(Weston's stone is at the cemetery,not in his spot yet, hopefully this weekend)
March 19th....the day we thought we would be having our third child. The calendar hit March and there has been a constant lump in the throat. Over the past few months we have seen firsthand that the Lord truly does bear our burdens. We have seen Him carry us, comfort us, sustain us, encourage us and love us. We are sad, oh so sad, that we will not be watching our little guy grow on this earth. We miss him terribly and still question "why" so often. Why did we get pregnant in the first place? Why did it not happen earlier in the pregnancy? Why did we have to endure the gutwrenching heartache of delivering a stillborn, perfect baby? Just to be completely transparent...these are the questions that we ask. Over and over the Lord's response is.... I am FOR you. I love you. Rest in Me. I hurt when you hurt. Weston is mine. My idea. My creation. My child. There is so much peace in us, because of those answers. So much peace in knowing that Heaven and the Creator is ALL Weston will ever know. Over and over He has used His hands and feet to love on us. Thank you so much to all of you that haven't forgotten. So, as March 19th approaches we continue to grieve, but we grieve with peace and hope. Our hearts just long for Heaven.
Ironically, I wrote a blog post this past July titled "Letting Go." I think I was barely pregnant when I wrote that post. I love how the Lord was already preparing my heart. Preparing my heart for "letting go" in a way I never could have imagined. Preparing my heart for letting go of our son. Letting go of our dreams, plans and hopes for our third child. Letting go of the idea that Brady would have another little boy to get into trouble with. Letting go of watching our "little mother" Macy getting to be a huge help with a baby. He continues to ask me to let go. Not just of my kids, but of my life. It is His. Everything is His. He is in control, I am not....and I'm SO thankful I don't have to be. As we go through this season, my prayer is that my hands would be daily lifted. Lifted to Him, releasing control and my desires and plans.
I stole this little poem off of another blog of a sweet mama that lost her baby.
O, GOD, Who lifts the grieving head,
Blow away the ashes
But let Your gentle hand upon my brow
Be my only crown of beauty.
Comfort me so deeply,
My Healer,
That I seek no other comfort.
