Momma in the Valley

I keep searching. In the cabinets. In the rooms of our home. In books. In my schedule. In my notes. In music. On the internet. I keep searching for something to take away my sadness, to prevent depression, to speed up the healing, to make it all feel less real. But I continue to wake up in this reality that feels like a dream. I wish I was waking up to feeling my baby in my belly. I wish we were preparing my son to be a big brother. Instead, I pray. I pray for guidance. I pray for strength. I pray for God’s will to be done, even when it pains me to experience the process of getting there. I want to cuddle my babies. I want all of my babies. For now, I get to cuddle my little boy here on earth and wait for the Heavenly cuddles that are to come. I look forward to that wonderful fruition when my family will be all together and we will be face to face with our Lord. Now, though, I ache. I ache for the babies that have left my womb. I ache for the games we would play all together. I yearn t

  Jude. Derived from Judah. In Hebrew and Greek, it means “praised,” “praises,” or “praise.” Our Lord will be praised and glorified in all circumstances. We praise Him for making us parents of a third blessing, a third beautiful, wanted, wonderfully knitted child. We praise Him for His grace and His omniscience. We praise Him, knowing that He has our Jude in His hands. Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow. Even the hidden blessings we don’t yet know exist. Hollow. Hollow is the only word I can think of to describe how I feel in the midst of this grief. What other words are there to describe how there was a life in my womb then suddenly there wasn’t? How do you describe the feeling of pure joy taken from you…again? I don’t think I can explain the feeling. It just is. It’s like I’m walking around doing what I have to do to survive and showing up places I’m supposed to go, but it feels like you can literally see through me. It feels like someone has taken an ice cream scoop and taken