It's Storming in December

     This evening, we had a thunderstorm. One week before Christmas. It seemed strange to have a thunderstorm in December, but it seemed fitting. It was this week two years ago that I spent a lot of time crying, praying... sobbing in my bathroom floor until I was sick. 

     I held out hope after the initial diagnosis on December 15, 2010, that maybe it wasn't true. Maybe my baby girl's skull really had formed properly. "It might just not be a clear scan," I'd been told. Even though my heart knew, I tried to cling to that ounce of hope while telling God I was going to trust Him either way. 

    It was on December 21st that the specialist confirmed that Carys had anencephaly. I knew before he said it. I could see it so clearly on the big screen in front of me, but I still hoped. Even thinking about that moment is still a bit suffocating. 

    This week, two years ago, was when my storm began. Though I will always bear the scars from my experience, my storm has subsided.

     The storm in Connecticut has only just begun. My heart breaks as my mind turns to imagine the intense pain that is being experienced there. My eyes fill with tears when I think of the exhaustion I know is bound to be their existence as they push forward in their new normal. I know they didn't ask for a new normal. None of us did, right? I know I didn't ask to be a Maranomi. Even so, there is a beauty in it. I know I was blessed to be her mom, even if it was for a brief period of time.

     

     I know it's hard to spend a lot of time in thought and prayer for the families and loved ones of all of the victims. It's hard to put yourself in the position to have your heart continue to break. After all, you can change the channel, right? They can't. 

     As we weathered our storm, the world kept moving around us. Of course, I didn't expect it to stop when ours did. It was our storm, not everyone else's. I was even told that my blog was too sad to continue reading. I get it though... it hurts. And we can't break down every time we know someone else is going through a storm. I know it's their storm to weather, but we can certainly pray. I craved knowing people were praying through our storm. It was what I wanted to hear the most. 

Heavenly Father, 

     My heart is heavy for the loved ones of the victims of Sandy Hook Elementary. I know they are hurting tremendously. I know their storm has just begun and the debris hasn't even had time to settle yet. I hurt for them, Lord. I long for Heaven, where these things don't happen. 

     I ask that you would wrap your loving arms around them and give them a touch of the peace of Heaven. I know how that kind of peace feels and pray that you would share it with them as well. 

     I trust you. I know you have plans for them that you made out of your great love for all of us. I don't have to understand the details, but I trust you. Please comfort them as You work. Please help them to feel your love. 

In your loving name,

Amen.