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The Audacity of Hope

March 12, 2012 By 93 Comments

I realize I do not do these near enough, so I wanted to take a second to let you all know how the Smith’s are doing! First off, if you don’t follow me on instagram (I’m angelac519…i don’t know how to hyperlink that since its on my phone, but I bet you can find me!) you are missing lots of really fun photos like this one of Charlotte.

I know, right?!?!?! She is so delicious. And a total talker. She says things like, “Ina bine beh” (I want brown bear) and “I gonna getchu!” while running around the house in her nudie-tudies. She also sings a multitude of songs (think Adele, not Barney) and insists on wearing shoes All. The. Time. She also says, “Tank U Maaaach” for thank you, and her newest phrase has something to do with greeting a sea bass but we haven’t figured out the details just yet.

In other family related news, we got a call a few weeks ago to see if Todd would like to be a part of an Easter service at Sea World, and we talked it over but really wanted to be together so he talked with the radio station and asked if he could bring his family. We have wanted to go back to Disneyworld since we were pregnant with Audrey but just haven’t been able to. If you have read my blog for any length of time, you will understand why we knew God was giving us a gift with this new trip. The radio station agreed to the adventure and long story short, we are all going back to Disney. And you’ll never, never guess what day we are flying out?

Or maybe you would :)

April 7th. On what would have been Audrey’s fourth Birthday here with us.

I cried. Hard. And as grateful as I am, it is very bittersweet. The last time we went we still had her with us, so I have so many memories tucked away about the way I hoped that she would survive. For me, the trip happened at a time when I didn’t know the way it would turn out, and it breaks my heart to remember the hidden prayers that followed me to bed.

Last night Todd and I were watching the Duggars and Michelle was talking about her pregnancy and how she was so happy and wanting to get past a milestone (because her daughter Josie had been born prematurely before that). I started crying as I watched it because I know what she didn’t at that point. The sweet daughter she was carrying would not survive. I watched as my eyes grew hot and red because she had such hope. And I can’t help but see myself in her face, praying that our earthly desires will come to fruition…praying to the God Who knows what will and what will not.

When I think about Disney, I can’t help but imagine that the Lord was watching us as we hoped, and knowing we would be devastated soon. That’s a difficult thought, and I wonder if you have ever been there. It would be easy to allow the world to tell us that it wasn’t worth the risk. Why bother to hope at all?

May I dare to answer that for your heart {and mine} today?

In my life, hope has led me to pray. It has led me to believe Him. To have the boldness to say that I trust Him above the hurt. It has given me a reason to lift my head, to stake my claim, and to dismiss the shadows that whisper, “it will not be redeemed.” We do not know the ways of the Lord, of course. I’ve heard it said a thousand times and I agree. But there is more to say, isn’t there?

We might not know His ways, but we can know Him. 

My life didn’t get tied up in a neat bow when we had this crooked-ponytailed miracle you see above. And it didn’t answer the questions or silence the hurt.

What it did give me was a reminder of the power of hope. Not just in tomorrow. Not just in this life, actually.

But the hope that demands a response in the way we live our lives.

She is with Him.

She is with Him.

So while my feet reach one in front of the other, for all the years to come, I will remain steadfast in this:

I have hope because I have Him.

Disney will be great. I’m sure we’ll get sick on loads of ice-cream and lack of sleep. But there is no amount of adventure that can compare to the time I have ahead of me. I need that reminder a lot, and maybe you do as well.

This isn’t it, friends. Do you believe that more than the curve ball life is throwing you right now? I hope you do.

And hope?

Is a beautiful thing.

Eyes on Him, friends. Eyes only on Him…

Here’s to the audacity of hope.

Angie

p.s. We have been told that the song “I Will Carry You” has ministered to the Duggars as they have walked through the loss of their sweet Jubilee. I believe it will be featured on their season finale this month. It is an incredible honor to be able to share in their loss this way. Audrey still testifies to the power of hope, doesn’t she?

Filed Under: Audrey, Everyday life, Faith, Family

A Letter to My Daughter

April 11, 2008 By 1,186 Comments



Sweet Audrey,

There are no words I could say in this letter that would be able to express what you are to us, but I feel compelled to write them anyway.  

Do you know you changed the world?
From the day we found out we were expecting you, we knew that God had chosen you for our family.  When we started feeling you move around, we invented stories about who you would be. We took bets on whether you were a boy or a girl (daddy was wrong!).  Abby and Ellie set aside toys that they wanted to give to you.  Your daddy let me buy books at the bookstore about being pregnant, even though we already have a million.  He knows I love the smell of books, and he just watched with a smile while I gathered them all together.  We talked about you all the time.  Our house was filled with love for you long before we ever knew who you would be to us.  We let Kate help us set up a crib in her room while we told her that she was going to have a baby brother or sister sleeping next to her someday.  We introduced her little toddler bed and taught her all about being a big sister.  She loved her freedom…we found her in the pantry eating chocolate at 3 a.m. one night!  And so for weeks, we planned.  We talked about names, about paint, about schools, about everything but the one thing we didn’t know.
God had something much bigger planned for your life than we could ever have imagined.
On January 7th, we heard the beginning of the story.  You kicked while I listened to them tell me that I should let you go.  You, unable to say a word, spoke volumes as we considered what had been laid before us.  Audrey, there really was never a choice.  You were ours from the moment God ordained it so. There were moments in the darkness during that time when I worried that maybe we should give you to God.  We didn’t want you to suffer, and we knew that as soon as you were with Him, you would be at peace.  Were we selfish for trying to keep you here?  We knew before we let ourselves travel into those thoughts that they were lies.  That decision was not for us to make. We settled into the reality of “our new life,” and the stacks of books on pregnancy gave way to scripture.   
Did you know that while you were in my tummy, you went to the beach, to Disney World, to the ballet, to the zoo, to the symphony, to pick out our puppy, to the children’s theatre, to listen to daddy sing, to church, to Poppy’s house…and so many more places.  I talked to you about how the laundry machine worked, told you about all our neighbors, and taught you how to choose a ripe pineapple at the grocery store.  I never stopped talking to you. You were my daughter, and I loved you like I love your sisters.  We prayed for you all the time.  Our prayers changed with the days.  We never, ever doubted that God could heal you.  I know you know that.  I know you felt that.  But I still feel compelled to tell you that we believed, Audrey.  And the fact that you are with Him as I type these words does not change that belief.  There is not a single moment that passes when I question His will for your life.  
I will never, never forget the day you were born.  Nobody who was a part of it will, either. April 7th was one of the best days of my life.  You made me brave, Audrey-girl.  Your mommy used to be afraid of the hospital, afraid of the noises and the smell of medicine.  My whole life, I have been afraid.  I wasn’t afraid that day.  I was peaceful.  I was calm.  I was in the presence of the Lord Himself more than any other time in my life.  I listened as they told me about what would be happening that day, and I nodded.  I surrendered.  I stopped worrying about me and I just fell into the arms of the Lord.  He carried us all that day, didn’t He?
At 4:31, I heard a nurse say, “She’s out.”  Daddy said, “She’s out?” and he peeked around to see them carrying you to a table nearby.  I thought I heard you squeaking and I asked if you were alive.  Daddy looked at me and he nodded.  ”She’s alive.”  I couldn’t believe it.  The doctors looked you over and they listened to your heart.  They cleaned you off a little bit and then daddy laid you right beside my head.  You had one little eye opened and you were trying to take it all in.  I was too.  I put my hands on your head and just started crying because you were so beautiful.  I fell completely, head-over-heels in love with you the instant I met you.  That’s who you are, Audrey.  
When we got back to the room, your Uncle Tom was already taking pictures. Do you know that he took about 1600 that day?  We rejoiced in telling everyone that you were alive.  Your heart was moving slowly, and we knew that it was a matter of time before we would have to release you, but no one would have known that.  For the rest of the day, people held you, touched you, talked to you, and prayed for you.  And everybody smiled when they saw you.  There weren’t many tears, because in a way, we weren’t sad.  We were just too busy praising God for you to be sad.  
Your daddy gave you a bath while I watched.  He got all of your little tootsies clean, and I watched the water run down the back of your neck as he held you up.  Her first bath…

One of my favorite moments was when they put you on the scale.  You were much bigger than they thought you were ever going to be, and it felt like victory.  ”3 pounds, 2 ounces!” As soon as the announcement was made, the room broke out into cheers.  Did you know that your daddy’s birthday is 3/2? Those are beautiful numbers to us, sweet girl, because they tell us that you were here.  You had weight in this life.  
Your sisters were a little nervous when they came, but as they looked you over, God showed them who you were.  The peace that had filled the room for the entire day rested on them, and they began to laugh and to talk to you as they would any other new baby.  They each held you carefully, and kissed your sweet, clean skin.  While they were all gathered around me on the bed, your nurse Candace came to listen to your heart.  I asked her to be sensitive because of the girls, and after listening for a few minutes, she told me quietly that you were gone.  The girls never knew that they had been present for that moment, and I thank God that He took you that way.  There was never anything but peace.  We sang over you as God welcomed you into heaven.  
I cry for you often.  I miss the smell of your skin and your perfect little nose. My arms ache from emptiness.  I tell your daddy all the time that I just want to hold you again.  I cannot see to write these words because my eyes overflow with the tears of a mother who has been asked to give her daughter away.  I knew I would love you when I met you.  I knew you would become a part of me. What I didn’t know was that instead of feeling like it was a brief encounter, I feel like the world stood still. He somehow gave us an entire lifetime of memories in such a short time.  I didn’t feel like I lost a baby, I felt like I said goodbye to someone I had always known, who had been my daughter for years and years.  Even now, as I write, it seems impossible that you were only with us for 2 1/2 hours.  Thank you Lord, for giving us all the time we could have asked for with her.  The clock was insignificant… we knew her deeply, a lifetime’s worth.
Audrey, you have no idea how you have impacted those around you.  Did you see all of the nurses who cried when they came to see me? Did you hear the nurse manager tell me that since you had been born, the name of the Lord had been spoken repeatedly at their station in a way it never had? That you, my love, had brought them together?  Did you know that the people who came to your birth who knew nothing of your story talked about the “amazing peace” that filled the room inexplicably?  Do you know that there were radio stations all over the country announcing that your mommy was going into surgery while people drove home to their familes? Do you know they asked for prayer as you entered the world; that strangers dropped to their knees on your behalf? Do you know how many people have met Jesus because of you? There is more than I can fit here, Audrey.  More than I can fit anywhere.  You are the greatest miracle that I have ever been a part of, and I want you to know how incredibly proud I am to have been chosen to be your mommy.  I promise you that I will never stop being your voice here on earth. I will tell everyone about the little girl who came in a 3 pound body to change hearts.  I will always miss you, Audrey; there will never be a day where you are not a part of us.  I want you to know that you changed me, honey.  You made mommy so brave because of how much I loved you.  I am so proud to have a scar to remember where you once were.
Thank you, my sweet, sweet girl.
Today we are going to sit as a family and we are going to take the band-aids off the bunny that we have carried for months.  We are going to tell your sisters about the way that Jesus has healed you…that you don’t need those anymore because you are well.  You are perfect.  Thank you Lord.
As I have been writing, the rain is pounding on my window.  It is what many would call a very dark and ugly day, with no sign of sunshine. Because of you, Audrey, it is not that way to me any more.
It is an answer to prayer.
Jesus, you have brought us the rain and we praise You for it.  We lift up the God that made us strong enough to love our little girl the way she deserved to be loved.  And we trust that You will continue to use her as a vessel of your goodness, of your faithfulness.  Lord, you have shown me that when this life is empty, you will fill.  You have walked with us in a way we could never have imagined.  What seemed like a cross to bear has now taken the shape of a great blessing which we are honored to have been a part of. Thank you, Lord.  You are the light of our lives, now and forever.
Audrey, there is much more to say.  I rest in knowing that you already know it before it has left our lips.  We love you.  
Sweetest baby girl.  

Do you know you changed the world?
Mommy
For my blog family,
I cannot wait to show you more pictures of Audrey.  You all are a part of this story, and we want you to be able to see who you have been praying for.  We are working on sorting through them, and will give you a link shortly so that you can see our favorites.  She is amazing.  I hope that you can glimpse into the ways of God as you look through them.  For now, here are a few so that you can at least have a face to put with the name.  
Tom, I am speechless at what you have done for our family.  You have given us the most beautiful present that anyone could.  You are so incredibly gifted, and only your heart and your dedication surpass your talent.  We thank God for the many years we have been blessed with your friendship (have I known you 8? 9? We are getting old!), and for the selfless way you captured our child on film. This is my feeble attempt to express what is impossible to say, and it hardly seems enough.  You have given us a way to see our Audrey for the rest of our lives…thank you.  May God continue to bless you as you do the work of the Gospel from behind your lens. We love you (and Debbie and Sam!).
I received many emails during this time regarding the organization “Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.”  What they do is amazing…I cannot think of anything more meaningful.  Our friend Tom Uchida, who took these beautiful photos of our daughter, has joined the organization because of Audrey, and will be part of their sacred ministry. I pray that you never have to use their services, but know that if you do, they will bless you immensely.  
Here is the little girl we have been loving for months…rejoice with us on this day.  She is healed, and she has filled our lives with joy.
Thank you for walking with us, and for continuing to pray.  
Angie
Filed Under: Audrey, letter

He

April 6, 2008 By 377 Comments
When I was about 4 years old, I was hospitalized for several days because I battled with overwhelming anxiety.  I remember the hospital room, the way I would watch out the door when it was open to see who was coming.  They made me draw pictures and ran all kinds of tests.  I saw a child psychologist as well, and the best part was that my parents took me out to dinner afterward and I felt very fancy.  At the time I didn’t understand that something was wrong with me or that I was different from other kids.  My stomach hurt all of the time.  I used to make my father walk me around the house before bedtime to make sure that the stove was turned off, the front door was locked, and that my baby sister was breathing in her crib.  I would worry for hours about things that could happen to my family, to my house, to myself.  I vividly remember asking my dad what he would do in the event that someone broke into our house and tried to hurt us.  Did he have some kind of plan? Was he strong enough to overtake a burglar if he needed to?
I worried at school.  I worried that kids wouldn’t like me, that something would happen to my mom while I was away, that my sister would have to eat alone in the cafeteria (I actually broke the rules several times to sneak to the kindergarten side and sit with her until they would catch me and send me back to the second-graders).  
I just worried. I never wanted anyone to feel like they weren’t “taken care of,” and for my entire life, this pattern has remained constant.  When we were at Disney World recently, I walked into a little shop that I remembered from childhood.  All the stuffed animals were on the same wall that I had pictured them on in my memories.  I got so choked up remembering myself as little red-headed girl who stood in front of the Goofy dolls (he was my favorite), tenderly lifting one off the shelf and then feeling the overwhelming guilt that all the other ones would be sad because I hadn’t chosen them.  I would look at their faces and try to decide which was the most needy so that I could rescue him.  I vividly remember walking away with the “chosen” one and starting to cry because all the other ones must have felt abandoned. 
I refused to come down the stairs on Christmas morning when I was 5 because I was convinced that Santa didn’t find me worthy of toys. I hid under the covers and cried and cried until my dad brought me some red and white pom-poms from under the tree to prove that Santa had come, and that he had remembered me.  I have always had the feeling that I needed to be the rescuer, that I needed to keep people safe, that I needed to be good enough.  
I have never been able to completely shake these emotions.  They came with me to college, to graduate school, to marriage, to the delivery room, to the doctor’s office. To the ultrasound where I was told that my worst fears had been confirmed.  They walk beside me in the daylight and wake me in the night. Fear wraps itself around me and refuses to let go.  I can feel my fingers getting numb, my vision getting hazy, my breathing quicken, and I know it is upon me. But I believe now, years later, that this voice has a name, and he lurks in the shadows, waiting to devour.  I feel that I have been in the midst of spiritual warfare as I have walked this path, and I have constantly had to silence the enemy with the only word that can. I utter the name of Jesus as I get into bed, as I cry in the night, as I sense the evil that Satan has tempted me to believe.  Today he has sought me out.  To paint horrific images of tomorrow, to shake me to the core, to tell me that my Lord has no power to intervene now.  It is too late.
I have not made it out of bed today because I have so sensed the need to concentrate wholly on what I know to be true, even when I don’t feel it.  A few hours ago, I talked to God about what I was feeling, and I begged mercy for my doubts.  He reminded me gently of a man named Job, whom he loved and knew as a righteous, holy man whose heart was filled with His spirit.  He allowed Satan to test Job, to take away what was most precious to him.  Job walked through the depths of suffering, more than I can fathom.  I opened my Bible to his story, and asked God what it was that He wanted from me today, on the eve of the day where I have been called to anticipate the loss of my sweet daughter.  He spoke, as He always does.  I wasn’t necessarily expecting to hear what He said in that moment, as I wept openly before Him in the profound wake of sadness that surrounds me.
I want you to praise Me.

He didn’t ask me to praise Him because He was going to perform a miracle, although He knows that I would.  He asked me to praise Him because He will be the same tomorrow regardless of what happens to Audrey.  Is that hard for me to wrap my heart around? Yes.  Does everything in me want to protest letting someone else be in charge? Yes.  It has been my mode of survival since I was born.  My parents told me that moments after I was born, I lifted my head off my mother’s body and scanned the room.  I was probably making sure someone was going to bring me to the right place and that the doctor was well aware of what he needed to be focusing on in that moment.
I have a history of not letting someone else “take care of things.”  And now I am being called to praise the One who is allowing this season?  Who has taken every bit of control from me? Lord, I can’t even read a book without a highlighter in my hand.  I can’t let my children walk too close to the ice-cream man without hovering a foot away (although, in fairness, you would do the same if you met him.  Seriously creepy….).  Are you serious?
I sat in the silence.  I closed my eyes and thought about who He is to me.  What He has been to me, in the bitterness and in the joy.  I felt like He was beside me, waiting.  And in that moment, I felt myself rest.  My mind was still.  All I know is that without intending to, I smiled.  It was the most ridiculous thing you could ever imagine, unless you know what I know.  And I hope you do.
He is Lord.  Only He.  Not me, not Todd, not my doctors, not my parents.
He.
We don’t know what tomorrow will look like, how it will be remembered ten years from now. We can’t begin to imagine the road that lies ahead of us, but I know that I will remember today as being a day that I trusted Him despite the hurt.
I want you to know, especially if you do not know the Lord, that He is real.  This is not a fairy-tale coping mechanism that I rely on when I need to escape from reality.  It is not something I do because it’s nice to have a place to dress up for on Sunday mornings. It is my fervent prayer that somehow I can manage in this post to find a balance between not alienating people and sharing my heart. It’s just that I don’t know how people get through things like this without Him.  I can barely choose stuffed animals without having a heart attack, and today, because of Christ, I am filled with peace. I pray the same for each of you as you walk through your own life.  
One way or another, our daughter will be healed tomorrow.  Praise God with me tonight for this truth.
Your prayers, as always, are with me.  God has allowed my burden to be shared with so many “strangers” that I am overwhelmed.  This little girl has been loved deeply, richly, profoundly by many.  Thank you.  I know you will be with us tomorrow, and for that we are more grateful than we can express.
My friend Jess will be updating the blog tomorrow as things are progressing so that we can share specific prayer requests.  For today, please pray that we will be able to hear truth above fear, and that we will rest in knowing that truth.
With much love and great hope,
Angie
Filed Under: Audrey, fear, growing up, pregnancy

Teacups

February 7, 2008 By 32 Comments
Well, I had an ultrasound today. Patti spent another few hours of her life with our sweet Audrey…we are so grateful for her gift and for her heart.  She makes the unbearable seem very normal, like catching up with an old friend.  No matter what she says, I can sense how desperately she wants to tell us that it is all okay, that the baby is healthy, that this was a dream and she is the alarm clock we have been waiting for.  We all know that she may never be able to say those words to us, and we accept graciously what she can offer.  Again, if you are reading this, Patti, thank you.  Thank you. 
We didn’t get too much more information today…Audrey was bundled up in a little knot with her arms covering her face. We couldn’t see her kidneys because of the way she was positioned, but we watched her heart move for the better part of the appointment.  To me, it looks like a little clover that opens and closes.  It still takes up most of her chest and possibly has a leak as well as a hole.  Patti will be traveling to Murfreesboro tomorrow and will share the images with one of the doctors in the practice to see if they can come up with any more information that would give us a glimpse into her world.  Please pray for wisdom tomorrow as they do this…
While we were at Disneyworld, I was struck by the fact that for a lot of the trip, I just felt sad.  I have debated about whether or not to even share this story because we really had a great time, with more memories made than I could ever fit into this blog.  My children laughed and rode and ate and stared.  They marveled at the castle the way I did when I was a little girl.  To our surprise, they rode a roller coaster (hands up) nine times in a row.  They could not get enough of “It’s A Small World,” but quickly decided that the real life princesses were a combination of creepy and “not really the real princesses.”  They danced in every wide open space they came across and devoured enough sugar to keep a small country running.  In short, they were as happy as I have ever seen them.  I am forever grateful for the moments we got with our girls, but there is a deeper story, and I want you to be a part of it.
On the first full day we were there, the girls rode the teacups.  My father in law and I decided to watch instead of riding, and I had the best time seeing everyone loop around the line as they waited for their turn.  I was immediately struck by the pattern that emerged.  Just as I sat down, I saw a couple arguing over whether or not to ride.  They decided to go for it, but not before she had leveled him verbally and their little boy was staring off into space.  Shortly after, I saw a delicate little flower of a girl stomp on the ground because she wanted the lavender teacup, “NOT the pink!!! AAAHHHH!!!!!”  Her mother patted her hair (gently, around the 7 foot bow), and promised they would ride again and again until they secured the coveted cup. Princess climbed in as another couple started up in the background.  They had special tags to ride at a certain time, and were irritated that they were going to have to wait another turn. Junior was no more pleased than momma, and was the type of child that I try to steer my children away from at the park.  He had a look of fierce anger than belied his little body…like a live wire in a preschooler, fueled by the attention that he could summon instantaneously.  It was obvious his parents were more worried about his response to the wait than the wait itself.  
My suspicions about this particular child were confirmed later in the day when I saw him do the unspeakable while his mother had her back turned.  Are you ready for this?
He spanked Peter Pan on the butt during the Magical Parade.  
Don’t worry, I gave him a look that could melt ice, and had the victim not been dressed as a magical flying boy-man, he would have jumped the rope too.
Anyway, as I watched all of these mini-dramas (and others) unfold, the most beautiful, unusual thing continued to happen.
As soon as the ride started, and the music filled the pavilion, people just forget why they were unhappy.  There was a 45 second time period every few minutes where they just got lost in the blur of joy.  Hands up, screaming laughter, cameras flashing. Even the spanker kid got in on the action.  
I love the teacups.
For the better part of the minute, all of the world is just right.  It doesn’t matter that you waited half an hour, or that you pretty much paid $50 for one go-round.  It is totally insignificant that your problems are on the other side of the music.  Everything is just a whirly-twirly, perfect place.
And then it happens.  EVERY time.  Go for yourself and watch, because if you let yourself, you will see and feel the moment where the cups slow down and the music surrenders, and there is a collective sigh that summarizes the moment.  Nobody wants it to end, they just want to keep spinning and spinning except that you can’t.  It has to end.  You have to get back to life, to hurt, to silence.  To whatever it was that made you run there in the first place.  
In a sense, that was my experience of the whole park.  I wanted to get away, to escape and go somewhere magical, to get caught up in the idea that everything was just right.  
I realized about 5 minutes into the fireworks that I had gotten on a plane to travel to a place where Audrey was healthy.
I cried that night after the lights went out in our room.  I talked to the Lord, begged Him to do something, to intervene, to make it right.  As He always does, He just sat with me and listened. I felt better (could have been a combination of a Sovereign God and a really high thread count) and eventually fell asleep.  When I woke up, I had a message from my (amazing) nurse practitioner Susannah.  She is Dr. Trabue’s daughter, and I count her as a friend who I have traveled with for almost 6 years.  She had just gotten the ultrasound report that I shared with you all a few weeks ago.  She explained that although the report noted many things that were encouraging, the overall picture had not changed.  Medically, Audrey cannot survive.  Susannah is an amazing woman of God, and I know that she prays for me.  She has traveled around the world to help people in need, and I am sure she has seen her fair share of miracles, so I don’t want to give the impression that it was her intention to leave me without hope.  She chose her words very carefully, and even in that moment I found myself grateful to a God who always knew that I would stand outside my hotel and cry with a woman who loved Him as much as I do.  
So, before you toss your Disney brochure or think of me as a fantasy-hating cynic, let me explain.  
The happiest place on earth is not on this earth.
This life was never meant to fill us, to satisfy our need for goodness.  It wasn’t designed to give us an answer, but rather to let the question penetrate our lives daily.  I believe that one way or another, God will answer our prayer to heal Audrey.  It may not be here, the way we wish it could be, but I have complete faith that she will be whole.  And it won’t be temporary.
If you only hear me say this one thing, all of these words will be worth it. For all of you who want to know the great secret to how we are breathing through this, it is pretty simple.
He is enough.
I am not a preacher.  I will not pretend to be.  What I am is a woman who realizes more and more every day that I want Jesus more than I want the teacups to keep spinning.  In this life, we are going to be disappointed.  We will hurt.  But there is great joy in the shadows if you know where to look.  
The truth about Disneyworld, and the entire Disney empire for that matter, is that it was borne of hurt.  Walt Disney was a man with a broken childhood who tried to create a place that mimicked the things he loved as a boy and created the things he always wished he could have had.  He worked his entire life to create a world that defied his pain.    
If you are hurting tonight, I pray that you allow the Great Physician to heal your brokenness as He is healing ours.  If you are enjoying the ride, hold on tight and try not to throw up your lollipop:) 
I am celebrating unspeakable joy tonight.  Joy that defies this world and welcomes the next with the eagerness of a child.  Thank you, Lord.  We are humbled by Your deep, unfailing, unending love.
And as always, thank you for your prayers and for taking the time to be with me here.
Angie
Filed Under: Audrey, devotional, Family, pregnancy

Disney World!!!!

February 2, 2008 By 15 Comments

Well, we are home from our big trip to Cinderella’s Castle.  Thank you so much for your prayers….you were all with us in spirit and the girls LOVED the adventure.  I am pretty tired, but really wanted to share these moments with you all. I think they say it all…
I’m sure you realize by now that I am a storyteller, and there are many hiding within these images that I can’t wait to tell.  For now, enjoy!!!!   

Filed Under: Audrey, Family, pregnancy

Promises

January 25, 2008 By 41 Comments
Well, I haven’t heard anything from the doctors yet.  For someone who is known by her lack of patience, this silence has actually settled in quite nicely.  It allows me to drift into the world of possibility without the inconvenient confrontation of what may not be good news.  It allows me to remember who God is, and to revel in this moment a little while longer. I am at peace.
Right now, I am sitting on the couch while Todd goes to the airport to pick up his best friend, Dan.  Todd has all of the girls with him (including Kate, who is wearing her pink Target flower boots, pajama pants, and a padded infant swimsuit. People, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried…). Audrey and I are just chatting about life (pretty one sided at this moment, but she makes herself known when she wants to contribute:)) and enjoying the gift of a quiet house. We are starting to prepare for our trip to Disney, which has reminded me of a prayer request…
I hate flying.
I mean, I really hate flying.  I am somewhat of a preacher, not because I try to evangelize my seat-mates, but rather, because I scream out the name of Jesus.  Loudly, and without much care for people staring at me.  I have also been known to grab the hand of the person next to me with little regard to the fact that he is a) sleeping b) a stranger or c) trying to pry my sweaty hands off of his hands while his wife visually annihilates me. Honest to goodness, this is not a lie.  The irony is that I have married a singer, who travels for a living and wants to pursue his pilot’s license.  Good times.
About a year ago, we were able to travel to Northern Ireland for the third time.  Todd’s group was invited to sing, and on paper that sounded really exciting.  I love Northern Ireland and I couldn’t wait to reconnect with the people we had met and to photograph the country again. If you haven’t ever been, I hope you get the chance.  It is truly God’s country.
As it turns out, you have to fly to get there.  This was a kink in my perfect vacation plan, but the end seemed to justify the means, so I agreed.  A few days before we were planning to leave, my stomach started hurting and my mind started to wander.  I began to think that this whole adventure thing was not such a hot idea.
The day of the flight, I was a wreck.  On the car ride to the airport, I was talking to my daughter Abby and I said, ”So honey, has God told you anything about today?”
“Yeah.”  Thumb back in mouth. Casual, like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.
My heart stopped.  He talks to them in ways He doesn’t always talk to me, and I had a feeling this was one of them.
“What did He say, Abby?”  I stared at her eyes, desperate to know if it involved fire or falling planes.
“He said He’s going to show you a rainbow, mommy.”
Silence.
That didn’t really answer my question, but okay.  I turned back to the road and noticed that storm clouds were forming.  Remember when I told you about my reaction to flying? Well, that’s on a clear day.  On a day like this one, all bets are off.  
There was no way around it, people were going to get squeezed.
I almost didn’t get on the plane.  There are so many details that make this story more interesting, but I am a pretty slow typist and I’m sure you have somewhere other than this webpage to be, so let me summarize.  Stick with me, I promise there is a point to all this:)
There was an announcement made about “inclement” weather in Newark.  Somewhere between 6B and the ladies room, I decided to hate the word “inclement.”
Fast forward about 45 minutes.  I am crying so hysterically that the pilot personally comes out to talk to me (no, I’m not kidding).  He pulls out his little charty-thing and starts explaining why we might do loops in midair and crash in a cornfield (I am paraphrasing), and then tells me that he has a family at home and that it is his intention to get home to them.
Well, that’s helpful.  As long as you aren’t planning to be on the cover of the New York Times tomorrow….and as long as I’m not in the last row.  It’s creepy back there and the backs of people’s heads don’t help reassure me when that glaring seat belt light comes on, accompanied by the ding of death.
He also told me that this was the last flight to Newark that night.  Last chance to Northern Ireland for 2 days.  I boarded the plane (in my head, every passenger applauded my sheer fearlessness at this point, but I don’t actually recall anything but people staring at me like an arm was growing out of my head).  I made my way to the (you guessed it!) VERY last row on the entire plane.  PEERRRFEEEECCCTTTTT……

This flight was followed by another that was just as lovely.  As we descended into Belfast , the plane jumped around enough to spill drinks and rattle trays, and I shot a dirty look in the direction a five year old with the audacity to laugh like we were on a kiddy roller coaster and not a hurling, bucking air-bronco.  In the midst of my panic,  I was mesmerized by how green it was.  I had forgotten the way Ireland looks from the air…just like a postcard.
When we landed, I was actually tempted to kiss the tarmac.  
Norman picked us up at the airport and we began our trip through the countryside.  This is a sidebar, but MAN are their cars small.  As we navigated the windy roads, up and down, left and right, the jet-lag started to catch up with me.  As I drifted off to sleep, I heard Norman telling stories about the political uprising in Northern Ireland.
“Many people have lost their lives…such horrible warfare…”
I struggled to see the green hillside through my heavy eyelids as he continued.
“It is just such a struggle…such devastation…”
I met his eyes in the rear-view mirror and suddenly, a question I hadn’t really even composed in my mind escaped my mouth.  
“Norman, how is the grass so green here?”  It came out sounding like a I was a third grader in science class, but God used it to teach me a life-long lesson.
“Oh, that’s easy, love.  We get a lot of rain here!”  Everyone smiled and I finally closed my eyes.
The following day, our children got so sick that we had to call a doctor to the hotel room. He was about 70 years old, and came complete with a black leather bag full of medical gear from the middle ages, bifocals, and the thickest, most gorgeous accent you have ever heard.  He gave us some “tablets” for what were now near 105 degree fevers, and he left while we discussed the fact that we had fallen into a lost episode of “Little House on the Prairie.”  We all thanked God as their fevers broke a few hours later, and we settled into sleep, all huddled in the same bed, looped around each other like threads in a quilt.
In the middle of the night, I heard the voice of God.
It was one of the very few times that I felt like He was audibly speaking to me.  I sat up straight in my bed.
Thoughts rushed through my mind like a slideshow at a speed I could not control.  I was reminded of the pilot’s voice, the thermometer that read in celsius, the storm clouds, the political wars…all of it, like a movie, and then just a few words.
“It takes a lot of rain to make grass this green.”
I started crying like a child.  In a foreign country, in the middle of the night, in the midst of facing my greatest fears, God taught me a lesson about life that has (I promised to tell you!) inspired the name of this blog.  
In the span of a few minutes, I committed to God that I would stop praying for sunshine and start welcoming whatever made the soil rich.
And so, a year later, here I sit.  Many of you have asked how I am so strong.  The answer is that I am not strong, but my God is, and He is in battle for me.  My end of the deal is held up by praising the One who has chosen me to walk this.  And I do.
As for my little Prophetess, Abby? Her words drifted back to me as I cried that night, and they bring tears to me now.  

He will show you a rainbow.

It occurred to me that He had chosen this metaphor before, long ago, with a man named Noah, and He has, for generations, made good on that promise. 
As I recall, Noah wasn’t afraid of a little rain either…
Please praise Him with me in this moment.  Praise Him for being the same God who inspired Noah to hope and to build.  Praise Him for loving us enough to grow a garden with our lives, no matter how much it hurts. 
All my love and gratitude,  
Angie


Filed Under: Audrey, Bring the Rain, Flying, Ireland

The Beginning of the Story…

January 12, 2008 By 338 Comments
First of all, thank you for being here.  If you are here that means that you may want to become a part of the story that God is weaving us into, and we welcome that.  I decided to start this blog because we are humbled and overwhelmed by the number of you who have contacted us, wishing us well, praying for us, bringing offerings on our behalf during this season.  What we are realizing, though, is that we are not able to keep everyone informed the way that we would like to.  We are simply too tired and too sad to tell it over and over.  This seemed like the best way to involve many of you who we love and need right now, and to update you as far as what is going on and how you can be in prayer for us.
So, let’s start at the very beginning. I’m Angie.  So nice to meet you…I am looking forward to our sharing during this time, even if I don’t know your face right now.  I am married to Todd…amazing, God-given breath of life, Todd.  You may know his voice from Selah, but I hope you will learn his heart here.  We have been married 6 1/2 years, and have three incredible daughters…identical twins Abby and Ellie (5) and the spunkster that is Sarah-Kate (2).  We have learned recently that our fourth daughter, Audrey Caroline, will not officially join our family the way we thought she would.  This is the darkest time of our lives, no question.  BUT, there is unspeakable joy in knowing how God will use this for His glory.  We beg you to engage yourself in the latter more so than the former, as this is where we are resting now.
In a way, the story of Audrey’s sickness began with a bunny.  While shopping for my best friend Audra (the baby is named after her and also my middle name, Carole), I came across a bunny that for some reason, I just fell in love with.  I told Todd that it reminded me of Audrey and I wanted to buy it for her…he did not fall in love with the price tag the way I fell in love with the bunny, so we moved on to another store.  Later that night, as I rocked Kate to sleep, I began to weep.  We had no indication that there was a problem with the baby, but my intuition had been busy since conception.  As I rocked, I saw the face of that silly bunny and I could not stop the tears (for those of you just meeting me, crying over stuffed animals falls into the “unusual” category…).  I told Todd about the incident and he decided maybe we should go back….we didn’t get the chance for a few days.
On Monday, January 7th, I went in for a 20 week ultrasound.  My mother in law was in town (she felt for some reason that she should stay for my appointment, and cancelled her scheduled flight a few days prior).  When the ultrasound began, the air in the room shifted.  I was asked the kind of questions that no mother ever wants to hear from a stranger.  After she looked for a few minutes, she said,  ”I am very concerned about this baby.  I need to get the doctor and the geneticist in here and they will talk to you.”
I began to feel dizzy..I asked her if I could hug her (this, on the other hand, falls into the “not unusual” category).  I climbed down off the table and sat by Todd, laying my head in his lap and whispering, “Is this happening?” just before the doctor came in.  There was no time for an answer.  He was a very sweet, God-sent man who made the next few moments as bearable as one human could.  He told me that as he did the ultrasound, he would be mumbling to his geneticist, and that I should take no note of this.  At the end, they would tell me what was going on.  This was a moot point, as everyone in the room knew that the mumbling was just a quiet way of whispering death.  It so happened that the mumbling (to add to the “scene from a movie” quality of the moment) was in French.  He is a world renowned researcher who developed the measuring system for fetuses while in the womb.  And I don’t speak French. I barely speak Spanish after three years of high school classes, unless I am inquiring either 1) your name or 2) where the bathroom is.
It didn’t matter…we all knew what he was saying.
When he finished, he turned to me as a father might to his daughter and (I will never forget this) put his hand gently on my knee, as if to acknowledge that I was fragile, and that his intention was not to break me.
“Your child, she has many conditions.  Her kidneys are poly cystic and her heart is much too large.  Each of these is a lethal condition.  There is no amniotic fluid, her lungs are not developing…..you will have some choices to make and……..”  The rest is a blur, which lasted all of five minutes and most of eternity.  Todd went to get his mother in the waiting room, and the kind Belgian man asked me what I was thinking.  I don’t know where these words came from (actually I do), and I said, “I think that my Jesus is the same as He was before I walked into this room.” He stared at me, not comprehending, but possibly relieved that whatever these silly notions were in my mind, at least they were keeping me calm until he could get out of harm’s way.  As my mother in law came in, I kept repeating, “He’s no different, it’s okay, He’s no different…”  We just sat and gathered ourselves for a moment. I wiped off the jelly from my skin and looked at the now empty picture being broadcast on the wall.  It felt like a dream, like a long, confusing dream.
The geneticist came in and guided us to her office.  She was so kind, so gentle.  She herself had lost 4 babies.  One she carried to term with full knowledge of her impending death, and at least one other she chose to release from the womb.  She recommended the latter in my case and I think she gave a lot of good reasons why that would make sense.  I just nodded and focused on breathing.  That was enough.  We hugged her and walked out of the office and back into the hustling, bustling world that was still somehow moving all around me.  I kept it together until I talked to Audra.  We have been the best of friends for about a dozen years.  I cannot tell you the life we have celebrated together, and the time that we have mourned for each other, rejoiced for each other, prayed for each other.  And yet the sound that was coming out of my mouth was unrecognizable to both of us.  She heard about three words before she jumped in her car and started over to my house.
I checked into Centennial Women’s Hospital that evening.  I spent about 10 weeks there with my twins, so it feels like my stomping ground.  There is one particular doctor, who, humanly speaking, saved Abby and Ellie’s lives.  He travels quite a bit, and is much in demand, so he is very rarely in the hospital.  This just so happened to be his week of hospital rotation (hmm…just so happened…), and he would see me in the morning for a confirmation of the diagnosis I had received.  Against any explanation I could give, 5 1/2 years after I knew him, he still remembered me.  He told my OB that he remembered my red hair and my smile.  This is interesting to me, because I don’t ever remember smiling during that time. I am glad to know he remembers this.  He requested that his technician not do the ultrasound until he was in the room, so she patiently waited (for about 2 hours) while he did some emergency surgeries in the hospital.  I cried when he walked in.  It just brought me right back, and yet under circumstances unfathomably worse.
“I kind of hoped I would never see you again, Angie,” he said with the sweetness of a man who spends his days watching mommies lose their babies.
“Likewise, Dr. Fortunato.  But I am so glad it’s you.”  My heart knew that he would find the same things we already knew, but it felt safer, more manageable.  He spent much more time looking at Audrey than the other doctors, and they let us watch her move around as they spoke.  My doctor arrived during this time, and we began discussing options.  Dr. Trabue, my O.B., used to perform abortions many years ago.  He has dedicated his many, many latter years to a God that has forgiven him, but left him with battle scars.  We had no question where he stood.  Taking her now would be taking a life.  It was not gray.  They stayed with us for about an hour and a half, which is remarkable, because when I was there in 2002, we nicknamed Dr. Fortunato “the bullet” because he was so quick to speak and then run out the door.  During those weeks, we formed an unlikely bond, and he would share his research with me and with Todd.  He talked to me like a person and not like a patient, and I am forever grateful for that.  After the girls were born safe and sound against the odds, he told me he believed that my God had performed a miracle.  I agree, and if and when you meet them, you will as well.  
I told him that I had another daughter…he looked up, so surprised.
“Any complications?” he asked.
I had to get a one liner in there somewhere…
“Not until she was born” I replied.  We laughed a sweet laughter that defied the moment.  When you meet Kate, you will laugh with us.  She is life personified.  Such a busy little joy.
After all the words were said, we got our things together and left the hospital.
“We’re going to get the bunny” Todd said with absolute resolution, maybe more so than at any moment thus far.
We got to Anthropologie, the home of the bunny, and walked frantically over to the toy rack.  More than a week had passed, and without speaking, we both wondered if she would still be there.  Todd found one first, and showed it to me.  
“I think it’s the last one.”
Right as he spoke, I saw two little ears sticking out of a toy barrel and I reached for them.  As I lifted it out, breath escaped my body quickly, without permission. 
 She had a black, permanent mark on her heart.  This was the bunny God had given us.
We cried and walked to the register (what an odd sight, I’m sure).  The saleslady tried to scratch off the mark and Todd told her that we were quite certain it would remain there.  She told him there was one other one and we explained that this was the one we wanted.  We went to eat lunch and we talked about life.  The new form of life.
We decided that she would stay with us until the Lord takes her.  We don’t know the hour or the way, but I guess that isn’t any different for the rest of us.  We also decided that we want to LIVE in the coming weeks.  We are taking  her to Disney World at the end of the month so the girls can show her Cinderella’s Castle.  We have so many plans for such a short time.
There is more, much more, but I am sure you are tired and I am also tired.
We covet your prayers that this life will do things for God that we cannot imagine.  One day I will tell the full story of the Blog Title, but for now, I will leave you with these words, and my most sincere thanks for listening.  You are now a part of what God has chosen, and I rejoice over that.
“Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings your glory
And I know there’ll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that’s what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain”
Mercy Me, “Bring the Rain”
Love, gratitude, and hope.
Angie
Filed Under: Audrey, The beginning