Happy Birthday, Josiah.

There has been reminder after reminder that this day was approaching.

Daffodils in the yard, just like the ones I picked and put on the table the day you came home.

The card in the mail from JCPenny reminding me to schedule your birthday photo shoot. (Even though I told them LAST YEAR to take you off of their mailing list.) 

The amazing moon.

The chilly air turning into warm gusts that beckon spring and new life.

And our fine arts competition at school. Sitting in a room watching judges painstakingly score art projects, just like the day your daddy came through that door, wide eyed, fast talking, phone in hand. "Girl or boy?! Girl or boy?!" I remember rambling and my heart swelling and hearing the answer... "Boy!"

It was that word and that moment that changed me into a mommy.  I wouldn't trade that sweet memory for anything in the world, except maybe for still having you with us. 

I've debated for weeks now if I should send you a card. A present. Something to let you know I remember you, I love you, I miss you. But, my heart can't take the thought that it would possibly get torn or discarded and never reach you. So instead I just come to my safe place here and beckon as loud as I can with typed words.

Today I am celebrating your birth.

Today I am celebrating your life.

Today I am celebrating that you are here, even though you're not with me.

Tonight I'll find the moon and feel my heart still tied to yours, and pray your life is celebrated as much as it possibly can be by everyone that loves you.

Happy Birthday, Josiah.

Tangible Reminders

The day started out pleasant enough.  Pj's till noon.  Whole wheat chocolate chip peanut butter pancakes drizzled with butter and syrup.  Molly telling me her new sweatshirt was "so swarm and nuggily." A walk to Gramby and Pop Pop's, my littles cozied up in the stroller.  Sadie smiling and smiling and smiling like she always does.  I love little moments like these.  They make the pendulum swing to grateful and seem like it should always be stuck there.

But back in the corners of my mind is that soft, bruised place that I try to avoid.  The voice that wants to tell me, "Remember this time last year?  You had better savor it.  It's the last time you'll be able to say 'this time last year, he was here.'"  I shove those thoughts aside and pray that God would redeem this day for me- to make it count for something other than sadness.

When I finally surrendered to getting ready for the day and went upstairs to get dressed, my thoughts turned to a ring I used to wear that I honestly haven't thought about in months.  It was our ring.  Josiah's and mine.  The ring represented the little string that connected Josiah and me to the truth of God's plan.  The word HOPE.  When we first had Josiah placed in our home, I took these pictures with him wearing it.

And the day he left, I took this one:

  

Every time I would look down at my ring, the verse in my head would speak the truth to my heart and tell me that God has a plan and purpose.  He will not forsake me or Josiah.  He knows what He is doing.

Jeremiah 29:11

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD.  Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  

I wrote the verse in the Bible we sent along in his going-home box, so the truth of it might penetrate Josiah's heart one day.

*warning, you may not want to make this photo bigger and read this if you're a little teary....it will most like you send you over the edge*

Unfortunately, my fingers swelled during pregnancy and I put the ring away in my jewelry box.

This morning when I remembered the photos and the ring, I was so excited and eager to wear it again.  I told God, "When I look down at that word, I'll remember Your promise, and I'll remember to pray for Josiah to find the plan you want him to."  I slipped it onto my finger, eager for it to find its former home again.  I felt my finger defy my endeavor.  Swollen.

Disgruntled, I shoved my ring back into the jewelry box.  I walked away mumbling to myself, "I shouldn't have put so much salt in the pot roast last night.  I'm not eating any more salt.  Ever."  I stomped out of the room like a surly 2 year old, thinking that maybe God didn't want me to have a tangible reminder of Josiah.  It may do my heart more harm than good.

The rest of the day was quiet and peaceful.  Justin met with our pastor and his wife this afternoon while I stayed home to supervise my happy nappers.

After dinner, Justin told me that he just remembered the pastor's wife wanted him to give something to me.  He went to his car and retrieved a little brown box.

Inside was a necklace. 

                                       

A new necklace with a new word.  heavenward. I almost cried when I saw it.  The little pearl echoed the meaning of my name.  Megan: a pearl.  The engraved word spoke the truth of this verse:   

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.  Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it.  But one thing I do; Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."  

Philippians 3:12-14

Perhaps my thoughts need to not be on an earthly plan, hoping for a good future for Josiah or for me.  God's picture is much bigger than that.  The word offers a directional course, a turning away from the old, and straining toward what is ahead.  The prize is not holding onto my children forever or hoping that everything will turn out favorably for me or for them.  The prize is Jesus Himself.

Because of what Jesus has done, He has called us heavenward.  The goal is to live with heaven in mind, and inspire others to do the same.  

Suddenly I don't feel the need to worry about eating too much salt.          

This time last year...

This time last year, Josiah was still here.  I was dancing victory dances in my living room for winning the evil bedbug debate.  I was packing his things trying to savor sweet moments through tears and taking pictures of him wrestling with his daddy, who was home with us because God gave us a special snow day so we could be all be together one last time.  

Forgive me for picking at scabs.  The calendar makes it impossible not to.

While his departure happened so quickly on January 28th, 2011, it has taken months and months for him to really be gone.  Little shoes found in closets, pictures on the wall, the stain on the carpet from his juice he spilt that I was so reluctant to clean, his little voice I could still hear after he left.  He lingered here for so long. It is the most difficult thing to balance grief and gratefulness.  The pendulum still continues to swing a year later.

I have Josiah one-year-old birthday picture on my refrigerator.  Just when I thought I was ready to take it down, Molly found it in a drawer and put it back up.  So every time I see it, this is the conversation that ensues:

"I miss him," the empty place in my heart groans though no words come out.

"I know," He speaks back to the empty place.

"You make all things beautiful in Your time."  I say it to remind Him, but as soon as I speak the words in my heart, I think it's Him reminding me.

"I do.  I will.  I AM." He says like light piercing darkness.

It used to hurt like a punch in the gut that would take my breath away.  Most of the time now though, it feels more like hitting my funny bone, like my body saying, "hey, remember you have an elbow?"  I can control when and where I let it happen.  Mostly, I let it happen here.  So thank you, patient, encouraging reader for letting me air my grief.  I know when to knock that place it so I can remember it, feel it, rub it, let God console me, and let Him tell me how He has created all things for His purpose and in His time.          

I was re-reading my friend Jen's post a year after her little girl went to Heaven, and so many things she said resonate with me.  

"A year is no time.  A year is so much time."

Oh it's so true!  How can a year both linger painfully long and still feel like warp speed ahead?!?!  It must be the pendulum effect.  Grief and gratefulness.  One slows time.  One propels it.  With one you are in the arms of the shepherd, the other, you're enjoying the grass.  This year I've learned how sweet both times can be!

The anniversary of Josiah leaving our home and finding another is sad because I remember all those difficult details about the box we packed, saying goodbye, crying, and crying, and crying....but I also feel like it's a stake in the ground.

Like Jen said in her post, "I just want the 28th to come and go so I can look and say, “I made it through a year. I can make it through another one.”


We made it through one year without him- every season, every birthday, every holiday-  we can make it through another and another and another.  


God was good that day Josiah left.  He has been good since.  He will be good still.   

Hurty Thirty

I dreamt about Josiah last night.  It's my own fault.  I shouldn't have blogged about him before going to bed.

He was taller, longer, his round face thinned a bit, curly soft hair and the same chocolate eyes I know so well.  His hair was shaved a little on the sides, like someone had cared enough about him to make sure he looked well groomed.  He looked too thick and heavy to pick up, but I did anyway.  I put my hands under his arms and felt the tug in my legs and lower back as I settled his weight awkwardly on my hip.  


"Do you know who this is?"  I heard someone ask him as he looked at my face, puzzled.  


"She looks like someone I knew once,"  he said.  "She looks a little like my mama, but I think she had shorter hair."


"I can cut it again." I spoke swiftly and softly.  "I was going to cut it again anyway.  Maybe you'll recognize me then.  I would do anything for you, Josiah." 


And then I woke up.  Welcome to thirty, Megan.

There's something about every birthday, every milestone, every holiday that reminds me that the house is emptier, quieter, more peaceful than it was last year.  Every time there is a special day, a little voice likes to say, "This time last year, he was here.  Remember how happy you were when he was here?"  I hate that voice.  There is too much truth to it to dismiss it quickly, and just enough lie to let me wrestle with it and let it spoil what should be a happy day.  

I tell myself that I wouldn't be able to give my girls as much energy and attention if he was here.  I try to remember what it felt like to have to pack him up for visitation every week and watch him cry as he drove away without me.  I think about the knots in my stomach watching Justin have to deal with talking to Josiah's grandfather, and how much I hated going to court, praying that the outcome would end in our favor, talking with law guardians, nurses, and case workers trying to advocate for the well-being of my son.  I try to focus on how good my life is right this moment..."Hasn't your life been easier without him?" I argue with my previous thoughts,  "Can you imagine how hard it would be having three right now?"

None if it matters.  I miss him.  I miss him.  I miss him.  And this time last year, he was here.  Eating my birthday cake, squishing it through his fingers, and licking it off the back of his hands.  

When I drove to work today,  I prayed for Josiah...that he is happy and healthy and knows how loved he is.  My thoughts drifted to how many times I took this drive and cried out to God to please move mountains for this little boy.  I remember how often I was comforted when I would see a single sparrow cross the road in front of me.

"My eye is on the sparrow,"  He would speak to my heart. "Josiah is worth more than many sparrows."

Today as I prayed, I told God how happy I should be, how grieving this loss should hurt less by now, and how much He has blessed me.  Shouldn't the good outweigh the bad, at some point?  Shouldn't I feel so overwhelmingly thankful that there is no room for hurt anymore?

Just as I rounded a corner, on my way through a cornfield, I saw the most amazing display of a flock of blackbirds that I have ever seen in my life.  Swarming in perfect synchronization, like schools of fish, thick black billowing clouds, thousands- I mean THOUSANDS- of blackbirds.  Whirling, swirling, fluttering wings.  "Look at me! Look at me!" they demanded my attention.  I think I must have slowed down to 15 miles and hour, and still they descended. Different flocks from every direction.  Coming, coming, coming, like they all had something to say.

"Do you think Josiah is beyond the scope of my care?" He spoke.  "If you only knew how much I love him.  He is worth more than many, many sparrows."    

I don't know how to explain how this road to healing can be both filled with grief and joy at the same time.  I only know that when I question His faithfulness, He is the lifter of my head.

It was a hard day, but I think I'm going to like thirty.

An Update on Josiah!

Sometimes people ask us if we hear about Josiah.  The answer is no.  The grandparents never call.  DYFS never calls.  (They finally stopped calling about 2 months ago for wanting to place another child with us, even though we told them we were closing our home in February.)  And we never call to ask.  We learned from the lovely encounter on Josiah's birthday, that sometimes not knowing things is better. But yesterday, Justin finally had a reason to call DYFS because he needed some paperwork that they had.  He was able to ask about our little man.

I don't have much news, but they say he is doing well and loving being with his brother.  The bad news:  the parents STILL will not relinquish their rights, and the state has not officially taken them away.  So that probably means he's still subjected to stupid visitation every week with them, and the poor grandparents are still having to go to pointless court hearings.  This was disheartening.  More than anything I want permanency and a forever home for Josiah, even if it isn't my home.

Justin and I were talking about how much we miss him still.  We went to a friend's house that had one of Josiah's toys that he used to play with, and the sounds that it made triggered an empty feeling in my gut.  I just never know when the feeling will knock me down.  Justin and I were thankful after we heard the latest, that as much as it hurt letting him go, God probably saved us from a lot of pain and heartache in the long run.  We would STILL have been dealing with visitation, and court, and craziness.  I can't imagine having to explain things to Molly, who now understands and repeats everything that I tell her.  We still have pictures of Josiah in our house, and Molly talks about him.  The other day she wanted to pray for him.  I can't decide if it's a good or bad thing to let his memory linger around the house.  It makes me both happy and sad at the same time.  

I do know that I'm ready to finally take our family picture down and replace it with a new one.  I'm ready to celebrate our family of 4....it's a different 4 than it was this time last year.  Its the 4 God designed for us to have right now, and I am so thankful for both of my girls.

All that being said, please pray for Josiah and his family.

There's still a little bit

Today marks six months since Josiah went to his new home.  It seems like yesterday he was here with us and a lifetime ago at the same time.  I wasn't expecting to feel broken today, but I do.  I feel absolutely deflated and defeated and missing that boy that used to be my son.  It came so unexpectedly that it feels like I've gotten the wind knocked out of me.

My sisters are still here with their sweet babies.  I should be basking in the feeling of completeness and wholeness that togetherness should bring.  Maybe its the fact that the last time we were all together Josiah was with us.  Or that Judah is wearing Josiah's three month clothes.  Or that my dad keeps saying Josiah's name accidentally when he's listing off his grandchildren to people.  Or the date.  Or that I'm sleep deprived.  It's probably that I'm letting all of that soak it at once and letting it marinate in my mind until the tears start flowing and I have no power to stop them.  And then comes the guilty feeling of missing him when I should be enjoying the fact that my girls are here with me.

I've decided that I can mentally justify that Josiah has left.  He is with his brother.  He is happy.  He is surrounded by people that love him.  I can spiritually justify it.  I am closer to God because of the lessons He's taught me through loving and losing and loving again.  But....and I know that this sounds really strange... my body still misses his body.  I miss feeling my fingers shampooing his little curls.  I miss struggling to put his little chubby toes into his orange crocs.  I miss feeling the weight of him in my lap as I read to him when his hair tickled my chin.  And I miss kissing that little bridge of his nose that my lips fit so perfectly in.  I just ache to feel those things again, and I don't know what to do about that.

I remember my last interaction with my little man was strapping him into his car seat one last time and kissing that bridge of his nose.  I remember praying for a miracle and expecting God to show up in a tangible way in that moment.  And He did.  Josiah never cried when I closed the car door like he usually did when he had to leave with a caseworker.  

I love that I have those special places on Molly's face that I love to kiss, like next to her eyes because it feels so similar to her daddy's face when I kiss him there, or her chin when she tips her head up to look at the light at the top of the stairs when I take her up for her bath.  I wonder where Sadie's special kissable places on her face will be.  I keep nuzzling her close and trying to teach my lips to learn her face in the same way I knew Josiah's so completely.  

Today I miss him.  Today I will hold my daughters a little tighter.  I will cry.  I will smile and laugh at pictures and videos of my little man.  I will take new pictures of my daughters and their cousins being together.  I will savor how my lips feel when I kiss them.  I will feel broken.  And then I will feel whole again.  

  

Operation: Stay put, baby. Check!

I had the most amazing week.

1- because I got to spend an entire week with my friend, Jen, who is quite possibly the best houseguest in the whole world.  She cooks, cleans, makes me nap, plays with Molly, tells me to go to bed at night when I need to, encourages me to be as lazy as humanly possible,  and doesn't' mind incessant question asking during movies. (You can totally be jealous that she's my friend and not yours.)

AND...

2- I am 36 weeks pregnant and baby girl has decided to stay put for a little while longer...atleast until her Daddy can come back from spending 2 weeks in VA to finish up his master's classes.  He comes home tonight!!!!

Not only do I feel accomplished (Twilight saga and the Harry Potter saga all watched in a span of 7 days. woo hoo!)  but I feel very close to being ready for baby girl to be making an appearance.  Here's my list.  Look how much I've managed to cross off without Justin being here!  I'm stoked.

I feel like not only is my house is getting prepared, but emotionally, I feel I'm getting ready too.  I wouldn't say I'm excited.  I'm not anxious.  I'm not scared or apprehensive.  I'm just ready.  Ready for change.  Ready for newness.  Ready for joy and a sense of relief and gladness. And with that ready feeling comes cold fingers of guilt wanting so badly to squeeze hope away.  It's so strange the guilt that come with wanting to love another child that isn't the son I thought I'd love forever.  

I'm worried what I'll be feeling when she gets here.  

Will I wish I was holding Josiah instead of her?
When my heart is so used to loving and losing, will I guard it and not be able to love her like I should?
Will there be enough of me to go around so I can love her and Molly miss Josiah still all at the same time?
Should I even care if I miss Josiah or do I really need to start letting memories go?  Take his shoes out of the basket next to the door?  Take his pictures off of the walls so Molly can stop talking about him?

I know those are terrible things to think, and I hate even admitting to even entertaining those thoughts.  But there they are- worries that I'm struggling with.

And that is yet another reason why I am so glad that Jen was here this week.  We had a wonderful conversation about how there are feelings that come from God, and feelings that don't.  Jen told me that being sad comes from God.  It comes from an extension of experiencing love that can only come from Him, and then enduring loss of the object of that love.  Joy comes from God, from experiencing love and the good gifts He gives us.  Guilt does not come from God.  Guilt robs both sadness and joy away so that as Christians we can not experience those emotions fully.  Those emotions are gifts.  The world will tell you "get over it," "get through it," "replace sadness with something meaningful so it doesn't hurt as much," "stay as busy as possible so you don't have time to think about it."  We lose so much of the gift of grieving when we do that, and we fall into the trap of feeling guilty if we decide to linger on feeling sad for longer than others think we should.  

But let me say, how sweet this time of loving, and losing, and hoping has been.  It is in recognizing that both sadness and joy can coexist that makes me feel like I can be a good mom to the new blessing that is our baby girl.  And its not just that these two feelings coexist, I see one informing the other.  I see that as God consoles, He also transforms.  I think it is impossible for the nearness of His presence not to change us completely.  I am a better mom, a better student of the Word, a better teacher, a better artist, a better friend, wife, sister, daughter, .... because I have experienced real sadness and real joy.  (and be on the lookout...this has a lot to do with baby girl's name...) ;o)  

I am ready for her.

Operation:  Come out, baby.... commence!      

...actually... please wait until 11:00 tonight when your daddy comes home.

Molly's Room

This weekend I tackled a big project.  It was time to clean out Molly's closet.  Not only is she growing out of her 18 months clothes, but it's time to put the winter clothes away and get out the spring and summer outfits.  I have some very generous friends who have lent me bins and bags of girl clothes.  It was finally time to sort through them all.  

But cleaning out the closets also meant that I had to start going through Josiah's clothes.  This was the last of the remnants that declared he lived there.  Memories cling to clothes like nothing else.  I remember him wearing each outfit as I put it away in a box.  I even found a couple of outfits that I should have sent along with him and a wave of guilt spilled over me as I told myself I had the opportunity to bless him with something else and I missed it because his closet was too messy.  I found his old crib bumper and tucked it away in the closet.

and his little gingerbread costume he wore when he was with his cousins for the last time.  

(I think he stole Jesse's cookie here and he wasn't too happy about it.)  

It's funny how memories of him can make me smile and cry at the same time.  I wonder when they will start to sting less.  

But in the midst of sadness for what I've lost, each item that I put away felt like the opportunity to bless another little boy with them one day.  It will probably be one of Molly's cousins that will wear them.  Maybe Micah (my older sister's adorable miracle baby.)

                                  

Or Judah (my younger sister's little gem who I get to meet in 4 days!!!!!!!!)... this is his Zoolander impression.

Here is the "I feel like I belong on Hoarders" shot in the "it always looks worse before it looks better" phase.

And the final result!  

I'm tempted to start going through the newborn clothes and adding them to the closet too, but it's nice that this is just Molly's room right now.  This is a very very short phase in her life when she doesn't have to share anything....here's proof that she's enjoying this season...  

(this is our slide/trampoline addition to the living room) 

But something tells me she's not going to mind sharing too much.  

It's fun to think about how many changes this room has been through in the 4 years we have lived here.  

A guest room

A room a student teacher lived in for 6 weeks

Josiah's room 

Josiah and Nino's room 

Josiah's room again

Josiah and Molly's room 

Molly's room 

and in a few short months...

THE GIRLS' ROOM!  (and maybe it can stay that way for a while)  

But for now, enjoy the peace and quiet and lots of closet space, Molly!  

Creativity and Healing

I realize I've been a little m.i.a. from my blog lately. I've been pouring my time into a creative endeavor.  I can't exactly tell you what I am working on because its a gift for someone.  I'll spill the beans after I give it to them.   :o)

Along the path of creativity, I've had a few "aha" moments: moments that can only come when I stop striving for the nebulous concept of "healing" and let God meet me where I am.  It is on the path of creativity that I see Him most clearly... where He is Creator, and I am the created being, who has been given the gift of desiring to be creative.

These past two and a half months have been more difficult and more wonderful than I ever imagined they would be.  Difficult because I miss Josiah.  Wonderful because I have learned to love and appreciate and enjoy Molly in a more profound and deeper way than I ever thought possible.  She is amazing.  Talking like she's two and a half (along with the lovely attitude that comes with a two year old) and learning more every day.  She is my sunshine.

And while I love being her mama, it is on the path of creativity with the purpose of blessing someone else that I have learned this lesson: I can strive and whine and groan and complain about how awful I feel, or I focus all of my energy into blessing someone else.  I can't do both of those at once.  

Maybe healing will come when I am...

trimming little toe nails

writing an amazing lesson plan for my 9th grade drawing class (and turning it in on time)

ironing a shirt for Justin

drawing a portrait of a friend's child

going grocery shopping for the 47th time for my home ec class

wiping a runny nose

laying down and taking time to enjoy the little kicks coming from my belly 

digging in the sand box with a pink shovel with my favorite little sand sculptor

cooking dinner

Maybe I need to be more deliberate about blessing others than I am about trying to stomp my feet and wish pain away.  Because if I'm loving who I'm supposed to love when I am supposed to love them doing what I'm supposed to do that shows I love them, I'm not going to miss anything.  Not healing, not time, not any lesson that God wants to teach me.  It is when I am wishing that I could show that love to Josiah when I most miss out on blessing the people God wants me to bless now.  

Love God.  Love people.  Maybe that's all I need to do for now.    

Stuck

I've been mulling over a new chapter in my Jordan series for over a week now.  I've sat down over a dozen times to add to the five pages that I have already, and I can't seem to finish it.  I am completely stuck and I know why.  God stops revealing when I stop obeying.  I know what I have to do, and I don't want to do it.

I've been recounting the story of my run-in with Josiah and his family with lots of people.  It really is beyond coincidence.  I know there was a reason for it.  I keep thinking if I only had gone to a different store first,  if I had only gone to my parents' house to get computer paper instead, if we had extended our walk earlier in the day by five minutes, if I had only chosen a different cart to put Molly in that wasn't stuck, if only..., if only..., if only....  I would still imagine Josiah covered in frosting for his birthday, I would imagine he is healthy and taken care of, I would think about how happy he is instead of how crappy I feel, and I wouldn't hate his family as much as I do now.  But really...

I. do. not. like. them.

I'm okay with never knowing the reason that Josiah had to leave when he did.  Atleast I think I'm okay with it.  But I'm not content with having gone through loving and then losing a child without seeing God's goodness in the situation.  It is in sorrow that I see Him most clearly and I so desperately want Him to heal me.  And here's the thing...I have a deadline in which He needs to complete this transformation.  15 weeks.  That's all the time I've got.  Because in 15 weeks, I'm going to have another baby in this house.  And I fear that if I am not completely over feeling sad over losing Josiah, then I am going to use this baby as way to heal from it.  And I don't want to do that.  I don't want to turn God's blessing into an idol saying, "this child replaced the one He took away."  Because that isn't the purpose of a child.  I want God to heal my heart in a real tangible way before this baby comes.  I guess it's a way I feel I need to "nest" my heart as I prepare to "nest" my home.  And I know that God can use people to heal us, but I've decided that's not the way that I want Him to do it.  Yes, hello, I am stubborn.  and impatient.  and completely putting God in a box.  But I believe He knows me and knows my heart and will meet me where I am.

And this is the place that I am at the moment: I am stuck in the mud because I refuse to let myself see His goodness in an area He wants to show me: Josiah's family.

I guess, technically, I'm still in the "angry" phase of the grieving process.  Feeling angry hurts less than feeling sad, so I need someone to blame.  I've tried blaming God before, and we all know how well that worked.  Sometimes I let myself think that it was my husband's fault for not wanting to fight for Josiah longer and harder than we did.  But, I know Justin felt it was God's will for us to give Josiah a stable family life, even if it meant it wasn't in our family, and I know he is right.  I know it's not DYFS's fault (maybe for getting our hopes up in the first place) but they did what we asked them to do.  So that leaves Josiah's family- the people that abandoned him the hospital and then decided two years later that it was "convenient" for them to take him back.  They are the easiest to blame, especially since I know that the anger is reciprocal.  They hate us.  They are ungrateful.  They blame us for taking Josiah away in the first place.  They haven't even called us to say "thank you" for how hard we fought to get Josiah to live with his grandparents.  

I never realized how angry I am at them until I saw them on Josiah's birthday.  Maybe that's why God allowed us to cross paths.  There are some sin issues that need to be dealt with in my heart before I can continue to see God's goodness on my path to healing.  I want to lay the burden down.  I want to tell God I can love these people.  I want to experience the peace that comes from doing God's will.  But how can I do that without telling God that I'm okay with how they hurt us, and especially how they hurt Josiah?

Maybe I can do that because He did that for us.
We refused to believe Him.
We mocked Him.
We rejected Him.
We beat Him.
We killed Him.

And He loved us.  He loves me.  With everything I've done to Him, He loves me.  Maybe that's His goodness that I need to find in the midst of anger and bitterness that I have for Josiah's family.  Maybe that's healing.  Maybe I need to let some things go now.

So this is what a panic attack feels like

Today had been lovely...really so much better and emotionally less draining than I had imagined it would be.  That is, until this evening. Molly and Justin and I went out to breakfast, had family nap time in the afternoon, and walked to Pop-pop's for a visit.  Throughout the day I had been copying and pasting all of your wonderful, thoughtful prayers, comments, and encouragements onto a word document and making all of them colorful and happy :o) I was so looking forward to this evening when I could look through all of them at one time. Then I realized we didn't have any computer paper so it was off to BJ's for a quick family outing.

I don't think I'll EVER go to BJ's again.  EVER.

Shortness of breath.
Sweaty palms.
Tingly hands and feet.
Absolutely no ability to function rationally.
And everything around me was spinning.

I had walked into BJ's and put Molly in a cart.  Justin went to look at the coupon kiosk.  I was in the process of strapping her in when I realized the cart in front of her was stuck to the cart she was sitting in.  I was pulling, pushing, and pulling again, getting so frustrated that Justin didn't seem to notice how much I was struggling and come over to help us.  Then I looked back and saw him. His face was sheet-white.  Coming towards me to leave the store was Brenda (Josiah's great aunt.)  She was pushing a cart next to her her daughter and grandchildren.  David was sitting in the cart and right next to him was Josiah.

The aunt passed me without looking at me and without any inflection or eye contact said, "How you doing?"  I think I managed a, "Good...how are you?" but I'm not even sure that's what I said.  With every fiber in her being besides her words, I could tell she hated us and wanted nothing to do with us.  She was going as fast as she could to try to get away.  I wished I had the same option of mobility at the time.

I was stuck.  I couldn't get Molly's cart to budge.  Finally Justin came over, unstrapped Molly and whisked us away with a quick, "Let's go."

I looked back.  I never saw his face.  Josiah was looking away the entire time.  I ducked behind an isle and looked again.  He was still looking away.  It took everything in me not to walk over to him, give a kiss on his chubby cheek and wish him a happy birthday.  I could tell his family certainly wasn't going to condone the behavior.

I went down another isle and by the time I looked again, he was gone.

Then I couldn't even remember why we had come to the store in the first place.  Justin, thankfully, was on a mission to get us out of there as soon as possible and had no problem recalling the mental checklist of all 5 items.  Toothpaste, milk, diapers, computer paper, and trail mix.  None of them seemed like necessities anymore.  I just wanted to be home and cry.

By the time we had gotten to the parking lot and the numbness washed away, all I could feel was anger. Josiah's hair hadn't been cut and he was wearing a T shirt and nothing else in 55 degree windy weather.  It was too cold for him to be dressed like that.  He SHOULD be wearing an adorable birthday outfit and be covered in frosting and cake from head to toe.  Or maybe his hair should be combed, or atleast look washed.  He SHOULD be with his grandfather...you know the one who fought with us and the state to get custody?  What was he doing with HIS AUNT!?!?!  If I had fought as long and hard as the grandfather did, I would want to spend the boy's BIRTHDAY WITH HIM!!!!!!!  I am upset.

I knew a day would come when I would encounter him by chance.  But tonight, of all nights?  When I am raw and exposed and barely functioning as it is?  God knew how much I wanted to spend this day with him and celebrate with him.  Instead I am left with the mental image of him not being as well cared for as I would have cared for him.  I think I prefer the image of him I imagined in my blissful ignorance.

I am thankful that so many have gone before us and bathed us in prayer for today.  I don't know what I had done if I had relied on my own strength to get me through that terrible episode.  I still don't know how to process and handle myself.  I'm just sad.  I miss him.  I hate his family.  And I know it's not right to hate people, but I can't stand what they've put Josiah and my family through.  I sent Josiah's photobook to him yesterday.  Judging from the way the family feels about us, I can only imagine they burnt it and spit on the ashes.  Why did I waste my time making something so precious that isn't going to be appreciated?

I feel empty and beaten up.  I am thankful I have so many wonderful encouragements to go through tonight.  (12 pages of them!!!) God knew I need that.  Thank you for letting Him use you.

And as I'm sitting here writing this, I'm looking outside my window and rising in the sky, is the moon.  It's a "super moon," they call it.  It's a night where the moon hasn't looked this large in 20 years.  I feel like the moon is this little thread that connects Josiah's heart and mine.

Thanks for that, God.  You knew I needed to feel close to him in some way.  

Goodnight, moon and Happy Birthday, Josiah.

A Special Request for Josiah's Birthday

Josiah is turning two on Saturday, March 19th.  As the day approaches, the part of me that still longs to be his mama wishes I could somehow prepare for the day.  If he was still living with us, I would have written out invitations a few weeks ago, picked out a party theme, started to make favors, baked a cake, and chosen a special gift to give to our boy.  I would have scheduled a two year birthday photo session for him.  I would have made sure he had a special birthday outfit to wear.  And I would have made sure to prepare his favorite dinner.  I'm not doing any of that.  And it feels strange.  

I know that Saturday is going to be hard for our family.  I'm a planner, and as much as I just want to do whatever feels right on Saturday...cry, look at pictures, laugh...whatever, I want to have a goal.


I don't want to just "get through the day."
I don't want to mourn the day.  
I don't want to even celebrate the day.  
I want to REDEEM the day.  

I want to turn a day that will be sad into something beautiful that will honor and glorify God because of the simple fact that Josiah was born, and for twenty two months of that life we got to be his parents.  That is a reason to praise our Heavenly Father!

So here is my request for his birthday...

I wrapped a little gift box.  (I know I am a terrible wrapper.)

And in that box I would like to fill it with notecards with messages from you.

I would love for you to comment or send us a message.  It could be a....

• a prayer for Josiah
• a verse to encourage us
• a special memory you have of Josiah
• a lesson you learned about God from Josiah's story
• even a simple "I'm praying for Josiah on his birthday!"
• or a "hey...I'm thinking of you today."
• or whatever you want! 

I'm going to take each comment and write it on a notecard along with your name and throughout the day on Saturday when I feel strong enough, Justin and Molly and I are going to open the box and read through the cards as a family.  

I know a lot of you read and don't feel comfortable commenting.  But...it would be such an encouragement to Justin and I if you would help add to Josiah's birthday box (even if I don't know you or have never met you, or you didn't know Josiah personally...you can still comment!)  Thank you so much for helping us to redeem this day.  I'm excited about all the things God will teach us through your encouragement.

(You can comment here, drop us a line on face book, or email meganbenson81 @ gmail.com)

Thank you so much!

~Megan

And Nightmares

This weekend I took a step toward healing.  It was a time to reconnect with my husband and be together as a couple.  With the turmoil that has surrounded us the past few months, it was so great to laugh and talk and dream and be together.  We talked about Molly, about Josiah, about our new baby girl who we will get to meet in a few months.

It is good to have my best friend be able to share both memories and grief with.  He understands that I need to both laugh and cry, and he is supportive no matter what state I'm in.  It takes quite a man to deal with a pregnant wife who is grieving the loss of a child, trying to celebrate the arrival of another one, while nurturing yet another.  He knew how much I needed a weekend away despite much protesting from me who did not want to leave my daughter behind.  I am so thankful for him.  He was right.  I needed it.

Sometimes, I think I'm doing alright.  I can read books to Molly now that I couldn't even look at weeks ago.  Josiah's crib is broken down and patiently waiting in the attic for a new baby to cradle.  I tear up every now and again when I let a memory soak in too long.  But I am quick to dismiss grief sooner than I used to.  I can justify it away, telling myself that I'm sure Josiah is fine and he doesn't miss me.  I think of the relief of not having to deal with his family who was never satisfied with the amount of time we allotted for Josiah to spend with them.  I look at Molly playing and having fun with toys that Josiah would have torn away from her.  I am thankful for being about to focus on her and only her.  I think about Josiah getting to live with his brother, and I know that he is safe with his grandparents, and that they will fight for him until they are able to adopt him permanently.  See?  I'm pretty good at looking at positive things now and believing them.

But last night felt like I literally had the wind knocked out of me.  

Pregnancy has taught me about listening to the needs of my body.  I yield to cravings for food that I used to not particularly like and I sleep when I feel like I need to.  I sit down when I teach sometimes because my body feels weary, and the baby that is pressing on my bladder makes me frequent the bathroom more than I'd like to.  I sleep in a different position now, eat more fruits and veggies, drink more water,  and take my vitamins regularly.  It amazes me how heightened senses are during pregnancy too.  When food is good, it tastes really good; when something smells bad, it makes me want to throw up.  When I'm tired, I'm not just sleepy, I'm exhausted.  When I'm grouchy, watch out.  When I'm happy, I'm giddy.  Pregnancy turns me into an amplified version of myself when it comes to emotions.  So when I comes to the need to grieve, I thought that this was a need for my mind, one that I could justify away.  Certainly not a need for my pregnant body.  Yeah...I was wrong.

It turns out my body not only craves food, sleep, and has the need to nest.  I need to grieve.  My body is telling me so.  In addition to heightened senses of my conscious behavior, my subconscious is heightened too.  Dreams are more vivid now than those I had in my former non-pregnant state.  They are deceivingly real.  Last night was one of those dreams.

Josiah was in my lap.  And unlike in my consciousness when I can not piece together all of the tiny details that made that made that moment so special, my subconscious did.  I could feel his curly hair tickle my lips, smell his shampoo, and feel his little round belly jiggle when he laughed.  I was reading some of his favorite books to him and watching him point to the moon with his little thumb.  And then I heard it.  His voice.  It is the voice I crave to hear more than any voice in the whole world.  It was there, finishing my sentences like he always used to when I read to him.  I looked up at the clock watching it tick...tick....tick, knowing that someone was coming for him to take him away.  I wiped away tears streaming down my face before they could trickle down into his hair.  I could feel my voice crack as I tried to read.  I knew this was a special moment I wasn't going to get much time to do.  I wanted to read all the books he loved.  I loved feeling the weight of him in my lap, hearing his feet kick the floor.  He was so real.  But I just couldn't read any more.  All I could do was just hold him and want to keep him safe.  And then Justin woke me up.  I was crying in my sleep- so much so that I was shaking the bed.

It was a strange feeling because I wasn't sad.  The only way I could describe it was that my body needed to cry.  It had been weeks since I let myself cry like that, and it caught up with me.  For a half an hour, I sobbed uncontrollably.  There was nothing Justin could do or say to help me stop it.  My body was sad.  It longed for Josiah.  And I just needed to let myself cry for him.

I was mad that after I woke up, I couldn't recreate his voice in my head.  And then I missed him.  And then in my awake state I felt a need to cry.  And then I cried some more.

Grieving is such a strange and beautiful journey.  Because more than it teaching me that my body needs to cry, it teaches my spirit that I need to cling to my Savior for strength.  It is a deep longing so much greater than my need for nourishment or water for myself or my growing baby.  Something much more important and eternal is happening here.  I feel it stirring.  I don't know what it is called.  Maybe faith?  Maybe hope?  I'll just have to be patient with myself until the work is complete.

I'm so thankful I have videos to remind me of the sweet times Josiah blessed me with.

I just love that little man.  And I love his voice.  And I miss him.

Josiah's first year photo album

Josiah's birthday is coming up on March 19th.  I promised his grandfather I would be sending pictures of him before them.  I needed to give myself a deadline.  It took me a while to put this together because it was difficult to go through old pictures and relive such sweet memories.  It stings a little knowing that I'll never get to take another picture of him.  But..it was important for me to let him know that he was so loved when he was with us.  I hope that his grandparents will show this to him one day.

Click here to view this photo book larger

Better

I must say the recent news has got me thinking pink and feeling less blue.  ummm...sorry.  I find myself spending an exorbitant amount of time on sites for ideas for murals and things that I want to fill my girls' room with.  That just made me smile when I typed that.  I'm going to have girls.  :o)


I found this little bunkbed/ playhouse that my brother said he would build for Molly and her sister.

adorable, right?  

I'm excited.  This past week, for the first time in a long time, I'm happy to have something to look forward to.  But I believe there is a danger associated with thinking that just because I am "happy" means I am doing "better."  "Better" seems like this nebulous unattainable word that I imagine I will experience when I come to the conclusion that "my life is better without Josiah," and I can't, and won't let myself think that.  

I know when people ask how I'm doing, they want to hear that word.  But, honestly, I don't know what that means.       

I don't think crying less means I am doing "better;' it just means I'm starting to remember less and less.  Justin said the other day how upset he was that he was starting to forget what Josiah's voice sounded like.  

I don't think "better" means looking forward so much that I don't have time, energy, or the will power to look back.  "Better" is not filling my time with so many thoughts of the baby or Molly that I neglect thinking about God's goodness in the midst of feeling sad for Josiah.  

Maybe "better" means reconciling God's goodness to what seems like His punishment.  Maybe it's seeing His faithfulness when I think His plan for Josiah's life seems void of His presence.  I don't know what God's definition of "better" means, but looking at His word, I know what His definition of goodness is.      

Romans 8:28-29 says...  

   ²⁸ And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. ²⁹ For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.

I know He has a plan.  

For my life, and for Josiah's.  

I know that plan is good.  

And I know what His purpose in that plan is:  for me to be conformed to the image of His Son.  

I know the act of conformation is painful.  

And that's how I know feeling "better" doesn't necessarily equate itself with "goodness."  

Because how do I know Christ?  

Phillipians 3:10-11 says...

 ¹⁰ I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, ¹¹ and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead. 

There can be no power in resurrection without death first.

Death to self, death to what I want, death to a dream I once had and must now put into the Hands of the One who made me, who made Josiah, who made Molly, who is making this baby, who is conforming my family into His plan.

Because in the end I will know Him more.  I will love Him more.  And because of this painful road I am walking on in the presence of Suffering, I will see Him more clearly.     

Friends, I can ask for nothing "better" than that.