I Swallowed a Golf Ball

I haven't read a book since August 2008.

I'm serious. Grad School. It ruined me. Read, read, read. Three years straight. So I came out, started working and have not read a book cover to cover since. I read two chapters of a Sophia Kinsella novel at the beach once in 2009. I read approximately 17 children's books per day between Coop and my kiddos at work, but an entire adult-oriented book? No way.

So I'm 263 pages into a book that I just started less than 24 hours ago. I can't put it down. Funny thing is, I downloaded it on my iPad. I'm so far behind literary times, I didn't even know you could do this. Shame. I know it.

It's by Angie Smith. I've read her blog for several years now. She is ah-mazing. Truly. Her book "I Will Carry You" has me singing praises, crying buckets, and nodding over and over again, "yes. yes". She is profound. Her faith is remarkable. Her journey awe-inspiring. Her love for God takes my breath away "page" after "page" (swipe finger, turn page. so strange).

I almost didn't purchase the book. But I'm so glad I did. It's stirred me. Moved me. Touched me.

I swallowed a golf ball tonight at Chick-fil-a. Swallowed it and it got lodged right there in my throat for a good two hours.

Disclaimer, I know us losing our baby must seem so insignificant to the world. I know it does. I feel so silly for being so shaken about it. They say that people who lose babies often grieve in silence. The world presses in on this, and it makes me feel like I am suffocating. So I blog. I just pour out my heart to a forgiving keyboard and dimly let screen as the rest of the world sleeps.  And it's glorious. I write so that God can speak to me. And He does. With every stroke of the keys I hear Him. So I can't stop.

The golfball. I was ordering supper for me and Coop, standing at the counter, admiring the new dessert menu Chick recently rolled out when I almost lost my breath. Out of NOWHERE. I've been doing SO GOOD. Peace like a river. Running through me. And then it hit me. A piano on my chest. Sweaty palms. Shallow breaths.

I was at a playdate with some of my besties and their little ones. The kids were playing in the playground and the four of us were planning a baby shower for four of our sweet friends. A baby in a carrier slept through dinner while her mama and daddy chatted about the day over in the corner.

Ella Grace will never get to go to Chick-fil-a on a playdate. I won't ever get to order her a 1 count kids meal with applesauce and chocolate milk. She won't play on the playground. I won't crawl way up to the top to rescue her when she gets stuck. She'll never leave Chick-fil-a on my hip, screaming about how she wants more sweet tea or one more slide.

And I know it's all just as it is for a distinct purpose.

So many times, as Christians, I feel like we are expected to put on our Sunday smile and remind everyone that "God's ways are perfect".

In her book, Angie reminds us that "if you need to scream a little, know that you have a God who can take that, as long as your face is tilted (ever slightly) toward Him". She goes on to say that "He is glorified in the shattering".

See, profound. I told ya.

My sweet sweet Gidge is due to deliver Baby Parker Friday. I am swept away with this unwavering hope for her. My heart swells with it. I can see the fear in her eyes. But ironically, it's right next to her unending strength. They are intermingled and I wish I could make it all better for her.

God's grace has been made evident in her time and time again over the past several years. I can't help but be overcome with admiration and fearless HOPE for her. Her praises defy her circumstances. But she's a Mama. And Mama's can't help but worry about their babies. I have prayed over her time and time again and the resounding voice I hear from God is to be HOPEFUL. To be filled with HOPE and LOVE and unending PRAISES for her precious Parker.

Do me a humongo favor. Set your alarm on your phones for a distinct time this week and in the weeks to follow and whisper a prayer for Abby and her family. God hears each and every prayer and will be listening to them as he carries her sweet family in these days.

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul--
And sings the tune without words
And never stops--at all."
-Emily Dickenson