning I knew it wasn't nothing.

My heart shattered.

Broken into a million pieces.

I realized just how in love I already really was with our baby and how much I wanted her.

But I knew what was happening.

I knew we would never get to hold our sweet baby in our arms.

Never breathe her in.

Never feel her soft skin.

Never touch her hair.

Not on this side of heaven.

That Sunday we went to church.

I was numb and broken.

I avoided certain people.

Didn't want them to know.

I wanted to be alone.

I wanted to be held.

I didn't know what I wanted.

I cried.

The lights were dimmed.

It was time to worship.

I felt so broken and didn't know if I could.

But at the same time I had to.

And we sang.

"Here we stand our hearts are yours,

Not our will but yours be done."

I sobbed.

I couldn't really even sing.

I told God that He had my heart.

He told me that He couldn't promise it would never be broken.

He promised me He would hold the pieces in His hands.

He spoke softly to my heart.

Then my heart was broken.

He reminded me that He is close to the brokenhearted. (Psalm 34:18)

So I'm here.

Two months later.

Brokenhearted.

Hands still lifted high.

Trusting Him to hold the broken pieces.

Praying that my brokenness brings glory to His name.