I took them to Costco again...

the 3 of them.  Instead of the 5.  I was blessed to have an "extra" in the form of the sweet boy child of a friend.  So I felt a little less naked.  A little less glaringly NOT MYSELF.  

Not a mom of many. 

Not that "blessed" mama everyone needs to stop and gawk at with her little tribe marching-(well...let's be honest here- careening...)-about.  

Not the one who gets her heart "blessed" every single time she even stops for milk at Walgreens.  

I am not that mom anymore.  

I can't commiserate on big family dynamics or crazy little people.  

I can't empathize when a fellow mama unloads about the chaos of many hands tugging on her skirt...

I can't, I can't, I can't.  

Because it isn't my life anymore.  

I'm not the mama of many.  No one stops me to bless my heart, ask me if I know "it" happens, or "are you done?"

Until today.  

The sweetest man in Costco today stopped me and asked if I had "just 4" kids!  

"Are you done?" he queried, "don't you want just one more?" "It just seem like someone is missing..."

Just. one. more. 

YOU HAVE NO IDEA...I screamed in my head.  

"Five," I finally stuttered out, "I actually have FIVE kids."  

"Well, that's just wonderful!" he answered, his face alit in the sweetest grin.  

He simply had no idea. 

Not one inkling that the innocent question he threw at me in jest would shatter my fragile peace once again.  

Not one clue that I felt like SUCH A FAKE.  

Because I don't have 5 kids anymore.  I have 3.  

2 of them aren't mine anymore.  They belong to Jesus.  In truth, they never belonged to me to begin with. They were never JUST mine... 

So, now I have 3.  

And I spend every waking moment worrying, contemplating, begging, pleading and beseeching-

please don't let me screw this up.  

Please don't let me make any choice that will put them in harm's way.  

Please, LORD JESUS, PLEASE-

just keep them safe.  Lead them, love them, fill them to the absolute brim with your presence, your holy spirit and your perfect, pleasing voice.  

Please, help me learn how to have just 3.  Equip me to straddle the gaping canyon in our life where there used to be 5.  

Convict every person who knew them-

TALK about them. 

SHARE your heart. 

TENDER your memories and...

SPEAK their names!

Don't ask us for anything other than to simply survive.  

And if you see us struggling-

Don't shy away in discomfort, expecting someone else to fill the void and pretending you don't see the tears streaming down our faces.

 

Truly,  I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.          

Matthew 25:40

We, those who live through hell on earth-we are your least of these.  

None of you, NOT ONE, would ever choose these shoes.  So, please, whenever you have a moment where you think we're OK! peer DEEPLY into your hearts, your souls and your spirits and ask this one simple question.  

If you were faced with the life we now live, would you be ok?  

Would you, could you...

be OK?  

simply so tired...

clan mac mama

Who knew a hallmark holiday...

could wreck me.  Rip my heart into a thousand tiny shreds all over again.  Wash over me with a sadness so deep, so profound that my body felt too heavy for me to carry.

I wrote them all Valentine sentiments.  Even Mercy & Sam.  I know they can't read them, I know there is no Valentine's Day in Heaven, I know it's just for me, and for Charles, and for Eva, Charley and Max.
I KNOW ALL THESE THINGS.
Yet, the Mommy in me is terrified they somehow think or feel that we are forgetting them.  That they will know and be hurt if I don't remind them of how much they are loved, missed, cherished-how perfectly God created them for the life that they lived.  How connected to Him they were because they had such a short time to influence the rest of us-to leave their legacy-to inspire great FAITH.

Inspiration-
I'm trying every. single. day. to find it somewhere.
In the soft and gentle hugs of my Max.
The gentle whisper of a breeze when Eva whirls by, dancing her heart out.
Hiding in the pools of Charley's inquisitive eyes.
Radiating from the selfless servant heart of my precious husband.
Infusing the cries of the prayers we whispered to our precious Holy Father when it all just became...
Too. Much.

Sometimes the strangest part of this is walking through it with Cassie.  As I watched my 13 year old wander off to bed last night, my heart broke again for the loss of her innocence.  For the pain she hides behind her eyes, for the cracking and shattering of the rose colored glass her eyes were once hidden behind.
And I flashed back the day we brought Eva home from the hospital, Cassie meeting us at the door, taking our picture in front of the sweet stork in our front yard, Noah and Gav fascinated by this little tiny human.  With an intensity that nearly knocked me over, the desire to be back there once again washed over me...back where we began, where life seemed so complex, but was yet so simple.  Because they were all alive.  And despite whatever seemingly insurmountable life complications we thought were in our way...
we were happy.  We were whole.  We were mommies.

I woke this morning to the bleeding of her heart, voicing a carbon copy to the hole in my soul...

I'm tired of being broken.
Tired of being sad. 
A part of me died that day. 
I want to feel better. 
I want to feel joy.  
Instead I just feel tired. 
I feel different.
I feel subdued. 
Quiet.
Bewildered. 
Awkward. 
I'm tired of feeling alone. 
I miss him. 
Tired of having one kid instead of two. 
Tired of cringing when a stranger asks me about my kids.  
I just want to feel normal again. 

I know EXACTLY how she feels.  And it's not often one soul can say that to another.  But I can.  And I wish I didn't.  I wish she didn't know how I feel.  I wish I didn't know that we'd never be "normal" again. 
Sometimes I wonder if she would have let him finish driving alone if she wasn't distracted by the horrific circumstances that had invaded my life.
And now, because it's what we do, I'll somehow find my own blame in her pain.
And I know it's not my fault, I know that if she had still been following him it would have been even worse, because she would have been following him instead of the doctor who saved him and gave her the gift of 6 days. 
But because I love her, I want to take a piece of her pain.  Take just enough to make her see the tiniest spot of hope.  Take just enough to make her a little less tired.

We did that for each other when we first met.  We had the uncanny ability to somehow shoulder one another's burdens, to be the wall the crap got thrown against, to motivate the other to step a little higher, work a little harder, strive stronger.

And now?  For the first time ever-we truly know how the other feels.
And it sucks.

On a epic level, life without our kids sucks.
It's a bond that we hate, a bond that we'd sever in an instant if it meant one of us could have our kids back.

And I wish I could say I only had one of those bonds.  But I don't.
I share it with another set of precious friends, friends who traveled this road before Charles and I, whose love and wisdom has kept us afloat when we thought we might drown.
I see it in their eyes too. And in the eyes of every other "left behind" parent we've bonded with in this awful club.   
Longing.  Soul crushing, heartwrenching, faith shaking LONGING.   
For what was, what is, and what will never be.

Tenaciously, we cling to what is left of our lives.  We cling to the future of the children we have left, and we pray, we beg, we plead and we bargain-
for them.

For the loss of their innocence, the longing in their eyes, the pain and the holes in their hearts.


We plead for joy, for the passage of time and for the patience to wait for the peace that will only come when we are each reunited as the families God created us to be.

With the Lord, one day is as a thousand years and a thousand years as one day.  The Lord is not slow to fulfill His promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.              
                                                                                      2 Peter 3:8b-9

As always,
with love and by His Grace,
clan mac mama

Manna-

the Word.  The Holy, precious, life-giving and soul healing Word of God. 

It's my manna.
It's the blood pumping through my veins, the air I breathe, the song in my heart.

I answered a question today.
Why do we Praise & Worship Him?  Him who sits on the throne, our great Redeemer, our sovereign Lord, our precious Prince of Peace?
For me, the answer was simple.
Because I have to.
Not to get to Heaven, or simply avoid the hot seat fires of Hades, but because deep in the pit of my soul, I HAVE TO.

It started when I was about 8.  Life was not an easy road for Sam & me back then, our family was taking a heartbreaking journey.  And I was scared, sad and I felt so alone.
And then I didn't.  From some hollow buried deep in my heart, I felt a presence fill me and gently nudge me.
Pray.
Ask.
GIVE. IT. UP.

So I did.
And that GREAT BIG GOD answered a little girl's prayer.
A prayer she prayed every night, without fail for 2 years.
And that heartbreaking journey?
It ended with a new home, a new brother and a little girl convinced.

I wish it ended there.  I wish the heartbreak never came back.
But it did.
Over and over and over again...in lost innocence, shattered relationships, broken dreams and, finally- the soul shattering screams of an anguished mother clutched in the agony of grief.

In it all, the manna has always been there.  Precious words that have the ability to fill my soul and nourish me just when I'm nearly dying in the throes of spiritual starvation.  

I've been starving, my friends.  STARVING.  

Nothing, it seemed, could penetrate the fog filling my heart, my soul and my mind.
Until today.
Witnessing the love of Christ in a room full of broken hearts, love that came together and multiplied HIS manna into enough to feed us all.

And a precious reminder of my own need to Just Be Held...
For my broken heart to be covered with an oil of gladness that only His Word and Holy Presence can provide.
Folks-it's a journey.  Life...A roller coaster ride through the heights of Heaven and the depths of Hades.   For me-as my husband loves to say, I'm like a ping-pong ball on a bungee cord.  And it's not going to get any easier any time soon.  I will miss my children with every fiber of my mommy heart until the day I am blessed to be called into the radiant and glorious presence of my Savior.

So until then, til all is made new and the shards of my heart are mended...

I will sustain myself with His manna-

Then he said to me, "Son of man, eat this scroll I am giving you and fill your stomach with it."  So I ate it, and it tasted as sweet as honey in my mouth.
                                                   Ezekiel 3:3

Honor Him with my life- 

...choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him.  For the Lord is your life...
                                                   Deuteronomy 30:20


Will you?
As a wise woman I know and love would say-
The choice is yours and the choice is mine.  
love,
clan mac mama

Meandering thoughts on the day before the birthday Mercy won't get to celebrate...

The following collection of posts are ones I have prayed over, begged my precious Father for direction with, and poured my grief into at the end of a torturous Christmas season.  Undoubtedly, anger spilled into them, and it shows.  The rage that fills my soul at the injustice of the end of my children's earthly lives is debilitating.  It captures so many of my thoughts, forces its way into my soul and taints everything in its path.

Unconsciously, I refuse to let it dissipate.  Because in some twisted way, if I do, I feel as though I'm betraying not only Mercy and Sam, but Eva, Charley and Max, too.

So I'm making a different choice.  I'm sharing these thoughts because I pray that by doing so, I'll find some relief and make a way in the darkness for the beauty that we have also witnessed in these last 7 months to break through.

And maybe, just maybe, if I get just a little of the endless pit of pain out of my soul, I'll be able to tell you the stunningly pure, awe inspiring, God-breathed parts of my story.  The parts that show the endless grace and mercy of the Living God.  The parts that will convince you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are His creation, that we are His workmanship, that WE ARE HIS.

So before I give you the fruit, I want you to see the brambles, the dead vines, and the bleak landscape of a life lived in moment by moment grief.

And when this is done, I'll tell you the rest of the story.

And it will be-

A memoir of grace.

A narrative of faith.

and an affirmation that there is nothing that the enemy could put before us that will ever triumph over the Word of God.

You know what else?  I'm going to tell you exactly what I think those precious Words mean.  And many of you may disagree.  And that is, quite frankly, your right.  After all, we live in the land of FREE SPEECH, AMEN?

But until you have walked IN. MY. SHOES.  you simply cannot tell me what I should do, must do or am required to do.

So, buckle up, folks.  We're in for a bumpy ride.  Cause I'm gonna tell you the WHOLE story.  And it is my prayer that in doing so, I will bring honor to the only One to whom I am accountable.

1/3/16, leaving my sister's house in TN.

And just when I least expect it, the freight train hits again-

full speed.

And I am flattened into a million tiny pieces.



Insidiously, the doubt creeps in.

If only I had embraced the chaos more.  If I’d made a schedule and stuck to it.  If I would have just listened that little voice in the back of my head that wasn’t ok with sending my 5 precious babies away.

I used to get so overwhelmed.  So many days I’d question my abilities, my mommy hood.  When I was super frustrated, I remember asking God if He hadn’t made a mistake-“Are you SURE you picked the right mommy for this?”

Almost always, I felt like a failure.

The school day wasn’t successful enough.

They wouldn’t eat what I made without complaint.

They almost never did their chores without me hounding them.

I yelled too much.

I took too much time to myself.

I got frustrated too easily.



Over and over again, I seem to sink into the realization that I should have heeded the sage advice of a sweet friend.  Gently, with grace, she told me often to “love the little years.”  She even gave me the book…

But most of the time, it seemed I was just too busy keeping my head above water and trying to find my way.

Clinging desperately to my sanity in a world I didn’t expect.

And now, I cling desperately to something different…

To the whispered memories of “I love you, mama… Mama, can I just have one more muffin?…Mama, can I sleep with you?…Mama, I’m never gonna grow up and I’m always gonna live with you!”



My life seems to stretch out before me like a desert highway, dry and desolate, dull and vast.  

I wish, with every fiber of my being, that I could find something, anything to look forward to in this new year, but honestly, I just want 45 more New Years to pass by so I can gracefully go home to Jesus and see my sweet babies again.

My emotions overwhelm me most days, filling my body with coiled energy that doesn’t have a  place to go.  I’m SO SICK of crying, SO TIRED of the emptiness, SO FILLED with longing that I can’t assuage.

You know what else?  I’m pissed off.  Pissed off that this is my life now.  This is Charles’ life, and Eva, Charley and Max’s.  And everyone else that loved them so much…I’m seriously bent out of shape that this is the life we now have to live.  At this point, you are all probably beyond exhausted just reading the SAME thing OVER AND OVER…I’m dog tired of writing it.  It just seems to be the only thing that I can talk about.  The only thing that fills my mind.

1/4/16, after the first day of unpacking from our Christmas trip

24 hours in my life…

Arrived home to the mess that is STILL my house, because I don’t have enough space, our minor renovations STILL aren’t done, and I can’t get rid of half of the stuff I need to because I’m stuck in the fog of needing physical reminders of my dead children.  (God forbid I get rid of the chair I would snuggle my little bits in, next to my favorite fireplace, when I stumbled out of bed on cold winter mornings.)


In the middle of sweeping the mess up in my kitchen at almost midnight, I turn around to a tearful little Max-devastated because when he walked into his room after the 10 hour drive home from Tennessee, one of Sammy’s toys was sitting out and reminded him of how much his little heart hurts.


Cleaned out Eva’s closet today…

every “too small” item reminded me that I don’t have a little bean to save these cute things for anymore.  The quiet reminded me that she would normally have been all over this clean out, claiming every cast off for herself…especially if it happened to sparkle.

Later found my formerly bright and upbeat biggest bean, melancholy and lonely on her bed…staring into a memory of the past.  A past filled with laughter, companionship and joy.  A past she can’t ever return to and a future she often dreads looms too large in her mind.

Which reminded me of how bottled up she really is…because what she remembers in the days just following “the accident,” is how often she was told to “be strong!” Shame on those who filled her mind with such nonsense!  She’s a child-a traumatized and guilt filled CHILD!


Had a gut wrenching conversation with my Charley, where she casually asked me,
“Mommy, what does it mean when they sing ‘I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength?’  Does it mean I can teleport if I ask God?”

Because she TRULY believes that if she could teleport or time travel, we could go back and everything would be A-OK.  And she thinks God will make that happen.

So, I had to get down on the floor and try my level best to explain exactly what “I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength.” REALLY means to a 9 year old who insists that God is going to send her brother and sister back. Who insists that if we just move home and put everything back the way it was, God will supernaturally send them right on back.

Who believes, with 100% of her sweet and formerly innocent heart, that a loving and kind God would send them back.  Who believes that she can’t be mad at God, she is not supposed to cry and that, someway, somehow, this is HER fault.



Then I decided to clean out the mess that is the cabinet in the kids' bathroom.  My lack of storage necessitated some serious purging…

And I found every. single. bow, hair tie, cute barrette, headband and scrunchie.  The hurt that squeezed deep into my heart was physical, painful and more powerful than anything I could shake off, tune out or shut off.  (As I had to do to even remotely survive this first Christmas season.  WHICH. WAS. TORTURE.)

Sweet Jesus, the sparkly nail polish. the bath bubbles. the glittery lip gloss.

Every little thing that had her stamp, her memory, her crazy grin…

And that led to the conversation with my 13 year old where I felt compelled to make her understand the importance of rules... which I then felt guilty for having, because I live in fear of her blaming herself and what that self blame could do to her tender and tattered heart.


Wait, I almost forgot (NOT)… in the midst of cleaning up the closet in Max & Charley’s room... it was time to move Max up to new undies.

And I just lost it.

Over underwear.  Little boy underwear that my adorably sassy little boy used to run around the house in (when he wasn’t buck naked instead…)  That he would leave on the floor of the bathroom when he called me in to “wipe my butt, mama!”  The ones I bought him to convince him "not to poop on Scooby, because poop belongs in the toilet!”


Follow all this with our nightly ritual of shining Sammy’s glow light turtle on the ceiling to make “the moon,” for us to tell Mercy and Sammy, “I love you to the moon and back!”

And Charley yells it, full volume at the top of her lungs, every night, convinced they can hear her if she says it loud enough.  While I can barely force it out.

Because I AM SO PISSED.


And then I open my Facebook to the blessing of my friend Corry.  My friend who captured the very essence of my family in pictures.  Who brought me to my knees with her words of love, inspiration and kindness.  Who reminded me that I have resolved, with EVERY FIBER OF MY PISSED OFF SELF, that I WILL let God work in me and through me.  That I WILL do HIS WILL.  That I will bring glory to His Name, His Works, His Word.


So- in essence, I’m pissed as all get out that this is my life.  And it may be a cold day in hell before I’m ok with it, but I absolutely, positively, WILL NOT allow the enemy to triumph over my family.

EVER.

Here’s what I’m going to do and I’m begging you to do it as well.


Pray for my heart.  That the pissed off part gets completely obliterated by the grace part.  That the part of my heart that needs to give forgiveness will be ok that it may never be truly sought with understanding hearts.  That those who seek to compare their grief to what we suffer every day will be convicted of the fallacy of this enemy induced lie.


Pray for my husband.

Pray for his fractured heart and his battered soul.  Pray that he can seek God and find Him at every turn, in every whisper and ultimately, inhabiting his very being. Pray that he is infused with supernatural strength and wisdom to lead our family in this unexpected new course.  Pray that the deep and wide crevices of betrayal and hurt in his heart are filled with the precious peace of our Savior.


Pray for my treasured living children.  INVOKE the name of Jesus over them, that they will understand the power of the enemy and his vicious lies.   Beseech our Creator, begging for them to remain rooted firmly in Christ, convinced that their strength comes only from our precious Abba Father.


Pray for yourselves.  Each and every one of you.  Pray.  Quiet your minds, your world, your earthly pride.  
Pray that in His goodness, He will reveal to each of you what He has planned for you, how you can serve Him and what you can do to further His love.  Pray that the narcissism of this broken and fallen world will fall off our shoulders and we will be made new.



 See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.                Isaiah 43:19

The day before the 7 month "anniversary" of the accident. 

(I HATE using that word.  An anniversary indicates celebration.  There is not. one. thing. to celebrate about June 11.  It was the WORST day of my life.) 

I need Jesus.  Seriously-it’s not a sort of thing.  It’s an all-out, all encompassing, deep into the pit of my soul NEED.

Each morning that dawns is filled with the unbearable pain of knowing my children are dead in this life.  My heart breaks all over again every time the image of their lifeless bodies pops unbidden into my mind’s eye.  Every time I happen to glance for just a moment at their images captured in pictures.  Every time I “hear” their sweet little voices resonating in a memory.  Every time I go to make a meal and I make too much to feed what is left of my family.

All day, every day-I have to live THIS life now.

AND I HATE IT.

I used to look forward to the rest of my life.  Charles and I would laugh over how we would have NO idea what on earth we would do with ourselves once our kids were grown…

So we had decided to buy an RV and just travel from kid to kid if they moved away, and if we were blessed to have them nearby, we’d be those nerdy old parents/grandparents that are so present in their lives they’d be sick of us.



And I have no idea what to do now. (And please, please, don't tell me I have to keep going for my 3 living children.  I really do know that.  I really do my best, each and every day to be the Mommy they need.)

Many of you would probably say that we should still do all those things we had planned.  We should live our lives just like we would have before, that it would honor Mercy and Sam and that they would want us to be happy.  (Just for the record, Mercy hated to see mama cry.  So she would HATE this if she saw it.  As a wise friend once told me, it wouldn't be Heaven if they could see us because they would be so sad if they saw our brokenness.)


Do you know what would honor Mercy and Sam? NOT just living our lives like before. NOT just getting back to the way things were.  Because the way things were is never going to be how they will be now.  And because if we do that, their deaths mean nothing. NOT one thing.


What we should be doing is this.  Finding a way to make sure this stops happening. Paving a path to teach others, first and foremost, that UTV's and ATV's aren't TOYS.  They are strong, monstrous vehicles that should never be taken lightly or operated carelessly.  And THAT makes me angry too.  Because in the time that has passed since my children died on that field, in ways so awful that it makes me want to vomit every time I think of it, OTHER CHILDREN HAVE DIED TOO.


When the first responder who knows the details of your children's accident flat out tells you not to read the report and then informs you that the people who responded to the scene had to receive counseling, it MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL that before this even happened to my children,  not one person has thought it might be a priority to not sweep these horrors under the rug and pretend they didn't happen, but to stand on a daggone soap box and DEMAND that these vehicles be taken more seriously!  It breaks my heart on a level I can't explain.  If my children had been riding in a car without seatbelts or doors and had been killed, there would have been a whole different response.  And yet, what they were riding in was essentially a car.  But it wasn't treated like one, it was treated like a toy.  Because that's just the way it's done.  Well, maybe we need to change the way it's done!  For crying out loud, Charley thought it was a golf cart!

And that, friends, is what its like to live my life right now.  

I don't have an escape hatch. 

I can't take a break. 

I don't get to forget or gloss over it. 

I don't get to just keep living the life I had before.

I don't have the option to change the past.  

I don't want to live like this forever.  

So, for the sake of all that is left of our life, of the treasured life we spent 13 years building with our children and 20 years building since we said "I do," I am standing at His door, knocking, NO POUNDING...please, Jesus, let me in.  Sustain me with love, care, peace, comfort and the assurance that only You can give.  Because I sure as heck can't do it without You.  In the deepest part of my soul, the tenderness remains.   Only You can overtake the burning anger that is rooted so firmly.


"So I say to you, keep asking, and it will be given to you. Keep searching, and you will find. Keep knocking, and the door will be opened to you."   Luke 11:9

in His Grip always,
forever the clan mac mama

There are holes in the floor of heaven…

and their tears are falling down... 

I should have known they’d be with me.  Someway, somehow, They always are.  

  

It’s my first visit to Tennessee since “the accident.”  

My first trip without my other half.  My anchor.  My Charles.  

The other anchor in my life, my other sweet Sammy, rode shotgun today, sniffling, sneezing and snotting the entire 11 hour trip.  She sat beside me, heart pounding, anxiety mounting, as we treacherously inched through a raging rainstorm with one headlight, fog, mist and almost zero visibility.  She hunched beside me as I gripped the wheel and I prayed over and over and over again-

Jesus-please. 

Jesus-be near-

Jesus-cover us in your grace, your protection, your mercy.  

Jesus-PLEASE.  keep them safe-keep them covered-guide them to safety.  

Because in front of me were 2 of the 3 children I have left on this earth. 2 of my precious babies were in a car, in front of me, in some of the  most dangerous conditions I’ve ever driven in.  

2 OF MY 3.   

I simply couldn’t breathe.  

And when we got here, to her home, the one my kids had never seen…it hit me like a freight train.  Mercy and Sam were never physically here- 

and yet, here they were.  On every wall, in every room, on almost every surface.   bits and pieces and memories. Everywhere.  

And it hurt.  Like you wouldn’t believe, it stung.  My sister, their aunt, not me, their mom-seemed to have more ways to remember them in her home than I did.  Little pictures dotted almost every surface & wall, butterflies peeking out, superheroes smiling, a lovely little corner of their things.  

So I escaped.  I hopped in the car, bound for the grocery, as usual.  Tears poured down my face in the blur of the night...and the radio that had sat silent the entire day- it suddenly beckoned me.  

Seek me. 

Search me. 

Find me.  

And I did.  

For the first time in at least 10 years, THIS. SONG. PLAYED.  

‘Cause there's holes in floor of Heaven…

and her tears are pourin' down. 

That’s how you know she’s watching’

Wishing she could be here now...

And sometimes if you’re lonely

Just remember she can see

There’s holes in the floor of Heaven

And she’s watchin’ over you and me

So I had another hissy fit-(to which I firmly believe I am completely entitled.)

I told Him again, for the thousandth time, how outraged I was.  How completely infuriated I was with His lack of a miracle for my babies.  How they don't belong in Heaven in yet, THEY BELONG WITH ME.

This is not supposed to be my life…

Yet it is.  

So I thirst like a withering vine in the desert for any tiny reminder, any little “sign,” any shred of a memory or moment.  I cling desperately to the little things.  

Like songs from decades ago-songs that remind my lonely heart that my precious little people are still and will always be with me, that He is with me, walking beside me, carrying me, drying my tears and gently reminding me that they are NOT gone, they are just waiting for me.  

In Heaven. 

Dammit-I'm stuck here, I'm left here, beseeching Him, actually... BEGGING HIM...for the peace to trust His voice, hear His whispers and fulfill His plans.  

I’ll wait here, fighting with all I am for what is left of my family and believing in His promises.  

I’ll wait here, safe in the knowledge that He created me knowing I would live this life and He will walk/carry/drag me through it, one single moment at a time.  (He might well be doing some dragging right now.) 

Quite simply, I know it’s not a coincidence that I write- in His infinite wisdom, He knew it would help me find my center someday in a painfully topsy turvy world.  He knew I’d use it somehow and He knew every one of you would read it.  Because He. knows. us.  He knows every choice our lives will be directed by, so He creates us to survive them if we fall into His arms and beg Him to show us the way.  He KNOWS we are fatally flawed, He knows we will fall, and He loves us in spite of it all.  Because He created us to serve Him for the number of days we will walk this earth.  And He knew my babies would be in His care far too soon-

For you created my inmost being;

You knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful, 

I know that full well.  

My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, 

when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.  

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.   

                                                                                                                                     Psalm 139:13-16

Which means that I must remain squarely in His care. 

So I will open my eyes and my heart WIDE-alert for every little reminder, overwhelmed with the love my sister and each member of my family has poured out over us and covered us with as we faced our first season of our Savior without Mercy and Sam.  

I will study and memorize every picture I see here, I will turn every corner and see their faces.  I will hold Sammy's blanket and Mercy's skirt, I will inhale what remains of their scent and be thankful.  That they will never be forgotten, not ever.  And that when I am too weak and weary to build my little remembrances-my family will do it for me, holding me up, anchoring my heart and preserving my loves.   One memory, one memento, one picture at a time.  

With love,
clan mac mama

I can't even count...

how many times a day I utter these words…
I just want my babies back.
I just want my life back. 
I just want to be a mama to 5 littles. 

And every. single. time.
I get slapped in the face by the cold reality that I just can't have what I want.  That the picture you see is a memory- one that I can't ever live again this side of Heaven.

And Charley can't have her time machine.
Max can't see them again.
Eva…
Oh, that sweet child is so far in a box that I have not one clue what she wants.
Wait- that's just not true.
In steadfast eldest child fashion, she is tenacious in her resolve to subdue the sadness. to fix it. to deftly gloss right over that GIANT gaping hole in our lives that used to be a family of 7.
She hasn't stalled one bit…
She dances, pirouettes, splits, leaps, and spins.
She plans, organizes, strategizes, plots and outlines.
She consoles me, upholds me, she dries my tears.
She utters a THOUSAND miles a minute-convinced the steady stream of spoken word masks the silence.  determined to consume the yawning void that used to be the chaos of 5 and is now the subtle silence of 3.
3.
Not 5.
3.
What does it feel like for them?  Truly? WHAT?
Every morning when I wake, I'm consumed with thoughts of them.  It's what makes me want to just stay asleep.  When I'm asleep, I don't know.  I don't know they aren't alive here anymore.  Or maybe it's why I never seem to want to go to sleep.  Because I know I'll have to wake again to the completely sucky reality that THEY AREN'T HERE.
It's why Charley won't sleep.
And she's 9.
9 years old.
And in her mind, her innocent black and white consciousness…
it's her fault.  
She shouldn't have asked.
IF she could just build a time machine, she could change her mind.  And they wouldn't go on that ride.  And Mercy & Sammy would still be here.
It doesn't seem to matter how many times I tell her it's not her fault…
she can't change it.
her heart is broken and she's, well, NINE.
She's not ok.
She's not fine.
None of them are.  and no matter how much anyone wants them to be, they aren't.

And how do I convince my littlest surviving child that he won't always feel so lonely, that someday, somehow, he will find joy again?  That he will be accepted simply for who he is?  The way he once was by his precious little soulmates?

I wanted to rise to the occasion of Christmas.  I wanted to triumph over the unspeakable sadness, the loneliness and the tears to force all of us to be joyful, thankful, peaceful.
I wanted to.  I really did.
And I failed.
We all did.
The only thing I forced myself to do was buy presents because I simply couldn't bear the thought of more sadness and disappointment on their sweet faces.

Maybe I'm just spent...I've risen to every occasion that has come my way since this began.  And I'm tired. No. NOT just tired.  I'm bone-weary, exhausted, emotionally drained and completely heartbroken.  I've endured football games without my little cheerleader and quarterback.  I've forced a smile and light conversation during our homeschool days.  I've packed Operation Christmas Child boxes.  I've cried my way through 8 Nutcracker performances without my baby ballerina and her biggest fan.  I've lit a garden of remembrance with my surviving son while my oldest child sobbed in the background & my now "middle" child hunkered down on the stairs.  I've endured the "how are you?" question without screaming my head off more times than it's possible to count.

I wanted to write today to bring hope-to encourage faith-to focus on the real reason we celebrate this precious holiday.

But the only thing I could write was this.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll find my words again.  If I just close my eyes, reach for Him and let Him tell me about the beauty He sees, I'll know the glory of His creation, His peace, His purpose and His provision once again.

Please pray for us.  Each of us is wading upstream through a fog we can't seem to clear.  Prayer and the grace of God have truly held us up.   And perhaps I've gotten too proud and too stubborn to ask for it as often as we need it (which is, seriously, every minute of the day)-perhaps I've allowed expectation of "moving on," flat out fury at what our life is now, and quite simply, utter exhaustion- to keep me from asking, from telling, from SHOUTING how desperately we need our Savior and every precious prayer rendered on our behalf.  We ache for each one.
We simply.
cannot.
live.
without.
HIM.

Him who gave us life.  Him who gave us breath.  Him who GAVE HIS SON for us.  He spared not HIS own son.  And what pride, what selfishness, what-could possibly convince me that he would spare my children from the consequence of human choice and sin, when He gave His OWN Son to save us from the original consequence of the choice to sin.
Human pride-
-fallible sin
-a corrupted and selfish world.


He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all--how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?  
                                                 Romans 8:32

And what are those things?
They are hope...and a future...and plans to prosper us, give us hope and a future.  All of these are His promises.  And He never breaks a promise.

So, for this moment, this night, this precious minute, I will cling desperately to that HOPE.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.

                                                                                     Isaiah 53:5

Please pray for our healing, our peace and our future.  Pray for yours.  Pray for every parent walking this earth without the fellowship of their precious child or children.  

In His grip and by His grace, 

clan mac mama

And on this last day of the month of thankfulness...

Honestly-I'm just thankful one more dreaded "1st" has passed.
I'm thankful for those who took the time to remember and acknowledge our sweet Mercy and Sam in this painful time, and to remind us of how much they were loved and are missed.
I'm thankful beyond measure for ALL of my children.

And yet-Every day feels like a surreal alternate universe, one that I pray I'll wake from.

In 2 short days, 20 years of marriage will be upon Charles and I.  20 years.  6 months ago, I had dreams of donning my dress and having a quiet little ceremony in the chapel on Parris Island with my husband and children...just us, just them.  I wanted them to witness us renewing those vows that we made so many years ago.  Those vows that led us down the path to becoming their parents.
And now.
Now.
Exactly how does one celebrate such an amazing milestone when 2 of the most beautiful fruits of that marriage are no longer part of our earthly joy?  I just don't have an answer for that.

I pray every day that God will reveal His plans- I pray that they will be to spiritually prosper us, to give our hearts hope and a future, to show us how we can glorify Him with the words of our mouths, the actions in and of our lives, and the meditations of our hearts.  I pray that He will meet us in our sadness, our brokenness and our longing.
Let me be very clear-  There is no "reason" for our pain and our loving God didn't "choose" us to suffer this.  He simply met us there.  He met & then carried our children out of their pain as they left this world so violently.
He carries us here moment by moment.
He is our undergirding and He is our strong tower.  He and He alone, will be our redeeming grace.

In the bleeding moments of my brokenness, I have so often asked-"Have I displeased you, my God?"  I haven't just asked, I have shouted this, I have sobbed this.  Because I wonder, every. single. day.  WHY US?  WHY my children?  WHY?  Have I lost your "favor," my God?

Yet, this I know-
If the Lord granted His favor only upon those who looked as though they "deserved it", the starving child in Ethiopia would never lack, the homeless mom who simply cannot find a job wouldn't lack, the proud homeless vet who served his country wouldn't lack, the martyr for Christ wouldn't lack, the neglected and abused child wouldn't lack.  I don't covet God's favor, I simply covet His priceless love, grace, and redemption.

So today, I'm extraordinarily thankful for Christ and His sacrifice.  And if I just keep my eyes and heart focused on Him, I can tune out the static of this world that distracts me from the hope I have in the promise of eternity with all of my precious babies and my sweet husband.

He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.
                                                                                                            Revelations 21:6-7

Walking in my shoes...

I read a poem recently about the shoes I walk in.
The shoes I never wanted to wear-
the ones of a grieving mother.

And then I thought...
What about HIS shoes?  The grieving father and the shoes HE must wear?  The man whose heart is just as broken as mine-yet he stands in the shadows with his grief while the world comforts the grieving mother?
What about HIM?
It's SO not just me.

My husband- he is the shattered, grieving father in the darkness... in the midst of this nightmare.
So many times, helplessly, I watch the man who leads our family sobbing and broken.  It's gut wrenching to try and hear him when he can barely speak the words he needs to get out.  What's it like for him?  To put on that uniform every day and have to walk into the office where he would sometimes take our kids for a bit while I went to appointments or ran errands.  The place where he took them for the kid version of "Jane Wayne" day every single year.  That place where people just laughed as they watched the little fire team and a spare literally march by.  To have to drive, EVERY DAY, by the spot where we were standing when we got THE call.  To know he has to drive by the stupid Polaris dealership every. single. day. and see their proud display of that damn death trap that killed our kids.  To sit and watch him with his head in his hands because he simply can't fill out another piece of paper to inform YET ANOTHER person/agency/entity/organization that his children have DIED.  To see the regret etched in his eyes for the times he was gone, the memories he missed because of deployments, schools, PCS moves, classes…you name it.
What's it like to know your children are no longer of this world and you can't change it, fix it, mend it, patch it…nothing?  There isn't a single. solitary. thing. you can do.  And for a father?  That is simply the worst part of it all.  That he. can't. fix. this.

His son doesn't have a brother anymore, his son doesn't have a twin to share his life with.  His daughters don't have their sidekicks to plan every holiday months in advance, invent new games, dress up and hide in forts and corners with, watch scooby marathons with, simply GROW UP with.
And
he.
can't.
fix.
it.

We took the kids to the movies a while back.
It sucked.
We both spent the entire movie remembering what it was like when we took the 5 of them-the popcorn juggling, candy fighting, potty breaks, spilled drinks-
it was just too quiet.  Too easy.
Every. single. day.  It's just too damn quiet.

Every day, my husband, their father, aches for what was, what should have been and what will never be here on this earth.

The daughter he will never walk down the aisle, the son he will never see serve Christ, his family or  his country, the grandchildren he will never know.  But most importantly, the baptisms we will never share with them.  That moment when they come to Christ, when they CHOOSE Him, when they choose JOY and share it with those they love.   Don't get me wrong, they LOVED Jesus, but they hadn't walked forth in baptism yet.  They were so little!  Baptism just beginning to be a concept they could grasp.
Clearly, they've already gone to Christ.  The last thing any parent truly wants…baptism by way of actually meeting Christ.  Forever.

And yet, Jesus said...
      "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
                        Matthew 19:14

It's amazing to me how God created the human body and mind, preparing it for those times when it would be overwhelmed by the circumstances and choices of this fallen world.  He created it to withstand the insanity that threatens the human mind when it is simply overtaken by pain too great to bear...He gave us-
Shock-
And I'd venture to say we're both overwhelmingly grateful for it now.  Beyond thankful for the time we were numb and could show infinitely more grace than we, alone, could ever be capable of.  That shock was truly God's gift and provision for preserving what was left of our sanity.  Some days, I'd give my left arm to have it back.  And I know Charles would too.

So many days, shock seems like it would be so much easier. To just go back to that place of numbness and just putting one foot in front of the other.

Because when you're still in shock, it's not real.
And we just don't want it to be real.  And maybe, for a tiny window of time, all the moving and chaos of finding a home let it be "unreal" for just a little bit longer.

All of a sudden-it's been almost 5 months now. We've changed seasons, the time has fallen back, the holidays are upon us.  We live in home they never lived in.  We sleep and wake, eat and play, cry and laugh...we LIVE here in a home that never knew them.
Bless the hearts of every one of you who wants to know if we are settled...
No.
We'll never be settled.  Ever.  Not until we are all settled, once again, as a complete family in one place.  Reunited, every tear wiped away, all our sorrows forever forgotten, in our forever home with Christ.

     "And God shall wipe away all the tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
                                                                                                              Revelation 21:4


And if I'm really honest, I'll tell you that they are starting to feel like a dream.  A really wonderful dream that we lived for 6 1/2 years.  
Because, truthfully...I can still barely look at their pictures.  Watching a video of them is impossible. And just holding their clothes can make me sob uncontrollably.

So I don't.  And Charles doesn't.  But our kids need us to, and truly, our hearts need us to.  So we will.  One image, one captured memory, one piece of their lives...at a time.  We'll walk, in tiny...itty bitty...baby steps...
of the shoes we must wear.  

     "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." 
                                                                                             Matthew 5:4

Finding hope and joy in the daily presence of Christ, despite our circumstances, that will be the greatest blessing we can receive.

But, please, please, please, share with us your memories.  Your laughter.  Your moments.  Tell us about our babies.  Remember them, laugh about them, keep them alive in your hearts, your lives and your spirits.  Share those photos, tell those silly stories.  Help us take those baby steps.  Help us find comfort in not only who they were, but more importantly, who they are now.

And finally-
I know I've been quiet, not posting or sharing.  It simply wasn't time.  And I knew it was time when the Lord placed this verse on my heart-

      After the earthquake, there came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  And after the fire came a gentle whisper. 

                                           1 Kings 19:12

My heart needed a quiet, humble place in which to listen.  To listen for whispers He provides.  To listen for the quiet breeze on which He sends the Holy Spirit.  

My heart needs Him.  My mouth will praise Him.  My life will serve Him.  And by both their births and their deaths, our family will serve him by ensuring the lives of Mercy and Sam will continue to glorify Him, spread His truth, share His love, live in His peace and glorify His saving grace.

     I will extol the Lord at all time, 
           his praise will always be on my lips. 
     I will glory in the Lord;
          let the afflicted hear and rejoice.  
     Glorify the Lord with me; 
          let us exalt his name together.  
                                           Psalm 34:1-3


Each prayer that is offered is a life giving affirmation of love- so, please continue!  Not just for our family, but for every family that is walking in these horribly ill-fitting shoes of grief.

With love and by His Grace,
clan mac mama

The title of this post was supposed to be...

Mornings suck. 
Especially this one, since I woke up crying AGAIN and just didn't want to get out of bed. But as I lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, I could hear the sounds of Charley & Max, dumping legos on the floor, inventing in their room, laughing as they enjoyed the freedom of a morning of mommy sleeping in. 
When I was finally ready to make my way to the Keurig, I passed by the living room and was caught off guard by the sight of Charley's Bible and Community Bible Study workbook open on the floor.  Now, mind you, that sweet child loves her some Jesus & studying His Word, but most mornings, like any other homeschooled, bookworm 9 year old, she is off in la-la land with her current favored book.  THEN, I happened to hop on Facebook while drinking my coffee and this is what I saw...

Charles had snapped a picture of Charley helping Max with HIS Bible study.  And now she is in their room, "teaching" him his math.  Not sure why I used quotes there...she really is teaching him. 

And this was my encouragement this morning from a sweet friend who gave me a special cross and verse based daily blessings to go with it...

Tiffany, you can teach God's great truths to people who are able to pass them on to others.  
-inspired by 2 Timothy 2:2

In Paul's letters to Timothy, this is what he actually said:
You then, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.  And the things you have heard me say in the presence of many witnesses entrust to reliable people who will also be qualified to teach others.  
2 Timothy 2:1-2  

I am uniquely qualified to teach MY children.  To lead them to Christ.  To teach them to teach others.  And when I am so often plagued by my perceptions of failure, sadness, doubt and insecurity, and most heavily of all, grief, HE relieves my afflictions.
HE stirs in the heart of my children the seeds Charles and I have planted.  The seeds that every other believer who has invested their love, time and hearts into my children, all FIVE of them, He has and is watering those seeds.

And He is calling me to water the seeds He planted when Mercy & Sammy went home to Jesus.  This is my answer.  To keep writing, to keep sharing my heart and to share our journey. 

I'll be honest-I haven't published anything recently because a seed of doubt had taken root, watered by opinions and discomfort.  Then, in true Sovereign God fashion, the encouragement started rolling in-texts, facebook messages, treasured wise women stopping me and telling me to keep writing, keep letting Him lead and keep fanning the flames of the presence of God that engulfed that day when we laid our precious babies to rest. 

And there is no "I" in that mission.  There is no "I" in what He will put on my heart to share, in how to serve, in the ultimate goal to bring good from what was intended by the enemy for evil.  There is only HE.  "I" am not the writer, "I" am not strong, "I" am weak, broken, grief stricken and overwhelmed. 
HE is the writer of my story, He is the author of my life.  Of every life He creates, He is the author and perfecter of our journey.  And he uniquely equipped each one of us to travel the path we call our lives. 
But-and there's always a but-we have to choose Him, choose JOY, choose HIS way.  Because without it, we stumble, we grope, we flail about, certain of our SELF sufficiency while we fail miserably in our insufficiency. 
But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

And then there is pr"I"de.
Snarky little thing, it is.
It's often said that money or the pursuit of wealth is the root of evil.  I beg to differ, my friends. 
I'd argue that it's pride.
And that nasty, icky, sneaky fog of judgement that comes with it.  
Pride manifests itself through so many avenues.  Ways most of us never even recognize.  And I'm guilty of it every. single. day.  Probably every hour. 
Facebook is filled with it.  So is the internet, the news media, books, magazines, newspapers, blogs...you name it.  PRIDE is everywhere. 
Let me tell you about my pride now. 
It's still there.  But it's a whole lot smaller.  Like a raisin in the sun, it is shriveling and shrinking, moment by moment.   Losing 2 of your most precious blessings in a split second, then having to literally rely on the grace and provision of others to physically, emotionally and spiritually carry you through is quite possibly the most humbling experience of a lifetime. 
This season of grief, the summer of sadness was characterized most notably by this...
When we were hungry, we were fed.
When we needed rest, we were given shelter.
When we needed an ear, we were given compassion.
When we needed time, others cared for our children.
When we needed encouragement, He sent the Holy Spirit to give it-in too many ways for me to even count.
When we needed spiritual food, He fed us.

And you know what I learned?
I CANNOT, in my own strength, be the child of God He created and planned a life for.
There is no room for pride, self sufficiency or judgement.
So leave it at the door, my friends.  I promise you, you won't regret it.

Pride goes before destruction, 
a haughty spirit before a fall.  
Proverbs 16:18

Gracious words are a honeycomb, 
sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.  
Proverbs 16:24 

What started as a day filled with tears has become a bright and sunny morning, filled with HIS promises and the beauty of HIS story beginning again.  

As my sweet mutually grieving friend, Cassie, at www.bleepingamazing.com says...
Find the amazing. Sleep. Repeat.

HE is the amazing.

By His Grace & with my love,
clan mac mama  

My sweet little son just asked me if he could...

"go back to that place, you know, the one where Mercy & Sam's bodies are?"
Umm…
I was speechless for just a minute, then recovered enough to try and give that sweet little 6 year old boy an answer that would make sense to his confused mind and broken heart.
To say today was difficult might be a bit of understatement.
EVERY. SINGLE. THING. stung like a sharply honed knife twisted in the festering wound of our hearts.
When I picked him up from his playtime with a friend today, his first words to me after he tackled me with a hug-
"I miss Mercy and Sam, Mama."
This was followed by the conversation at dinner during which he quizzed me about whether their bodies were still here, could we go back to "that place" and see them, or "are their bodies in heaven now?"
I swear my life mostly feels like the Twilight Zone.
I seriously wake up EVERY. DAY. sick to my stomach, exhausted and certain that this must be a nightmare and I WILL. WAKE. UP.
Right?
I'll wake up and Mercy and Sammy will be standing at my bedside, staring me in the face and scaring the stink out of me as I startle awake.
I'll wake up and they'll be in the kitchen, raiding the Nutella and bread.
I'll wake up and they'll be in the playroom, building a fort and having a castle battle.
I'll wake up and THEY WON'T BE DEAD.
Right?
Nope.
This is my life now.
This is my story.
I spend my days worried that my 2 sweet, kind, formerly naive daughters have PTSD and that my son will marry the first woman who tells him what to do and how much she loves him…all because he misses his bossy twin and is so lonely his heart just hurts.
I spend my days wondering exactly what in the bloody heck we are supposed to do now.
Everything is different.
Nothing is the same.
Not
one
single
thing.
Yesterday, I sat on the floor holding a sobbing child who couldn't even catch her breath because she was crying so hard.
All because school days remind her of Mercy & Sammy.  And how much she misses them.
2 days ago, I had to take the iPod from a miserable tween who just tries to hide herself in it when she realizes how lonely she is and how much she misses her little tribe.
Today, I had to analyze how every single decision we make is affecting how they are handling this, how we are helping them to handle it and how completely broken we are as parents, in our marriage and in our lives.
Simply put-this is a royal mess.
And I AM ANGRY.
THIS is not how it's supposed to be.

It's fall now.
We should be picking pumpkins, planning costumes, riding on hay wagons and competing in costume contests.  We should have gone to Great Wolf Lodge with our friends.
We're not.
And I AM ANGRY.
I am not better, it's not easier.
Still, I can't look at their pictures.  I can't watch videos.  I can't even hold Sammy's pillow right now or pick up Mercy's ballet shoes.
Because it makes me MORE ANGRY.
Angry that this is my life.  And my husband's life.  And Eva, Charley and Max's lives.
I want to see the good.  I want to praise Him in this storm.

And I have.
I will.
I must.
There is simply no other option.
So I will give it ALL to HIM.  To the one who can heal.  The one who can mend.  The one who is sovereign.
He knew, He knows, He IS.

"One bold message in the book of Job is that you can say anything to God. Throw at him your grief, your anger, your doubt, your bitterness, your betrayal, your disappointment -- he can absorb them all. As often as not, spiritual giants of the Bible are shown contending with God. They prefer to go away limping, like Jacob, rather than to shut God out."

~Philip Yancey, Disappointment with God

I'm not just limping, I'm broken.  WE are broken.  All of us.  I've said it all, I'll say it all again.  Because this isn't a simple 3 step process-

1. Children die.

2. Grieve.

3. Move on. 

It's a circle.  An INFINITE circle of grieving what should have, what could have been and what will never be.  

There is no moving on.  There is just learning to, somehow…someday... live again.  And we simply aren't there yet.  How do I know?  Because last night, I laid prostrate in the middle of a wood floor and howled myself into a snot covered, filthy, exhausted mess of a mama.  And tonight I want to get an ax and chop down every tree in my yard.  

Maybe then I'll sleep.  From the sheer exhaustion of the physical exertion-maybe then I can sleep.  

I dreamed of Mercy last night.  But I didn't get to hold her.  Instead, I lost her.  And when, finally I had found her, she was just out of my reach.  

Just. out. of. my. reach.  

Do you know what the Holy Spirit whispered to me in that dream last night?  If this anger consumes me in it's fiery furnace, Mercy and Sammy will ALWAYS be out of my reach. For now and forever more.  

So.  

I need your prayers.  I need mine.  But most of all?  

I need Jesus.  

I need to let Him hold me, mend me, and carry my burden.  

Carry it, Jesus.  PLEASE.  

Just carry it.  

28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30

I give You my burdens. 

Help me, Jesus.  Help me. 

love, 

clan mac mama