Youngest

Yesterday I began a conversation like this -

"When I was pregnant with my youngest daughter..."

I really don't begin stories like that too often - leaving the listener assuming Glory is at home arguing with her older sister about whose turn it is to play the Mermaids game on the iPad.  Most of the time I am telling Glory's story from the beginning through the time she went to heaven and how her life changed mine. 

But yesterday I stopped short of explaining.  Why?  I don't know.  No mention of her illness.  No indication of her only having half of a heart.  Giving no clue that my youngest daughter had already fulfilled her purpose and moved on to bigger and better things.

Now that I think about it, the story was really about me - surprise.  It was the story of how I first knew Glory was coming.  The story about how I drove into the Braum's drive-thru one afternoon and ordered an orange sherbet freeze instead of a chocolate milkshake.  The story about how I began to crave everything orange-flavored, but didn't want an actual orange.  You know - orange #5 dyes and artificial flavors - those things.  Orange Fanta, Orange Crush, Orange Sunkist.  I perfected an Orange Chocolate-Chunk Pound Cake - and it did include actual oranges that grow on trees (REALLY yummy recipe - I can give it to you if you're interested).

When I was craving orange-flavored sodas I had no clue I wouldn't be holding the tips of her fingers while she took her first steps.  Or buying her first backpack for Kindergarten.  So I just continued my story...but only I knew how my craving for orange dye #5 (or whatever it is) was the beginning of a most amazing journey...one with no end.  Have I said that before?  ;)

Nothing

When Glory was here, I shared her journey through a series of emails. When someone would share with me that a particular email spoke to their heart, I would quickly give them a disclaimer that I was not a writer.  Explaining any typos or grammatical errors, I guess.  

But I'm still writing...

I am currently preparing for a speaking engagement where I will tell Glory's story and how her life impacted mine.  I have told Glory's story once before to a group and I believe I gave the disclaimer at the beginning that I was not a speaker.  

But I'm getting ready to speak again...

Me with some of the Meinardus Family.  They hold a special place in Glory's Story.

The disclaimers that I have given are true (although I may have given them for the wrong reason - to protect myself).  I am not a writer or a speaker, but I'm doing both.  Why?  How?  Because I am nothing unless God directs my path.  I have nothing to say unless God breathes the words Himself.  Every word, every sentence written or spoken about my journey through love and loss is given by Him.  

God has been working on the most unbelievable redemption plan since the beginning of time.  When I woke up on June 3, 2010, after learning of Glory's condition the day before, God knew what He needed to accomplish.  And He would accomplish it with or without me.  But He gave me the opportunity to join His mission that morning...  

He asked me!  Me - who is not a writer!  He asked me to write.  He asked me to share.  He asked me to write that first e-mail and involve so many more in His Story.  I didn't have to.  But He invited me.  He wants me to be a part of His Story.  Even though He could do it on His own, He loves us that much to want to include us in His plan.  

What or who are you in Christ?  It may surprise you!  I'm in awe today thinking about the things we can do because WE can do NOTHING apart from Him...

Wait

This past Saturday I went to a retreat for moms who have lost children.  Jill Sullivan and Janice Brown, along with their husbands, formed While We're Waiting after they connected through the deep pain of loosing children.  And although deep pain is what connected all of us that were there... laughter, memories, and love is what we all experienced together on Saturday.  It's not a connection you ever wish to have, but it will connect women like no other. 

Each mom was given the chance to share her story and all of them were powerful.  When I tell Glory's story there are some main points that I usually try to hit on - how we named her Glory, my faith, her unstopping fight to live, how I am a new person, and how I don't want to use my time while I wait to see her again by being silent.  I think all of the moms would agree that although there is a lot of disappointment and heartache in our stories, we heal a little more each time we tell them. 

At this particular retreat our Glory Girl was the youngest in heaven and then the ages went up from teen to adult.  All of them beautiful - inside and out.  A beautiful high school student with the world at her feet.  Strong, brave men who played roles of son, husband, and father.  And it made me think of something I thought often in the CVICU as I stared at Glory while she slept - something I rarely mention when I tell her story. 

How could something this beautiful die?  She is so sweet.  She is so cute.  She's too precious to die.  Sounds superficial, right? 

It was. 

But whether these thoughts were shallow and superficial or deep and meaningful, it was the sentiment that swallowed all other thoughts when I walked into her room and saw perfection lying in a hospital crib with too many tubes and meds to count.  She's too beautiful.  My mind would not allow itself to travel as far as death.  It was such a hard road from believing that your child would grow up and have children of her own, to the death of your baby.  I remember the pain associated with realizing the only thing we could give her was love - and that was all she needed.

But, wait...how could I not face this reality knowing what had happened in the past.  Someone infinitely more beautiful than my Glory Girl died two thousand years ago, and, because of Him, my fear - the place I could not imagine traveling to - has already been visited.  So the only thing I have to wait for is a reunion...