What's In A Name?

I wrote this letter to my grandparents for their Christmas gift this year. They already knew the baby's name but I wanted to give them the story behind it. I know they've shared it with their guests and visitors so they won't mind my sharing it with my blog guests and visitors. This is the story of my son's name. 

Grammy and PapPap,

When Curtis and I began talking about names for children, which was long before this one was conceived, we knew we wanted to use the name Dayton somewhere. Overtime we decided it would be our first son’s first name, should we have a boy.

According to the internet Dayton means ‘sunny town’. This makes sense in light of the research Mom has done on our English roots. Deighton was a place in Yorkshire. We were De Deightons (of Dayton) for generations. Then, just Deighton, and upon coming to America we simplified the spelling to Dayton. But while we were Deightons we were Knights Templar, Keepers of the Great Seal of England, Lord Mayors of York, Sherriffs of Nottingham (but not bad guys, I checked), among other things. The Deightons may not have been important enough to make the history books, even in footnotes, but we have an interesting and prestigious past. It’s the stuff stories and legends are made of, and the kind of things little boys have pretended to be for centuries. I intend to raise my little boy reading him stories of knights, Robin Hood, and kings, weaving in our own family history. I imagine he will be proud of where we came from, and proud of his name. It’s a strong, noble name.

But I will also tell him about what the name Dayton means to me. It’s much more than a sunny town or a noble past. It’s generosity, gentleness, grace, and gratitude—the things I learned from my Grammy. I aspire to be like you someday when I’m a grown up. Sweet and tenderhearted and very giving. Giving of your time, your compassion, your talents. The world is becoming more and more selfish and there are fewer people like you. But it’s people like you, a ray of sunshine, that make the greatest difference. I want my son to be these things, to be a ray of sunshine. I guess the meaning ‘sunny town’ does fit after all. If we’re all supposed to be a city on a hill where people can see the light of Jesus, then we need to be sunny towns.

My son’s middle name is for his father, Curtis. And the funny thing about Curtis is that when I prayed for a husband I asked for a man just like my PapPap because he was the best man I’ve ever known. A man who would be hard-working, a man devoted to his family, a man who is generous and thoughtful. God took me quite seriously and delivered me a young man very much like my grandfather—down to his driving Fords, voting Republican, and having a unique sense of humor.

Our son will have a second middle name. Some people will think that’s silly, to give a boy two middle names. And some will think it’s weird when they find out that it’s Milford. But I like it. It’s my PapPap’s name. It only seemed right to include you in my son’s name. His name is about legacies and who I want him to grow up to be like. If my son grows up and reminds me at all of you, I will consider myself a success as a parent.

Dayton Curtis Milford Berry is a mouthful, I admit. But it’s really a reminder to my boy of who he is and where he came from. He may be a descendant of people who served and knew English kings, but he is also a descendent of people who served and knew the King of Kings. Ultimately, it’s the example of Christian faith that has inspired me so much throughout the years. It’s the same faith that I aspire to have and that I want to raise my son to have.

I will tell my son about both of you and the fun things we did together. I imagine that in his world the Deightons of old and the Buterbaughs of not so long ago will mold together. Children have a way of blurring the lines that way. But that’s okay. I don’t see many differences between Sherwood Forest and your backyard, between royal feasts and Jean-o’s Pizza. For my son, it’s all part of the same story of where he came from.

May will be here before we know it and so will Dayton. I’m so anxious to meet him and find out who this little person is that God is knitting inside of me. I wonder if he will look like me or like Curtis, and if we’ll be able to pick out little pieces of each of you. There are times when I think Marissa Jane looks just like one of you, and I hope that’s the case with Dayton¸too. I’m excited to bring him to visit Bald Eagle and for you to be able to hold him. I want to take pictures so I can show him as he gets older who we named him after and tell him about how much you loved him.

I’m so grateful that you’re my grandparents. Most people I know don’t have grandparents like mine. Their grandparents are nice people, but they’re just not like the two of you. I’m honored to be able to have a son to name for two of the people that I love most and have loved me the most. Yes, his name is undoubtedly a legacy of love.

PS for my readers...I feel the need to assure everyone that the use of the name 'Milford' will be very limited. I figure one way kids know just how much trouble they're in is based on how much of their name their mother uses. My degrees of trouble will be...Dayton!...Dayton Curtis!...Dayton Curtis Berry!....Dayton Curtis Milford Berry!! But other than the birth certificate and certain other legal documents, the name won't be used much, unless he chooses it for himself when he's older. But it is my gift to him, his whole name. 

A Few Brief Weeks

Last night I was sitting on the bed with Bode, he had just finished drinking the milk from my cereal bowl and was staring at me with his big brown goo-goo eyes. Bode has this way of looking at you with this expression that just says, "you're so pretty." There's a reason every girl that comes into our home falls in love with this furry rascal. But anyway, I was petting him and talking to him and I realized--in a few brief weeks I won't be doing that. In a few weeks Bode will be wondering what the heck in the world (a favorite phrase borrowed from one of my favorite five year olds) is going on. In eight weeks or less everything will change.

I have to admit I'm scared. Excited. But scared. I've never even held a brand new newborn, let alone diapered one or fed one. I know that no matter what happens--a natural birth or a c-section--I will not have experienced pain, adrenaline, and anxiety like that. It's all so new. We didn't end up taking birthing classes as our schedules conflicted with the only session our hospital offered. Part of me wishes that we could have and part of me thinks that maybe it's a good thing. There's enough for me to get wound up about and I tend to take information and run with it, rather than simply being informed.

As I'm writing this I'm getting ready to go see a hematologist because my blood work looked 'unusual'. On one level, I'm not worried and on a whole other level, I am. I don't really have enough information about what was unusual to be worried, but anytime a doctor is sending you to a specialist because they don't understand the results seems like an okay time to be at least a smidge concerned. I bring this up because it's these experiences and others that make me join the club of third trimester women who just want to have the baby and move on with life!

But there is this other part of me, a larger part of me, that wants to hold on to this for as long as possible. Not only because I feel and fear that I'm not ready, but because I love knowing that he's so safe and secure in there. There's no doubt about it that my son is strong and healthy, all of the tests and double-checking is to make sure that I'm okay. And I feel okay most of the time, so I'm pretty sure I'm fine. So I like having him all safe and contained. And where my body just does what it's supposed to do to take care of him. Maybe that's the most incredible part of being pregnant. I don't have to think about it. Sure, I have to make some safe and smart choices, but it's not up to me to think about growing his spleen, or transporting food through the umbilical cord. I don't have to feed him, change him, or rock him to sleep--it just happens inside of me. And when this is over...when he's born and joins the human race...I will have to meet his every need.

Thank God (literally, not figuratively or flippantly) I have Curtis. I have no idea how single moms or military moms do this alone. Curtis has been and will continue to be this wonderful rock. Sure, he's made his fair share of dumb remarks, as all husbands do, but for the most part, he's kept his yap shut when I've been crazy and supported me when I've been scared. He's helped me get the nursery ready and gone to as many appointments with me as he could so far. That bit is getting harder because of his new job--in fact, I'm going to the specialist alone today--but I know if he could, he would go with me. And I know he's going to be an incredible father. New, like me, and probably unsure, like me, but he'll be hands-on and excited and exactly what our son needs. I just know it.

So maybe I have to give myself the same credit. Curtis has no more experience with babies than I do really but I know he'll be great. Because he loves him, he'll figure it out. Because we both love him, and we love each other, we'll figure it out together.

And poor Bode...I know that eventually he'll be crazy about his little baby brother. I figure when our son starts eating cheerios and throwing food everywhere. But until then, I might need to find some little doggy ear plugs...and write myself a few reminders to throw him an extra treat every now and then. He's such a good boy and I'll miss our cuddles, even if I am upgrading to baby cuddles.

Before the Baby Comes Bucket List

There's a list a mile long of things I still want to get done before the baby arrives. Most of it relates directly to his arrival. Things like organizing the craft room (i.e. getting rid of all the JUNK in there we don't need and won't have room for), getting the mudroom more functional and less of a dumping ground, and the obvious things like washing all of his clothes/linens, and finishing the nursery. But I thought of one thing I want to do today before he gets here.

Last April I flew all the way to Florida to baby-sit my niece. Spending all that time in the airport and airplanes by myself gave me time to start a book of sizable girth. A book I had started once before, ages ago in middle school, and didn't finish. I got frustrated with the author's style. He tends to ramble and get himself distracted with discourses in European & Ancient history and philosophy. Now that I'm older I got into the story more (and gave myself permission to skip some pages here or there of the rambling). But when the trip came to an end, I read a little bit at home and then came to a screeching halt...300 pages from the end.

When I had my glucose test I knew I'd be trapped in the waiting room for at least an hour so I dug the book out and brought it with me. Thanks to my memory and my cinema-like mind I got right back into the plot with hardly missing a beat. But busyness has been keeping me from reading more. Well, truth be told, busyness and my DVR. I've been reliving my middle school years by watching 'Boy Meets World' every evening when I could very well be reading. I guess I'm part of the TV generation I love to loathe after all.

But I want to finish this book before the baby gets here. First of all, it's just silly that I read over a 1,000 pages and have gotten stuck here with 300 pages to go. That's far more than half and to not finish would be a real biblio-failure. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly from a psychological point of view, if I take the time to finish this book, it's something just for me. This doesn't benefit the baby, Curtis, or anyone else. And while I most definitely do not fall into the 'it's okay to be selfish' camp, I do know that there are times when it is necessary to do something completely for yourself. And completely by myself. Unlike ladies' nights and craft nights at church which involve my 'soul sisters' (as we've decided to call ourselves) reading is solitary. It's me time and only me time.

I tried to come up with some other things to achieve before my son comes in and takes over my life. Maybe it's sad but I couldn't come up with anything else that really seems important to get done. I don't have much of a bucket list really anyway. So this is the one thing on my 'Before the Baby Comes Bucket List'. To finish a novel I started almost a year ago. And I feel that I must give myself permission to fail at this in case I don't find the time to read in the next 6-8 weeks. It's okay. Really, I think the idea of it is more important. It reminds me to not let my life get too wrapped up in my son. Ultimately that wouldn't be healthy for me, Curtis, or the baby. It would lead to a loss of my identity and smothering him with my plans for his life.

And for anyone who is wondering...the book is Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. I know, I know, it seems strange that someone like me who is OBSESSED with the show and has been quite the bookworm in the past has not read LesMis yet. Like I said, Hugo can be a smidge annoying at times (especially when I tried reading him as a 7th grader...geez louise, that was rough)...but hopefully my determination wins over his ADD style of writing and I manage to finish. Or not. Either way. At least I have my music.

Playlist of Promises

So my computer crashed a couple weeks ago and part of the collateral damage was my iTunes being wiped out. I managed to get almost all of it back on using my iPod but my playlists couldn't be recovered. I'm still mourning the loss. I had some good playlists. I love making playlists. Taking songs from different albums, artists, and genres and mixing them together for just the right feeling. Playlists for singing, for dancing, for dreaming, for writing, for cleaning (yup, I had a cleaning playlist), for quiet time, for celebrating. I had playlists I created for other people--my mom and my niece, specifically. And I had started one for my son. And they were all gone, wiped away as if they never existed. I'd like to take a moment of silence in remembrance of my beloved playlists.

*cricket, cricket*

Okay, now that the melodramatics are out of the way...

I created a new playlist last night. Not one for singing or dancing or cleaning. I went through all of my songs, which is several days worth of music, and selected about 2 hours worth of music for my son. There's plenty more I want to add. In fact, I realized I'll have to make several playlists just for him. A playlist for dreaming, a playlist for playing/singing, and a playlist for dancing. And a playlist of promises.

My music is varied, I have a wide range of taste and interests. I suppose not as wide as others. There is a definite void in the rap and R&B department, and very little country, and none of heavy metal/hard rock. My music is a little heavy in the musical theater and oldies departments, featuring a lot of American songbook, the Beatles, and the Rat Pack. I've got a strong selection of indy/acoustic/whatever genre you put Dave Matthews and Coldplay in (stoner music?? although, I have never in my life been stoned or even close to it). What this means for my son is that he'll be exposed to all kinds of music from a very young age. In fact, he's already heard quite a range. He even heard me hit my old friend the high C the other day whilst singing along with Michael Ball. Shiloh used to howl...but the baby didn't kick me so maybe he didn't mind.

Anyway...I've gotten off track. This happens when I talk about my music. It's one of my passions. Like my books. I just can't help but get all rambly and distracted. I'll try to stay focused.

Promises. Within all my days worth of music are a handful of songs that I've always imagined singing to my little one. Not lullabies (although there are plenty of those) but promises. Things I want them to know, things I intend them to feel, things I hope they believe in and trust. Kids need to have a foundation of promises from their parents, a place of stability and security to grow on. And these songs, I guess, give me a jumping off point, a place to start.

"Not While I'm Around", I assume, is from a musical. I don't know. I have it on an album by Michael Ball (the original Marius in LesMis and one of the most emotive, incredible tenors to ever exist). The song assures that 'no one's gonna harm you, not while I'm around' and that 'others may desert you, give a whistle, I'll be there'. No matter how scary the world may get, how many let-downs a child may face, they can know that I will always be there, they will never be alone, 'not while I'm around'.

"I Couldn't Love You More" is from Matt Hammit's (of Sanctus Real) solo album. The song explains that while I as a parent couldn't possibly love my son any more than I already do that Jesus does. Jesus loves him even more than me. It's one of those songs that gets me all weepy and emotional, and something I very much want my son to have confidence in throughout his entire life.

"Come What May", yes the same "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge. Except that I have a version by Alfie Boe (Jean ValJean in the 25th Anniversary LesMis, and another one of the most incredible tenors to ever exist...but a much more controlled style than Michael Ball). Admittedly, I never thought of this as a song for a baby until I was pregnant and heard it. I hadn't heard this song in years, at least five or six years, but it's on the first Alfie Boe cd that I bought. I was already about 4 months pregnant when I listened to this version and all I could think of is that it seemed to describe so well how I felt about my baby. 'Seasons may change, winter to spring'...'storm clouds may gather and storms may collide'...'but I love you, until my dying day, come what may'. My favorite line from the song is in the first verse: 'listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything.' It reminds me of a quote I saw on Pinterest (addiction!) which reads 'Only you know how deep my love for you is because you're the only one who has heard my heartbeat from the inside.' I'm amazed when I consider all that my son is hearing as he's continue to develop inside of me, and knowing that he hears my heart beating is just incredible. So cool. 


There's a few other songs..."I'll Stand By You" (The Glee version, I have to admit...even though I don't watch it anymore)..."This Little Light Of Mine" by Addison Road..."All of Me" by Matt Hammit (which if you've read any of my other baby posts, you know that I love that song)..."Believe" by Josh Groban (our first wedding dance song, incidentally)..."When You Wish Upon A Star"..."In My Life" by the Beatles...These songs are all promises of how I feel and what I want for my son. I can't promise him a life without trouble, pain, fear or sadness. Those are all part of the human condition and things he will have to experience in order to really know happiness, security, love, friendship, and joy. But I can promise him my love, no matter what. I can promise him that God loves him, no matter what. These are hugely significant promises. 


So as I'm trying to piece back together the shattered fragments of my crashed iTunes these new playlists are emerging. It's easy to see how my priorities have changed. I'm sure I will eventually re-create a playlist just for car dancing...but only after I've taken the time to create these playlists for my son. Songs for us to sing and dance to together and songs for us to dream together, he with his eyes closed and me with my eyes opened. 

Snips & Snails & Puppy Dog Tails

We found out what we're having, despite many people who I am sure were well-intentioned telling us not to. I wanted to know. There was part of me that needed to know. And I think Curtis is the same way. We want to be able to prepare for our child. I realize that practically speaking you can prepare without knowing--a crib is a crib, a changing table is a changing table, diapers are diapers. But we want to do more than that.

So yesterday at my 20 week ultrasound we found out that we're having a boy. A son. I've written before about the song 'All of Me' by Matt Hammitt. The ultrasound technician always plays K-LOVE, which I find comforting. There were many times during the infertility when I'd be so nervous to look at the screen and see only tiny eggs, ones that would never release, and the comforting words of God would be surrounding me in music. Yesterday when I laid back on the table and she started the ultrasound 'All of Me' came on. It was playing as she told us we are right--we were in fact having a boy. And the profundity of the moment was so over-whelming. A boy, this long hoped for child is a son to carry on my husband's name and his legacy. And it was the perfect song to be playing as the soundtrack for this moment. This child does have all of me, I promised him that months ago. I promised him that I wouldn't hold back my heart, even in moments of fear when I am tempted to. And this little boy, still growing and getting strong, already has me in his grips. His daddy, too. He's such a miracle.

Our doctor's office has the 4D technology which gave us a real life view of what he's up to in there. With the new imagery we could see our son not only in flat black & white but in 3D moving around and waving his arms. He already has his father's nose and as he stubbornly refused to turn his head for a profile shot we know he has the Berry stubborness (his father's words, not mine, I promise you...although Halseys have been known to be stubborn, too.).  He has sturdy limbs and big feet, again like his daddy. His heartbeats perfectly. It's too early to tell if he will have HCM like his dad, but right now his heart is brand new and perfect. And if it turns out he does have HCM, I think that stubborness will become tenacity to deal with it like his dad. I don't know yet what he has from me...maybe my eyes. Curtis wants our children to have green eyes like me and not brown like him. I hope that he will love music and books like me.

But more than anything, I want him to be himself. I know we'll be able to pick out the bits and pieces from each of us. But a child isn't just a composite of his parents. A child is his own being, created by God to be his own self. I pray I give him the space to find out who that is, even with all the dreams I have for him already forming in my heart. I hope that we teach him to be kind, honorable, and generous. I hope that we teach him to be ambitious and competitive, but in healthy measures. A boy will be a boy, and I hope I'm prepared to deal with that. I know what to do with sugar and spice and everything nice but snips and snails and puppy dog tails are a mystery to me. I want to help instruct my little boy in becoming a man of God--a man the way God designed him to be, not a man the way the world wants him to be.

But for now he's still growing inside of me, getting bigger and stronger and ready for life outside. I think he's amazing. He takes my breath away before he's had his first breath. How can people see such miracles and not believe in a divine creator? I don't understand. All I can see when I look at my son, when I feel my belly expanding to give him room to grow, is God's fingerprints all over us. All over me, all over Curtis, and all over this son we share. He's a miracle and I love him so much already.

Because Of The Baby

I haven't written in ages. Sometimes I lose my voice and it doesn't always mean that I can't talk. Sometimes I just can't write. I have nothing to say, or what I do have to say comes out all garbled. I promised myself I wouldn't clutter up this blog with meaningless chatter (do you really care what I had for breakfast this morning? Wildberry poptarts, if you do...and they're making me nauseous).

That being said, something profound should follow...right? Well, I got nothin'. But I have that urge in my heart to write again. To express, to communicate, to emote, to be heard, or at least put something out there in the world. Silence is golden sometimes, this is a hard lesson for a chatterbox like me. But there are times for sharing, too. Even if I'm not sure yet what it is I'll share.

Christmas is fast approaching. There's far too much on my to-do list. I don't see how it will possibly all get done. But it will. Presents will be wrapped, the tree will be decorated, I might even manage to make a few sweet treats. This is one of the miracles of Christmas--it somehow comes together with too little time. At least this year I'm determined to stay joyful. Mostly I meltdown around the holidays. But the baby has me focused this year on what matters. The baby has helped a lot in this area.

Truth be told, a lot of people in my life are angry about other people and other things that they can't control. I listen, I sympathize, sometimes I agree, sometimes I try to gently suggest something else. I used to get all whipped up into a frenzy, sometimes I still do, but I realized last week: I don't have the extra energy to spend on anger. It's a natural emotion, a reaction, and at times I find it downright biblical. But I can't stay in anger, it takes up far more energy than I have to spare. This is a huge lesson to learn for a girl who has wrestled with anger issues and bitterness. Frankly, it takes a lot less energy to just cry it out and move on...and even less energy to let it go. But it is draining to dwell in anger. The baby has brought this lesson to the forefront. I think I learned it a long time ago, but being pregnant has taught me to spend my energy wisely. This is how I realized that spending it on anger is a bad investment.

The same is true for worry. Yes, I get nervous every time I go to the doctor and they listen for that heartbeat. And when I sneeze and my entire abdomen seizes with violent pain, I get a little nervous. But I don't have the extra energy to spin my wheels in worry. This was a monumental lesson for a compulsive worrier. The baby has taught me so much and hasn't even take his or her first breath.

No wonder they say parenthood changes everything...

The real reason I started writing today is because my heart is feeling a little more heavy and a little less merry. My grandparents' health is failing, first one, then the other, then the other one again. It's hard on them, it's hard on we who love them. And sometimes I catch myself just whispering over and over again, hold on until Spring.

I never thought that they would live long enough to see me get married, let alone have a child. Especially when we discovered our infertility issues. As the baby seemed farther and farther away, it seemed more and more certain that I'd never even have one photo, one memory, of my beloved grandparents with my much longed-for child. But I worship the God of Impossibilities, and He made a miracle inside me. I have to trust His timing and His goodness. But it just seems like this winter is going to be so hard on these dear souls...Winter is always hard for old folks.

This is where all those lessons I've been learning, or realizing, because of the baby help me. I can't be angry with the diagnoses or changes. It won't change anything. I can't spin my wheels in worry. It won't help anything. There's nothing I can say now that I haven't said in the last five years (woulda, coulda, shoulda, what ifs and maybes). All I can do is trust in God, love them as hard as I can, and take care of this little budding life inside me.

Christmas celebrates the birth of a baby. Not just any baby, but a real miracle baby. The miracle baby that trumps all other miracle babies. God wrapped in flesh, God among us, God born in a barn (what were you born in a barn? well, it was good enough for our Lord and Savior). Christmas is a time of great celebration and joy because Christmas was Heaven reaching out to us. Four-hundred years of silence shattered with two babies--a prophet to prepare the way and the Messiah who would save us all. This is not a time for anger, for worry, or for senseless chatter. This is a time for gratitude and celebration. Exuberance.

This is the time to consider what a baby has taught us. Not just me and my baby. But the Baby. The Baby who would grow into the man who would change the world with His words and return us to God with His sacrifice. So many lessons can be taken from the manger, if we're only quiet and listen.

Humility. Gentleness. Simplicity.

Peace. 

And the angel said unto them, 

"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

 "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Luke 2:10-14 

Those Two Little Pink Lines

September 2nd...it was a Friday morning...I was just about a week overdue, if you know what I mean. And I'd thought about taking one of those dastardly pregnancy tests but frankly I'd seen too many negative results to really stomach another one. I had considered asking God for a sign, like a dream, but then I decided that every time in my life I'd tried to rely on signs that it never worked. I'm far too good at tricking signs into appearing where God never intended them to be.

But I had a dream. It was exactly what I'd almost asked for. God has a sense of humor.

So a couple days later I decided to just take the stupid test and get all the disappointment over with for the month. The sooner I had an answer the sooner I could move on. I dipped the stick and set the timer for 3 minutes and walked away. When I came back, holding my breath...I couldn't believe my eyes. Two lines.

So I asked Curtis, who was busy making me breakfast, how many lines he thought their were. He told me two, and we just looked at each other stunned.

Now...don't get me wrong...I was excited. I was thankful, I was praising God in my heart somewhere. But mostly I suddenly and thoroughly felt gripped with fear. I don't think I've ever experienced fear quite like that before in my life. As we told our closest friends and family members and they all celebrated, I felt a little numb. Grateful but numb.

This lasted several days until I finally gave way to my emotions. In the shower (I seem to do a lot of emoting in the shower, actually) I broke down and I sobbed. It's been years since I cried like that. And I told God, don't get me wrong, I'm amazed at what you've done here, and I so want to glorify you but there's this huge BUT in my way. BUT what if you take the baby back? BUT what if something happens? BUT what if this breaks my heart and I'm worse off than before?

I've had two fears all my life. 1) That I wouldn't be able to have children and 2) That even if I could get pregnant that I wouldn't be able to stay pregnant. There's plenty of familial evidence to support both fears; these are not ungrounded. Clearly fear number one was well-founded, but once that was shoved out of the way it was time for fear number two to take over.

God heard the cries of my heart and instead of taking them as a sign of disbelief in His power, He took them as an opportunity to love on me so much and restore my trust in His goodness. I can only imagine the tenderness in His eyes as He looked on His daughter so afraid and uncertain. God is so good.

The following Sunday was September 11th which proved to be highly emotional for a lot of people. There was a big altar call and I felt the tug to come forward. I knew what it was that I had to lay there on the altar of the Lord.  I knelt at our altar, face to face with the Almighty, and I knew that the only way to conquer the fear of losing my baby was to give my baby to God willingly. So I did. I figuratively but very truly placed this little life that I've wanted for so long on the altar, much like Abraham putting his beloved son Isaac on the altar all those thousands of years ago. I told God, and meant it, that no matter what He chose to do with that little life that I would praise Him anyway. That I would still insist in His goodness, even in my pain. I didn't promise that I wouldn't be angry or devastated, but that I would still see His goodness and mercy.

We came home from church, planning on a lazy afternoon with the dogs before youth group started. But we found Shiloh, sick, actually dying we would later find out. As Shiloh's situation went from bad to worse to hopeless in just a few short hours I remember thinking, crying out, that I'd just given God my baby, why was He taking my dog, my best friend, my ruff? I don't know. Maybe Shiloh was that sacrificial lamb that God provided Abraham with so he wouldn't have to give up Isaac. Maybe I had to give up something. Or maybe it was just Shiloh's time to leave us. I'll never know for sure.

A few days later I was driving from my office where I work in the morning to the library to grab a few books before heading out to the school where I work in the afternoon. I'd wanted to hear Gungor's song 'Beautiful Things' ever since I saw those two pink lines (more on that in this post ). But I hadn't. Until that day. And as I drove to the library the song came on KLOVE and I praised God, both in song and for the song. But God never does a little when He could do a lot. I came out of the library, started driving toward the school and Matt Hammit's new song 'All of Me' came on the radio.

He's the lead singer of Sanctus Real and we'd seen them in concert about a month before. Matt performed this song that he'd written about his baby boy Bowen who was born with only half a heart. The song is about the moment when Matt realized that giving his baby only half his heart, half his love, in an attempt to save himself from loss and pain wouldn't help anything. The only choice was to recklessly love him, no matter the ultimate pain or cost.

So here I am, driving down the road with tears just streaming down my cheeks. Confronted face to face with myself in music. Which is truly more important--guarding myself from potential pain or falling completely in love with this little miracle? Which would God have me do? One meant living in that horrible grip of fear, going back and forth from the altar, giving up my baby and then snatching 'him' back. The other meant living in a joyful celebration, not ignorant of the danger, but not crippled by its threat. That song has become my anthem, my chorus, my motto. I want to embrace every moment of this journey because I can't have it back or do it over. And if it all comes crashing down on me...God is still good. He will still give me air to breathe and command my lungs to suck it in, even if that's all I can do.

It's been about a month now since all this has taken place. We've had our first appointment and ultrasound. We got to see 'his' little hands and feet, complete with ten toes! We think we're having a boy, that's the general consensus among family and friends, too. There's just something about those pictures that says 'boy'. But we'll be thrilled and overjoyed no matter what. We are already thrilled. The morning sickness (which is really all-day sickness...what a ridiculous misnomer) and fatigue have been a struggle. I'm already in maternity pants...I don't quite have a belly but I'm getting bigger all the time. But I refuse to complain about weight gain or outgrowing my clothes. Or any of it really. I've wanted this for far too long to spend nine months whining about how awful it is. I can't do much for my baby yet, take vitamins, rest and eat, but I can endure the symptoms with a joyful heart..perhaps a merry heart...and in that way already love, nurture, and cherish my little one.

God is good. He is the God of impossibilities. He takes what cannot be done and makes it do-able. He took my broken body and barren womb and filled it with life. He took my fearful, fretful heart and filled it with love and joy. Only God can do these things.

If you haven't heard 'All of Me' I've provided a music video here on this post. It is such a beautiful song for any parent. I'm learning more every day how being a parent will change everything...require me to love far more than I ever have and give more than I ever knew I could. And its worth it all. Just like the song so beautifully says.