The kids have heat rashes and I try to keep them cool with buckets of water, they have fun with it. Here's Evie in her tub having a great time.
Aside from the weather my mood has been just like this guy on Noah's shirt.
We just keep peddling on, facing the next day, trying to process all the changes in our family. It's too hard for me to write about yet and I think that might be normal. I know better times will come but we are still grieving for our boy. And at the same time rejoicing in who he is, his recognition of us, his smiles. I know he knows me, my voice comforts him, and sometimes he smiles when I come in view and that just makes me feel like a million bucks.
His little body is stiffening and it is harder to hug him. His arms stick out a bit awkwardly in front or at his sides. I still can't get his legs apart enough to fit in the baby carrier. His feet are pointing downwards and he is hyper-reflexive.
And he is precious. The preciousness is what makes it hurt so bad. I want to carry him in my arms, walk into the sunset, and live happily ever after. My friend reminded me that so often we think we are writing our own story in life. We make choices based on what we want our story to be like. But the reality is that God is writing our story and it's a beautiful story. He is in control, and has not left us to figure out our own way if we are His children.
It's hard to see that now because the sorrow actually feels like physical pain to me. I feel responsible for him, the way he is, his future. I don't feel comforted when people say it's not my fault. I don't feel relief. My heart just wants to protect him, yet I sit powerless. I feel like he is in my clenched fist and I don't want to surrender him.
Well, there I did it. I did just write about it. See what a gray, gloomy cloud I am?
But that's not the whole picture. We are not in complete despair every day, rather we are wrestling through these things as we go about our day. I know of only one place to take these wrestlings. To the cross of Christ. To the place where He suffered, where He cried, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" That grotesque place of pain, suffering, and forsakeness was the foundation and cause for the most beautiful thing of all--redemption for sinners, reconciliation with God. That gives me comfort. What good from evil!
So I struggle to open up my tightly clenched fingers and surrender Calvin to our Heavenly Father, to our Savior (who says he has borne our grief and carried our sorrow) and say, yes, I trust You with my son, with my family, our future. Our hands are open, praying to receive the good gifts of patience, hope, and faith from His hand. Because only these gifts can dispel our fear and uncertainty.
Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Romans 12:12
...That according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith--that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know that the love of Christ surpasses knowledge that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3