What Have You Done?

Matthew 25:40

What you have done for the least of these . . . you have also done for me.

Shouldn't that be our motivation?

Everyone is fighting their own battle. Everyone has their cross.

Everyone!

Is that where Jesus is?

Isn't that where Jesus is?

He is just not in those Third World Countries or in those holding "Homeless and Hungry" signs.

He is everywhere!

He is in the person you pass in the grocery store, the person next to you at a stop light, your friend, and your co-worker.

He is everywhere!

Everyone has their cross. Everyone has their aches and their struggles.

Christ is made visible where grace and mercy is extended.

He is everywhere!

What ever you have done for the least of these . . .




Stephanie

Want . . .

I know my last post was a bit dark. I feel like I should apologize but I am not going to apologize for how I am feeling. It is what it is.

It seems like Christmas for my family this year is carrying on like it always has. I really don't expect people to not celebrate because scrooge here doesn't. It would be nice if everything could be changed up and different so I don't feel the absence of my sweet girls as much.

I dreaded the question, "What do you want for Christmas?" Because what I truly want cannot be given. And that hurts so much.

My reflex response is, "I want you to go up to Heaven, get Emmerson and Vivienne and bring them back to me."

I stop myself before I actually utter those words. I stop because I know it is an unrealistic expectation to be jotted down on a wish list. I stop myself because I cannot stand to see the pity look on another's face.

So, instead I list off items that I don't really want or need. In fact, I actually cannot remember a single thing I said I wanted. I wish now, I would have had the energy to tell them nothing. Give whatever you would have bought for me or the money you would have spent to someone who truly needs.

You see, I am in deep pain but I am still aware of the blessings that surround me. I may grieve my girls but it doesn't mean that I also am not thankful for what I do have.

I think some people find it necessary to point out all the good in my life when I cry over what I have lost. I don't need someone to do that! In that moment I need a shoulder and an ear to listen. I know what I have! Trust me, missing my girls doesn't make me blind to what surrounds. And when someone points out a blessing in the moment a tear drops, it makes me feel like my loss does not matter. That their lives were not worth something. That I am not allowed to grieve sweet, innocent Emmy and Vivi because I have a living, breathing blessing in my arms.

This Christmas, it is dark for me but it does not take away the fact that I can see glimmers of light. It doesn't mean that I don't count my blessings.

This Christmas, just because I don't want to celebrate in the ways of year's pass, does not mean that I don't turn to the Heaven's and notice the Light that transcends all and gives hope.

Hope . . . that is all I need.

Hope . . . that there is a true end to all suffering.

Hope . . . that I will see my girls again.

Hope . . . that I will bow before my King and give thanks for all that has been given.




Stephanie

What is Christmas All About?

Christmas is . . . hard for me this year.

It is hard trying to find any bit of Christmas spirit. There is none.

It is hard to go Christmas shopping, or put up Christmas decorations.

Okay. That last one I didn't do. My husband put the tree up a couple of weeks ago and just yesterday, my daughter and him put on some of the ornaments. I sat by and watched.

There is no spirit in me for Christmas and that is definitely foreign to me. Like I have said before, I used to always LOVE Christmas.

Their have been some say that I need to do certain "Christmas" things for my daughter. To be quite honest, I am really getting sick of hearing that.

I don't have to do anything.

I know that sounds really defiant and bratty but it's the truth.

Christmas for me this year isn't full of the usual splendor and good cheer that it has in years past.

It just doesn't. 

Do those people who tell me what I "need" to do realize that they are ripping the scab off my still-fresh wound? Don't they realize it hurts more to step into the light of "here, everything is wonderful" when it really isn't at all? It never was. Don't they realize it hurts to pretend? It hurts to be among those who have never hurt this way?

I have been thinking a lot about Christmas. Not like I used to, mind you. But I have been thinking a lot about it.

I think, that for all these years, I have approached Christmas all wrong.

A few months ago, I was dreading this season. Now I am counting down the days when it will be over. I looked towards to December and saw nothing but black. I still do see a lot of black in spite of all the twinkling lights.

About a month ago at church, my minister preached about Jesus' birth and the circumstances surrounding it. He talked about a terrifying King and the beauty that was absent. He talked about the terror and darkness that surrounded the One True Kings birth and I felt . . . relieved.

Relieved to know that I am not the only one who does not see Christmas as that which we have made it. A lot of masked cheer and too much consumerism veiled in good intent.

We look back to His birth and we have made something of it that it wasn't. We have made it seem like everyone was waiting on pins and needles for His arrival and all the world was right.

It wasn't! He arrived in a barn with only the animals as a witness! There were no bells ringing signifying new life. Let alone a birth of a King. There was no write up in the local paper declaring His weight or naming the proud parents. He arrived in the midst of pain and darkness.

So much darkness! He arrived at a time when a ferocious King feared anyone who would steal his crown. He killed family members who threatened to take it! He killed innocent male babies and children because his fear overwhelmed (Matthew 2:16).

It was not a Hallmark movie set. It was awful.

It was dark.

Just like this Christmas is for me.

For all these years, I have thought all the wrong things about Christmas.

It isn't about Santa Claus, trees, twinkling lights, dishes or gifts.

It is about a ray of Light who dared to enter the darkness.

It isn't about the gifts we buy, the foods we make, and all the pretty things we decorate our homes and packages with.

It is about darkness and how an innocent, pure baby broke through and created a way of Light for Life.

I'm not saying Christmas Trees, decorations and shopping are wrong or bad, I just don't want Christ to be an after thought or use Him as an excuse. I want Him to be the reason. I want Him and what He did to dwell in me and motivate me.

I want to give to those who are in true need. In need of food. In need of water. In need of shelter. In need of the Light.

If this is what I have received from the darkness, I will take it.

It is Truth that comes down and pierces the darkness with Light.




Stephanie

The Big Made Small

I knew. That day I knew.

Not by the words that were spoken but more by the words that were not.

I knew.

By the looks on the faces and the unspoken words that exaggerated the noise of the silence.

I knew and yet I still begged God to do something!

I knew that the hope I desperately wanted to cling to of taking Emmy and Vivi home was slipping through my fingers.

Yet still, I begged. I begged for Him to do something. To perform a miracle .  . .

. . . so the next time those faces entered the room, the look would be different.

He did not perform the miracle I had requested.

I don't know why. I may never know.

But I am sure of this: He was there! That day, amid those faces, among the deafening silence, He was there.

He held my weak, shaking body.

The God of the Universe made Himself small to fit into that dark hospital room and wrap Himself around the hurt.

He is not so Big that He cannot comfort in small ways. He is not so Big that He cannot enter into our hurt, our rooms, our world.

It is not the first time the Big became Small.

Some two thousand years ago, He became microscopic and grew to a tiny baby born from a virgin.

A Big God made Himself small and helpless. Every need needing to be supplied by the very ones who needed to be saved.

The creator of everything, entered into His creation.

He entered into the silence, into the hurt in a small way.

He entered into His creation in a helpless way. In a small yet big way.

He entered into His creation to do the Big. He entered into His creation to wrap Himself around the hurt and to heal . . . to save . . .

. . . To perform a miracle. 

All because the Big became Small.




Stephanie

NOW

I am an impatient person. It is one of the qualities about myself that I don't particularly care for.

I used to pray for patience. I stopped. I stopped because, well . . . there just became too many circumstances which required my patience. I didn't like it because it requires patience to tolerate the time and energy it takes to develop patience.

While I am doing one thing, my mind is on the next. I am always ten steps ahead of myself. I am not patient enough to just be in the moment.

I am either looking back or looking ahead. I am rarely ever looking at what is in front of me in the present moment.

I have been doing that a lot lately. I am either looking back to what was or I am looking forward to what will be. I don't want to open my eyes to the now. I don't want to be here! I don't want to be in the mist.

It is so very hot in the now. It is so very painful to be present in the now.

I want the healing to be over because the healing hurts. I want this grief process to be done quickly because I don't have the patience for it. I want it over. I want to be better. I don't like the rawness, the still weeping wounds.

I am trying to be grateful for all that I have and all that I have had.

The rawness of the pain has caused me to open the eye to see. I have noticed things that I never did before.

When I am in a moment with my daughter, I see how immersed in the present she is. I am delighted to see that joy in her. She is not thinking about what she was doing earlier, and how that was better or worse. She is not thinking about five minutes from now. She is just in the moment and she is enjoying it!

I try to meet her there. I try to be ever present in that moment with her and for her. I breathe in deep and give a thanks for just that moment because that is all I am able to give thanks for. Just that one singular moment . . . like she is doing. Even if she doesn't consciously give thanks with her mouth, she is giving thanks by being present in the moment and enjoying it. I think that is the best way to give thanks.

In giving thanks for a moment, I have become more in tune to everything. EVERY emotion that penetrates the heart and makes a demand to be noticed. Every emotion! The good, the hard, the ugly, the joy . . . all of it. So much more now then I did before.

By taking notice, I have realized how I cannot be impatient with the now. EVERYTHING is in the now. All of it!

God is the God of I AM! I don't think He dwells on what was, what should have been or what will come.

He is here, NOW! If I want to truly seek Him and find Him, then I need to be in the now.

If I search for His healing ways, for Him to wrap me in His arms of comfort, then I need to be patient enough to be in the now, to wait for Him. Because, that is the only place I will find Him and rest in His healing. His peace. His comfort.

I cannot expect the wounds to stop weeping if I am constantly looking beyond, but never giving them the care they need now. I cannot expect to fully experience the depths of joy, the grace of a moment, if I am constantly looking for what goodness I believe will come.

I need to learn from my daughter and just live in the moment I am living. To be grateful for it and enjoy it. And be thankful for it.

I have to be here. I am expected to be here. This moment, this now, is my now. It is where I am. It is where I breathe and where my blood circulates. I have to  notice it for what it is. The now is what I have, regardless of it being hard and ugly, it is what I have. It is all I have. It is where I have to live. It is where He is and where He offers grace. And where there is God and grace and mercy, there is beauty!




Stephanie

In the Dark, There is Light

The other day, my husband and I were driving to pick up our daughter from pre-school.

The sky behind us was clear. The sky ahead of us . . . dark and blanketed with clouds.

For months now, I have been praying for pleasant, peaceful dreams. For dreams where I hold my Emmy and Vivi again.

They have not come.

Instead, I have nightmares. I have had dreams where I am surrounded by dying babies. I am pregnant but without the promise of life. I give birth time and time again but there is no baby to hold. I have even had multiple dreams where Emmerson and Vivienne have accused me of killing them. Of not doing everything I could to save them.

I just want a peaceful rest. I just want to know that I can close my eyes and see them, feel them, hold them once more.

I want something to rest peacefully and beautifully on my soul.

We are driving toward a dark sky. I look behind me, in confusion, because I cannot remember the sky looking that dark when we left our home.

Sure enough, the sky behind us is clear and beautiful.

I turn back around in my seat. I sigh a satisfied sigh. The dark sky is fitting. At least something agrees with me that not everything twinkles like the Christmas lights. I give that sigh and sink into my seat. The weight of grief and sadness and missing has been wanting to settle in for that long winters nap. I have been fighting it. I am already enough of a scrooge this season, I don't need that weight to compound it.

I sigh and I look up and over to the South. What I see takes my breath away and causes me to smile.

Truly smile! From the inside out.

I tell my husband to pull over. I need to really see this. I need to not be moving. I need to be still and witness this.

In the mist of the clouds is a small hole where light is shining through. And I see four tiny hands pulling apart the clouds and letting their smiles shine. Twinkle.

It is Emmerson and Vivienne. From the depths of my soul, from everything I trust to be true, I know it is them.

It is them and they are telling me hello. They are letting me know that they are good and well. They are letting me know that even though it is dark now, it won't always be. They are letting me know that they love me.

They are letting me know that Light will always find a way through. 

They found a way to speak to their mothers heart. And I smile. From the inside out.

I tell them, with a smile and a whispered thanks, "I love you both, so deeply".

Stephanie

The First Without

To be honest, I have been dreading this month. Four and half months ago, I thought about this current time and my wish was to be in a deep coma.

That wish has not come true. To add to that, I cannot find anyone willing to knock me out during this holiday season so I won't have to live it.

I don't want to experience this first holiday season without my twins. I thought I would have two more stockings to fill and two more precious girls to buy for.

So, I hope you will excuse me if I don't want to "do" Christmas this year.

This is not me. Not at all. I am one of those annoying people who start listening to Christmas music in October and have all of my Christmas decorations out and up before the food for Thanksgiving has even been bought.

My house is decorated from ceiling to floor and not a spare inch spared from anything Christmas.

I tend to go a little crazy. I have always loved Christmas and everything it entails. I love Christmas shopping, Christmas music, Christmas trees (I pretty much have enough Christmas trees to put in each room), and at this time in the year, my family and I are eating off Christmas dishes.

I told you I tend to go a little crazy.

This year . . . is hard. My husband is downstairs right now putting up the Christmas tree. Just a little over two weeks until the 25th is upon us and we (I mean, my husband) is just now putting it up. I don't want any part of it.

We usually do all of this together. And you guessed it, with Christmas music playing in the background and some peppermint hot chocolate steaming in our Christmas mugs. It is an event!

I don't want to this year. My sweet husband has been wonderful. He has not pushed anything on me. He has not mentioned, not once, any of our traditions.

He did tell me the other day that we will put up the Christmas tree. JUST the Christmas tree.

And a moment ago he made a request that he would like all of us (the three of us, not five) to put the ornaments on together.

I said I would.

The tree, in relative comparison, is going to resemble Charlie Brown's. Just the basics are going to adorn it this year. It will not be covered in its usual splendor.

I said I would join in adorning the tree with our ornaments. It is going to be difficult but I said I would. I am doing this for my daughter. For two weeks now, she has told me that she "wants Christmas in her house".

For her, I am going through the motions without any of my usual excited Christmas emotions. I hope she doesn't realize what is missing in her mommy this year.

I hope the Lord continues to protect her. I hope none of her child-like innocence has been stolen.

I hope that this is part of the grieving process for me. I hope next year, a part of my old self has returned. I know I will never be the same "whole" me that I was before but I do hope that old "pieces" of who I used to be, returns.

I have realized that the Firsts in life are either celebrated or difficult. Six months ago, I thought we would be celebrating Emmy and Vivi's First Christmas. It will be celebrated, for they are experiencing their First Christmas, just not with me, and that is difficult.

Stephanie

What Do I Know?

I am not the smartest.  I did not go to seminary school. I have not taken a single class on philosophy or theology. I do not hold a masters degree.

I do know the path of blood. I know the electrical current of the heart. I know the intricacies of breathing in and breathing out. I know cells divide, sometime for the good and sometimes for the bad. I know medication and the routes. I know the five rights.

That is all I know. I know a little of a lot of one area of life. One small intricate, delicate detail that makes this world go round.

I do not know much. I am not the smartest. I am not full of wisdom and knowledge.

I do not know much.

I don't know what the theologian does.

I only know what I feel, what I believe, what I have experienced.

I do not know the big, beautiful, perfect answer to faith. But I do know what I believe and what I have experienced.

I may not hold the exact, beautiful definition of faith and I have a hard time explaining it to another but this is what I know for myself.

My faith is the ugly, the hard, the unexplainable.

My belief is in the tears, the sharpnel, the ashes.

My hope is in the blood soaked wood.

This is what I feel, what I trust. And this is what causes more questions to flow.

Where does faith start? Is it inheriant? Are we born with all we need and then through life it becomes less, becoming tainted?

Or is it something that is acquired? Is it born from the hard?

Or does it just grow, nourished when the sun is eclipsed by clouds, making way for the True Light Source to shine, causing growth?

I do not know. I do not know the ways of faith. I do not know if it is the result of cells dividing, blood circulating through or a big electrical shock.

I do not know.

But I do know this.

I know that the small was made big and the ugly became beautiful. 

I know things, life, are ever changing, but there is One who stays the same, no matter what.

I know that The Suffering was made glory.

I also know this:

God is there when it is ugly, hard, unexplainable.

God is there when there are tears, sharpnel, ashes.

God was there in the blood. He was the blood. He still is the blood.

I don't have the theologians answer to faith but I have mine.

I have faith because my eyes are blind. Blind to The Way. Blind to the future. Blind to the purpose.

I believe because He births beauty. Even in the ugly, He births New.

And I have hope because there is a cross stained, scars visible and a tomb empty.

Stephanie

Letting go . . .

The letting go for me, the I-want-I-need-to-control-every-detail-me, is hard. So very hard.

I have never been good at dealing with the aftermath of unfulfilled plans. I don't know how to deal with dreams left floating for the two lives lost.

The letting go . . .

It is so hard.

The unclenching of fist always is.

I have held tight to all the good in life, never wanting to let any of it go. Holding so tight, I became unconsciously afraid to share the good. Because if I shared, would there be less for me? Would there be less for me when it all ended? When it was all over?

Finger by white knuckled finger, I let go while the heart was screaming in protest.

I let go. It was against my nature. My desire. My dreams.

You would think it would be easy for me to continue to let go now. You would think, but you would be wrong. I want to hold tighter. I want to grab tight and pull in close.

I cannot do that and trust in the same moment. I cannot have white knuckles and trust in the same beat of the heart.

To hold tight, is the false sense of control. To hold tight is the opposite of trust.

The letting go, the releasing, that is the trusting.

I want to trust. I want to believe. I want to have faith that there is more. I want to have faith, to trust, that there is hope.

I can't clinch the fist tight and whisper hope together. Trust me, I have tried. In vain, I have tried. It doesn't work. It is not natural.

It hurts more.

So everyday, I unclinch the fist in an act of trust in order to trust.

I let go. I let go and it hurts.

I want what I have to always be mine. I want what remains to never be lost. I want a promise to fall down from the heavens and rest softly in my heart. I want the promise to whisper that no more will be lost.

It doesn't come.

While still praying for a miracle to enter that dark room, the only Promise that really matters came and pried every finger away from what the heart held dear. Held sacred.

You would think that I would have left the hand open. Left it open in the hopes that something good would fall into it.

I didn't. I closed that fist right back up tight.

I held the one I chose close. Closer than ever before. I feared my first blessing of Motherhood would be lost as well. In the wake of loss, in the wake of death, the soul became hyper-aware of what stood to be lost.

I couldn't bear another heart break.

I couldn't bear it so if I just grab, pull, and hold close, I can control the breath, the squeeze of the heart. They won't leave. I won't lose.

But what a sweet lie that is.

If I close a fist around what I already have, if I just hold on to what I know, how will I ever receive more? How can more be had?

The day before the funeral, our minister, the one performing the ceremony, came over to talk with my husband and I. I spoke to him of long ago dreams. I spoke them to him because I was no longer afraid. I told him the fear was gone. How can I fear death when I have already stared it in the face? Walked day in and day out with it?

He held out his arm and at the end was a clinched fist. As he slowly opened the fist till the palm was flat, facing toward the heavens, he said, ". . . when the fear is gone, you start living with open hands".

I thought I understood what he was saying then, but I didn't.

I do now.

I am scared to lose again but I am not going to let that fear keep the hands closed, unable to catch the blessings that rain down.

I am designed to receive it all.

It can only be received when the hand is open, palms faced to the heavens.

The letting go . . .

It is so painful, yet so beautiful.

Stephanie

Who's Tired?

It's another Friday with Gypsy Mama. So that means it is time to stop, sit and pound the keys for five minutes.

I'm going to pound away on the topic of being tired.

And Go . . .

I think every mom knows a thing or two about being tired. I am tired all the time. After I had my first daughter, I suffered from insomnia. Seriously. When I would mention how tired I was, people, especially women, would give me a look and nod their heads.

No! I wanted to scream. I'm not tired just because I have a new baby! I'm tired because I. CAN'T. SLEEP! I would watch the sun rise, nod off for an hour or two and then wake back up. 

The bed became my enemy. I dreaded the hour in the day when most "normal" people would go to bed and take sleep for granted.

The insomnia lasted until my daughter was almost a year old. 

Just around the time I started sleeping well again, I got pregnant a second time and all those trips to the bathroom interrupted every hour of sleep.

I didn't remember getting up THAT MUCH when I was pregnant with my first one.

A few weeks later, I understood why I was getting up more. I had more weight on my bladder. TWINS!!

I was tired all the time! When I was pregnant with the first, I was narcoleptic. The pregnancy with the twins, I was even more tired but I couldn't sleep. Trust me, I wanted to sleep, but sleep wanted nothing to do with me.

I am tired all the time now. Not because I have two more babies to take care of. I would love for that to be the case. Absolutely LOVE to be tired because of two precious girls.

I have to take a sleep aid in order to sleep. Right after I lost Emmerson and Vivienne, a sleep aid wouldn't even allow sweet sleep to come. 

It comes now, I just need help in getting there. 

I am tired but I still fear going to sleep. Right after my great loss, that is when the nightmares came. So, I am still scared to nod off. Even though I want sweet dreams to take over and take me away to another world for a brief moment, I still fear it. I am still so tired. 

It's a tired I have never known and hope to never know again. It's a tired caused by grief and a weary soul.

And stop!

Stephanie

My Prayer

Lord,

I wanted to hold them close, sing them lullabies, tell them stories. I wanted to watch them grow. I would have taken such pleasure in it. I wanted to hear their squeals of enjoyment when they discovered the wonderment of mud. I wanted to hear their first words, be the knees they reached for when trying to pull themselves up. I wanted to watch with wonderment as their eyes closed with sleep, eyelashes fanned across cheeks.

I wanted to be an ear when they had stories to tell. To be a shoulder when their heart broke. Be the finger that wiped away their tears, their heartache.

I wanted to witness, to share their delight as their wedding day approached. I wanted to bask in the glow that only a bride emits. I wanted to hold my husbands hand after he proudly, lovingly and achingly for the years that went too fast, gave his precious Emmerson and Vivienne away.

I wanted to hang up the phone in excited fury after I heard the news their new baby was on their way. I wanted to witness my babies holding theirs.

I wanted to tell them about You. I wanted to tell them how David was mighty, how Moses parted the Red Sea, how Job suffered but still praised, how Noah obeyed while being laughed at. I wanted to tell them and demonstrate with my life to trust in the Promise of the Cross.

I wanted so much. I wanted them. I wanted the chance.

But, Lord, I know they live. I know that my stories would never compare to them hearing the stories first hand from David, Moses, Noah, Job and Christ Himself. I know this but I still wanted the chance.

I know they now live with You. I know they are living a beautiful, wonderful life they would never trade.

I don't need to tell them about You. They know more than I could ever dream.

But would you please, for me, tell them about me? Will you tell them how much I love them? How I can't wait to see and hold them again? Will you tell them how much I wanted them? Will you tell them what kind of Mommy I would have been to them? Please?

Will you please, keep the memory, the feel of my heartbeat alive with them? Because the memory, the feel of them is still alive with me.

And when I pass through Your gates and bow at your feet can they be there to greet me as well?

Stephanie

Traditions

We have a tradition in this family when Thanksgiving rolls around.

It was actually a tradition started by my Grandmother. Every year, when we would gather to fill ourselves with the yumminess of Thanksgiving, she would give each of her Grandchildren a Christmas ornament.

I received my last Christmas ornament from her when I was a senior in High School. She passed away a few short months prior to me graduating.

In the Summer of 2000, I said I Do and four months later, I continued my Grandmother's tradition with my new husband. We have given each other an ornament every Thanksgiving since.

Thanksgiving 2009, we were blessed to add one more life to our tradition. 

This past Spring when we discovered we would be adding to our family by two, I thought of Thanksgiving and smiled. I smiled for we were blessed to add two more precious lives to our Thanksgiving Tradition.

Life now, looks drastically different then it did in the Spring. There is not going to be two Baby's First Christmas Ornaments to our tree this year. There will be ornaments just not the ones that commemorate that occasion. 

I wanted to do it. They have a place in my heart. I want them to have a place on our Christmas tree as well. It is only right. It is only natural for Emmerson and Vivienne to be a part of this tradition. They are a part of our family. For always.

I wanted to do it but the thought of buying their ornaments took the breath from me and crushed my chest. I told my husband that he would have to do it. Alone. I just couldn't.

I did it. I went with him and bought Emmerson and Vivienne their very first Christmas ornaments.

I did it but it was hard. So much harder than I ever imagined but I did it. I am so thankful that I did.

The very first ornament I saw was a Baby's First Christmas ornament. The chest crushed. The breath I needed to breathe escaped me. I gently touched it and whispered, "This is the one we should be buying".

A sales lady asked if we needed any assistance and I started sobbing. Grief paralyzed and tears flooded.   The questions came along with the anger and the overwhelming sadness of all that I miss and continue to miss. 

It was very hard but I am so thankful I did it. 

This year, when we commence celebrating Christmas in this house by putting up the tree, my daughters will have a place on the tree as well.

It is only right. It is only natural. They belong in our traditions and our celebrations.

They are a part my heart for always.

This is part of a series by Franchesca

Stephanie

Have You Ever Been Chosen?

Remember back to elementary school, standing along the sidelines, waiting for someone to choose you to be on their team?

Remember back to those middle school dances, waiting for someone to ask you, choose you, to dance?

Remember waiting for that letter from the college you chose, to in return, choose you?

If feels so nice to be chosen, doesn't it?

The days that followed the birth and death of my sweet Emmy and Vivi, I was so angry with God. I wanted, needed, someone to explain to me why it happened! I wanted to know what I did to deserve this! I wanted to know why God did it.

I shortly came to realize that God is not the source of Evil in this world. "Why" was because the fall of man. Okay, I can acknowledge that God didn't make it happen . . .

But He ALLOWED it! 

In the sun lit hours of the day, I waited for someone, anyone to wake me from the nightmare. I just could not believe this was my life. I couldn't wrap my head around any of it. The minutes ticked, one anguished minute after the next, the anguished minutes became hours, and then the sun lit hours gave way to the dark. To the night. A time to close eyes and sleep.

I waited, I longed for sleep but it betrayed me as well. I was hoping as long as I could sleep, I could wake up and realize that it all was a bad dream. I never woke from the nightmare. I woke to find that I was not having a nightmare but that I was living one.

And He allowed it!

He allowed it to happen to me. Why, I do not know.

If He allowed it to happen to me, does that mean He chose me?

Doesn't everyone want to be chosen for something, by someone?

There is something especially sweet knowing that you were picked over others. You were looked at, acknowledged and deemed appropriate, important. Your existence was validated.

Does the Lord choose for those same reasons or for others that are not of this world?

The Lord one day, after Satan came to Him, pointed out Job, bragging about Him (Job 1:8). 

Satan had not requested anyone so why did God turn a spotlight on Job? Why did God choose Job to endure such suffering? Job endured so. much. heartache! More than I hope I will ever have to endure in my life.

Job did not turn from God even when his wife encouraged him to ". . . curse God and die" 

(Job 2:9).

I'm sure he felt betrayed by his wife and friends. I wonder if he felt betrayed by God as well though he did not betray Him.

Did God choose Job to prove a point to Satan? Did God choose Job so we, today, would have a role model to imitate when we suffer? Or did God choose Job because His Glory would reap?

We know that in ALL things God works for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

Have you been chosen? Have you offered yourself to be handpicked by The One Who Loves?

Does it really matter what we are chosen for? Does the "what" matter as much as "The Who"?

A friend and I were talking the other day and she stated this to me, "I want my trials to be a reflection of His glory."

Lord, let my lips never stop praising. Let me, in the midst of this trial, still cling to the hope of You. Let my trial be a declaration of Who You Are.

Stephanie

How is Love?

The sound is taken in, causing vibration of drum and memory names it Laughter. My husband's laughter.

The lips form curve, the eyes crinkle and twinkle with delight and memory names it Smile. That smile revealing that chipped tooth.

I am pulled in, intrigued. The butterflies take flight, the heart swells and memory names it Love.

I smile big, eyes sparkle, laughter bubbling and my response, the only one I can think to say, the one I have been telling him for years, "you make my heart smile."

To fall in love is a gift, a miracle really. The falling is a movement, a release of control. Is the falling just a one time thing? You jump, you fall and then you land with the one chosen and life resumes?

Or does the falling, the little movements, moments when love takes over, dominates, are those everlasting and ever occurring? 

It happens all the more. I loved the first fall with the one chosen but I enjoy and celebrate the You make my heart smile falls. The ones where I feel it over and over again. Those moments when I feel I am apart of a grand Love Story.

Those moments when all sense of control is released and lost and delight is taken in the fall. When memory names the smile, the laughter, the Love.

Stephanie

This Girl Said YES!

It is New Years Eve 1999

You remember that one well, don't you?

It was out with the old and in with the new. Goodbyes were uttered to a year, to a decade, to a century while everyone anxiously awaited for the new Millennium to be ushered in with a bang. Eyes peeped out through the zeros of the '2000' glasses and everyone was talking about Y2K. 

I remember much about the night the new pushed out the old. I remember it for many of the same reasons everyone else does who lived it. I also remember for reasons completely different as well. 

Very vivid, heart swelling memories that have nothing to do with the Millennium. I remember it like it was yesterday. I suppose I always will . . .

I also remember details prior to that night.

Let's hit the rewind button for a sec.

My then-boyfriend and I had discussed marriage months prior to December 31st. We discussed it but not seriously at first. As time went on, the topic of marriage started to have a serious tune to it. 

The end of November, while on break from college, we talked with the minister at our church. Prior to talking with our minister, we had our hearts set on a certain date (it was sentimental) and we both came to the mutual decision that if the date was not available, we would wait for the following year. 

The date was available, and it was ours! He had a ring but it had not yet been placed on my finger. I had not traditionally been asked. I knew we were getting married but what I didn't know was if we were technically engaged.

This upset me periodically and one particular day I became super upset by the sequence of events. I had in my head how certain things would occur in my life. Knowing I was going to get married but had not yet been proposed to was not one of them. 

So, being the sweet, calm person I am, I politely told (okay, maybe I demanded) my then-boyfriend (or would that be fiance?) "to just give me the ring! We already had the date set, so my fairy tale proposal was ruined!"

He did not give me the ring. In fact, I don't think he even acknowledge my outburst. Scratch that, I mean my statement voiced logically and flavored with sweetness. 

New Years Eve 1999, back on . . .

Some time during the festivities of that night, my then-boyfriend (or would that be fiance? See how confused I was?) went missing. Really he just left the party for awhile but I did not know where he went and could not find him. I'm just trying to add an element of mystery here.

Not long before the ball was to drop, a friend asked if I would go outside with him because he needed some girl advice.

Sure! Why not? But I was a little concerned that I would miss the official start to the new millennium and where was my boyfriend (or fiance, whatever)?!

My friend was chatting away as we walked outside. He went to his vehicle to get something but instead of walking back inside, we continued walking until we were way out in the backyard.

It was beautiful out. The air was cool, crisp and clean. There were scant piles of diamond encrusted snow decorating the ground and the sky was being lit up in bold colors.

We walked until we came close to a pond with a side walk outlining it. Fireworks were bursting with color in the air and I noticed two lit candles on the sidewalk. Strange, I thought. I no sooner saw the candles, when I noticed by boyfriend (again, or was that fiance?) coming from around the other side of the house. 

I hit my friend and exclaimed, "Look! There's my boyfriend! How did he know we were out here?"

Our friend ran away. As he ran, I yelled after him, "I thought you needed to talk, where are you going?" And why is he running away like my boyfriend (fiance?) is going to beat him down?

My boyfriend (fiance?), came and took my hand with a smile on his face, and again, I repeated my question as to where our friend was going?

Are you catching on that sometimes I can be completely oblivious?

Oh, I also forgot to mention how when I had my outburst, I mean calm logical statement, I told my then-boyfriend that there was no way he would surprise me with a proposal because I was expecting it all the time. So, just give me the ring!

Well, I guess I wasn't expecting it that night.

With my hand in his, he led me to the sidewalk where the candles were and sat me down. He sat down in across from me, and picked up his guitar. Where did that come from?

He began strumming his guitar with music he composed. And there was a song on his lips. It was the sweetest sound I ever heard.

It was a song he wrote. Just for me.

The breath he breathed in, was released in sweet music asking me to share his life. To be his wife.

Seriously! I know you are all thinking, "that only happens in movies." Well, if does, then I was the leading lady on the big screen that night.

Through tears that made the colored light in the sky all the more beautiful, I said yes!

Minutes later, as an engaged couple (and the confusion of boyfriend or fiance was laid to rest), we shared in the countdown and witnessed the start of everything new.

I said, "I do" to that gorgeous man in July 2000.

I would not change the story. Not a sequence of it. It was more fairy tale than I could have ever dreamed.

Today was part of a link-up with Mama Kat and her Pretty Much World Famous Writer's Workshop.

Stephanie

Invisible Scars

I was wet, face puffy and red and I could not stand to stand a moment longer.

I was so weak, I didn't think I could take it.

In the first few days after I witnessed how the Lord gives and takes, I was living a nightmare and then when sleep came, more nightmares consumed. I wasn't sleeping. I would wake early. I wanted to sit and do nothing but I couldn't remain still.

When sleep wouldn't offer the rest I so desperately needed, I left. I would find trails and walk, trying to escape reality by running from it.

It never worked.

I walked/ran and the rain came. I am not sure how long the rain had been falling when I looked down and noticed my clothes were soaked through, confused by the wet. I walked/ran some more and then left.

I didn't want to go home. I could not tolerate to be present in places where I used to be really present when my sweet girls were still with me.

I went to the store. I don't know why but I did.

I am sure people thought I was crazy. I looked crazy. Hair all wild and wet, mismatched clothes soaked through, red and swollen face with empty, blank eyes . . . I looked crazy.

I wondered aimlessly around the store, trying to steer clear of anything baby. I remember standing in the middle of an aisle but when I realized what I was not moving, people dodging the crazy lady, I had no idea I had been standing there. Everything was gray and nothing made sense. The smallest things would paralyze.

I bought some things and while at the self-check-out, a lady behind me got really upset because she had to wait her turn to ask for assistance. She was not checking out, "she just. had. a. question". She was huffing and puffing and cursing at the woman who came before her because she now had to wait. What a great inconvience.

I couldn't take her emotion. It weakened me further.

I wanted to turn around and punch her! I wanted to hit her and tell her to shut up! I wanted a release for all the emotion boiling inside of me. She was not helping me, she was making it worse. I just wanted, needed to hit someone . . . something!

I didn't hit her. I don't know why but I didn't.

Instead, her anger, her sense of entitlement almost paralyzed me. I became so heavy I couldn't move. I forgot what I was doing. I forgot how to swipe the chosen items across the scanner. I forgot how to pay. I forgot what money was and what it was for. I remember the word 'payment' confused me. The people behind were getting upset with me. I could feel the stares. I could hear the silent huffs and curses.

I started crying. Couldn't they see? Wasn't it evident?

My scars, weren't they visible for all too see? I just needed an ounce of compassion, an ounce of grace. I got none.

I can not and I will not look at others the same anymore. People don't make mistakes or take longer because they are trying to inconvience others. They may just be having a hard time wading through the muck that has been deposited at their feet.

People with lost limbs or bald heads covered in scarves, their scars are visible. But there are a whole slew of souls walking around, trying to do life, covered with invisible scars.

Stephanie

The Wonders of the Web!

A few weeks ago, an awesome woman, contacted me. Just a few days ago, we chatted on the phone. She is such an amazing, compassionate woman of God.

She listened, truly listened and let me talk. She asked questions, she spoke words of wisdom and offered sweet words of comfort to me on the Eve of a hard day.

I feel extremely blessed to call her friend.

She has been emailing me wonderful stories of hope. Just tonight I received an email from her with a link from You Tube in it.

It is going to seem like I am venturing off course here for a minute but just stick with me. A few years ago, I started following a blog by a person who also suffered the loss of a baby. I found her to be an inspiration. I got the chance to meet the blogger, Angie Smith, at this years Women of Faith Conference (which was a complete act of God that I was even there). She is so sweet and compassionate and sincere. She hugged me as we both cried.

Now, back on track. The email that I got tonight with the You Tube link, it was a link to Angie and her husband, Todd (singer of the band Selah, which their song, I Will Carry You, was played at Emmerson and Vivienne's funeral) sharing the story of their dear daughter Audrey Caroline.

Nothing is ever, really, by coincidence, is it?

I have felt compelled to share with you tonight, with what was shared with me.

I completely relate. I am not ready to stop talking about Emmerson and Vivienne. And I "get" the comment on being Audrey's voice. As their mommy, I am their voice in this world and I refuse to remain quiet about the miracle, the blessing of my sweet girls. Their voice is the reason I created my blog. It is done in their honor, in their memory.

To be honest, I don't care so much about my legacy. What I care about, is the legacy I create for Emmerson and Vivienne. It is theirs, all of it, because without them, it would never have been set in motion. Their impact on me has been huge. It is my hope that their impact in this world, is beyond measure. I hope they continue to bless others in the way that they blessed me.

And I so hope, that through this, that by this, my living daughter is proud to call me mommy. I hope that she learns how to truly love Christ. To trust Him even in the hard, the dark, the ugly. That is what I hope I leave for her . . .

Stephanie

Happy Happy Joy Joy

Happiness is but a circumstance. Joy is something different. Completely.

The stars line-up just right and circumstance is good. Happiness is the emotion had.

The world as once known stops, heart breaks, tears fall and happiness leaves.

Smiles and eyes full of sparkle and delight are expected when happiness is dancing; joy a partner in the dance.

When the pattern of the stars and the planets rearrange themselves and happiness has left, does joy leave too? If happy is a state resulting from circumstance, what is joy? Does joy partner up with sorrow as well?

Can you have one without the other? What causes joy to remain when happy sits one out?

She must of questioned it too. In her book, One Thousands Gifts, she states ". . . As long as thanks is possible, then joy is always possible."

Always? Even when circumstance is anything but happy?

Always? 


How?

How and why do you give thanks when there is no happy to be found? When circumstance is black?

What do you give thanks for?

Is thanks given because a moment is good, joyous? Or are joyous moments the result of whispered thanks?

The giving of thanks of everything? Even the black? Even the ugly?

Is joy really always possible? Even when you are in a pit staring black all around, is it possible even then? Is it possible to give thanks when despair consumes?

If joy is possible as long as thanks is, then even in those awful moments, you give thanks in order to know joy?

Even then? Even when it's hard? Even when happiness has not only left the dance floor but the party as well?

When we consume pieces we give thanks for the Broken. Whole is what is desired but thanks for the Broken is given because the Broken became Beauty. Do we need to see the end product before thanks can be proclaimed from the heart, pushed past lips and released for all to hear?

Does it, a moment, need to first be spoken as beautiful before it is seen as such? Or is it already a magnificent moment because The Almighty is already in it? Is there meaning in a moment only when it's deemed important by self or are all moments full of meaning because they are God-breathed? God-willed?

To have a meaning, wonderful life, what is required, what is needed to see? To do?

Do the things, the actions that others want of you, for you, is that what is needed for life to have meaning? Are they the things that you want or need for self? Or is it how other's perceive you, your life? Is it their definition that make your days, your life, meaningful? Are these the things, the building blocks, for a meaningful life?

Or are they already Meaningful Moments because they are God-breathed? Because in those moments, in every moment, is God. And God is always good.

And if God is always good, then thanks can always be given. If thanks is given, then can't joy be expected?

Can joy be expected to dance still when the dance floor has given way to a black pit?

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

Psalm 139:11-12

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure, because you will not abandon me to the grave, nor will you let your Holy One see decay. You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

Psalm 16:9-11

Stephanie

Unexpected

Today is a Five Minute Friday with Gypsy Mama.

It is five minutes of uninhibited writing about a chosen topic from the Mama mentioned above.

That's a bit of a leap for this planner but here I go . . .

I believe I have mentioned before how I am a bit of planner, a control freak and a Type A personality. I like to have a blueprint for my life. I like to know where I am headed and what to expect once I get there. How do I deal when things haven't gone as planned? Well . . . I'm still not sure.

I have had some unexpected moments in my life. Moments like falling in love, stopping to admire a sunset, feeling the sensation of salt water waves crash against the legs.

Those have been wonderful, magnificent, unexpected moments.

A little over four months ago, the Unexpected happened. The unexpected-this-is-not-supposed-to-happen-to-me-moment. The Unexpected happened in a big way, in a big moment. Every since then, the unexpected continues to happen in small ways, in small moments. 

I'm just left wondering if the unexpected can still be appreciated as it once was.

My moments, all of my moments are unexpected now. I find that I startle myself. I no longer feel the obsessive need to plan (what's the point?). I don't feel like controlling anything (did I ever really have any control before?).  I'm not much for a super clean house with everything in its place anymore (I hardly notice when there is a weeks worth of dishes piled in the sink).

My unexpected moments . . .

Crying

Becoming incredibly angry

Laughing

Sleeping well

Managing to climb out of bed

Singing along to a song

Smiling

Crying

These are also unexpected moments . . .

Feeling God's peace

Trusting Him

Feeling Him hold me

Stephanie

To Reach the End

When, in life, do you stop noticing yourself and start to feel the pulse of Christ?

Is it when you have reached the end of self that you really start to see, know, the Miracle of the Maker?

And just what is it that causes the eyes to glance out and up and start searching?

Is it when everything is right? When the plans, work and determination has paid off? Or is it when the dreams are dashed, plans have been pulverized and pain settles in and penetrates the heart deep?

Is the pain what is needed? Needed in order to breathe deep and new? To come to the end of self and feel what is always new?

Does it take losing to see what is already had? What has always been there?

After my world stopped, I noticed everything small and everything that I made huge. The unimportant, the tiny things that much time and energy was spent, were the very things that after were so trivial.

There are so many things, so many, that consumes us and in the end it is really just trivial.

The trivial is what consumed me with myself. So consumed that it was difficult to see out and what truly mattered.

How much passed me by? How much hurt, how much sorrow that I could have embraced and comforted those who suffered if it wasn't for the consumption of self? What was good that went unnoticed?

The tragedy doesn't lie in the wake of death. For death is what often times wakes us up to notice the living. The tragedy is what lies in the wake of waking up. Of opening the eyes and seeing all around.

The refusal to see, to witness it all prior to the tragedy is the tragedy itself.

So, when . . . what causes one to come to the end of self? Is it sorrow? Is it miracle?

When the end of self is reached and there is a distinct end and beginning but also a wonderful blending of the soul of self and the wonderment of the Creator, is that when the heart opens and witnesses?

Is that when sorrow is noticed and embraced? Is that when miracle is rejoiced and proclaimed? Is that when the two are one in the same?

Does it take the blood of Christ to pulse through veins to notice the end and the beginning?

Stephanie

The Hard

There is nothing about this that has been easy.

Everything has been hard.

Smiling . . . Getting out of bed . . .  Showering . . . Eating . . . Patience . . . Seeing, really seeing . . . Faith . . . Believing . . . Everything! It has all been hard. So incredibly hard.

But why does it all have to be JUST. SO. HARD???

Why? Why? Why?

When the questions come hard and fast, where are the answers?

When life was given and breath stopped and the heart beating below my own stopped, why couldn't mine have stopped as well? Weren't they connected? Weren't they joined? Did the breath and the heart stop because of a disconnect? Was the disconnect my own? My fault?

Why do I now have to live the hard? Why don't easy answers come for the hard questions?

Why?!

Paul had the thorn (2 Corinthians 12:7). Jacob had the limp for the wrestling (Genesis 32:23-25). We all have our crosses, this I know. But why?

Why can't we choose them? I wouldn't have chosen this. I would have chosen one that I believed I would be strong enough to bear . . .

This is hell!

This is hard!

Jesus had His cross. Jesus, the God-Man, the God-Flesh, had His. Did He know it from the first breath of worldly air? Did He know what His future held? The anguish? The pain? Did He dread it everyday? Was He satisfied with it for He knew the glory? Or did He just live the God-Life? He bore The Cross with weight added by my shame. He bore it and He didn't have to.

He didn't have to bear the weight of my mistakes, adding to the fury of insults hurled and spiked metal piercing.

He didn't have to endure the hard, but He did . . .

Is that enough to make my cross more bearable?

Is that the hard answer to the anguished why?

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

2 Corinthians 12:8

Stephanie

Check It Out!

I love anything that can be personalized. I love how you can reveal pieces of yourself by the things you wear, items you carry, and the treasures that fill your home.

The design of your blog.

You never know who you will meet in the wild wonderful world of the web. I met a beautiful soul about a month ago. She has also suffered a similar loss and by and through it, she has spoken sweet healing words to me.

I am blessed to consider her a friend.

She gave my blog a makeover and in doing it, a little piece of myself has been revealed. My sweet girls names are on display in a beautiful fashion. She did a wonderful job.

I love it!

Stephanie

Good Grace

The eye widens, blinks, adjusts to take in light. The ear catches sound on wind and listens sweet. The senses take in the wonderment of silky touch. The freshness of water is tasted and thirst quenched with life.

We consider it good. We consider it grace.

What then? What is good, what is grace when horror invades sight, screams pierce ears, the uncomfortable scratches skin, and thirst lingers still? The soul lying in hunger? Where is good? Where is grace? Where is God?


Do they run? Do they remain in one place waiting to be found?

Or are they there? The whole time? Every time? Ever present?

Are they always there waiting for the wonderment, the picture to be fully seen? To the promise sweetly whispered in the ear? The searching, scratching to the softness of cashmere underneath? To the soul resting with the Life Source?

By God's Grace . . .  God is good . . .  The praises uttered when life is right, when bow-wrapped gift is handed over.

Why me? Are there praises proclaimed in the curves of those letters? On the lips of the spoken?

Why is Why Me? not uttered when gift enters, when the hands tear off bow, unwrap and receive?

Is the goodness and the grace, seen . . . spoken when the harshness overwhelms?

Why me?

Why not me?

We think we do not deserve crumbs, brokenness, scarred hearts.

Why then do we think we deserve wholeness, beauty, dreams?

If we did nothing to deserve the ugly, what then, did we ever do to be able to behold the beauty?

Why not me?

In the end, it is all good, it is all grace - deserving none of it, but being able to hold and witness all of it - all because of grace. Because God is good.

Stephanie

Hopefully Not Forever...

Oh, how I ache! Oh, how I wish this pain would have passed me by!

How I desperately wish God would not have allowed this.

With the vibrant colored leaves falling, so have my tears. So many that I could soak the earth.

When I still had the beating of two precious hearts within, I was excited for Autumn. It is my favorite season. It was going to be the season I was going to rock into snow covered earth with my babies.

What am I supposed to do now?

I am back to keeping the curtains closed. I don't want to see the beautiful life that Spring brought die a beautiful death. I have seen enough of that. Even though I know the dying will usher in something new, I don't want to witness it.

I just want to rock my babies.

I want to pass by a baby section and not suppress a moan. I want to pass by a baby section and not fight back tears and be able to find a voice around the lump in my throat. I want to smile again from the depths within.

What if that is gone forever?

What if all that is left is this terrible desperation? What if all that is left is just the ability to endure and not enjoy?


What to do when faith and emotions don't always match up? How do you pour that Sweet Salve on what aches when you are too broken to see?

What do you do?


It is hard to trust, hard to see that there is a light in the distance.

It is rough. This road where I unexpectedly found myself, it is so rough, too black to see. I do not want to be here. I want to be in a rocking chair rocking my babies into a new season.

What am I supposed to do now?

Stephanie

Consider it Gift

I read these words about two months ago in a book I cannot remember. **

Do you love the gift more than The Giver?

Those are words, food for thought. Words that caused me to stop. To think.

I did not like the question at first because when I really examined self, I did not like the answer.

Yes. Yes I love my girls! More than breath, more than life itself. More than The One who blessed me with them?

Ouch! My answer stings. My response hurts.

Do you love the gift more than The Giver?

After days and weeks spent thinking, mediating, examining . . . No.

It was not an easy No for me. But the hard does not cause me to change my response.

Emmerson and Vivienne are a gift. They are His gifts to me. They are gifts and there was never a guarantee on how long I would physically hold them. The time spent does not take away the fact that they were His gifts to me.

It is up to me now, how I treat, how I react to His gift . . . my girls . . . my God. I will honor Emmerson and Vivienne. I will carry them in my heart until the last bit of air is pushed from the lungs.

Even now, I would not return this ache, this sorrow.

I hear of new mommies who want a full nights sleep, of their hope for the laundry load to be less. I now realize, through loss, how I desire for sleep to be interrupted with the cries of hunger and for my laundry to be dotted with tiny onesies. 

If before, I could have overlooked those things, those moments and chores as blessings, as gifts, then what more am I not seeing? What else does my eye need to fall on and consider it gift? Blessings?

Could my sorrow, my ache, be gift?

This question has caused me to take pause and examine my life.

There is no doubt that my life has been extremely blessed. 

Emmerson and Vivienne were and still are blessings in my life. They have caused me to open my eyes, my heart and to see everything that rains down as good. Blessings rain down. They rain down abundantly.

Blessings that cause me to hit knee and bow low. 

He rains blessings down. How often do we return those blessings with thanks?

How often do we entrust the beauty of what was given to the majesty of The Giver?

...My soul glorifies the Lord...For The Mighty One has done great things for me.

Luke 1:46:49

Stephanie

*I have received a lot of literature and have read a lot of books over the past few months. I have searched everything I have read and cannot find the source for the above question. I love to give credit where credit is due. If you know the one who asked the above question, please leave the name in the comment section that follows this post. The question is not from me.*