how many times a day I utter these words…
I just want my babies back.
I just want my life back. 
I just want to be a mama to 5 littles. 

And every. single. time.
I get slapped in the face by the cold reality that I just can’t have what I want.  That the picture you see is a memory- one that I can’t ever live again this side of Heaven.

And Charley can’t have her time machine.
Max can’t see them again.
Eva…
Oh, that sweet child is so far in a box that I have not one clue what she wants.
Wait- that’s just not true.
In steadfast eldest child fashion, she is tenacious in her resolve to subdue the sadness. to fix it. to deftly gloss right over that GIANT gaping hole in our lives that used to be a family of 7.
She hasn’t stalled one bit…
She dances, pirouettes, splits, leaps, and spins.
She plans, organizes, strategizes, plots and outlines.
She consoles me, upholds me, she dries my tears.
She utters a THOUSAND miles a minute-convinced the steady stream of spoken word masks the silence.  determined to consume the yawning void that used to be the chaos of 5 and is now the subtle silence of 3.
3.
Not 5.
3.
What does it feel like for them?  Truly? WHAT?
Every morning when I wake, I’m consumed with thoughts of them.  It’s what makes me want to just stay asleep.  When I’m asleep, I don’t know.  I don’t know they aren’t alive here anymore.  Or maybe it’s why I never seem to want to go to sleep.  Because I know I’ll have to wake again to the completely sucky reality that THEY AREN’T HERE.
It’s why Charley won’t sleep.
And she’s 9.
9 years old.
And in her mind, her innocent black and white consciousness…
it’s her fault.  
She shouldn’t have asked.
IF she could just build a time machine, she could change her mind.  And they wouldn’t go on that ride.  And Mercy & Sammy would still be here.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell her it’s not her fault…
she can’t change it.
her heart is broken and she’s, well, NINE.
She’s not ok.
She’s not fine.
None of them are.  and no matter how much anyone wants them to be, they aren’t.

And how do I convince my littlest surviving child that he won’t always feel so lonely, that someday, somehow, he will find joy again?  That he will be accepted simply for who he is?  The way he once was by his precious little soulmates?

I wanted to rise to the occasion of Christmas.  I wanted to triumph over the unspeakable sadness, the loneliness and the tears to force all of us to be joyful, thankful, peaceful.
I wanted to.  I really did.
And I failed.
We all did.
The only thing I forced myself to do was buy presents because I simply couldn’t bear the thought of more sadness and disappointment on their sweet faces.

Maybe I’m just spent…I’ve risen to every occasion that has come my way since this began.  And I’m tired. No. NOT just tired.  I’m bone-weary, exhausted, emotionally drained and completely heartbroken.  I’ve endured football games without my little cheerleader and quarterback.  I’ve forced a smile and light conversation during our homeschool days.  I’ve packed Operation Christmas Child boxes.  I’ve cried my way through 8 Nutcracker performances without my baby ballerina and her biggest fan.  I’ve lit a garden of remembrance with my surviving son while my oldest child sobbed in the background & my now “middle” child hunkered down on the stairs.  I’ve endured the “how are you?” question without screaming my head off more times than it’s possible to count.

I wanted to write today to bring hope-to encourage faith-to focus on the real reason we celebrate this precious holiday.

But the only thing I could write was this.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my words again.  If I just close my eyes, reach for Him and let Him tell me about the beauty He sees, I’ll know the glory of His creation, His peace, His purpose and His provision once again.

Please pray for us.  Each of us is wading upstream through a fog we can’t seem to clear.  Prayer and the grace of God have truly held us up.   And perhaps I’ve gotten too proud and too stubborn to ask for it as often as we need it (which is, seriously, every minute of the day)-perhaps I’ve allowed expectation of “moving on,” flat out fury at what our life is now, and quite simply, utter exhaustion- to keep me from asking, from telling, from SHOUTING how desperately we need our Savior and every precious prayer rendered on our behalf.  We ache for each one.
We simply.
cannot.
live.
without.
HIM.

Him who gave us life.  Him who gave us breath.  Him who GAVE HIS SON for us.  He spared not HIS own son.  And what pride, what selfishness, what-could possibly convince me that he would spare my children from the consequence of human choice and sin, when He gave His OWN Son to save us from the original consequence of the choice to sin.
Human pride-
-fallible sin
-a corrupted and selfish world.

He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all–how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?  
                                                 Romans 8:32

And what are those things?
They are hope…and a future…and plans to prosper us, give us hope and a future.  All of these are His promises.  And He never breaks a promise.

So, for this moment, this night, this precious minute, I will cling desperately to that HOPE.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.