It’s been two months, and it still doesn’t feel real.

Last night I had dinner with a bunch of my co-workers. When I announced to my friends at work that I was pregnant months ago, I was one of seven employees expecting the arrival of a sweet baby. Five of those babies have arrived, including Zachary, and three of those babies were at dinner last night…all adorable baby boys…but mine was missing. I didn’t get to join the conversations about nursing in public or diaper blowouts in the carseat. I had nothing to contribute…I just sat there and smiled and nodded. Physically, I look like I just had a baby, just like the other new mommies, but my baby is missing. Missing. My baby boy is gone. It really, really hurts, but it’s also so surreal. A couple of times during dinner, I just reached up to touch the silver heart that hangs on a necklace around my neck…a momento that they sent home with us from the hospital…I just needed to be reminded that what we’ve been through really did happen. And I got to snuggle those precious, little boys against my chest. It’s so ironic…to hold a baby boy is so comforting, but such an incredible source of pain all at the same time. It feels “right”, but I just end up thinking, ‘Zachary would be just a little bit smaller…his hands were bigger…his hair was darker and longer…’

When I got home, the house was quiet and empty again. I sat in the baby room. I hugged the blue, knit blanket that I snuggled Zachary in on May 17th. I held the little Zip-loc bag filled with clips of his hair. I looked at ultrasound pictures…pregnancy pictures…pictures of the day he was born. I just needed it to feel real. As I flipped through pictures, my eyes locked on one of the three of us…Shaun and I sitting in the hospital bed together...my hair’s a mess, I’m in an ugly, blue hospital gown, our eyes are swollen and bloodshot…but our son is resting peacefully in my arms, and we’re both looking down at him and smiling…smiling.

Yes, it’s all very real. Yes, there is joy in the sorrow…but the sorrow is deep and dark and all-consuming at times. I wish God was not so mysterious. I hold to the belief that this is a really bad chapter of a really good book...and that the Author really does know the end from the beginning, and every word in between.

Small Enough

(Nichole Nordeman)

Oh, Great God, be small enough to hear me now.

There were times when I was crying

from the dark of Daniel's den;

And I have asked you once or twice

if You would part the sea again.

But tonight I do not need a fiery pillar in the sky.

Just want to know you're gonna

hold me if I start to cry.

Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now.

Oh great God, be close enough to feel You now.

There have been moments

when I could not face Goliath on my own.

And how could I forget we've marched around

our share of Jerichos.

But I will not be setting out a fleece for You tonight.

Just want to know that

everything will be alright.

Oh, great God, be close enough to feel You now.

All praise and all the honor be

To the God of ancient mysteries.

Whose every sign and wonder

turn the pages of our history.

But tonight my heart is heavy,

And I cannot keep from whispering this prayer.

Are You there?

And I know You could leave writing

on the wall that's just for me.

Or send wisdom while I'm sleeping,

like in Solomon's sweet dreams.

But I don't need the strength of Samson

or a chariot in the end...

Just want to know that You still know
how many hairs are on my head.
Oh, great God, be small enough to hear me now.