Tag: God is good

Time Will Tell

stephaniemoorewrites

“All will be well.

You can ask me how,

But only time will tell.”

–Gabe Dixon

A couple of months after Rory passed, I cried to Lance that we needed to have another baby.

Not that any child could replace Rory. She’s irreplaceable. One of a kind.

But I couldn’t see happiness in the future.

I wasn’t ready to stop being a mom to a young child. I wasn’t ready to not have a baby anymore.

My baby is gone. She’s gone.

And babies are hope. I mean, they’re a lot of work! But they encompass love, innocence, joy, and progression. Hope.

I’m not announcing anything here. There’s no baby in my belly.

As Lance and I talked about it, prayed about it, and talked to the boys, it felt okay.

It felt like having a baby is a righteous desire for us.

But it also felt like it wasn’t the only way we could go. There are other things that Lance and I could do in our future. That it wasn’t going to be as bleak as it felt.

I got the feeling that we’d be able to love and care for people. That my mothering wasn’t going to end as the boys left the house.

I have no idea what our future holds. It’s not something I allow myself to think about often. I still struggle to see joy in my future.

But somehow.

All will be well.

Only time will tell.

From Missing to Moana

stephaniemoorewrites

We went on a Dolphin/Turtle Excursion a couple of days ago in Hawaii.

We were so excited!! A new adventure for the boys!

As the boat took off, my thoughts turned to Rory.

My breathing accelerated.

Tears were prickling my eyes.

But I didn’t want to miss this moment with my family.

I wanted to stay in control.

I didn’t want them to worry about me.

I started praying.

Help me.

Help me feel her.

Help me know she’s around us.

Help me know she’s here.

Send her to us.

Please.

I miss her.

I miss her so much.

I took a deep breath.

In my mind I could see her next to me. Her hand on mine.

Then Moana came on the boat’s stereo. Not the whole song just a couple stanzas.

The movie that was on repeat before she died.

“The line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me
And no one knows, how far it goes
If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me
One day I’ll know, how far I’ll go”

The line between Heaven and Earth.

It calls to me.

I’m grateful it blurs somedays.

My Hope Because of Him

stephaniemoorewrites

The week after Rory’s death, there were so many hard things.

One of the most painful was her viewing. Seeing my baby girl. Lifeless.

I took her precious hand between mine for the last time. Her hands that touch my cheeks. Her hands that picked up and loved baby chicks. Her hands that wrapped around my leg when she was scared. Her hands that wrote her name and mine.

But she was empty.

There was no light.

Her spirit was gone.

The girl that beamed and was full of life, was a shell.

But this is where we welcome the hope of Easter.

Our Savior was crucified and His body lay in a tomb.

His body, a shell of the amazing man He once was. His hands that performed miracles. His hands that washed disciples’ feet. His hands that held up children. His hands that brought people to Him. His hands used in service and love.

His hands that are still scarred from the sacrifice He made for me and you.

When Mary went to the tomb on Sunday morning, His body was gone.

His body and spirit were reunited.

Giving me hope.

Rory’s body won’t remain lifeless.

Her body and spirit will be reunited again.

Our Rory will be whole.

Because of Him.

Gravity

stephaniemoorewrites

One year, five months ago the gravity around me changed.

The gravitational pull that grounds me to the Earth increased.

Where once I could walk freely, now taking every step is work. There’s so much additional pressure pushing me to the ground.

I had a reminder come up on my phone this morning that two years ago today we were at the Red Woods.

There, surrounded by the largest trees we’d ever seen, the kids ran through the forest.

I remember walking across a log. It was a little scary. I could do it though because gravity was less heavy.

I remember lifting Rory onto a log so she could climb along with her brothers. Before she got scared and jumped right back down. And I could lift her because she was there. And life wasn’t so weighty.

I remember Rory running and standing in front of Lance and I when we asked one of the boys to take a picture of us. We shrugged. We were happy to have her in a picture with us. Happy is something that came easier when gravity didn’t have such a pull.

This new existence takes me to my knees. The new gravitational pull tries to keep me there.

Luckily, I have the love, prayers, and strength of those around me, and those above, that lift me up.

Thank you.

So much love to you all.

And Then They Sang

stephaniemoorewrites

This memory keeps coming back to me. Usually it means I need to share it.

The night that Rory passed away, Lance and I gathered our boys and went to my parent’s house.

There were a lot of people at the house. In the family room and in the front yard.

A lot of hugs.

A lot of questions.

A lot of disbelief.

A lot of sorrow.

A lot of falling tears.

In the middle of this tragedy, the three boys started to sing a children’s song from our church.

Their voices broke through the sorrow.

Their voices united them in their brotherhood. In their fear. In their strength.

As I was just trying to process what had happened. They were already searching for peace. In the best way they knew how. Music.

These are the words they sang that night:

Heavenly Father, are you really there?
And do you hear and answer ev’ry child’s prayer?
Some say that heaven is far away,
But I feel it close around me as I pray.
Heavenly Father, I remember now
Something that Jesus told disciples long ago:
“Suffer the children to come to me.”
Father, in prayer I’m coming now to thee.

Pray, he is there;
Speak, he is list’ning.
You are his child;
His love now surrounds you.
He hears your prayer;
He loves the children.
Of such is the kingdom, the kingdom of heav’n.

My boys face pain. Everyday.

The life they are living is different now. It’s harder. They carry a burden they can’t quite process and don’t fully understand.

I think back to that moment and tears instantly begin to fall.

They are light.

They are love.

These boys are my hope.