Dear Arabella (July 11, 2015)

Dear little wiggle worm,

Today your mommy and daddy had the privilege of celebrating you. You probably heard all the people talking about you, and I know you quite enjoyed the glorious spread of food. Weren’t the crepes amazing? And the scones? You had quite a few contented kicks so my guess is you enjoyed the meal just as much as me. What you couldn’t see was the beautiful presentation…gorgeous flowers in pinks, purples, and greens. Fresh sprigs of lavender. Your name hanging sweetly in the window, just in case anyone forgot the reason for the celebration.

There was also a painting for people to leave their thumbprints…a physical reminder of the prints of prayer, love and encouragement they have left on your little life. We got to hear how your story is impacting and challenging and inspiring so many. Each day we hear that the circle of people pleading for your life is even larger than we knew or dreamed of. My dear one, there are so many striving in prayer for you. It truly takes your mommy’s breath away. To see the body of Christ mobilized and joined in prayer…my goodness, I am privileged to have a front row seat to all God is doing through your little story. I shouldn’t be surprised though. It seems God kind of has a thing for taking what is small and broken and perhaps insignificant in the eyes of much of the world, and using that as a vessel to display His great power and glory and beauty. And while there are the fingerprints of a whole tribe of people all over your story, the most predominant print is His.

And you are, my sweet girl, His and His alone. Mommy and Daddy are privileged to get to treasure and love you and know you, but we know you are not ours. We so hope and pray for many days and weeks and months and years in which we can tell you about His goodness and grace and beauty and strength and how He miraculously wove you together. But we also know you may get to learn all of that firsthand, in much greater depth than we could ever describe, far before we fully understand the reach and the depth of your story. But oh how my heart will ache if I must release you. I know that ache will remain, that there will be an emptiness in my arms that will haunt me the rest of my days. And I know I will, on this side of things where threads of the story have not yet been woven into their final place, never fully understand why your time had to be so short.

But while your daddy and I prepare for the possibility of having to say goodbye to you when we’ve just begun to know you, we also continue to hope. You continue to exceed growth expectations. Mommy’s chest rose with pride when she heard the echo tech explain to the fellow in the room that they couldn’t see some anatomical feature because you were practicing your breathing too much. You keep practicing little girl. Work those little lungs. I think the best sound I could ever hear in my life…in all days past and all days to come…would be a loud blood curdling cry as you enter this world. I know you’re strong. I know you’re a fighter. You’ve been using my bladder as a punching bag and my ribs as kick-boxing target practice for quite some time. I have my hunch that the Lord has endowed you with quite the dose of strength and stubbornness. So go ahead and use that! Mommy and Daddy have and will continue to do everything we can to fight with and for you.

And should you fight, there’s a whole big community of people who are dying to meet you. To hold you and wonder at the miracle you are. You’ve got quite the crowd in your corner. And this place you’d get to call home? I must say this little valley is one of the most beautiful places I’ve had the privilege of living in. We can’t wait to take you picking blueberries and peaches and cherries…the fruit of this valley is truly a tiny foretaste of heaven. I want to see you toddling after your sister in the blueberry fields. She’ll teach you which ones are ready, and after a few drop into the bucket I’m sure you’ll both just sit down to feasting. I want to walk along the river in fall with you, to watch the leaves blush ruby red and hear the crunch of the changing of seasons under your feet. I want to sip hot cocoa while snow falls out the window and traipse off to find the perfect Christmas tree while your cheeks blush pink with the cold. There is so much I want to do with you.

But if your lungs were made for the kingdom of heaven, and not for this earth, we know there’s nothing we can do to keep you here. This world we so long to bring you into is full of wonders and delights. But it is a mere passing shadow, a cloudy reflection of the wonders and delights to come. And it is so brief. Continuing on without you Bella will feel like anything but brief, but I know one day, one glorious day, the time will seem but a wisp of smoke. And all the tears and the heartache and things like skeletal dysplasia will be but a far distant memory that only makes the beauty and the glory shine that much brighter.

So mommy and daddy are fighting the battle for faith and hope and truth everyday. And we’re counting the days until we meet you…four weeks from now we will finally have had the opportunity to stroke those sweet cheeks of yours. In the meantime, mommy will continue to give you as much joy and laughter to fill your ears as possible. Your goofy sister sure helps with that. And I’ve got some good news for you – mommy got to bring home some of those amazing crepes, so you’ll get some more of those tomorrow.

We (and so many others!) love you, our Beautiful Grace,

Mommy