They said whaaa?

This morning Davis woke up with a case of the "seasonal allergies." I knew right away by looking at his runny nose because I had woke up during the night with itchy watery eyes, and the same runny nose. This morning was also the morning that bright and early my husband was to drop his work truck off to be serviced, so I was going to follow him down to the shop. I quickly got Davis dressed and realized that his runny nose came with a case of the grumpies. In case you are not familiar with the grumpies in a two year old, they are quite unpleasant as there is no reasoning with the cute tiny being.

Heading into town, I thought to myself, I will accomplish all I need to do while I am out! Our dog, "Kenai," needed a new collar as his was about toast. He is a large breed, Border Collie and Lab mix, which doesn't sound BIG, but he is on the large 100+ pounds side. But skinny...  oh so slim. So in my grand scheme to run all of my errands, I decided to bring Kenai along for his first trip to Petco... cause you know, "it's where the pets go." And because I needed to be sure the collar that we bought fit him accordingly.

It took both my husband and I to control our hundred pound mans best friend trying to try his new collar on. Standing next to the collars where we were standing, was... child sized shopping carts. It was like Davis had become magnetized to the real life, just his size, shopping cart. I offered to check out while he took the tiny shopper to the car. As me and the horse dog, walked to the register, you could hear the shrill cry of two year old devastation. I entered the line behind a elderly gentleman, and a younger woman.

"Someone never heard of birth control. You can tell by the screaming child," the old man smugly says. "Mmmmmmhmmmm," replies the young girl. I stood there a minute. An honest ten seconds before what had just come out of his mouth processed to me. Then, I was flooded with a rainbow of emotions.I was hurt. I was shocked. I was angry. That was MY child. MY son. And MY parenting these complete strangers were referencing so callously. I began to say something. Once upon a time I would have. Once upon a time I would have had so many of my own opinions to offer in retort to his remark. Today, I stood in silence. I held my tongue knowing that no matter what I said to that man it would not change his view on the subject. Knowing that it was not my job to scold, or condemn him for his ignorance.

It made me think about all of the moms in the world. All of the ones, doing their absolute best at this very moment. All of the moms who find themselves on their knees at night, seeking God because of all of the failures they face. All of the moms who are trying while not knowing how to pray. The moms of two year olds facing a grumpy day. Or teenagers who are branching out and testing their independence. I thought of all of the moms who face this criticism on a daily basis because their child has autism.

It hurts. The judgment from a complete stranger really does hurt. But don't let it discourage you. Because if you are truly fighting for your child, none of those comments matter in the end. Nothing a child does makes his life any less valuable. Especially if those things are normal developmental things.

So maybe, as moms and dads, the next time we see a mom or dad trying their best in a store with a crying two year old, we can outstretch our love to one another. A kind smile. Or a sincere "we have all been there at one point."  Maybe an outpouring of love will counteract the negativity that is in so many hearts. Let us lift each other up during this journey.

Perspective.

I remember way back when I was pregnant with Sarah. Every milestone was new, exciting, foreign. With each passing pregnancy, things were still exciting; but they were no longer foreign.

I cannot speak for every mother, but my own views are sometimes different than others on this journey of loss, or as I like to call it now, life after loss. Which I feel is okay. I am only one person and by no means is grief of a child something that can or should be judged or dictated by someone else.

For me though, this pregnancy is far different that the rest. All over again, I feel like I am a first time mother. Not in the sense my Sarah, my Michael, or my Brody are now insignificant or are no longer deemed "my children," but a first time mother because my Savannah brought forth her own set of new and foreign experiences.

I'm not sure if you'd call it grief. I'm not sure if you'd call it uncertainty. I'm just plain and simple not sure what it is, but I'm not sure how to be a mother to an infant again...

Today marks the twenty fifth week of this pregnancy. With only fifteen weeks until we meet Davis in person, I wonder to myself, "where did this pregnancy go?" I've been the pregnant mother who complains about being uncomfortable. Wishing the baby would just "hurry up and get here." And though I may complain about the temperature, or whine mention that my pelvic bone pops with each and every step, the thought of the next fifteen weeks passing as quickly as the twenty five in our rear view mirror, is enough to bring me to tears. Because right here in this moment, Davis is at home. Davis is safe. These moments are how I got to mother a different child. After this moment? This is what I cannot remember.

We are now the proud owners of our very first mini van. With thanks to my dad for searching it out, we, once more, have an automobile that fits our family. Now having moved into our new house, and buying the not so "mini" family "van," I couldn't help but hit a brick wall.

"What will it be like to bring a baby to their new home? What will it be like to buckle the car seat into those extra seats bought just for their anticipation? What will those final moments in labor and delivery feel like?" The upcoming emotions, I have tried running through my head again and again.

Fear.

Facing my Fear.

Yesterday I let Sarah and Michael watch a movie I found to be deeply inspiring. "Soul Surfer." Here at the Fraser's I try my hardest to monitor what my kids watch on tv realizing the impact the littlest things can have on young hearts. "But Megan, isn't Soul Surfer about a young girl getting her arm bitten off by a shark?!"

YES!!

But the story is so much more than that. When I watched the movie prior to allowing the kids, it really hit home for me. I knew aside from the slightly gory shark attack, my kids could really learn something from the story offered. 

An example given in this movie; when you are really close to something it is hard to see the overall perspective.

Sarah and Michael watched the entire movie and I was delighted with the flow of questions afterwards...

Michael asked, "why did God let the shark take her arm?" Without thinking I said, "as terrible as it was, she learned in the end that God could use her to inspire people through her tragedy and though she has to live with this handicap she didn't let that stop her from doing what she loved. It's like how God took Savannah. That was a terrible thing, but if we lived in fear from experience we would have missed out on getting to have Davis."

And stepping back from perspective, I paused and thought for a moment while four brown eyes stared back at me. Again I said, as if I was speaking to myself, "we would have missed out on a really great thing."

Michael chimed in once more, "well... I still think she is just as beautiful."

In the eyes of a six year old, he still sees the beauty in what others can only see as tragedy, or mistake.

Bethany Hamilton's story is far from tragedy. Her story is yet another example of God's divine purpose for everyone. I may face my own future of uncertainties, but I know that facing my fears is only just the beginning. 

I cannot wait to see His plans for Davis.

From Savannah's story,

I know they must be pretty great.

Distractions.

A mother's life is filled with distractions. {Which then in turn lead to short term memory loss.} But that's another story, or yet another "distraction."

Lately I feel like my life has been bombarded with distractions. Savannah's upcoming birthday, pregnancy and doctors visits, three rambunctious mess makers, the moving process, {by process I mean UGGGGGGH! Anyways...} and lastly the wonderful burden blessing that is a woman's mind. Seriously if science could link not only women, but mother's thought processes to America's energy crisis, our president would actually have something he could pat himself on the back for.

I have to tell you, I wish there was a way I could shut it down. Silence it at least. I wish this pregnancy brought delightful updates and typical worries or lack there of. Last night I had a migraine. Now I'm not a "migraine" kind of girl, pregnant or not, and just thought they were excuses some women used to get out of obligations... or sex. But they're not. {Not sure about the excuse category though.} I've been pregnant a whopping five times. So far 43 1/2 months of my life or 3 years and 7 1/2 months, but who's counting? Having obviously been down this road a time or two, I'd personally say I am a baby makin' veteran. So any veteran knows headaches can be common. Normal. Just fine. 

Being I've never experienced a pregnancy migraine, I turned to good ol' Google. {Ladies:: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.}

"Is severe migraine in 2nd trimester a sign my baby died?" 

Yeah yeah, a little extreme, but until you've lost one, you won't understand the overwhelming fear of death in not one, but two infants. For once in my life, Google has no matching results, but I did put my hands, face, and feet under the microscope checking for any sign of preeclampsia. {Love you Google.}

Besides daytime terrors such as this, the night time terrors have become a distraction. Dreams are harder to deal with because there is no concept of "reality."

In my dreams I have faced a devastating diagnoses that our little Berenstain Bear, {what my husband thinks "she" looks like} was going to be born with a congenital heart defect. CHD. 

I have faced a reoccurring dream where I am in labor and each time I am forced into the same room that Savannah was born in, only leading to another baby who never takes a breath...

Today as I was packing I began thinking of all of these distractions. And a voice deep inside told me, somewhere in the past eleven months, the hurt, anger, and worry began to silence the divine knowledge that God has already laid before me. 

-That people should not have the power to harden my heart by their own actions, and I cannot control the heart of others. {It would be nice though.}

-That people who wallow in their grief of Savannah, truly are not taking the time to know her because if they did they would only see her beautiful life, her glorious love, and the message she left behind. {Savannah was chosen and sent to her mommy and daddy. If I could have saved her, I WOULD NOT be here today. I wouldn't have hesitated long enough to have said goodbye to anyone. I would not have wanted anyone to regret her life being here in place of mine, so I've learned she does not want us living in sadness or regret either.}

-God had also told me, on numerous occasions, Savannah's life was not a tragedy. Through her short life and her condition, her soul exists. That is the most important part of Savannah. Not her unformed diaphragm. Not the grief people felt for her absence. But that her soul is real. I'd repeat the the known outcome a million times to create her beautiful spirit.  Yesterday He comforted me in something that has haunted me through people's unknowing outspoken thoughts. 

She was not, nor was she ever tortured. Savannah did not feel pain, and we were not selfish in keeping her alive. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but thoughts such as these should really be kept to yourself. Life is bumpy. We gave her every medical opportunity to stay, but in the end Savannah and God revealed that she was our blessed visitor. And God is helping me now, to lift the burden of the words spoken,

"Savannah lived a torturous life."

He gave us His little girl to love. And we did. Though her life was grim from the beginning, and we knew she was not meant for our arms, we remained hopeful. Being hopeful, even if she had a one percent chance, isn't naive. It's called Faith. Even though Savannah did not stand a chance, we had Faith that God can and does perform miracles. So He didn't. Not in "that" way. He never meant for us to blame ourselves. 

I will refuse to believe that I selfishly tortured my daughter. I did exactly as God wished. I fought for her, I loved her, I drew nearer to Him, and I had Faith. I chose, in a time of weakness, to stand up and fight for HER. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Because as a mother that is what I should have done. It was not about me. I relinquished my control into the hands of the very best doctors, nurses, and surgeons. In the end, there was no control of the power here, and I relinquished her to her original purpose. But I never gave up. For someone to have people fight so passionately, I cannot fathom how their life could be torture. In eight days, Savannah experienced true love. A love some children never get to experience in their entire "healthy" lives. In our babies final moments, as she tried to stay for as long as possible, I repeated over and over again, "just go home Savannah, mommy and daddy will be just fine, you can go now." When it came down to our goodbyes, I did NOT keep her here, and her mommy told her, it was okay to go... Even as my heart sat breaking, I comforted my daughter.

In this realization, it brought me to an acceptance. I have Faith. You may read this and not agree with me, and that is okay. Someone who feels those things that I described, may not know how comforting a real Faith can be. In the end does it matter to you what I chose to believe to get me through this life?

I'll have Faith that my Sarah, Michael, and Brody will live full and healthy lives. I will have Faith that Savannah is safe in heaven, and that she knows I loved her and thought only of her during her brief life. And I will have Faith that this pregnancy and baby will be born healthy and live to see not only one but, one hundred birthday's.

And if all these things don't go according to my hopes and prayers; 

I will have Faith.

Because my Faith is so much stronger

than my heartaches and my distractions.

Now... What do you think?

It is far from simple.

This new life? It is far from simple. Being pregnant again is far from simple. Saturday makes me approximately six weeks pregnant. I won't be sure exactly when my due date is, until we go have our early ultrasound appointment in just a few short weeks. This is a journey I am desperately trying to take one day at a time.

In the back of my mind, I find myself constantly throwing myself at the feet of God. "You wouldn't ask me to give another back would you? How could I possibly prepare my mind, my heart for that possibility? Please, I am begging, don't make me give this one back.  "

Deep in my soul, I feel Him telling me it's going to be okay. But is it going to be okay in the sense, this baby will stay, or will it be okay in the same way that He held us through Savannah's heavenly arrival? This I don't know. But everyday I choose to believe that everything will be okay.

But I know too much now. I know too much about infant death. I know too much about congenital defects. I know too much about miscarriages, preterm labor, stillbirths and sudden infant death syndrome. I want it to go away. I want to go back to the time that I didn't know too much. When I didn't know anything. And what I did know, was only under the "it would never happen to me" illusion. Please make it go away.

Right now I know, in just two to four weeks I will have a baby with either a formed or an unformed diaphragm. And it is terrifying. As mother's we want to heal. We want to fix. We want to nurture, protect, and love our children. And while we think, taking our vitamins, eating healthy, and taking care of our bodies is enough, I know it isn't. Because I live in this new life.

But I believe. I believe that while I do everything in my power to make it all okay, He will step in with whatever divine purpose He withholds from us for our future. Only one person, has the power to make it all okay. Everyday on my knees, I am thankful for another day closer to the beautiful sound of a crying baby.

"I can do all things, through Christ who gives me strength. "

                                                                     -Philippians 4:13

 

Heaven is for Real.

Last weekend my mother brought me a book. I had heard of the book in my "CBD " or "Christian Book Distributors " catalogs. And here she was handing me a physical copy of the book that had crossed my path on numerous occasions. She gave one to my sister-in-law as well, and like a small child in a candy store, my mom couldn't wait for me to dive into the pages face first. {Mom had already finished the book in a day.} My sweet sister-in-law, Desirae {"Hi Des!"} finished the book a few days ago as well, as I had yet to make my way through the first page. In complete anxiousness for me to read the book, yesterday morning while on the phone, my mom asked again, if I had started the book. I told her that I had begun to per sue it one evening, but with the chaos of life, hadn't made it through the first page. Yesterday afternoon, for my mom, I started the book.

"Heaven is for Real ."

Written by Todd Burpo

 If you haven't read or heard of the book, it is about three year old "Colton Burpo's" stories of his brief visit to Heaven, while undergoing an emergency appendectomy.

I literally lounged on the couch for hours reading page after page. About half way through the book, my mind and heart were heavy. I was beginning to feel upset as I read page after page, of what Colton's father described, while him and his wife, Sonja, clung onto prayer and hope in the hospital. All while they knew their precious boy may or may not make it out alive. I put the book down, trying to regain my strength. But I couldn't. It was as though, through their trial during Colton's hospital stay, they were writing directly from what our hearts had experienced with Savannah. I broke down in tears. It was as though our time as UC Davis was fresh all over again. Koady sat on the floor next to me as I cried.

"I know that I haven't reached the point in this story where this little boy talks about Heaven. " I sobbed through my words. "But I can't help but read what his parents went through and think, the end of this story will be different than ours.... Their child lived to tell his story about making it to heaven ."

Needless to say, I put the book down for the rest of the day, because I had to step away from the wound. This morning with a little more courage, I sat down to finish the beautiful story I had started.

Mr. Colton shares many breathtaking and surreal events and biblical, factual, descriptions about his "three minutes " in heaven. He talks about spending time with his Great grandpa, and meeting his sister, whom his parents lost in a miscarriage, yet never spoke to him about. He speaks of Jesus, and how his eyes were so pretty. And like my Michael, speaks of the swords in heaven used to keep Satan out. It is a story I would recommend to anyone, especially anyone with doubts about heaven, and the existence of Christ. Or anyone looking for a beautifully touching story.

Most importantly this is a book I would recommend to any mother who has said goodbye to a child. Through the words of a three through six year old, it very possibly can bring comfort to those in question of whether your little ones are safe. Whether they are happy. Whether they are well loved, and well taken care of...

"It's okay, Mommy," he said.  "She's okay. God adopted her ."

Sonja slid off the couch and knelt down in front of Colton

so she could see his eyes.

"Don't you mean Jesus adopted her?" She said.

"No mommy. His dad did. "

                                  

                                                 {Page 95- Heaven is for Real.}

Thank you mom, for sharing.

The day after tomorrow.

Supposedly, in case you hadn't heard, tomorrow marks the end of the world. *Giggles* An evangelist has claimed tomorrow marks the day of the rapture. (He also claimed this twice before.) I hadn't heard of this so called, "mark your calendar" event till yesterday.

Here's the catch though. People are actually concerned for this so called "prophecy."

I'd like to ask, "why exactly?"

And there are so many different questions I would love to have answered as to why...

• 1.  To believe anything that this "evangelist" claims, is to step towards religious topic. If you are going to base the end of the world by "religious topic" it is best to get your facts straight. The rapture is biblical truth. Yes it will happen. It is a real event that will take place in the future. 

           BUT... (AND MAKE SURE YOU LISTEN) In reference to the "apocalypse, revelation, the coming of  Christ, or the rapture" based on biblical truths, here is where I wonder where this "Evangelist" got his facts.

"No one knows about that day or hour, 

not even the angels in heaven, 

nor the Son, but only the Father ."

                                            -Mark 13:32

{But ONLY the Father.}

• 2.  The Rapture. He claims the Rapture is coming tomorrow. How many people (the people in panic mode) can even describe the definition.

The Rapture::

When Christian's are gathered to meet Christ, in heaven.

"...Then we who are alive and remain 

shall be caught up together with them 

in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. 

And thus we shall always be with the Lord."

                                                         - 1 Thessalonians 4:17

 So... if it was the rapture, why would you be concerned unless you know that you will not be meeting Christ in heaven. 

• 3. I would be more than happy to go tomorrow. Sadly, with these facts, NO the end of the world is not coming tomorrow. But if it does, I would not spend my last moments in fear, but rather excitement over the thought of joining my precious baby girl in heaven for eternity.  

 My prayers and wishes for all of my readers, is that you all have the same understandings. It's not too late. After all we are never guaranteed another day. Especially not if you talk to a so called Evangelist. ;)

Eternal Life.

My children wear me out sometimes.

I try to guide them with instruction and love, but sometimes no matter how many times you tell them something, they may still make mistakes. Sometimes my children frustrate me. Sometimes my children disappoint me. Sometimes I wonder if I've done anything right.

But I love them. 

Deeply. 

Unconditionally. 

Even when I am worn out. Even when I tell them something may times, and they still make mistakes. Even when they frustrate me. Even when they disappoint me. Even when I worry that I'm not doing anything right.

I heard recently a parent {who's children were grown} say, "every parent says, I just want my Children to be happy. But it's a lie. Every parent wants their child to be happy being successful." I may only have tiny tots at home still, but I don't believe that statement has to be a lie. I believe that if you raise your children right, your children will be successful in many different aspects of their lives. To raise a child in the light of the Lord, sheds light on everything they will need to be able to build a life for themselves outside of our home. Success to me is more than just money, it's being a decent person. A person who isn't lazy. A Person whom makes smart decisions. A person who cares for others more than themselves. A person who loves.

As Brody, Michael, and I made a trip to the grocery store earlier last week, it hit me. To truly love... a love like Christ has for us... we must sacrifice. I believe the role of a mother, is a similar being to our Lord, Jesus Christ. We stood outside of that grocery store, waiting to make our way across the parking lot. Hand in hand, we stepped out into the crosswalk before a lady came speeding around the corner. Quickly I pulled my children to the side and stepped in front of them,  anticipating the idea, that she was not going to stop. She slammed on her breaks before waving us through, in a irritated manner. When we got the the car, safe and sound, I sat there a moment thinking about my motherly reaction.

In an instant, without a second to think, I placed my body in front of theirs as though it would work as a protection shield. This obviously wasn't reasonable, since my body would not actually stop the car from possibly doing them harm. But a mother's love is sacrificial. Just as Jesus' life was for us. So many mothers loose their babies, their children, everyday. Of every mother I know who has lost a baby not one of them hasn't said they wouldn't take their childs place. They would make that sacrifice to save their child. 


April. A month for remembering, and being thankful for what Christ gave for us. He laid down his life so we could be saved. He knew what the outcome on earth would prevail. He knew His death was imminent. But in an instant, without hesitation, without regards, 

He came,

He sacrificed, 

He died, 

He rose again. 

Every Easter Sunday, we are reminded of how deep a father's love truly is. God's love for us extends far greater than the love we could slightly begin to understand with our own children. The Lord made many promises. But He never promised our lives would be easy. He never said, that with Him there would never be pain. That there would never be heartache. There would never be struggles. He said,  "through Him we would conquer." {Romans 8:37} 

The resurrection gives my life meaning and direction...

and the opportunity to start over no matter what my circumstances. 

                                                                                      ~Robert Flatt

Lives that never get a chance.

This subject has been on the front of my mind for quite a few months now. Night before last, as though God was trying to push me into writing a blog on those feelings, my husband told me something that was more than startling. It was horrifying.

Here at A Story Unfolding, I feel as though there are beliefs I have that alienate some readers or may aggravate people of opposite views. So in hesitation to writing this blog, I understand that I may upset someone or possibly loose viewers. With that being said, being I was a 16year old mother, and a mother who has also buried a child, I feel I am more than qualified to say what I am about to say...

Recently at an Abortion Clinic in the country we've become so proud to demolish, a young girl went in to receive what is known as the "kill pill." The FDA approved medical abortion pill "Misoprostol," which causes contractions to induce labor for women, is given after an initial pill is taken, "mifepristone." The young girl, was unaware of how far along she was, and after a "guessed" due date, was given the abortion pills. She delivered a full term, still born baby a few days later.

This is heartbreaking.  Maybe to some out there, this doesn't effect them. But my heart aches. I am sure many people in the world might retort by saying, "these young mothers deserve a chance." But I've been a teenage mother. I have put my blood sweat and tears into what others flush away.
Look at the beautiful girl she is growing into...

If those women could see a picture like this of their unborn child, would they still feel the same way? If they wanted their babies, yet death was unavoidable would saving a life be a little less taken for granted? Had I been eight weeks pregnant with Savannah and was told "your unborn baby has a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia and a zero percent chance of survival," I would have still carried her to term. I would have one hundred more babies all with CDH if God gives me the chance to see their precious faces. To love them, and hold them. To give them every chance in the world.

I'm not saying you have to keep the baby, for there are so many families out there who cannot receive such a beautiful gift for so many different reasons. A new law is trying to be passed in some states. Adoption only. Making it illegal to perform abortions, and if you do not want your baby, adoption is the only option. I see nothing wrong with this.

3,700 abortions are performed in the United States everyday. 

That's 154 every hour, or 2 every minute! 

{http://www.abortionno.org/Resources/fastfacts.html}

Babies that were NOT wanted.

SIDS alone takes 7,000 babies a year.
583 a month, almost 1 baby an hour.
 {http://www.sids-network.org/facts.htm}

Still not as much as abortions,
But keep in mind that is JUST SIDS!
That isn't including Congenital Defects,
Prematurity, and many many other occurances.

Multiply that by three...

Because these babies WERE wanted.
So with every baby lost,
there is a mother and father crying over a casket.

The answer is not always black and white.

Eventually life will bring so much color to you.

I've talked with some of the ladies at the local Crisis Pregnancy Center here in town, and have offered to share Savannah's Story and Video with any ladies considering, "the easy route." With any luck Savannah could go on to save ones, like her, with no voice...

{Spread the word.}

Behind closed doors.

 In this journey I like {or dislike might be a better word} to call trying to conceive, I feel this is an issue that other woman out there might be able to relate to. --I am not trying to lead my blog down a trashy path, so please just bear with me. You can stop reading here if you'd like.-- 

I have discovered that those three words can be a woman's worst nightmare. "Trying" to conceive. And that is just it, we are only as far as trying. The other night I sat wondering to myself, where did the intimacy go? As I sat rumbling though the chaos in my mind I found what I was looking for. My intimate life was huddled up behind some file cabinets in the very back of my sub conscious. It was frightened to be honest. Tormented by ovulation tests, negative pregnancy tests, elevated hips, timers, and do I really want to say it, stress and doubts. 

Infertility has never been a department I thought twice about. But then again, congenital defects weren't either. I guess these life lessons I continue to find myself venturing through, all play a role in what we are experiencing in this particular time in our lives. I never timed ovulation while we tried for our other children. Savannah took the longest at a record breaking {giggle} three months. I recently met other women trying to conceive after a loss. I walked into a foreign territory. Here were these young healthy ladies doing things I couldn't even come up with in my wildest dreams. My head was spinning as I googled myself into a "conception coma."

And then, just like that without standing on my head while drinking a glass of peppermint tea, or jumping backwards three times at sunrise I got a positive pregnancy test. The line was so faint, but it was definitely there. It was confirmed by my doctor. In the short week we had, we planned out every last detail of that pregnancy. And again, just like that... it was gone.

It sent us spiraling back to square one. Suddenly I worked myself into a frenzy. This is when intimacy found itself pushed into that back corner. I bought my first package of ovulation tests this month. It hasn't been a joyful ride. Personally I think the pregnancy test companies conspired with the ovulation test companies to create a test that always has somewhat of a faint line, for those {not me of course} girls who have a slight addiction to peeing on a stick.

They throw in a "faulty" ovulation stick, or two or three, that does turn that dark pink like it is supposed to into the batch. Can someone please explain to me why at 11am, after holding my bladder for four hours, not drinking anything for two, it shows a dark line, but at 2pm you can hardly see anything? While it repeats itself the next day only at reversed times!?

Trying to conceive shouldn't ever become a chore. I truly believe it plays a role into struggling to get pregnant. Stress. We all know what makes a baby. Conceiving isn't supposed to be this complicated. It wasn't designed to be this way. Conception is all apart of a divine plan. The planned for, and the "surprises." To carry a baby? That is two people coming together as one. Another divine purpose. 

 Lets see if this changes the outcome.

If that's what it takes to praise you.

"Bring me joy, bring me peace,

bring the chance to be free,

bring me anything that brings you Glory.

And I know there'll be days when this life brings me pain,

But if that's what it takes to Praise you,

Jesus Bring the Rain."

Yes, this has been done once before. It's a little cliche. Angie Smith writes her blog, "Bring the Rain" from her own journey through child loss. But as cliche as it may sound, {using the chorus from the same song that inspired her blog title} as one christian angel mommy to the next... this song sums up exactly how we get through trials like this. Life without Savannah isn't easy, but from the bottom of my heart {a heart that really does praise Him through this} I still say, "Jesus Bring the Rain." This pain on earth will never measure up to the glory that awaits us through Him.

I have been asked this question. {Let me tell you, it is a devastating question to be asked.}

"Is something wrong with you?"

It is a hurtful question, but a question I feel a lot of women want to know. It is a hurtful question because I feel in my peace, and comfort through the loss of Savannah, people wonder if I ever really loved her at all. Because my heart doesn't ache to the point of world altering recognition, I must not have wanted her. I must not have bonded with her. I must not care. I've also been told, "that I didn't deserve her." 

I want to point something else out. I have met some wonderful women through this. Each who grieve differently. I don't judge, criticize, or try and fix anything. In the death of a child there aren't any fixes. I am there for each one of these empty mothers. I listen. I understand. I root, cheer, and encourage. Whether they are crying, laughing, or yelling on facebook. {Aren't we all notorious for letting our feelings out there on facebook?} Because that is the best medicine.  Support. Cheering. Empathy. Encouragement.

You wanna yell?

I will cheer you on.

Yell for the memory of your baby!

 You wanna cry? 

I will silently sit and carry your sorrows.

I will pray for the mother that can't hold her baby.

 You wanna laugh? 

Well... let's just say, I can make anyone laugh!

And if you have an unmeasurable faith in God?

I will never assume you didn't love your child.

I would never say you didn't deserve them.

After Savannah's funeral, I did go through my own stage of grief. This was ::frustration::. I know I spoke casually and briefly about this feeling in the first few months. Slowly the frustration I was feeling slowly subsided and I was able to express my emotions to some of the people who were causing these struggles. The other day, a feeling that I haven't felt since before Savannah's funeral resurfaced. And my heart ached to the point of feeling like I could no longer express myself. My thoughts were jumbled again, and I... in all honesty... just wanted to scream. I wanted to sit down with every family member and friend that I have and tell them exactly what my thoughts and feelings are with giving Savannah back. But I couldn't. I can't. I cannot gather everyone. I couldn't in that moment express exactly what I was feeling. Then in that moment, I was the grieving mother that announced my imploding and heavy heart emotions on... facebook. 

And there they were. The same girls I would be there for, in the reverse situation. Grieving mothers. And mother's who reached out to me when I started writing this farewell, and have grabbed onto my heart and will never let go. They cheered me on and talked me through, yet again, my frustration. 

And in this process the other day, those women helped me heal. They didn't tell me I was lashing out... They didn't say I shouldn't feel that way... They didn't try and direct my emotions elsewhere. They encouraged. They cheered. They held onto my sorrow with their warrior strength, until I was ready to let go. And in doing so, I finally was able to put words into my frustration. These words I feel need to be expressed here. Because in this journey that I am documenting... this frustration was my grief.

Obviously, my husband and I have not withheld the fact that God is the center of our life. In this, we feel and believe that His strength got us through. His glory brought Savannah into our lives. And His purpose brought her home. I don't care if you believe this or not. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. This is what we believe. This is what trust. And this is what we are instilling in our children. In her days on earth, Savannah was brought to know Him. We fulfilled our roles as her parents, and in that I am so proud. We did not cry while we held her during her final hour. We laughed throughout the story daddy shared as we mentioned silly things such as, "we don't know why we moved across the United States a second time." We came home that same night, and were greeted by concerned family members. We showed them her beautiful handprints, footprints, and hairclippings. We took our Savannah smelling blankets up to bed and went right to sleep. Yes, the first night having just held our baby in our arms as she died, we were at such a peace, neither one of us cried ourselves to sleep. Neither one of us cried. I clung to people telling me, "it is just shock, give it time." I kept waiting, anticipating that heartache I saw and read so many people experience. Day in and day out that rain cloud never consumed me. I finally realized that God was my umbrella. He was what consumed me, and it protected my heart from feeling complete emptiness. His word promises me that I will be with my Savannah again someday. 

I am so thankful for that, and owe Him my gratitude each and everyday. He never ceases to amaze me.

Anger with God is common. I understand why some people find themselves angry at Him. I believe that He understands as well. We can't always, and sometimes never see the bigger picture in what His plans are for us. In the good things sure, but the bad things aren't always as easy. I would never try to tell a mother that she couldn't be angry with Him. That is solely between God, and the mother or father He took the child from. In our situation though, {Savannah's death} I feel NO ONE should have a right to be angry at God for her sake. And this is why.

In our family we are not the only one who carry an "angel" in front of our titles.

{Mommy and Daddy}

We have an 

angel grandpa & grandma:: angel Grammy:: 

angel Granny & Pappy.

We have angel great grandmas.

We have angel cousins, angel aunts & angel uncles.

Ofcourse we have angel brothers, 

and an angel sister.

These are the family members who also lost something. We have all been granted an "angel" in from of our names. These family members love our children. They loved Savannah. They miss her. They've cried for her. I understand their heartache from the now missing family member. But all the same, we are her parents. We created this life, this person, this beautiful baby. For anybody close to us, I don't see what they have to be angry at God for? The parents of Savannah, the ones who would see her everyday, the ones who would feed her, nurture her, and raise her, the ones who think about these children every second of everyday for the rest of their lives... lift up their arms and Praise Him. Why are other family members punishing God for the plans that have been set for each of us since time began? For something the parents accept? Understand? We all have a time set for the end of our days. Savannah's time frame was short yes, but her life, her soul, was far more important. She still got to leave a mark.

I imagine my innocent, precious Savannah holding the hand of God. All the while her family members turn away from Him in their own selfish attitudes. She tugs at His side, and looks up at Him with her big beautiful brown eyes. Her tiny, delicate voice says, "I'm sorry God, they are only angry at you because of me." And in thinking of our heavenly baby apologizing for being the cause of someones hatred towards her maker? I get a little frustrated.

My baby may be dead, yes. But that doesn't mean I am not still a protective mother, in every aspect of that word. Mother.

To me, someone being angry at God

on behalf of my Savannah?

The one whom she belongs to?

If my daughter ever had to say,

"they are only angry at you because of me?"

 She might see that her existance

caused people to be angry with 

the Lord.

And as her mother, I do not like that.

She was here.

REJOICE in that.

Be envious that it only took her eight days,

to get to live in eternal perfection.

Savannah is rocked by angels,

and kissed by the Lord.

It frustrates me,

that people can be angry that

OUR daughter,

couldn't stay.

Couldn't stay;

Here in a world of murder.

Kidnapping.

Hate.

I will protect my others the best I can.

As my guardian role from God.

 Savannah?...

Savannah I don't have to worry about.

She is safe.

But I will still protect her in my heart.

Don't say sorry Savannah.

Don't you ever be sorry.

{{Jesus Bring the Rain.}}

One step at a time.

I was a New Year's baby. Stubborn from the very beginning. January 9th. My birthday is upon us in five short days. This year, I take a step back and think of everything I have accomplished, and those I haven't yet since God first created me. 

Every person in the world is in denial that something bad could happen to "us." It seems unreal. Seems dream like. I'm sure the day I was born my mother didn't lay in the hospital cradling me thinking to herself, "Look at my beautiful baby. I bet one day she will loose a daughter of her own." We don't think our homes will ever be robbed, our cars will ever be wrecked, our children will ever die from our arms, our dreams will ever shatter. 

But that is just it. We are dreamers. We are humans. We are resilient. Because aside from never thinking "it could happen to us," we are also realists. We have homeowners insurance, car insurance, and life insurance. In event that these things DO happen to us. 

In my life, I made more mistakes than I can possibly account for. I still make mistakes daily. But as my birthday approaches, I look at the great that my life has brought forth to the world. My husband. We acknowledge regularly that we saved each other. We are and have found what many people search lifetimes for. Soulmates. And having married my soulmate, we have created Sarah... Michael... Brody... and of course Savannah. A very important piece of my creation. 

Because even though on the day of my birth my mother didn't lay there thinking, "look at my beautiful baby. I bet one day she will loose a daughter of her own..." God was by her side thinking, "Look at my beautiful baby. One day you will loose a daughter of your very own. I am here for you now. I will be here for you then. Every step of the way, one step at a time. Never loose your faith dear child, for I promise to hold your tears in my hands. The plans I have for your life, will help change the world. You may never understand, but I need your creation, to bring forth big plans."

This year my resolutions are far deeper than in the previous years. For my life was changed in 2010. I was shown a light. Her name was Savannah. And she has set her mommy, daddy, brothers, and sister on some new paths. This year, knowing that life is short and nothing is ever guaranteed, I promise to live. 

One step at a time.

I look at everything good, every tiny ripple that has happened since Savannah passed away. Each one of those moments may have never came to existence if she hadn't altered our world.

Selfless.

Motherhood is not for the weak of heart. It begins the second you discover the little life growing within. It continues long after the grave. Whether it be ours... or theirs...

Sometimes I find myself incapable for the task that the Lord has laid before me. Every morning I wake to give all of my being to three little people selflessly. There are days I fall short of the "selfless" tasks I need to overcome.

But even with my job being harder than anything in the world, I know that my job, my title, is raising/forming/molding our future. And personally I think our futures look very bleak...

One glorious night, thousands of years ago, a Father gave himself, selflessly, to his children. He didn't have to. But he did. Out of the sheer love and devotion He always holds in his heart. He stood back to watch the devastation we brought upon ourselves. He stepped down from his thrown to save us all. That cold night, a perfect baby boy was cradled in a manger, by his loving mother. Sweet Mary. She held in her arms a piece of her heart. A child given to her by our almighty Father. A boy that will grow into a man, and that would die before her very eyes. She would one day be cradling his vacant body. A son that she would bury and mourn for. 

But a King who's life meant far more than just his tragic death. 

God knew the outcome of the life he bore to Mary, that very first Christmas. Mary was chosen for the burden God knew she would face. Though I am far from Mary, she was indeed a blessed woman, I would like to think God chose me in the same thoughtful way that he chose Mary. To bear the burden of Savannah's life unlived.

Every drop of blood shed from the tiny, innocent baby born unto us Christmas day, saved me. Saved you. Saved Savannah. 

Today, I look around at the world before me. We have yet again, brought devastation to our lives. We have destroyed the relationship between the one man, whom was born into our world to bring us peace. Give us love. Show us divine mercy. The world spits upon the feet of the maker of heaven and earth. The one whom formed us, created us, planned for us. 

I pray for our future. I will selflessly give myself to my children... to instill in them, the people we should always strive to be. Whether that makes us outcasts or not.

Merry CHRISTmas

& Happy Birthday Baby Boy

After all you can't take the CHRIST

out of Christmas.

Life is what you make of it.

I gave myself some reflective time since my Thanksgiving post. Yes it was a bittersweet day. Yes, I decided I would opt out of the festivities. But as I mentioned before I am thankful that I did. God has shown me yet again, that everything truly, happens for a reason.

Last night I found myself in a very good mood. A mood I hadn't felt in quite some time. A feeling that everything was finally okay. That life; my life; our life; even without Savannah; was okay. It was refreshing. Revitalizing. Encouraging. 

I suddenly realized in the worst of times, such as this... life is only going to live up to your own expectations. I told myself, your only going to be as happy as you choose to be. My mother always shared with us a humorous little metaphor growing up that I think I will share with you.

"There was a little boy trapped in a room full of horse poo.

When people found him. They were surprised with what they saw.

The boy was happy!
He was smiling, and excited, digging through the poo.

When asked what he was doing he replied,

I'm looking for the Pony."

 I am finally looking for the pony.

I see so many people who are bitter and angry at situations that didn't go as planned in their lives. I don't blame them. I hurt for them, but everyone deals with things in their own ways. I want them to reach for the God that I know. The same God that whispers to my heart when the rain has poured outside my very own windows.

My life is going to be happy from here on out.

And because I have chosen happiness,

I feel less tired inside.

We can use soup.

As I sat down to grace you with my presence, ahem, write my daily blog, I asked Brody what we should write about today. Sometimes I come up short with words. {Imagine that, I know.}


Being he has the nasty flu bug that I had two weeks ago, he helped me throw ingredients into the crock pot this morning for a delicious treat of homemade chicken noodle soup. He thought for a moment and I am not really sure if he has any idea what I was talking about, but he did reply.

"We could always use soup."

-Brody Peyton

Your right Brody. We can always use soup. Everyone in the world, every person that we pass by unsuspecting in the stores or parking lots could use a big bowl of soup. We all have our trials that we are facing. But the question is... how often do we extend our hearts to those that may have just lost a child, a job, a pet, or even their way. We can be their chicken soup, and they will appreciate it.

Trust me, I know...

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

-Ghandi

Between you and me.

I hope that I haven't portrayed myself as an ideal Christian. Because I am not. As much as I strive to walk in His footsteps, I fall short. Right on my face usually. I struggle to do the things everyday, that I know I should or shouldn't do to reach that goal. But I try. And that has to count for something, and it is all we can do. Just try.

Today, while sitting at church, I came to an understanding with God. See, I have to be honest with you. Here in my little spot where I feel like I can say anything because I don't have to say it to anyone's face, I've shared some of my regrets, some of my resentments, and my inability to fully accept the fact that Savannah wasn't mine to keep. . And because I want to share my weaknesses along with my strengths, there is something that I haven't told many people. I don't think I even really understood what my subconsious was whispering to me this whole time.

I have been blaming myself for Savannah's death.

Even though I have tried to counteract those thoughts with the fact there was absolutly nothing I could have done to salvaged her situation, I still blamed myself. And because of this, I have been unaware of the fact that I began resenting my husband. Like I said, until today. Let me explain...

Savannah's condition was between me... her... and God.

God;

Because He planned her life.

Down to the minute she was born, and the second she died.

Her maker, her creater.

The one whom left her unformed for a greater purpose.

Savannah;

Because afterall, this is her story.

And Me;

Her safe haven.

The one who was responsible for her safety.

The one who's womb cradled her,

and was supposed to help form her.

Her home. The heartbeat and voice that she listened to...

and was comforted by.

The resentment towards my husband, whom I love deeply, came out from my own insecurities with her death. He did nothing to deserve my resentment, but it was there. And like I said, I was completely unaware of it.

I am a people pleaser. Have been all my life. But people are mean, and sadly I take everything people say to heart. I thought for sure people were talking about Savannah's death. Not everyday you hear about a baby you know dying. Usually when you hear of babies born with problems it's assumed the mom didn't take care of herself. There are mother's out there that drink and smoke up until the baby that relys on them is born. And everyone has been made aware of the effects this can have on innocent babies. But this doesn't stop some women from doing these things, knowing the chance they are taking for their unborn child's life.

When a baby is born and dies to mother's that deserve so much more than to bury the child that they nurtured, cherished, and loved, I can imagine to some people it may come as a shock, and they may look for any explanations elsewhere. It's human nature to want to point blame somewhere. The mother of these precious beings can be the perfect place to point fingers.

Because of the way society can be, I am more cautious of when and who I tell about Savannah's death. My husband on the other hand, loves to share Savannah with the world. It could be the checker at the grocery store, but if he knows them, he's going to share her story. I am guarded though. Everytime the story came out of his mouth, I feel as though all eyes are on me. Obviously we don't have hours to spend with each person we encounter to share every detail that went into Savannah's complications. So these people, these random aquaintances, are left with their own thoughts.

{"I wonder if she smoked?"...}

{"I wonder if she drank?"...}

{"How awful for the father...

If only the mother would have taken better care of herself."}

I don't know that is what the people are thinking, but everytime the story came out to these random people, this is where my heart would take me, and I would want to crumble. I wanted to hide. My meaning well husband, shared her story in his own way. But I felt guilty... Over, and over and over again. Followed by resentment.

Savannah's death is something that I have come to my own understanding that it doesn't come down to me. I was just the vessel that brought her purpose into the world. There was nothing more I could do. People will say what they feel necessary. This is something I cannot help. I cannot change who people are or what they are going to say. Dwelling on what is untrue and unreal isn't a very good Christian thing to do.

Yes, Savannah's condition was between me... her... and God. There was nothing I could do to change His plans. My husband has every right to tell her story... no matter what people might think of me.

I gave her life... and was not responsible for her death.

The dark months.

That is what I have heard the holiday months referred to as after loosing a loved one. "The dark months." The month of November. A month full of thankfuls. Family gathers to feast, and celebrate thanksgiving. And then ofcourse thanksgiving just gradually flows into the most wonderful time of year. Christmas. Both holidays where families spend meaningful time together.


There are many "first's" for Savannah in these holidays that surround us. As I have said before, these are all her first's whether she can celebrate with us in person or not. Her first turkey. Her first Chistmas light experience. Her first Christmas. First time only comes around once. I can't wait to show her everything. Because I still do share life with her. Are you excited Savannah? Christmas is the best time of the year. Just ask Jesus!


This year as we close our eyes and fold our hands, and really take a moment to think about what we have in our lives to be thankful for, I already know in my heart what I will say. "Savannah, this year, I am thankful for you."

Last Thursday, I took a pregnancy test. Being I had the flu, and struggled with a fever I paniced at the thought that I was pregnant. Two pink lines appeared. When you discover you are pregnant, there are many emotions that overflow through your body. When you discover you are pregnant after loosing a child, I can assure you there are many emotions that still flow through your body, but they are completely different. They are intensified. They are scary. I began to cry. "Lord, this isn't how I wanted things to start." I was terrified that the baby wasn't getting a fair shot because I was sick. The diaphram forms between eight and ten weeks pregnant. I wanted him or her to be whole. I wanted him or her to be healthy. For 12hours, I tasted what the next pregnancy was going to be like. Every worry, every fear came to mind, and I spent the entire evening lost in prayer. In the middle of the night I realized that my worry's and fear's that I had succome to, were not offering the baby the best chance. I had already doomed the baby without turning faith over to the one whom see's and plan's all. Whatever happens, happens. And we will take the blessings as they come.


Needless to say, I woke the next morning greeted with my monthly friend. I can't help but say I was relieved. God answered my prayer. The next baby deserves a healthy start. And it won't be too much longer...

A life without regrets.

I think when you have lost a child, you find more regrets than had you lost anything else. Sure everyone, at some point in time is going to regret something in their life. Whether it be minor...{I wish I would have gone to bed earlier} -or major...{I regret not working harder in my marriage, what went wrong?}


After Savannah passed, I went through my grief in a different way. I missed her, and wanted her, but I found myself blaming others for my heartbreak. I felt as though, because everyone else was grieving her short life, they were taking her away from me. I wanted nothing more than to have her back, and hide her from the world. I only got her for eight days, and suddenly she was everybody's. I found myself regretting many things. And it started to consume my thoughts.

I regretted sharing her pictures with family,

since they plastered them all over facebook. 

I regretted the people who showed up to her funeral un-welcomed,

just because she was a juicy piece of gossip.


{Just for the record, when a baby dies,


it doesn't mean you go to the funeral
just because you know the parents.
You'll know if they want you there, they will invite you...


It doesn't mean you can talk about the baby to other people 
like you knew them.


And it doesn't mean you can turn a tragic time
 into a joke by making a QUIZ about their death on facebook.}


Okay, now that that is officially off my chest...
Moving forward.

I regretted that I hadn't held her,

when we went to see her in her little dress,

laying peacefully in her pink casket. 

I regretted sharing her,
because people took on my loss as their own.

I spent more time consoling, than anyone ever offered to me.

But, as the darkness began to consume me, I heard God's voice.

"Is this really what you are going to take away from this lesson I have given to you?"

"Maybe you aren't the person I trusted you to be."

Savannah watched me from heaven, and heard each of these horrible "regrets." Everytime she tried to speak to me, her soft little voice was drowned out by my own negative thoughts. The last time I cried over all of my feelings, my eyes were opened. Our lives, whether nine months in our mother's womb, eight days on life support, or one hundred years full of knowledge, should be lived without regrets. I may be inadequate in so many ways, but I won't let my loss hider me from smiling at all of God's glory!

So here I am; forgiving every last regret...

...Because tomorrow is another beautiful day.

And I know, no matter what, Savannah was and is mine.

Praise you in this storm.

Yesterday marked an important day for us...

...Yesterday, The Fraser's made our way back to church since,

Savannah.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and it was a lot hotter than it should be for an October day. But the warm rays of sunshine warming our cheeks were a pleasent reminder that God was reaching down through the sun He created to comfort our hearts. We got the kids ready and headed out to meet my brother, sister-in-law, and thier two boys there.

I had been looking forward to church all week. We hadn't not been going to church because we are angry or resentful towards the Lord. Because we aren't. At all. I've said before, I look at Him taking Savannah home is a constant reminder that he really does love us.

Every second of every day.

He loves us so much that he gave me the gift of being her mother. He loves us so much to take her home where she is safe and healthy. I praise him!

We did the typical parent thing, dropping little ones off each in their own Sunday school classes. Everything felt comfortable. Everything felt normal. We took our seats and worship began. I loved it. I sang along to the familiar songs dear to my heart. {Most of which you could actually listen to on my blog playlist! It was wonderful. It was as though, through the worship team at church God hand picked the songs just for me. The songs He knows I listen to frequently bringing peace to my heart.}

But then, as I praised him my mind began traveling.

The last time I had been to Church, Savannah was with me. The last time I sang praises to my maker, her maker, it was as though she danced along inside me. Savannah loved worship. And with my head held high I would stand proud, hand on my belly, singing. Singing to Him. Singing to her. And she danced.

I daydreamed about bringing Savannah to church. Bringing Savannah to know the Lord. Holding her in my arms instead of my belly while we worshipped. 

  

But I never got to bring my angel to church.

As I continued singing, all the while thinking these thoughts, I realized so much more than my fragile "human" thoughts. I felt her again. I felt her presence stronger than I have felt her since she was in my arms her last night. Savannah was at church. Only I didn't bring her. Jesus had. Jesus held her hand as he walked her into church and sat her down beside her mommy. And as I stood standing, and praising... I knew Savannah danced... 

And I broke down and cried.

I, {with the help of my Jesus} had finally brought my babygirl to church.