Please don’t read this… unless you will hold me and all moms of infant loss with overwhelming compassion.  Please don’t read this unless you can set aside all judgments and preconceptions you may not even realize you have.  Please don’t read this unless you can respond with kind words and encouragement.                

This past year has rocked my world.  I crumbled. This blog is different.  This blog recounts the last twelve months.  One thing that has helped me in my journey of grief is finding other moms that share my fears, irrational anxiety, pain, terror, tears, anger, and sadness.  It helps to know I am not crazy, and I am not alone in my grief.  It is ok for a mother to grieve the loss of a baby she did not get to take home, and it is ok if that grief is hard and ugly.  So this blog post is a glimpse into my journal from the past year — and maybe there is a mom out there who is going through the very few ups and many downs and more downs of the grief journey that I have walked. Maybe she will find comfort in my pain.

I am asking you, please don’t read this unless you are willing to take an honest look into a mother’s grieving heart and not pass judgment.

 

 

Day 1:  May 4th, 1:00 am

Dear God, You protected me that night in the hospital room.  We brought our daughter into this world even though she had already gone home to you weeks before.  We were able to hold her tiny perfect body in our hands and witness the amazing love with which you created her.  As horrible as that day was, You made it good, and I will be forever grateful for the joy I was able to feel when I met my Gabriella.

 

Day 3:  May 7th

Despite my best efforts with cabbage cream and compression, my milk came in.  What a punch to the gut. Seven years ago I cried for nights upon nights wishing my milk to come in to feed my first daughter.  And now my milk comes in, it’s physically painful, and I have no baby to feed.

 

Day 4:  May 8th

It’s Mother’s Day.  My body is healing fine.  There is a drastic hole in my heart, and I just can’t celebrate today.  I just want this day to pass as quickly as possible.  It hurts so much.

 

Day 5: May 9th

We went to the funeral home today.  It felt like we were sleepwalking.  It was a good thing my husband was driving because I was only half there.  I remember sitting there as we looked at the tiniest urns they offered, trying to decide how big an urn we actually needed for her tiny body.  I remember thinking that I shouldn’t be here picking out an urn for my daughter.  The first time I should be making decisions in a funeral home should be after I lose a parent.  You aren’t supposed to bury a child.   This is not how the order of life should go.

 

Day 8: May 12th

Today we went to the beach.  I needed to get out of the house and yet not be with people.  We grabbed Starbucks and sat on the beach on this gloomy day.  We looked at the ocean.  We looked at the waves.  The cold, gloomy day is unusual for May, but it suits me.  The big ocean is comforting and reminds me that I am small.  This life is small.  But heaven is forever and this life here is barely a spark in a forest fire.  And even if I hurt this bad for the rest of my life, the joy of being with my baby in heaven will last forever.  The ocean is big.  My pain is big.  My God is bigger.

 

 

Day 16: May 20th

We celebrated the very short life of Gabriella Faith Warren with a very small intimate service surrounded by family and friends.  It was beautiful, and the message was uplifting.  Our pastor talked about the gentle way Gabriella was carried by angels into the arms of Jesus.  That is such a sweet image.  I was touched by the people who took time out of their busy schedules to come that day, rearranging their plans to support us.   Even when it was so hard for them to be there – some physically and some emotionally – they still came.  I noticed.  But even with a beautiful message and wonderful support, I still felt sick.  I didn’t want to be there.  I wanted to be in my bed.  I wanted to hide under my covers.  I didn’t want to come out ever.

 

Day  64:   July 6th

I have severe anxiety about life.  I need help.  Today I called a therapist’s office.  That was one of the hardest phone calls I have ever made.  I am so glad I did, and I am excited to get help.

 

Day  72:  July 14th

After several calls ending with me in a heap of tears on the floor,  I give up.  I can’t figure out insurance and the correct process to get the help I need.  I have been transferred twice to a suicide hotline because they can’t help me find the correct insurance code.  I feel stupid because I can’t answer the questions they are asking.  I feel hopeless because I can’t even figure out how to get myself help.  The process of trying to get help has hurt me so much, and I am so much worse than when I made that first call.  I get that the system is broken, and it isn’t because of people not caring, but I can’t help but feel betrayed by the process.  It shouldn’t be this hard.

 

Day  73: July 15th

My pastor and mom stepped in, found me a therapist, and took care of logistics.  Maybe I will be able to figure out how to go on after all.

 

Day  84: July 26th

I have had two appointments with a therapist.  I wish I could have done more before I had to leave to go back to the Dominican Republic.  Getting help is always a good idea, and I am so glad I found someone to talk to even if it was only twice.  God willing, I will be able to get on that plane.

 

Day  90: August 1st

Here we go again.  We fly to the Dominican Republic.  Again.  I feel sick to my stomach.  I have to leave the tiny box of Ella’s ashes.  I get she is not there.  I get she is heaven, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  I feel as if I lost her all over again.  I don’t want to leave her behind, but I am not sure they would let me take her into another country.  I’m not ready to leave her.  I don’t want to do this.  Lord, give me strength.

 

Day 107:   August 18th

This is the day we had planned to welcome a baby into our home.  I am hiding from the world.  My husband has taken my girls, and I stayed home to cry and write.  Here is my prayer:

 

A mother’s prayer on the day her baby should have been born:

Dear Jesus,

Hold her tonight
Rock her safely in Your arms
Kiss her forehead for me
And let her tiny finger hold onto You

Have the angels sing to her
Tell her of my love
Tell her I’m coming
Someday I will hold her, too

And Jesus, if it’s not too much to ask

Please hold me tonight as well
My heart is breaking
All over again
I don’t understand
And I wish I could know more

Comfort me
Show me how to feel safe in Your grace

Help me continue each day forward
Help me see through the tears to tomorrow
Help me live the rest of this life
Reflecting Your love and not my pain

Forgive me
For not wanting to give her back to You so soon
For clinging to the pain
For not wanting to let go

Restore me
Put back together my broken heart
Teach me how to rejoice again

Make my paths straight
And help me move forward on them
Carry me, Jesus; I don’t know how to do this alone

Kiss her once more before she falls asleep
Tell her I love her
And I will hold her soon.

Amen

 

Day 111:  August 22nd  

Today we started homeschooling our two girls.  This is a first for me.  Will it be too much for my fragile state?  There are a lot of good reasons for our family to homeschool.  But if I’m honest, I just don’t want to send them to school.  I don’t want them to be gone from me all day.  I don’t want to worry about them all day when they are out of my sight.  Am I a horrible mom to make this decision that so greatly impacts their lives, mainly because deep down I am not ready to be apart from them all day long?

 

Day 124:  September 4th

Today I started a blog.  My husband bought me a domain name for my birthday.  It was a gift of support.  A gift that said I believe your writing is important and valuable and I want you to keep going.  So I started a blog.  I am not sure where it will go or what I will write, but I have a place to process.  I am not a talker by nature.  I do much better getting my thoughts out on paper than in actual words I speak.

 

Day  165: October 15th

Today is Infant Loss Awareness Day.  Today I am at the beach for a mission event.  Today all around me kids are playing in the pool.  Moms are laughing.  Missionaries are meeting.  I am crumbling inside.  Today I feel far away from the world.   I feel like no one understands or sees me.  It is a complicated balance of not wanting anyone to know my pain, but so badly wanting to be understood.  I feel alone.

 

Day 198: November 17th

There are two babies here in the mission field that are near the age Ella would be.  I see them, and I see where she should be.  I see the babbling she should be saying.  I see the feeding I would be giving her.  I see the diapers, sleepless nights, and struggles of bringing a baby to another country.  Oh, how my heart longs for those struggles.  Today we made turkey footprints with the little kids.  Today I painted the feet of those babies.  Those tiny beautiful feet that would be about the size of Ella’s feet.   I wonder if those moms can see the pain in my eyes when I am near their babies.  I wonder if they know that even though it hurts beyond words that my baby is not here, I am still glad their babies are.  I hate that it hurts to be around their babies.  And I wonder if over time the hurt will subside.

 

 

Day 205: November 24th

It’s Thanksgiving.  I can’t even.  I don’t feel thankful.  I don’t want to be thankful.  I just want my baby.  Can I just hide in a hole until after the holidays?  They hurt so much.  Why is this still so hard?  Why isn’t this getting easier?  What is wrong with me?

 

Day 182: December 1st

Today we hung stockings.  There is a stocking up for Ella – made by my sister.  When others remember her, it means so much to me.  She will be remembered in our home always.  It will not remain empty.  We will fill it with gifts for a baby girl.  We will deliver these gifts to the hospital where she was born.  We will celebrate life – even when it is hard.

 

Day 212: December 25th

Today we went to take a family picture after the Christmas service.  We took several and then several more.  Each one had something horribly wrong with it.  The light was bad.  Someone was in the shadow.  Someone wasn’t smiling.  I just wanted one good picture on Christmas.  But I can’t seem to get a good picture.  Everyone could have been perfectly smiling in the best light, and it still looked so wrong.  Someone was missing from our photo.  How can we take a family picture when our family is not whole?  God bless our sweet friends who continued to take our picture and never once tried to reason with my craziness.  This is hard.

 

Day 251: January 9th

After Ella died, I started making a playlist on my phone.  I called it “healing.”  It was full of Christian songs and hymns that were uplifting and yet somber.  Blake called it my sad music.  At least it still had a hopeful message even if it all sounded melancholy.  I played this playlist almost every day because it was so much better than being alone with my thoughts.  I played this playlist every day until today.  Today I put on country–I wonder what made me do that.  Maybe that is a good sign.

 

 

Day 311: March 10th

Today I flew to Texas.  I went to a retreat called Hope Mommies.  Today I was surrounded by other mommies that lost their babies.  Today I walked into a room that had Ella’s name and picture up.  Today I wore a name tag that said “Ella’s mom.”  Today others asked me about Ella.  Today others asked to see her picture.  Today I felt seen.  Today I didn’t feel so far away.   Today I didn’t feel alone.  I hope every mom that has lost a baby has a chance to feel the way I felt today.

 

Day 336: April 4th

We are month away from Ella’s birthday.  I expected that day to be hard.  I did not expect to start having a hard time the month before.  I wonder when she passed away inside me. What day did she go up to heaven to be with Jesus?  That day will go by, and I won’t know it was a special day for her.  I just have May 4th.  The day I gave birth to her.  The day I said goodbye even though she was already gone.

 

Day 366:  May 4th

Today is one year.  One year since my world shattered.  People ask “how I am doing,”  I wish they would ask “how are you doing today?”  Because how I am doing overall is too complicated an answer that I don’t even understand.  Overall, I am better than I was six months ago.  But I am still very much broken.  I am so thankful for the hope of heaven.  I am so thankful I will see Ella again.  That assurance doesn’t take away the pain of living every day on earth without her.  I have come to accept and firmly believe that that pain is ok.  I can rejoice that my baby is in heaven and deeply hurt all in the same breath.  

Today we will celebrate Ella’s life, just the four of us.  It is still overwhelming for my fragile self to be around a lot of people, and today my husband and my girls need all that I can give.  So to give them my best, I have to celebrate Ella with just the three of them.  Our plan is to deliver gifts to the hospital where she was born to celebrate life because life should be celebrated always.  Then we will go drink Starbucks on the beach.  We will look at the waves.  We will look at the ocean–the biggest ocean–and I will take comfort that although the ocean is big, my God is bigger.  Although my pain is big, my God is still bigger.

“He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.” Psalm 23:2-3

I find myself yearning for quiet places. Some say I am hiding. Some say I am grieving. Some say I am hibernating during this dark season. Some say I am antisocial. Some say I am different. I don’t know who is right. Perhaps they all are correct. The quiet places have become my refuge–my safe space.

I wanted these quiet spaces after I lost Ella. I took them for the first few weeks after I lost her. I needed them just as I needed air to breathe. Quickly I began to feel pushed back into “normal” life. I struggled with what “normal” life looked like when I felt anything but “normal” anymore.

Finding your path while grieving is tricky. There is a lot of advice and preconceptions out there about what your grief should look like. I struggled with my own preconceptions, let alone trying to balance the “shoulds” of others.

There were many ways I tried to do grief the “right way.” After doing that grieving thing for several weeks, I started to completely break down. Emotionally, mentally, and physically, I was losing control.

Blake and I were driving in the car when the song “Just Be Held” came on by Casting Crowns. I sat there for a few moments and said, “That song is what I am trying to say.” He waited, giving me time to digest and process, or maybe he was trying to just choose his words carefully. We were on shaky ground. He could see me falling apart. And I could see the fear and hopelessness in his eyes because he knew that he couldn’t fix it. He finally said, “Tell me what you heard in that song.”

That song was my AH-HA moment, maybe the most important AH-HA moment of my life. It took me back to the mission field the first week we arrived. We were at a retreat. We were listening to a series on Law and Gospel. I remembered an important distinction that was made about Law and Gospel: Law is what we do, and Gospel is what God does. Our presenter went on to say that in every moment when you encounter someone, you have to carefully discern whether to give that person Law or Gospel. Is this a moment where they need to do something, or do they need to hear what God has done, is doing, and will continue to do?

I realized while listening to the lyrics:

“You’re not alone, stop holding on and just be held… I’m on the throne, stop holding on and just be held.”

People kept giving me Law (including myself) and what I needed was Gospel. My broken heart could not be fixed by anything that I could do. This was the time to turn everything to God. It was time for Him to work. It was time for me to be still. I needed to be held.

I have come to understand that most people (my former self included) do not know what to say to broken, hurting people. Even the really good sounding things to say end up being wrong, and a lot of people don’t say anything at all. Week after week I heard great advice like: “Trust in Jesus,” “Cling to His Word,” “Remember the gifts He has given you.” The list went on. I struggled with this advice. It was hard to hear, and it took me a really long time to understand why. I came to realize that when other people would usher in a response of “encouraging words,” it made me feel as if they were uncomfortable sitting with me in my grief– like they were trying to rush me through the moment. I treasured the friends who would sit with me and just be sad in the moment, often times without words at all. I also realized that while I was given a great list of Biblical advice, It was all law. It was all a list of what I should do–all verbs requiring my action.

These action verbs were so hard to hear because I knew that I was totally and completely inadequate to heal my broken self. There was no amount of trust, clinging, or prayer that could come out of my heart to put myself back together. When I tried to do any of those actions, they didn’t heal me; they left me more broken. I was at the point of collapse…until I heard the words, “just be held.”

I wasn’t supposed to do anything at all. I needed to stop trying. I needed to let it all go. I needed to be held, and I needed to hide in His arms. I stopped feeling guilty for finding alone time. I stopped trying to DO grieving. I hid in His Word. I sat with my Bible open alone. Sometimes I would read. Sometimes I would just sit. Sometimes I would letter out verses or lyrics. Sometimes I would find peace and understanding. Sometimes I would process through emotions. I began to notice that when a few days would pass without me intentionally hiding in His Word, I would start to fall apart.

Not long after I lost Ella, I scribbled a verse on the cover of my Bible, “You are my hiding place” Psalm 32:7. Funny how I didn’t truly understand that this was the path I should have taken right away in my grieving. Maybe I needed to stare at it time and time again until it finally sank in.

There was a verse I remember learning as a child that I never understood. It was also a popular worship song from the 80s that would likely get stuck in your head. This verse used to drive me crazy… Oh how grief opens your eyes… Often when I read passages now they take on a completely new meaning.

“Where shall I go from Your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, You are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there Your hand shall lead me,
and Your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to You;
the night is bright as the day
for darkness is as light with You.”
Psalm 139:7-12

My former self did not understand. The author isn’t trying to run from God. The “where shall I go from your Spirit?” isn’t looking for a place away from God, it’s a reminder that God will be with you when you want or need to hide from the world. When your life comes crashing down and when you find it hard to breathe, God is there. When you have nowhere to go and need to find a safe place, God will lead you there. When your world is dark and you are walking through the valley of the shadow of death… God sees light in your darkness. He sees the hope in your future even when you can’t. This was written by someone who needed comfort, who needed to escape the trials of this broken world, who needed to find a safe space, who needed to hide. The author isn’t trying to run from God but reminding himself that God will be there always when he runs from the weight of the sinful and broken world.

Right now I need to take the wings of the morning to hide from the broken world. Oh the irony. It is beautiful the way God writes our stories. As I sit here reading these verses, I know it is by His poetic design that I live on an island in the Caribbean Sea. He knew I would be needing to take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea. Never before in my life did dwelling in the uttermost parts of the sea sound so comforting. But it does now, and I am already here. God led me here because He knew this is what I would need.

I need to run. But I need to know that no matter how far I run, it won’t be too far for God. He will be there. He will not only find me, but He will lead me to my hiding place. I need to hide, and His right hand will hold me as I hide. This is where I believe He will heal me. And I need to believe that He sees the light in my darkness. He sees the hope when I cannot. He sees past the broken me. He knows the plans that He has for me. He sees the future. I do not. I don’t need to. I just need to be held. Because I know that He will restore my soul–in the middle of the sea–in the safety of His right hand.

 

 

 

We have been in the Dominican Republic for a year!  That is a big deal.  Now because nothing about our (missionary) lives has been simple or according to plan, it has not been a consecutive twelve months.  But as a family, we have lived here, in our Dominican Republic house, for twelve months all the same.  So we decided to celebrate – even if we don’t have the one-year Facebook timehop to commemorate this special day.

We celebrated the best way we know how:  discovering a new adventure on this island we call home.  We also got to experience this adventure with great friends.  So we took a boat and went to see the whales.  Samana is known for being near the breeding waters of humpback whales in the winter months.  Samana is also one of the most beautiful spots on the island.  Whale-watching  was everything we had hoped it would be and so much more.  We spotted five different humpback whales, listened to a male singing, and learned so much from our knowledgeable crew.   We enjoyed a great day with some of our favorite friends.

After living here for twelve months, I would like to reflect on what mission life in the Dominican Republic has turned out to be for our family–how it has lived up to my expectations and how it has differed from my expectations.

So after twelve months I have concluded:

Not having a dishwasher  –  not that big of a deal

Not having a dryer  –  not that big of a deal

Not having a microwave  –  not that big of a deal

Having to put your toilet paper in the trash  –  still a big deal

Biggest surprise:  I thought for sure by now one of us would have come down with dengue.  That has not happened.  While among the four of us we have sported hundreds and maybe even thousands of bites, none of them has brought on anything more than bothersome itching.  No tropical diseases as of yet.

Most expected challenge:  I anticipated learning Spanish to be hard, but I had no idea how hard it truly is to learn a new language.  I feel like I was doing ok before I was sent back to the states, but then I lost most of what I did learn. Then I experienced the trauma of losing a baby, and ultimately, my brain broke.  I have no better way to describe it, but there are a lot of things I am relearning in English, and while I want to be able to speak Spanish, my brain just isn’t at the point where I can start tackling that challenge again.  Blake, however, can communicate quite well for us.  Even he says he would like to dedicate more time to continue to study the language.  This is one area all four of us could still use your prayers.

Most unexpected challenge:  driving – I never anticipated the anxiety I would have at the thought of driving down here.  I have driven within the neighborhood and if there was an emergency, I could get us to the hospital or the airport or the grocery store.  But the cultural differences in driving were far greater than I anticipated.  I have not mastered the day-to-day driving.  I simply wait until Blake is available to drive us to the store or wherever else we need to go.  Maybe this is something I will conquer in the future, but for the time being, I have released myself from the pressure to drive.

Biggest perk of our new location:  the beach.   We live about an hour away from the beach.  We try to get away once a month and enjoy the beauty God has placed near us.  We have experienced beautiful beach sunsets, great sand play, wonderful beach food, and relaxing times with friends.  This mountain girl is now singing a different tune when it comes to living near the beach.

Biggest perk of mission life:  this is a family job.  Yes, Blake is the one officially working, but we are all missionaries.  We have learned, this last year especially, that it takes all four of us to be successful down here.  This mission life only works if all four of us are committed and present in this mission life.  With this being a family job, our family is also included in mission responsibilities and activities.  What an honor and privilege to serve God and the church here in the mission field.  This also means we get a whole lot more of Blake in our daily lives than we ever used to in the states.  That is a huge perk of mission life.

Scariest moment:  We recently took our oldest daughter to the hospital because she had been throwing up for over 24 hours and became severely dehydrated.  She was eventually admitted to the hospital to run extra tests and replenish her fluids.  While the conditions of the hospital and the friendliness of the staff exceeded our expectations, the experience itself was still terrifying.  An overnight hospital stay with your child would be scary even in your hometown and in your native language.  Navigating those cultural differences and language challenges only multiplies a  parent’s concerns and anxieties.  It took quite a few days for our family to process and recover from the stress of that experience.

Favorite memory:  The first couple weeks we were here in the country, Blake and I slept on an air mattress.  We did not have air conditioning, and it was in the middle of August – the hottest and most humid month of the year.  We did not have a TV or internet.  We were still living out of many, many suitcases.  We didn’t even have chairs so when we wanted to sit, we sat on the hard, tile floor.  I remember vividly being scared to sleep, imagining all the creepy crawly things that would climb through our open windows (which did not have screens) and right onto my toes that inevitably hung off the end of the air mattress.  I also remember…they never came.  The best part of that first two weeks:  we had nothing to do when we put the girls to bed.  We either talked or we played cards–because we found the deck of cards and the cribbage board even if we hadn’t found the silverware yet.  As difficult as those first two weeks were, we experienced them together, as a couple and as a family, and we are stronger for it.

 

Funniest moment:  The Caribbean is hot and humid.  We had some very cool 80-degree weather in December and January, but every other month of the year we feel as if we are melting.  So pretty much every day you will find me in a tank top or sleeveless shirt.  This is also the attire of most women you find in the neighborhood or the stores.  Well, this past year I learned while it is quite common to see women wearing tank tops, it is considered inappropriate for official business.  Unfortunately, I learned this when I was trying to get my picture taken to get my Dominican residence card.  I was wearing a tank top blouse.  They would not take my picture unless I put on a more appropriate shirt.  So thankfully for me, Blake keeps a spare shirt in the car.  Too bad it was his orange whiffle-ball shirt.  But hey, I got to take my picture, and I have a Dominican residence card. The icing on the cake of this great story is my sweet husband instagrammed the moment.  If I can’t laugh at days like this, I wouldn’t be able to survive mission life.   

Biggest annoyance:  The bugs.  While the creepy crawly creatures haven’t found their way onto my toes while I am sleeping (Praise the Lord!), they have been able to drive me crazy.  Many missionaries here keep food like chips, cereal, uncooked pasta, flour, oreos, and much more in their fridge because the ants and other tiny insects find their way into sealed packages.  The ants also like to hang out in your house even if you don’t have food laying around.  For some reason the ants hang out in my laptop.  Many times my girls have heard me scream in frustration when the ants climb through my keyboard.  This has brought them much amusement and entertainment.  We often deal with slugs across the floor and the lovely trail they leave behind. If the bugs aren’t going after your food or in your bed, you usually just let them be.  There just isn’t a way to completely rid your house of all the bugs.

What I have gained:  I have gained a new perspective.  It is invaluable, and I am grateful for this new perspective.   I have dubbed myself the queen of trivial complaints.  I complain and sometimes even whine about the tiniest, most insignificant problems that bother me.  I complain about the ants, losing power, the humidity, the dirt, and the list goes on.   This is not a new title for me.  In my former life, I used to complain about my Starbucks drink not being correct, my take-out order not being perfect, wanting a pedicure, and not wanting to load my dishes in the dishwasher…  ALL complaints from former me and current me are equally trivial.  The difference is that now I understand the insignificance of these trivial complaints.  The truth is: I have a lot to be thankful for in this life.  I have many luxuries that I still take for granted, but even more importantly, I live each day by the grace of God.  This I understand on a whole new level down here.  Every time I catch myself complaining now, I also remember to thank God for the many gifts I have in my life.

What I have lost:  What I have lost:  I lost friendships.  This one hurts.  People warned me it would happen.  It stung when I heard the warnings, perhaps because I knew it would be true.  It isn’t really anyone’s fault either.  It is hard to keep a friendship when you are miles and oceans apart.  It takes time, and it takes effort.  Life is busy – especially the lives of moms.  So I get it.  I get that writing takes time that most of my friends do not have because I often don’t have the time either. While I miss so many friendships that used to be more present in my life, this also makes me appreciate the friends (so much more than I could ever express) who do find the time to write and send me care packages.  I am beyond thankful for the friendships that have survived this transition into mission life.

What do I miss: I miss the things you probably wouldn’t think about.  I miss watching the news in English.  I miss going to Target.  I miss the convenience of everything.  It is hard to explain but life just takes longer and more effort here in the DR.  I miss worshipping in English on Sundays.  I miss feeling like I belong.  I miss playgrounds and libraries.  I miss Starbucks and In-and-Out burgers.  I miss the hugs from the family and friends. Being able to talk over Facetime is great, but there isn’t technology available to replace the hugs.

What am I most thankful for about this missionary life:  I am thankful we serve on the regional team and live among other missionary families.  We get to see missionaries before they deploy to their fields and form friendships with all of them (I won’t mention the hard goodbyes).  We get to do missionary life with other families, and I know this is not the case for all missionary families in the field. I am very thankful for the missionary friends I have within my neighborhood.

I am also beyond thankful each time we get to personally witness God at work here in the Dominican Republic.  Every confirmation, baptism, and new member attending a church service is the amazing work of God.  Witnessing the work of the Holy Spirit in the Dominican Republic and across the region is nothing short of a beautiful gift.

Above all, I am thankful that God chose us.  He chose us for this missionary life.  Even though we are terrible at it so much of the time,  God chose to use us to do His work: sharing with others the beautiful and unfailing love that He has for each of us–a love that runs so deep that God sacrificed His Son so that we might have eternal life with Him.  Not because we are worthy but because He is good.  “This is not of our own doing so that no one may boast…” Ephesians 2:9  And He has chosen us to share this good news alongside so many brilliant men and women.  We have learned so much.  We have gained so much.  We are so thankful that we have survived the past twelve months and that God has given us this incredible life.