the story of Selah Belle's birth

Last year was one of the most eventful years of my life. In March, I had the opportunity to travel with my church to Israel. That trip was extraordinarily impacting and I have plans to carve out time in the next month or two to write about that experience in its entirety.
But that's not what today is about.

Today it is my mission to recount the story of the birth of our second baby.

It all began the week before Halloween. I had gotten a bad sinus infection and I had just entered the 3rd trimester of my second pregnancy. This was a very different pregnancy from my first. I had had an emergency root canal 5 day before my trip to Israel. When I returned, I got bronchitis. That's always fun. So I was still on a nice little round of antibiotics when I got pregnant. About 5 weeks along, I got the flu. It was the worst flu I have ever ever ever had. ever. Then around the 14th week, I got another horrible stomach bug. Both of these bugs came along side the morning sickness I was already experiencing. Oh! And the day we turned 13 weeks, I had to have another emergency root canal. However, they ended up pulling the tooth... that night... an hour before I had to work a 12 hour night shift. (wow I really sound like a drama queen, don't I?).

Like the first pregnancy, we didn't find out the baby's gender. Even though your family get's annoyed not knowing, we feel like it's more exciting that way :) Somewhere along the way, I had some repetitive bouts of vertigo, but everything else had continued normally and without event.
Then, in October, I was sick again. I had bronchitis (again) and they put me on antibiotics.

Halloween night 2014 28 weeks and 6 days pregnant

On Halloween night, my feet started swelling. Swollen feet is common in pregnancy, obviously. And I had been walking the neighborhood, trick-or-treating with my family. After a long trek, anyone's feet could get swollen. That Sunday night, I was scheduled to work again. I went home after 6 hours though because I was still sick, it was slow, and I just felt plain icky. The next morning, I had a doctor's appointment. At that appointment, everything was normal. I mentioned that my feet were still swollen. I had just assumed it was because of the antibiotics. My blood pressure was a lovely 100/62.

So I returned to work Tuesday night. That day before work, my ankles and feet swelled while I grocery shopped. After that, they just didn't go down. Around 5:30am, I had a co-worker check my blood pressure. It was the highest it had ever been in my life. I rested and it stayed high.

By the time I got home from work (around 8am Wednesday morning), my legs were swollen and hard, all the way up to my knees. My blood pressure stayed high, even when I was lying down on my side. I came into the office right away and they did some tests and put me on bed rest.

After that, everything happened so quickly. Friday morning I started throwing up, so they sent me in to the hospital (not the one I work at) for "observation." Unfortunately, the test results weren't back yet, so they sent me home to continue bed rest. (This is a very tricky thing to have a mother of a toddler do).
Around 11 Sat morning, the results came back and one of my favorite midwives gave me the news. My protein was high- in the 400's. They called it pre-eclampsia. What a mystery. I couldn't understand how that could suddenly happen. Ordinarily, when a woman has pre-e, it shows up in the first pregnancy. I had no risk factors, no history at all. In fact, my son had a natural birth, at the birthing center, 12 days after his due date. He was breech and we had the super painful procedure of having him turned. It was successful! Apart from that, everything with him was perfectly normal and ordinary.

But not this time. For some reason, my body was acting up. That evening, we drove to Myrtle Beach because Dylan was preaching at a church there the following day. I continued bed rest without fail. I went to see him preach at the church where he was working when i met him. I kept my feet elevated constantly, like a good little mommy. I got sick again after we left church. I remember thinking how weird it was; that something Must have been wrong for me to throw up suddenly when I hadn't had morning sickness in weeks. I also had strict instructions to come back in to the birthing center (where we had received all of our prenatal care to that point), as soon as possible on Monday. When we arrived there, another one of my favorite people checked my blood pressure and gave me the next set of bad news. I had bought myself an overnight stay at the hospital. We called my mom and dad to watch Silas (our 2 year old), but we got a call back a moment later saying that my brother Kyle and his wife, Emily were ALSO headed to the hospital because Luke was about to be born! He was born early the next morning and he is gorgeous, by the way.

Arriving at the hospital, I received the steroid that they give mommies to help premature babies lungs develop. The next day, I was still swollen and they didn't have accurate test results so they kept me for another night. I continued to swell and retain water. They decided to transfer me to my hospital. After all, it is the one that expertly and continually deals with situations like mine. It took 12 hours for me to be transferred. At that point, my protein levels were over 12,000. I had also gained over 30 lbs of fluid and my blood pressure was terrible. Yep, definitely pre-eclamptic.

This is me, moments before I was transferred to the other hospital

32lbs heavier than I was on Halloween

I took an extremely bumpy ride in an ambulance and arrived on L&D around 11pm. I really liked the nurse they assigned to me over there. She's a good gal. :) They did more tests. They put me on the dreaded Mag {magnesium sulfate- a drug used to decrease high blood pressure. It's super effective, but it makes you feel terrible and heavy and sleepy and slow.}
Around 6am, one of my favorite doctors came in to tell us that we would be having a baby that day. This baby, like the first was breech, so we would be having a c-section.

Dylan and I, moments before the surgery.

I like to think that I stayed calm during this whole thing. I just asked Dylan, who verified it. I was extremely calm.
I called my mom and she showed up a little before they took me back. I remember a lot of little details about the surgery. I'll keep that for my diary though :) What I will share is that I remember the moment that the baby was born. My husband was standing by my head. It took him a minute to see what it was... It was a girl! I couldn't believe it! I ...I just really couldn't!
They held her up for me to see. She was so so tiny! So red and so small! She was crying loudly and tinily. I know that's not a word, but if you could cry in a teeny tiny way, that's what she was doing. Dylan said "God did that!" Our specific prayer was that the baby would come out crying (that (her) lungs would be strong and developed enough to cry... and breathe of course!)

my giant, puffy hand, touching her tiny foot

After the surgery, everything is a blur. They brought her by my room briefly before they brought her up to the NICU. I touched her tiny foot and I kept it together. At least, I think I did. I knew that I would be able to hold her soon enough. They transferred me to the unit where I work. They were slammed and they went above and beyond to save me a room. One of the best people and friends I've ever known was my nurse that afternoon and the next day.

I remember that when they were closing (finishing up the surgery), after the baby was born, I realized that for the first time in a week, I didn't have a headache. It was incredible!
At 5am, I was able to be wheeled up to the NICU to visit her. Oh I was such an emotional mess! They gave me good news and bad news and good news and ...so much information. I took her picture. It was hard to see her face with the oxygen mask and the tape to hold it in place. But I knew that she was beautiful! The name that we thought we would give her didn't seem to be good enough suddenly. She needed something extraordinary, something lovely, something gorgeous.

I held her for the first time that evening. It was very painful, but every moment holding her was so wonderful. Just thinking of it now brings tears to my eyes. As I held her, Dylan and I talked about possible names. We talked about taking her to our favorite place one day. (Disney World, obviously). We jokingly told her about the princesses when it occurred to me that Belle means beauty. Well, as we said that night, we couldn't call her Anything else. sidebar: Belle doesn't go well as a first name bc there isn't a great middle name for it. So we named her Selah Belle (pronounced "say-luh"), but we call her Belle.:)

holding that sweet girl for the first time

Belle, lying on her Daddy's chest the day her CPAP mask came off

After a few days, I was discharged from the hospital. When she was 7 days old, they took her off of the oxygen and let her breathe on her own. When she was 8 days old, she moved out of the NICU, into the step down unit, 8 special care nursery. I knew several of the awesome nurses up there. She stayed for 15 days in that nursery. It was there that she graduated from the incubator/giraffe bed, into an open crib. It was there that she was able to wear clothes for the first time. It was there that I tried and succeeded at breastfeeding her. She was amazing.

They eventually moved her downstairs. She stayed in the Level 2 nursery for another 2 weeks. She got cold after her move and she was moved from an open crib, back into an "isolette". But she got warm again. She got better at eating. She kept gaining weight, she continued to breathe well. Pretty soon they talked about discharging her.

I remember this roller coaster of a time with a blurry memory. Every day, I was stressed about finding someone to watch Silas so that we could go visit her. We would get good news, then we would get bad news. It was always "one step forward, two steps back," She received a new feeding tube almost every single day for 3 weeks. It was an incredibly emotional and straining time.

But it was other things too. It was an amazing opportunity. We were able to watch her grow. We peeked through the window of the incubator, as if looking into the womb to see her develop. Something breaks inside of you when you see your tiny child attached to so many cords and wires; when you see them dependent on so many systems and people. It certainly doesn't help to know about additional risks and tragic stories, from a healthcare employee's stand point.
But the things I worried about with our son; it's like they are nothing.
I remember crying when he was 4 days old because I knew that one day he would get the chicken pox or break a bone or have his heart broken. It broke my hormonal heart to think about his potential pain in life.

But Belle? I don't, or I didn't think about those things. I thought, from one day to the next. What's the next step? This needs to happen, and then this, and this, and then she can come home.

We got to spend special, concentrated time with Silas. We got to prepare him for his "baby sissy" to come home.

I didn't have to endure the uncomfortable 3rd trimester (well, just a little bit of it). I didn't even have to wear a bunch of uncomplimentary pregnancy clothes.
I got to meet my little girl early.

I got to see her each and every day for the 35 days that she spent in the hospital. She didn't have to undergo any surgeries or infections. She stayed healthy and she continued to develop.

People came from out of the wood-work to help us in many many ways.

Someone got us a parking pass for the garage. People even went out of their way to cook us gluten free meals! People watched Silas every time that we needed them to. Some even came to help me when I first got home from the hospital and I couldn't lift Silas, or drive.

This journey, Belle's journey was an intense ride. It was So different to be on the "patient side" of things; to see what our preterm moms or our severely pre-eclamptic moms, or even just those who have had a c-section go through.

I would never have chosen it for myself. I still don't know why it happened. But I do know this: we have a strong, incomparable God who is sovereign over everything. That means that His way is best. I know that He allows us to go through things for His glory and for our growth. My sweet baby girl had to be stronger than I think I have ever had to be. He had His hand on her through the whole process and He continues to hold her (and us) now.

The hard part, the scary first part is over. She is home now. She is still growing like she should. Her lungs are VERY strong, and she is thriving, even starting to show her personality! She will soon be off of her monitor and no longer have to take any medication.
Silas loves his "baby sissy" and he helps us as much as a two year old knows how to. We continue to adjust to being a family of 4, but I think we're getting it. :)

Pregnant Apples

For as long as I can remember, I have despised warm fruit.  I am American, but I don't eat apple pie, peach cobbler, blueberry cobbler, cherry pie, or any other variation of fruit-baked dessert.  It doesn't matter if it is smothered in vanilla ice cream or pudding; I have made a conscious effort to not ingest any food that is simultaneously warm, gooey, and sweet.  To even think about these foods grosses me out. (ick!)  Then one day, I got pregnant and my hormones went psycho.  I knew that many women suddenly crave things they have never wanted before.  I was Not one of these women.  In fact, instead of craving things, for the most part, I had ... let's just say the opposite of cravings.  Food in general became my enemy and I was quite sick and sad and grey and mopey for 9 dark months.  Seriously.  Once Silas was born, many things changed.
One great change was the absence of nausea in my life.  When you aren't sick, you can see things much more clear. (clearer? clearly?) Another change was my attitude.  Even my husband  told me that it must have been the pregnancy making me cranky because even two days after Silas was born, I was a completely new person.
Fast forward a month or two and a sweet friend invites me over for coffee and a play date with her and her five month old.  I was really looking forward to this girl time :-) When I arrived, she told me she didn't know what snack to make that would be gluten free. (I have celiac disease- which complicates things -like eating). So she baked up some cinnamon apples.  I didn't tell her of my picky aversion to warm fruit, of course. That would have been terribly rude! (instead I'm blogging about it knowing full well that there is a definite possibility that she'll read it). So instead of saying eww gross, I spooned a bit onto my plate and thanked her for thinking of my silly, inconvenient dietary needs.  My standards for flavor were low as I prepared to take my first slimey bite.  Yet, when I did, I didn't cringe, as I had anticipated.  Actually, I enjoyed it.  I savored it. I even went for seconds! (take That post-pregnancy hormones!)

A few weeks ago, I was revisited with a craving for these baked cinnamon apples. So I bought a bag of golden delicious, I grabbed a trusty bag of brown sugar, and a sprinkler full of cinnamon and I got started. As soon as I sliced the first apple in half, I stopped.
I had never noticed before. Obviously the seeds are located in the center of the apple. But as I stared at the seeds, I saw them in a different light. The seeds, which are drop shaped, sit in the middle of a semi-circular area. It reminded me of none other than...a womb. It was a pregnant apple! How silly, how girly. But it's not just that. It's not just that I saw motherhood in an apple.
I saw my creator! I saw that even in the smallest thing, the seed of an apple, He was there. Of course the same all knowing creator who designed the phenomenal intricacies of the human body also designed the incredibly simple form of the core of the apple. Just like a precious womb is the perfect environment to protect and cultivate a baby human to gestational maturation, the core of an apple is the perfect home to protect the seed of the next apple tree as well! So as I continued to slice up the apples (into wedges, then smaller "cubes"- sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon and bake at 350F for15-20min), I smiled and thanked Him for showing me Himself, here in my kitchen. :-)

I Am the woman at the well -.John 4

Jesus knows every part of our history, even the dark, scary, embarrassing, shameful parts. He knows the truths we try to cover up. He knows the deep rooted hurts we feel and how and why we dug ourselves deeper, breaking our own hearts more and more. He knows because He knows our broken hearts. But He loves us in spite of our hurt and our damage. His love for us is all encompassing. It's completely penetrating. His love for us is so sure and so strong that it reaches to meet us where we are. Sometimes, we're at that well, with 5 partners under our belt and yet another that wasn't ours either. But in the midst of our self destruction and our running, He humbles Himself and meets us at the well. He meets you at the darkest place where you return to feed your emptiness. You know what He says when you get there? He says I've been waiting for you. You don't have to run anymore. I can give you assurance and purpose and the love you have so desperately been chasing. Dry your eyes. Trust me with this; trust me me with everything and I promise you, you will be fulfilled. You will be restored. Everything that you are searching for, you don't need it. You need me. I will repair, prepare and equip you for everything that's coming.
I know that Samaritan woman at the well was hurting. I know that because I am her. I'm a gentile. I'm a woman. Our stories, ours pasts are so parallel. I think of her, fixing her hair before her long walk to get some water. Looking at her reflection, not liking what she sees. Perhaps she thought about the desert heat, or the labor ahead. Maybe she thought about her neighbors eyeballing her, judging her with their sideways glances. I picture her putting on a brave face, avoiding the busy crowds of the morning so that she could avoid audible whispers. Today, people still whisper. But her behavior, my own promiscuous behavior is considered acceptable, even normal. People look the other way. But for her... I can only imagine. How confused she must have felt. How startled she must have been when Jesus began speaking to Her. But for Him to meet her there. He humbled Himself to speak with her. He spoke of her sin. He told her everything about herself (because, though she didn't want people to know how much she was hurting, this sin was everything to her) she couldn't pretend to Him and neither can I. There is no sin more painful in my own life, no doubt in her life as well, than that of sexual sin. You trust someone with your heart. Sometimes there are promises that are broken, sometimes it's a brief encounter, a poor judgment call, or an un-sober mind. Whatever the reason, sexual sin leaves you scarred. It leaves you hurt. It leaves you feeling used and dirty and unworthy. The enemy loves to use this feeling against you. How powerful that weapon is! But the more you feed that hurt, the more powerful it becomes. There comes a day when you let it go and mean it. You say to Jesus, the Son of God, the Messiah who loved you enough to reveal Himself to you... You say to Him 'enough!' Admit that you aren't strong enough to carry the weight of this hurt and you simply lay it at His feet. Remembering that he already paid the price for this sin that you committed.
You see, it's one thing to know you are saved and to say you are brand new. But it's another thing to feel brand knew; to feel clean. That is my prayer for this year. That's my next step. I'm going to lay this overwhelming hurt at my Jesus' feet and when He says I'm clean, when He says I am a new creation, I'm going to believe it. No longer will my heart ache. No longer will I long for someone to regret their actions toward me. I will let go. I will be clean. I will trust in Him. I will thank Him and praise Him everyday for blessing me with a loving, Christ following husband, and a beautiful son. I will not let Jesus' sacrifice for my broken heart be for nothing. I will appreciate His love for me. I will learn from this woman at the well. From the moment she met Jesus, her life was changed. Mine will be too.

Shoe Song

It's a simple dream.  I have always wanted to own a pair of black boots.  I didn't need "fancy" ones made of leather or suede.  I didn't care if they were slouchy or sleek, zipper or sweater, high-heeled or flat...  I just wanted one glorious pair of black boots that came up higher than my ankle.  

You may be wondering what has been stopping me.  I'm not an extremely large person, but after more than a decade in musical theatre, I have two very muscular calves.  This poses a problem. Time and time again I have tried to fit my unnecessarily large legs into boots.  And time and time again I get the boot on my foot, I start to zip or pull it up, when suddenly...

I stop.  I know there is no possible way it will close any higher.  Pair after pair of lovely, trendy cold weather appropriate beauties lose their luster in my eyes.  I put them down, dejected.  I muster the strength to stand after having my hopes shattered, yet again.  Until...

Last night...  My husband, my 3 month old son and I were shopping at Kohl's with some gift cards we had received for Christmas.  We called this our date night and our plan was to pick out an outfit for each other.  As always, Dylan found 28 shirts to choose from, each for $2.  Meanwhile, I was stuck with 1 dress for $40.  Not a fair trade off if you ask me.  As we made our way around the store from men's clothing to home goods, we came upon the shoe section.  My eye instantly went to the black boots, standing tall among the sea of leather.  I only saw one pair that I liked.  It had no superfluous buckles or ruffles and the heels weren't too high.  I sat down and my husband treated me like Cinderella as we attempted to try this boot on.  We made it to my mid calf before giving up.  Still a little hopeful, I saw another pair that was acceptable.  That too failed.  
We walked the aisles and came across a pair of black boots made for someone with "my problem."  I appreciate what the designers were trying to do, but I never envisioned my dream-boots to look as if the back half of them were cut from a wet suit.  That was it. I gave up.  As Silas began to whimper hungrily in my arms, we decided to leave the store.  
That's when I saw them.  One single pair of black boots sat atop a shelf in the small Candie's section.  I gave Dylan a look, too timid to be hopeful.  I sat quickly as he grabbed the right size.  I slipped my foot all the way in.  Then he pulled it slowly over my ankle; so far so good.  He pulled up, and up and - it didn't stop.  This boot successfully made the long journey to just below my knee.  His eyes locked on mine, a slight smile on his lips.  I stood up, seeking out a mirror.  Finding one, I decided instantly.  This is the legendary boot I have been searching for!  By this time, my son seemed to believe he was starving to death, so we needed to leave.  But when we walked out the door, we held my long desired dream in our hands.  I tested them out at church this morning and I was Not disappointed.  I know it's silly, but it has always been my secret hope.  Perhaps it's just the slight heel, but today, I walk a little taller.

Oblivious?

I like Brad Paisley. I liked him way back before I really even knew who he was... (there was a song called "who needs pictures") He is an very talented musician, song writer and performer. I respect him and the work that he does to hone his talents. On his cd 5th Gear there is a song called "Bigger Fish to Fry." The first time I listened to it, I was on a road trip to western NC. I listened to the words and I thought it was a bit sac-religious, but I had heard worse. I mean, on the same cd is the song "When We All Get to Heaven"~
But the more I heard the song, the more I got to thinking about the words...


"I said a bad word when I was a kid and momma said that I'd be sorry for the sin that I did. My daddy whooped me and the preacher said shame and I tried like h*ll to change. I cuss, I smoke, I laugh at dirty jokes. My minor vices, man I know them well. I've closed down bars. I've lusted in my heart. My exes think I ought to burn in h*ll... But the devil, he won't notice when I die. Ya, don't you figure he's got bigger fish to fry..."


Really think about those words. You know what I hear? I hear a major misconception. These lyrics paint the picture that you can do bad things, but you'll be ok- you'll still go to heaven because the devil won't even notice you're death. There are people worse than you... I think this song is a good summary of the way that a lot of people view life and the after life. 


Well, it most certainly is not up to the devil whether or not you go to hell. In the Old Testament, the Bible says that there is not one "good" person; Not even one. The book of James in the New Testament says that to be guilty of one sin is to be guilty of all sin. Kind of a complicated thought but to summarize: sinning makes you a sinner. Simple as that. And in the book of Romans, it says the "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." That means Everyone. We are already guilty of breaking God's law and deserving of death ("for the wages of sin is death") 


But back to the lyrics:
Yes, the sins we commit are bad - murder is not the same sin as lying, though both are sins. It is not a matter of who is the worst sinner. We have All done it. It doesn't matter who has a "bigger fish to fry" - it is not to be determined by that fallen angel and his followers. 
The Bible says that it is appointed for man once to die and after that comes the judgement. And who will be judging us? God of course! If He, this perfect, loving, just God of ours finds us guilty of even one sin, then by His perfect law, we are guilty of all and deserving of hell. Don't get me wrong, the devil will be there too; he takes great pleasure (his Only pleasure) in the misery of others. I'm reminded of the scene in The Shawshank Redemption (awesome film) - when Tim Robbins arrives at the prison and the prisoners are shouting and carrying on, eager for someone else to know the pain and misery they are undergoing. In Isaiah 14, it describes the kings of this earth; miserable and waiting for the "prince of babylon" to join in the nasty, horrifying, eternal, unquenchable thirst that is hell. 


How simple would that be though? "Well, Im a pretty good person. When I die, I'll go to heaven because God is good and loving and forgiving." He is. That is So true, but He is also just and perfect. And because of His perfect justice, we humans, we, His favorite of all His creations deserve eternal punishment for our sins. And Oh, how it breaks His heart! So He made a way- He gave us an option to choose Him and spend eternity in His presence, instead of apart from Him! He loved us so much that He sent His son to die, taking on the full weight of the sin of All of us. He took on our sin and died an unimaginably painful death. But on the third day, He rose, defeating death, for good! But it wasn't just that He did it. That was the huge first step. The next part is in our hands individually. We sinful, imperfect humans have to see our sin. We have to see our filthy, corrupt hearts and understand how it hurts and offends God. We have to recognize the incredible sacrifice that was offered on our behalf. Then accept Him. Thank Jesus for dying in your place and ask HIm to be the Lord of your short life. If you do, He will! You will no longer be a slave to your sins and inhibitions. Your life here on earth and in eternity after will be spent in His perfect, beautiful, glorious light. 

Jehovah Jireh

I'll never forget when my mom became a Christ follower. People had come to our door with pamphlets and asked her confusing questions. She was just so curious to know God on a more personal level. She was hungry for His word and they came with their watchtowers and filled her mind with question after question. Then came along our neighbor. She took the time to talk to mom. She answered her questions Biblically and invited her to Bible study. Mom began to introduce us, her children to the real personal relationship She was experiencing with Jesus...

I remember her driving us around town, running the many errands of the day. We (as children) had no say in the channel on the radio station. We would listen to what mom wanted to hear. Today, a familiar song from that time period popped into my head. It went like this:

"Jehovah Jireh, my Provider; His grace is sufficient for me

My God shall supply all my needs - according to His riches and glory.

My God shall supply all my needs...."

And isnt that true? I can tell you that I Know that it is. He is So faithful. He loves us so much (though it's still unclear to me why). The best way I understand it is... because He wants to! He's God and He can do what He wants and that's what He wants- to love us. 

And not just to love us, but to love us So Very Much that He sacrificed Himself - His precious, perfect life - that we might have the chance to say "yes!" to Him. 

Have you said yes to Him? 

Have you understood the fact that you, me, Every single person on this planet has broken His law, the 10 commandments? Do you understand that because we have sinned, have wronged God and we are doomed to an eternity apart from Him, in hell- a justified punishment for breaking His heart?

Is it clear to you that there is a way out of that eternal torment and separation from our loving Maker?

All you have to do is believe that Jesus was who He said He was. Thank Him for dying in your place so that you would have a choice. Trust Him and accept His gift to you. Have confidence that you dont have to have any fear of death. He defeated it! It's done. Take His gift to you and run with it. Live your life completely for Him. 

Jehovah Jireh- means provider. And it's true. His grace, His provision is sufficient for me. Whatever He wants to do, whatever He wishes to give me or relieve me of, I will trust it. I will trust His perfect will.

Trust

This has been a recurring theme for me.
God wants me to trust Him.
Why would I not listen?
What could I possibly gain from ignoring His voice of truth.

The thing is, I know that He loves me. I belong to Him. I gave Him my life.
But so many times, I find myself having to make difficult decisions. I am learning more and more everyday how to handle these...

It seems so simple and yet everyday I fight for the control. It's like I say, "Hey, God, I wanna give You my everything- but I wanna keep this..." Like a scene from The Jerk... "I dont need one other thing... I need this..."

It should be the easiest thing in the world to take a deep breath and humbly say to God, my Creator, my Savior, My Kinsman Redeemer... Lord, Dad, I love You more than anything and I trust you implicitly with my life.