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