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Blog Introduction

This blog is the story of how my husband and I faced the illness and death of two of our children. Each blog post is essentially a chapter in the story, so in order to truly understand it, you are going to benefit by starting at the beginning.
I hope you find our story touching, and in some way find comfort and hope through it as you face your own storms in life.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Here We Go Again

God has a way of getting our attention.  He had already sent me several dreams, but He undoubtedly was pushing the issue; I had to deal with my kid's deaths. He had become like a starving dog with a bone; He wouldn't let go, and He wasn't letting me go either. He sent another dream my way.

In this dream, our neighbors had given birth to twins- a boy and a girl- but both had died. We went to visit them at their home. They had pictures of them hanging on the wall, surrounded by flowers.  I didn't speak to the mother, but went to talk to the father. I don't recall saying anything to him; I just went and sat on the floor in the room with him, and began to do a pencil drawing.  This went on for a period of time.  I know I was hurt by their loss, but was unable to convey it.  As I got up to leave, the father took me by the hand and stopped me, as if he was going to deal with my pain, but then we were interrupted by others coming into the room, and it was over. So ended the dream.

I have to confess I don't understand every part of this dream, but I know the message was once again clear.  The two babies, a boy and a girl, were undoubtedly my Sarah and Matthew.  I think the pictures on the wall surrounded by flowers represented how I had memorialized them, their faces and memory continually before me in the forefront of my mind, their loss fresh. I believe the father in the dream was God, my heavenly Father.  I was drawn to the place where He was and wanted to go to Him, but found myself unwilling to approach Him and talk about the loss, even though I was hurting, so I simply sat in the same room with Him.  As I stood up and began to leave, once again going away without confronting the grief, He took me by the hand, wanting to deal with my pain. God was showing me His desire to help me. He was reaching out to me, trying to show me that I didn't have to do it alone. He was there to help me, but I was swept away with the crowds, reflecting once again how I felt insignificant and unworthy.

God was continually showing me the need to go back and address the deaths, and He was becoming more insistent.  There would be no skirting this issue; no shortcuts, no easy escapes from the pain. No matter how much I bargained or prayed or tried to avoid it, God was having His say.  Maybe I didn't have to listen to Him during the daylight hours, but at night in the realm of dreams, I was His captive audience.

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