Once upon a time I had a blog. It was started with a toddler at my feet and a newborn in my arms. It was started with anticipation and excitement and a nauseating amount of naivete. I wrote to announce our intent to begin an international adoption. I was quite certain that because it was my will, it was obviously God’s will too. Despite two miscarriages, I still had big illusions of control and power over how my family would grow and form. Three years later, that adoption had crumbled at my feet along with hours of time in paperwork, tens of thousands of dollars, and my hopes and dreams for my family. God, once again, saying, “Calm down, daughter, my plans are not for you to force. I am bringing you love and laughter in ways that you cannot imagine.” Me, once again, saying less than gracious things back, pretending that Jeremiah 29:11 was probably just for other people. #slowlearner

And He did, of course. Because He is faithful and true and knows no other way to be. He brought me two more children through challenging but rewarding foster care adoptions and another through a delightfully surprising private adoption. Five babies in all. Five little hearts to teach me so much about life. Things like: just how big a heart can stretch, just how much joy the tiniest of milestones met can bring, just how little sleep a human can live on, and just how hard applesauce can dry on the floor. (cement hard, ya’ll)

In the midst of raising five young children, trying to catch up on sleep, and chiseling applesauce off the floor, the blog faded. I always wished I had kept it up though. It was a form of journaling our cozy little life and when I go back to it now I’m always surprised to be reminded of some little event we went to or funny thing a kiddo said. It was also a way for me to get some of my “big feelings” (as my daughter’s therapist would say) out. Writing has always been therapeutic to me….as though finally spilling the words rattling around in my brain onto a screen helps to tidy them away in my head. And, through the years, friends and family (hi Jamie!) have mentioned that they wish I still wrote.

And so here I am again. Only this time it’s different. The anticipation is gone, excitement is hard to find, and I look back on my naïve life that decade ago with envy. This time there is a heaviness of grief. A darkness has moved in that clouds the color we once lived in and makes taking in air a conscious effort. My beautiful 7 year old son has passed away. Again, I’m left in the corner of a room wondering at God’s plan for my family. So I’ll write…..because the words swirl loudly now. In the car, sitting outside a sleeping child’s room, in the middle of the night, and in the waking hours. Maybe it’s just for me, and that’s ok. Maybe it will be because my family and friends keep asking how I am, and this will give them a glimpse. Maybe it will be because sometime, years from now, I’ll need to look back at how far God has brought me, and this journal is a way of placing stones upon the alter of healing. And maybe, it’s because someday, another mom will bury her baby, turn around and think, “now what?” And if she stumbles upon this space, maybe she’ll feel the tiniest bit less alone.