Living on this side of answered prayers...
I expected it to go differently. You'd think by now that I'd learn to expect the unexpected and to quit making plans. But God never fails to remind me that when I am totally out of control, He is not.
I hardly slept last Thursday night. My mind was racing with things to get done before we headed off to the hospital. The nurse had given me instructions the day before to call the hospital 1-2 hours before it was time to check in. And, as with any planned procedure, they wanted me to arrive at 6:00AM sharp. My eyes popped open at 3:30AM, two hours after they had shut, and I couldn't go back to sleep. I tossed and turned until 4:00AM, anxious to call the hospital. The nurse on the other end of the phone told me that all of the rooms were full and that I should call back around 10:00AM to see if that would be a better time to arrive. I thought to myself, "Are you kidding me? I am supposed to be there to have a baby! I don't want to wait any longer!" But I politely thanked her and laid down on the couch in an attempt to go back to sleep. I woke up again at 8:00AM and asked Aaron to call for me. Not that I believe in preferential treatment, but I figured maybe they'd at least give him more details. Thankfully, the nurse told him things had cleared out and we could come as soon as we were ready. Thirty minutes later, we were on our way to the hospital.
Annabeth was scheduled to arrive on Friday, October 7 at 37 weeks gestation. I had developed this weird pregnancy related anomaly called cholestasis, so protocol is to take babies at 37 weeks. I had been told that inductions usually sped things up but that they also intensified labor, so I was pretty nervous. I had been whispering prayers for days that God would fill me with peace and confidence, and I wasn't alone in that endeavor. In fact, for days people had been telling me that they were praying for me. My work girls surrounded me on my last day in the office to offer up prayers of protection and peace, and I knew God was listening. As we walked back to the delivery room, I felt peaceful. I could do this. Women have babies every second of every day, and so I could get through this just fine. I laid on the bed as they began hooking me up to a million machines. Pins and cords ran all over my body, and within an hour, the pitocin was dripping and we began the final count down.
Three years ago when Aaron and I got married, his biggest concern was how to protect me. He took this role so seriously that he spent many nights of our first year of marriage literally dreaming that he was a ninja or some of karate warrior battling for our safety. We came up with a safety plan, and he told me time and time again that he would do any and everything in his power to keep me safe. I never doubted that. A few weeks before Annabeth was born, I asked him what he felt when he thought of becoming a dad. He said the exact same thing! There's nothing more reassuring than knowing that the man you've married not only has your best interest at heart but that you can literally trust him with your life. And knowing that he felt the same way about our baby certainly put any worries I might have had to rest.
Thirty hours later, I was still in labor and things had not progressed. I had dilated 2 centimeters, and it looked like I was going to be there all week. Even though my pitocin pump had been running at maximum capacity for pretty much the entire time, I never felt any pain. My water had finally broken at 2:30AM, and I just knew that would speed things up. I had a long conversation with my doctor a few days before and she warned me that my labor might take a long time. She even said, "I'll be surprised if we have a baby on Friday. I think it will be Saturday." First time moms who are induced generally take a while, but I was optimistic that labor and delivery would be just as easy as my pregnancy. Not long after my water broke, bleeding began. Not totally unusual, but a smidge concerning. Our nurse did a wonderful job reassuring me that she was keeping a close eye on me, and she kept her word. She kept coming in to check on me over and over again, and, convinced that Annabeth would be coming soon, I asked for an epidural. Aaron stood in front of me, holding me hands, as the short procedure was completed. But the waiting game continued, the bleeding didn't stop, and finally around 4:00 in the afternoon, my fever spiked.
Now I know what you're thinking here. Thirty hours? But here's the thing, I was never in pain. And what's more, Annabeth was chugging along just fine. Her little heart rate never dropped nor spiked, and so all seemed well. When the fever sat in, I was actually thankful. I knew this was the final straw, and I also knew that mean I had wasted 30 hours of waiting when a 30 minute procedure was going to do. They wheeled me back into the OR, upped the anesthesia, and within 15 minutes, I heard tiny little cry. Tears began pouring from my eyes as the realization that I was actually a mother sank in. I thought to myself, "Whew! I am so glad she is here. I am so glad the waiting is done." And I looked forward to finally getting up to our room so we could enjoy our time together as a family.
I had this expectation that I would go to the hospital, have a baby well before dinner, and be up in my room celebrating the new life that God had given us with our families. I expected it to be relatively short and quick. That I'd feel better in no time. That Aaron and I would be home with our girl on Sunday and have a full week to relish in the joy of parenthood. I thought about how I couldn't wait to take pictures holding my sweet baby in the hospital bed the next day with make up on and my hair done. That we'd have pictures of her with her grandparents and aunt and uncle to begin filling in the "about me" pages in her baby book. And even fully expecting all to go smoothly and well, I packed that little book so all of our visitors could sign it with well wishes for her. But what I got was the unexpected. And what I didn't expect was to be living on the other side of answered prayers.
They wheeled us up to our room a few short hours after delivery. It seemed like minutes honestly. We met our new nurse, and she began the orientation process. I don't really remember much after that. I could feel blood escaping my body. I told the nurse and she assured me that it was normal to bleed after giving birth. I accepted her answer, knowing that was the case, but it wouldn't stop. It kept coming and it kept coming and I knew something wasn't right. This wasn't normal bleeding. This was gushing blood. She finally went to get her supervisor who started to freak out as she pulled blood drenched sheet covers out from under me. I began feeling light headed and asked Aaron to get cold wash rags for my face. I couldn't look any longer, and I began to slip in and out of consciousness. Aaron stood beside me the entire time holding my hand. At one point, I remember hearing my doctor's voice. She was telling me that they were going to start pitocin to shrink up my uterus and help stop the bleeding. She sat on the bed next to me with her hand rubbing my leg as an unreal pain set in. The nurses pushed and pushed on my freshly cut stomach and all I could do was squeeze Aaron's hand and wail. It was too much. And my baby. Where was she? This wasn't supposed to go this way. Aaron slipped out of the room, unbeknownst to me, and he had a conversation with the doctor and nurses. The kind of conversation that went something like, "You get someone in here who knows what to do because I'm not losing my wife." I can't imagine how he felt. A new father standing next to his wife as she writhed in pain while his new daughter had been whisked out of sight. I began hearing more voices around me, but I still couldn't see anything. They told me that a few of the anesthesiologists were there and they would help with the pain. I then began hearing them talk about blood as they searched my right arm for a vein. "This is going to hurt a bit, but we have to put in another IV." I begged them not to. After 2 failed attempts, they somehow found a way to use the one in my left arm. Bags of blood, platelets, and plasma, 7 total, were being pumped into my body and all of the sudden my whole body began to tingle. Everyone began to calm down. I could tell that there was a wave of relief that had washed over the room. The next thing I knew, the room was completely empty. Aaron was sleeping on the tiny little make down bed on the side wall, and Annabeth was in her rolling bassinet between us. I looked over at Aaron, completely delusional from the pain medicine, and I asked him some really odd question about foreign exchange students, I also told the nurse that I thought she was really pretty. He came over and began telling me that we didn't need to talk about that right now and as I started to laugh, my laughter turned into irrational sobs and he rubbed my hair until I calmed down. Aaron was on his own for the night. He and Annabeth would have to make it without me. In a short moment of awareness, I woke up to see our tiny daughter resting on his chest, and I learned the next morning that he made the sacrifice to stay awake with her all night so I could get some sleep.
The next day wasn't a whole lot better. My body was spent and blood clots kept coming. Each time I went to the bathroom, I was afraid. Each time the nurse pulled back the sheets or pressed on my stomach, I was anxious. I had prayed over and over that God would keep both me and Annabeth alive long before we ever stepped foot into the hospital. The nurses began showing concern that Annabeth hadn't had any bowel movements, and she wasn't eating much. She was losing weight, and she didn't have much weight to lose. I could tell Aaron was just as concerned as I was, but he held it together. We joined hands after they left, and we began praying for poop. That's right, poop. We prayed that her bowels would start working and that my body would stop bleeding. All day, we did our best not to live in the constant state of "what if," Because here's the thing, "what if''s" change nothing. What happens will happen and playing the blame game does no good. Maybe it was because of this. Maybe it was because of that. Maybe if this had been done differently. You get the idea. But we chose to trust God and to thank Him for what He had done, believing that He would do more. Our night nurse finally came on, and she was a true blessing. She was a sweet woman who carried assurance with her, and she was as determined as we were that all was going to work out with both of us. Every diaper change was hopeful, yet there was no poop. If Annabeth didn't poop before the next morning, she would be taken for tests. Of course, the med students gave us all sorts of "could be's" to fret over after they did their asseseement, but they they kept saying, "She looks perfect." They were perplexed. Our night nurse wheeled Annabeth away for a quick little nasal and throat clean out. Annabeth was making funny little noises, so she said, "Let me just take her to the nursery and do a little suctioning." Hardly any time later, she showed back up with our girl and said, "Well, good news! On the way to the nursery, she had a bowel movement! I didn't have to clean anything out either. She's not making that noise any more." I cried over poop. I cried over God's timing. And that night, only a few days into our stay, we began breathing a little easier.
The next day was rough. My body was spent. I had hardly slept and had gone through so many traumatic things that my blood pressure was rising. Our new nurse, who I wish I could have brought home with us, said, "I called the doctor. She said you have to rest. We are taking Annabeth to the nursery for a few hours so please promise me you will sleep." I acted brave and told her I understood and that I promised to sleep. Aaron had left the room to run an errand, and when he got back I told him the plan. In true, protective husband fashion, he did everything he could to make sure that nothing stood between me and sleep. Sleep is a magical thing. The number one way to heal. He knew I needed it even though I didn't really want it, and so he stepped up to lead. I trusted his decisions, fully agreed with his ideas, so he turned out the lights grabbed a bottle of lotion from the bag, sat at the edge of the bed to rub my swollen feet, and let me cry as my unmet expectations did not even sort of match up to reality.
I woke up hours later. Aaron helped me shower so that I could feel like a human again, and as I finished up dinner, he said, "Are you ready for me to go get her?" He rolled our tiny baby back into our room and I was amazed at how her absence of only a few hours had created this gaping hole in my heart. We hardly knew one another, but we felt incomplete with out her. He leaned down beside her clear basket and began rubbing his hands over her small body. "We missed you. I love you." And he kept repeating those words over and over again. My eyes swelled with tears and my heart grew a million sizes as I watched my husband love our daughter. I knew we would be okay. I knew we could do this. And I knew I could do this because I have him on my side. Because we, Annabeth and I, have a fearless leader.
The bleeding stopped. The swelling went down. I began to look normal. Feel normal. We were finally moved into a room where we could share a bed. The challenges aren't over, but after all that we had faced, we were confident we'd be able to tackle whatever came next together. A friend came to visit late on Tuesday night. I told him that, by God's goodness and grace, we had made it this far. Considering all we had been through, it was a miracle that I felt as good as I was feeling. In fact, I pretty much felt like my old self with a sore stomach. He mentioned how amazing it is to live on the side of answered prayers, and I couldn't have agreed more. Because for every obstacle that has come our way, every fear that we've encountered, every worry we've met, we've taken in to God in prayer and fully trusted and believed He would help us. No matter how big or small, we've laid it at His feet and we've done our best to lean on His promises. And although we don't know how God will answer, we know that He will because He always does. He always has. He always will.
We didn't get pictures at the hospital. I have yet to put on a stitch of makeup so that I look presentable. We are tired. We are learning. But we are blessed. Annabeth means favor and grace, pledged to God. And we realize that God has absolutely lavished all of us with favor and grace from the moment we knew she existed. His plan has not met our reality, but you know what, that's okay. Because God has taught us great things. He has used these moments to strengthen our faith and draw us closer to one another and to Him. That's always my prayer. Sometimes, the answer to that one isn't easy. But what a mighty God we serve, am I right? A God who doesn't work off of our expectations rather He chooses to work miracles. He deserves all of the glory, and we will be certain to give it to Him because it's not about us. It sure is easy to try and make it that way, but it's not. It's never about us, about what we want, or about how we think it should go. We should expect God to show up and do great things, and we should expect that they be far from what we imagined.
We're home with our baby. She's perfect, and I'm not just saying that because she is mine. Her pediatrician used those exact words today as she examined her little body. We're loving every moment with her. And even though she might not have come in the way we expected, and even though we got off to a rough start, all we care about is that she is here and that she's healthy. There's too much joy in what is to relive and worry about what was. That's over and done and we never have to go back there again. We finished up the last bit of sunlight by taking her on a stroll tonight. I've looked forward to moments like this, moments of normalcy, of sharing our life with her, for months now. And as I breathed in the fresh air, admired the full moon, and enjoyed my sweet company, my heart was full for all that God, in His infinite love and mercy, has done. For letting us live on this side of answered prayers.
"The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord will answer my prayer." - Psalm 6:9
I hardly slept last Thursday night. My mind was racing with things to get done before we headed off to the hospital. The nurse had given me instructions the day before to call the hospital 1-2 hours before it was time to check in. And, as with any planned procedure, they wanted me to arrive at 6:00AM sharp. My eyes popped open at 3:30AM, two hours after they had shut, and I couldn't go back to sleep. I tossed and turned until 4:00AM, anxious to call the hospital. The nurse on the other end of the phone told me that all of the rooms were full and that I should call back around 10:00AM to see if that would be a better time to arrive. I thought to myself, "Are you kidding me? I am supposed to be there to have a baby! I don't want to wait any longer!" But I politely thanked her and laid down on the couch in an attempt to go back to sleep. I woke up again at 8:00AM and asked Aaron to call for me. Not that I believe in preferential treatment, but I figured maybe they'd at least give him more details. Thankfully, the nurse told him things had cleared out and we could come as soon as we were ready. Thirty minutes later, we were on our way to the hospital.
Annabeth was scheduled to arrive on Friday, October 7 at 37 weeks gestation. I had developed this weird pregnancy related anomaly called cholestasis, so protocol is to take babies at 37 weeks. I had been told that inductions usually sped things up but that they also intensified labor, so I was pretty nervous. I had been whispering prayers for days that God would fill me with peace and confidence, and I wasn't alone in that endeavor. In fact, for days people had been telling me that they were praying for me. My work girls surrounded me on my last day in the office to offer up prayers of protection and peace, and I knew God was listening. As we walked back to the delivery room, I felt peaceful. I could do this. Women have babies every second of every day, and so I could get through this just fine. I laid on the bed as they began hooking me up to a million machines. Pins and cords ran all over my body, and within an hour, the pitocin was dripping and we began the final count down.
Three years ago when Aaron and I got married, his biggest concern was how to protect me. He took this role so seriously that he spent many nights of our first year of marriage literally dreaming that he was a ninja or some of karate warrior battling for our safety. We came up with a safety plan, and he told me time and time again that he would do any and everything in his power to keep me safe. I never doubted that. A few weeks before Annabeth was born, I asked him what he felt when he thought of becoming a dad. He said the exact same thing! There's nothing more reassuring than knowing that the man you've married not only has your best interest at heart but that you can literally trust him with your life. And knowing that he felt the same way about our baby certainly put any worries I might have had to rest.
Thirty hours later, I was still in labor and things had not progressed. I had dilated 2 centimeters, and it looked like I was going to be there all week. Even though my pitocin pump had been running at maximum capacity for pretty much the entire time, I never felt any pain. My water had finally broken at 2:30AM, and I just knew that would speed things up. I had a long conversation with my doctor a few days before and she warned me that my labor might take a long time. She even said, "I'll be surprised if we have a baby on Friday. I think it will be Saturday." First time moms who are induced generally take a while, but I was optimistic that labor and delivery would be just as easy as my pregnancy. Not long after my water broke, bleeding began. Not totally unusual, but a smidge concerning. Our nurse did a wonderful job reassuring me that she was keeping a close eye on me, and she kept her word. She kept coming in to check on me over and over again, and, convinced that Annabeth would be coming soon, I asked for an epidural. Aaron stood in front of me, holding me hands, as the short procedure was completed. But the waiting game continued, the bleeding didn't stop, and finally around 4:00 in the afternoon, my fever spiked.
Now I know what you're thinking here. Thirty hours? But here's the thing, I was never in pain. And what's more, Annabeth was chugging along just fine. Her little heart rate never dropped nor spiked, and so all seemed well. When the fever sat in, I was actually thankful. I knew this was the final straw, and I also knew that mean I had wasted 30 hours of waiting when a 30 minute procedure was going to do. They wheeled me back into the OR, upped the anesthesia, and within 15 minutes, I heard tiny little cry. Tears began pouring from my eyes as the realization that I was actually a mother sank in. I thought to myself, "Whew! I am so glad she is here. I am so glad the waiting is done." And I looked forward to finally getting up to our room so we could enjoy our time together as a family.
I had this expectation that I would go to the hospital, have a baby well before dinner, and be up in my room celebrating the new life that God had given us with our families. I expected it to be relatively short and quick. That I'd feel better in no time. That Aaron and I would be home with our girl on Sunday and have a full week to relish in the joy of parenthood. I thought about how I couldn't wait to take pictures holding my sweet baby in the hospital bed the next day with make up on and my hair done. That we'd have pictures of her with her grandparents and aunt and uncle to begin filling in the "about me" pages in her baby book. And even fully expecting all to go smoothly and well, I packed that little book so all of our visitors could sign it with well wishes for her. But what I got was the unexpected. And what I didn't expect was to be living on the other side of answered prayers.
They wheeled us up to our room a few short hours after delivery. It seemed like minutes honestly. We met our new nurse, and she began the orientation process. I don't really remember much after that. I could feel blood escaping my body. I told the nurse and she assured me that it was normal to bleed after giving birth. I accepted her answer, knowing that was the case, but it wouldn't stop. It kept coming and it kept coming and I knew something wasn't right. This wasn't normal bleeding. This was gushing blood. She finally went to get her supervisor who started to freak out as she pulled blood drenched sheet covers out from under me. I began feeling light headed and asked Aaron to get cold wash rags for my face. I couldn't look any longer, and I began to slip in and out of consciousness. Aaron stood beside me the entire time holding my hand. At one point, I remember hearing my doctor's voice. She was telling me that they were going to start pitocin to shrink up my uterus and help stop the bleeding. She sat on the bed next to me with her hand rubbing my leg as an unreal pain set in. The nurses pushed and pushed on my freshly cut stomach and all I could do was squeeze Aaron's hand and wail. It was too much. And my baby. Where was she? This wasn't supposed to go this way. Aaron slipped out of the room, unbeknownst to me, and he had a conversation with the doctor and nurses. The kind of conversation that went something like, "You get someone in here who knows what to do because I'm not losing my wife." I can't imagine how he felt. A new father standing next to his wife as she writhed in pain while his new daughter had been whisked out of sight. I began hearing more voices around me, but I still couldn't see anything. They told me that a few of the anesthesiologists were there and they would help with the pain. I then began hearing them talk about blood as they searched my right arm for a vein. "This is going to hurt a bit, but we have to put in another IV." I begged them not to. After 2 failed attempts, they somehow found a way to use the one in my left arm. Bags of blood, platelets, and plasma, 7 total, were being pumped into my body and all of the sudden my whole body began to tingle. Everyone began to calm down. I could tell that there was a wave of relief that had washed over the room. The next thing I knew, the room was completely empty. Aaron was sleeping on the tiny little make down bed on the side wall, and Annabeth was in her rolling bassinet between us. I looked over at Aaron, completely delusional from the pain medicine, and I asked him some really odd question about foreign exchange students, I also told the nurse that I thought she was really pretty. He came over and began telling me that we didn't need to talk about that right now and as I started to laugh, my laughter turned into irrational sobs and he rubbed my hair until I calmed down. Aaron was on his own for the night. He and Annabeth would have to make it without me. In a short moment of awareness, I woke up to see our tiny daughter resting on his chest, and I learned the next morning that he made the sacrifice to stay awake with her all night so I could get some sleep.
The next day wasn't a whole lot better. My body was spent and blood clots kept coming. Each time I went to the bathroom, I was afraid. Each time the nurse pulled back the sheets or pressed on my stomach, I was anxious. I had prayed over and over that God would keep both me and Annabeth alive long before we ever stepped foot into the hospital. The nurses began showing concern that Annabeth hadn't had any bowel movements, and she wasn't eating much. She was losing weight, and she didn't have much weight to lose. I could tell Aaron was just as concerned as I was, but he held it together. We joined hands after they left, and we began praying for poop. That's right, poop. We prayed that her bowels would start working and that my body would stop bleeding. All day, we did our best not to live in the constant state of "what if," Because here's the thing, "what if''s" change nothing. What happens will happen and playing the blame game does no good. Maybe it was because of this. Maybe it was because of that. Maybe if this had been done differently. You get the idea. But we chose to trust God and to thank Him for what He had done, believing that He would do more. Our night nurse finally came on, and she was a true blessing. She was a sweet woman who carried assurance with her, and she was as determined as we were that all was going to work out with both of us. Every diaper change was hopeful, yet there was no poop. If Annabeth didn't poop before the next morning, she would be taken for tests. Of course, the med students gave us all sorts of "could be's" to fret over after they did their asseseement, but they they kept saying, "She looks perfect." They were perplexed. Our night nurse wheeled Annabeth away for a quick little nasal and throat clean out. Annabeth was making funny little noises, so she said, "Let me just take her to the nursery and do a little suctioning." Hardly any time later, she showed back up with our girl and said, "Well, good news! On the way to the nursery, she had a bowel movement! I didn't have to clean anything out either. She's not making that noise any more." I cried over poop. I cried over God's timing. And that night, only a few days into our stay, we began breathing a little easier.
The next day was rough. My body was spent. I had hardly slept and had gone through so many traumatic things that my blood pressure was rising. Our new nurse, who I wish I could have brought home with us, said, "I called the doctor. She said you have to rest. We are taking Annabeth to the nursery for a few hours so please promise me you will sleep." I acted brave and told her I understood and that I promised to sleep. Aaron had left the room to run an errand, and when he got back I told him the plan. In true, protective husband fashion, he did everything he could to make sure that nothing stood between me and sleep. Sleep is a magical thing. The number one way to heal. He knew I needed it even though I didn't really want it, and so he stepped up to lead. I trusted his decisions, fully agreed with his ideas, so he turned out the lights grabbed a bottle of lotion from the bag, sat at the edge of the bed to rub my swollen feet, and let me cry as my unmet expectations did not even sort of match up to reality.
I woke up hours later. Aaron helped me shower so that I could feel like a human again, and as I finished up dinner, he said, "Are you ready for me to go get her?" He rolled our tiny baby back into our room and I was amazed at how her absence of only a few hours had created this gaping hole in my heart. We hardly knew one another, but we felt incomplete with out her. He leaned down beside her clear basket and began rubbing his hands over her small body. "We missed you. I love you." And he kept repeating those words over and over again. My eyes swelled with tears and my heart grew a million sizes as I watched my husband love our daughter. I knew we would be okay. I knew we could do this. And I knew I could do this because I have him on my side. Because we, Annabeth and I, have a fearless leader.
The bleeding stopped. The swelling went down. I began to look normal. Feel normal. We were finally moved into a room where we could share a bed. The challenges aren't over, but after all that we had faced, we were confident we'd be able to tackle whatever came next together. A friend came to visit late on Tuesday night. I told him that, by God's goodness and grace, we had made it this far. Considering all we had been through, it was a miracle that I felt as good as I was feeling. In fact, I pretty much felt like my old self with a sore stomach. He mentioned how amazing it is to live on the side of answered prayers, and I couldn't have agreed more. Because for every obstacle that has come our way, every fear that we've encountered, every worry we've met, we've taken in to God in prayer and fully trusted and believed He would help us. No matter how big or small, we've laid it at His feet and we've done our best to lean on His promises. And although we don't know how God will answer, we know that He will because He always does. He always has. He always will.
We didn't get pictures at the hospital. I have yet to put on a stitch of makeup so that I look presentable. We are tired. We are learning. But we are blessed. Annabeth means favor and grace, pledged to God. And we realize that God has absolutely lavished all of us with favor and grace from the moment we knew she existed. His plan has not met our reality, but you know what, that's okay. Because God has taught us great things. He has used these moments to strengthen our faith and draw us closer to one another and to Him. That's always my prayer. Sometimes, the answer to that one isn't easy. But what a mighty God we serve, am I right? A God who doesn't work off of our expectations rather He chooses to work miracles. He deserves all of the glory, and we will be certain to give it to Him because it's not about us. It sure is easy to try and make it that way, but it's not. It's never about us, about what we want, or about how we think it should go. We should expect God to show up and do great things, and we should expect that they be far from what we imagined.
We're home with our baby. She's perfect, and I'm not just saying that because she is mine. Her pediatrician used those exact words today as she examined her little body. We're loving every moment with her. And even though she might not have come in the way we expected, and even though we got off to a rough start, all we care about is that she is here and that she's healthy. There's too much joy in what is to relive and worry about what was. That's over and done and we never have to go back there again. We finished up the last bit of sunlight by taking her on a stroll tonight. I've looked forward to moments like this, moments of normalcy, of sharing our life with her, for months now. And as I breathed in the fresh air, admired the full moon, and enjoyed my sweet company, my heart was full for all that God, in His infinite love and mercy, has done. For letting us live on this side of answered prayers.
"The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord will answer my prayer." - Psalm 6:9
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