Diary of a Colonoscopy

(Excerpts from a diary of a colonoscopy by Kailan. Dated April 2-4th, 2016)

Day 1: Saturday
5:00pm- I’m nervous. A little freaked out that I won’t be eating anything solid until Monday night. But mostly just nervous. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I know it's wrong to self talk that way, but I'm unable to change it right now! What will the drink taste like? Will it be poisonous? Will the procedure hurt? What if I wake up? So many questions!

6:23pm- Oh man. Dinner smells good….. But luckily I was smart enough to eat a very late lunch so that I wouldn’t be starving quite yet. So…. The smell is only mildly tempting. ((sigh))

7:41pm- I had my first liquid meal of jello. Green was alright. Orange left a weird chemical taste in my mouth. Ew. Red and purple are my favorite but I can't have those colors with this procedure. Nerve pain is trying to creep in. Hope it stays at bay.

9:16pm- I’m hungry! I want food! ……. And more jello goes in…

11:02pm- My stomach is talking crazy. My anxiety is a little high. Lord, help me not to feel how hungry I am in the morning. Nervous about drinking that stuff tomorrow.

Day 2: Sunday 
7:30am- Shit! I just started my period. That’s a nice little nugget of SITUATION!!! Lord, give me strength. Lord, give me strength.

8:36am- Tried to drink broth. Yuck! Now I feel like I’m legit sick and need “the sick diet.” Maybe that’s a good thing? Ugh. This is going to be a long day. Can you live off jello? I don’t feel well. Nerves are starting to rise. Must find my happy place. Therapist’s orders.

10:06am- Skipped church and started “X-Files” marathon. Watching for the first time. Eating more jello and drinking ginger ale. Oh…. I love you ginger ale.

2:55pm - Must have taken a little nap. Had to get up from bed and break from my marathon to go to my family’s Easter dinner….. This ought to be fun. (and the universe’s way to playing a cruel joke on me) Feeling weak and tired. My fatigue is setting in majorly. Tinge headache still. I’m crossing over from hungry to a little nauseous already.

3:40pm- Distractions galore!! The house smells heavenly of roast and potatoes and carrots. Baby cuddles with my nephews. Seeing faces I haven’t seen in so long due to distance and me being so sick all the time. Glad I dragged my butt out for this. My mom hid chocolate bunnies around the house for all of us. She hid jello jigglers for me though. Thanks momma. It was great. They were good.

6:31pm- Heading back home to the “Devil’s drink” and no, I’m not talking about sweet liquor. Although I wish I was. I’m talking about the stuff that’s gonna make me poo until I’m all cleaned out and can’t poo anymore. I think I’m more nervous about getting all that down than anything.

7:00pm- I did it! 8 ounces of the stuff. Little salty and a touch of milk of magnesium taste to it. It’s unflavored. Not as awful as I thought it would be. Phew! Ok. I can do this. 8 ounces down and the rest of the 4 liters to go!

7:30pm- Second 8 ounces down!

7:32pm- SHIIIIIKSTER!!! I just pooped my pants!!! This stuff is going straight through me!! Holy cow!!! Glad I’m home!! :/

7:45pm- Thanks to a “gag cake” made out of Depends for my father-in-law’s birthday, I now have diapers to wear! They aren’t very comfortable but now I feel a whole lot safer!

8:00-8:40pm- Chilling in the bathroom. It was like sporadically turning a faucet on and off. Ugh.. Pure liquid going in and coming out.

8:45pm- Back to bed, continuing with the X-Files marathon. On edge for when I have to jump back up to the bathroom. Headache meds kicking in though. That’s good.

Day 3: Monday- 
1:00am – woke up. Need to poop again!

7:16am- To the bathroom. I had a decent sleep. Thanks to my antihistamine I take. Feeling drained... pun intended.

8:18am- Back to “the drink.” It's what's for “Breakfast!” Ugh.. Bon appetite!

11:15am- More pooping liquid and officially done drinking anything. On an official fast from everything before the procedure, even water and "the drink." My bottom is sooooo sore and I’m still going to the bathroom. I need this part to be done.

1:17pm- Starving!!! But thankfully, the pooping has slowed way down. Phew!

1:54pm- On the way to the hospital. Husband is talking to me. I have no idea what he’s talking about because my head is all about this procedure. He’s like an energizer bunny. Crap. I just nodded as if I’m paying attention. I’m a horrible bitch wife.

2:15pm- All checked in. You gotta be kidding me?! They want me to pee because they need confirmation I’m not pregnant. I’m so dehydrated. And so angry at this ridiculous principle.

2:30pm- IV started. Warm blankets. Watched Reba on TV. I love her. Then finally I was able to pee for them. We had a mini celebration about that. Oh….. and I’m not pregnant. Smh.

3ish- Cold. Scary. O.R. room. Laid down on my back with tons of warm blankets. Oxygen in my nose. All these wires and leads on me. Big scary equipment all around. I keep wondering what they are going to use on me and what they will do to me! I was shaking so bad and I couldn’t stop. Talked with the doctor who is going to put a hose up my butt. He explained what was going to happen, you know... how he was going to put a hose up my butt. And we talked about my history with my dad dying of colon cancer at age 39. (Ah! All the emotional trauma is welling up inside me!) Chrohns disease on my mom’s side. The nurse came to me as I started getting teary eyed. I told her I was just so nervous and scared and that all of this was so intimidating. She said I should feel the drugs kick in soon.

Then I woke up! And my husband was right beside me. I was completely relaxed and warm. The shakes were completely gone, it was like I was floating on a cloud. Aaahhhhhh……
The doc came in and gave us the good news of no Chrohn’s or polyps or cancer. And everything looked really healthy! I heard the words, "pink." So relieved!!! I wasn’t forced to fart (apparently that's due to a recent change in what they give you during the procedure), so the nurse unhooked everything and I was wheeled out because my body was not quite in my control yet from the sedation.

4:50pm I stepped into my home and sighed a relief that I am healthy down/in there and I did it and it’s done!! It’s done!!! Thank you Lord!!

4:45pm Stuffing my face with leftover Easter dinner!!! And it was good! And still feeling pretty relaxed and great! My butt's not even sore! It's like they didn't do a thing!

.... or did they?

The Richest Feeling in the World

One day before he died, his wife washed him with water and washcloths. 

I've had the privilege of sitting with my uncle in his last week before he died. These moments (pictured) were some of the last moments this wife had to serve her husband, literally the day before he died. He'd been in the hospital for weeks and she wanted to wash him. Being hooked up to so many tubes she got a bucket with warm water and washcloths and washed him. There was some time I had with him alone, before this, while she went away to get ready for the move to hospice that was to take place in just a few hours. I brought my dad's journals with me (journals he wrote in while he was sick before he died) in hopes to read them to my uncle to give him some comfort. Words that may make him feel he is not alone in this final journey on Earth.

"A favorite honeymoon memory is....
       On our wedding night, we stayed at a flea bag motel called the Hickman Motor Lodge, making distant plans for a distant honeymoon that we have cared less and less about, to some ever-changing location. The tree of love has many branches and roots. God has let me see the roots of my tree; a privilege I thank Him for.     My Honeymoon- that special bloom in a marriage- began March 1, 2000 when doctors told me even "Ziebart" won't help my body. I have fallen in Love with Lyn more than ever in my life, more than I have words to express. From the depths of my soul I am overwhelmed with a closeness I could have never imagined. I have never felt so full of Love and so loved, so safe, so cared for, as I do now. I love everyone ten times more, but I love my mate 100 times more. God, Lyn, my family - I am the richest man in the world... 
    ...... to infinity and beyond!"  
                                                                              ~journal entry written by Joseph Ruppert, Jr. 

When I got finished reading that passage, I looked up at my uncle and witnessed the gladdest smile, his wrinkles like sun beams brightening his face, his eyes were closed with gratefulness and he said, "Yes! THAT is soooo true! I love her sooo much!"

"Time heals all wounds." ((SMACK!!!)) "No. No it doesn't"

He needed to get his ring off. He injured his hand and the swelling was just too much. It was the silver ring his bride gave him 15 years prior. His knuckles had grown since then and he never took it off, but now it was a necessity. He did everything he could to get that old silver ring off. But he eventually went in to get it cut off. With his hand on the mend, he and his bride decided they wanted to replace both of their silver rings for gold ones. It was a golden year, after all, because little did they know, that coming year was their last together.

When I saw his ring I couldn't believe the mutilation it had to go through just to get off his finger. Not only did they cut it, but it was stretched and bent crooked. It didn't even look the same. It was put away in a box for safe keeping.

He and Mom both wore their golden rings with pride. They've worked so hard for their meager earnings and to be able to wear something as lovely as those rings, shining bright for the world to see their token of love for each other was a blessing.

Cancer is very unpredictable. It surprised us all and no one knew for sure when he would breathe his last. . But sure enough, six months after being diagnosed, on a foggy night in September, alone with his bride, all five children sleeping just outside the room, he finally found Rest.

Just like that old silver ring, we were all torn apart. Cut off, stretched, and bent. I can still smell the fog of that night. It still visits me occasionally when the weather is just right.

My mother gave me that little box with his old silver mutilated ring. I had it soldered and sized to my finger and have worn it ever since.

That was 14 years ago...

It is one of the most cherished things I carry with me always.

Last year my fingers swelled so bad from my sixth pregnancy that I had to get my rings off. I couldn't get Dad's off. I stood before the jewelers, as brave as I could muster, letting the pain of it's tightness win over my grief that it had to leave my finger this way, and let them cut it off. I bawled my eyes out after that. My heart clenched itself.

It's been a year and I waited for my fingers to calm down from the weight I so thankfully put on. So I gave my ring to the jewelers to have it soldered back together and sized. After all, that ring was made to fit my 16 year old finger! We couldn't afford to pay for both rings (my wedding ring and Dad's ring) so I had to pick one. Ugh! MY WEDDING RING or DAD'S RING?!?! How was I to decide? I missed them both so much, having gone this whole year without either.

 My husband planned to pick it up and asked me, "So... which ring do you want me to pick up?"

My heart clenched again. I held my breath and I felt shame admitting that I wanted Dad's ring. "I want my wedding ring back on my finger so bad but...." I paused..." Dad's ring....it's stressing me that it's away from me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." He said so gracefully. "Yes, it does. I don't take offense. You can wait for your wedding ring because you have me."

(I can't even write this without crying) Hearing him say those words made my heart clench itself once more and this time there was no stopping the tears. That pain! That pain is awful. I hate it. I hate when my heart does that. It makes me want to run, but I'd have no aim. It makes me want to scream, but I'm suffocating. I felt that pain when I sat next to his empty body that night and still feel it when I think about him (and my daughter we lost to SIDS).

When my husband came home from that errand, I couldn't get that ring on my finger fast enough. But as I did that, I took it off again and took a long hard look at it. It was different. A little thinner. Same old silver, but shinier. I looked for the etchings on the inside (engravings from the original jeweler, I assume) that continues to disappear with each sizing/soldering.

It is a little different. But so am I. I put it back on and took another breath.

Wounds do that to us. They change our outlook. They change the way we love. Wounds can make us bitter, or they can soften us. Most times it's a tug of war. And no matter which wins, I always end up getting muddy because life's messy.

Time does not heal all wounds. Time makes it easier to keep going on with life. Time encourages us that things are survivable. But time does not heal. My wounds will remain as long as I remember him. (and her) They remain as long as I remain different. You can't take back the wounds. The only control you have over your wounds is how you choose to love, with all your senses. How you see, hear, feel, taste, and breathe in all the beauty..... and horror.... and what then? You can let your wounds hide you in a corner when you are frightened.... or your wounds can remind you to see and act. Or they can remind you to stop and listen and enjoy.

That's a tug of war at times as well... and you can't win 'em all.

Look for the Silver Lining.

Gettin my nerd on. "I love you." in Gallifreyan. 

So I've been doing the "Betty Homemaker" thing (as my friends like to remind me) and making myself some couch pillow cases. I'm picky and cheap, so combine those two things and you have some DIY projects to get busy on.

Anywho. I had made previous pillow covers which I loved, but they got destroyed by um... chocolate hands and then the washer/dryer.... who knew they would fade and shrink? (Wups... I'm really bad about washing fabric before I use it..... lesson not learned.... ) Oh, and not to mention, typos ON THE PILLOWS that were found by my faithful friends who pointed it out to me. TWO TYPOS! All my hard work! Anywho, so long story short, I'm making new ones. Better ones. More durable ones. And I swear I'll be pleased, so help me!!

These pillow ideas were off of the exhilarating Pinterest. People are writing phrases on pillow cases. Loved it! I kept 3 phrases of the 4 pillows done, but needed a new forth. So where do I go? Oh, the most cherished person in my life's journals... my dad's. (written in before he died)

Oh why oh why did I do that?! That session turned into stealing an hour, hiding from the kids, reading his words. They are like painful rain drops. With each word, with each phrase, the sound was so soothing and yet it stings. I miss him so much. Reading his words from 14 years ago, took me back... 14 years ago. I could just hear his voice. I could see his expressions as he would say them. I could even hear his chuckle as he made himself laugh with his own jokes. (I have so inherited this wonderful gift)

I started crying, bawling in my hands as my body squeezed my heart the way that only grief can do. The rush of all those emotions spun me into a dark place that makes me demand for my father back.

But then there it was.... that phrase.... the phrase I was looking for... "Look for the silver lining." Something so simply put.

The darkness will always be a part of my life, but my focus needs to seek the silver lining. I haven't been doing that lately, but I need to get some kind of grip on myself. My glum outlook is bleeding into everything I do anymore. I struggle to encourage, to see the hope. I struggle to be kind when I open my mouth, giving the person the benefit of the doubt. I struggle for contentment when the storm just won't let up. I'm still finding my way around all of it, "hopeless wanderer" as Marcus Mumford puts it in his song.

Look for the silver lining. That can help me stay focused that there IS even a silver lining. The sun always remains. The rains always soothes. And the pain keeps it's wish that I never forget where I've come from.

So on the pillow case it goes!

 I know... it appears a little lame that I conclude my post with that, but truly. It'll be in my face all day, everyday. This little pillow on my couch will whisper his words...

"Look for the silver lining."

I'll post pics of my finished products! 

Thou Shalt Be Healed...or Not... whatever.....

My dad and I :) 

Hunched forward in pain, a man I've known as far back as I can remember, moves one step at a time. He humbly admits, "I really think I only have 6 months left. I hope this isn't a reflection on my faith." 

~
Miraculous healing is hard to hear for someone who's been in my shoes. Sure, the bullets could have stopped when my cousin pulled the trigger. The cancer could have dissipated before it took my dad's life. Or better yet, we could have caught it in time to avoid the suffering. My daughter could have started breathing finally after all my desperate pleading. The rope could have torn. The car could have stopped.

But alas, these things didn't happen. Everyone has to die someday. It's just the facts. I have faith. But my faith did not cure the situations mentioned.

I believe in miracles.
But I also believe in claiming miracles wherever I see them. Claiming to the world that all you have to do is believe, a miracle WILL happen, you WILL be healed and live, has it's different interpretations.

Some interpret this to mean very literally, that your life will be spared on this earth if you believe (enough).

Yep. I snuck in that word, enough, because that's pretty much what they are saying.

Then there's my personal interpretation: I believe that miracles are performed everyday by God, and sometimes, we get to be a part of that. I also believe it's our faith that re-frames our eyes to see the miracles. Whether they be miracles of physical healing or heart healing (eternal healing).

To me, there's a big difference between physical and heart healing.

Physical healing is obvious. The cancer is gone! You've made a full recovery from your car accident! You can walk!

There was once a girl in our youth group, in a wheel chair, and her only way of communicating was through typing on her small device. She was the sweetest. I sat next to her and the leader told us to talk about miracles and what kind of miracles there are. So I turned to her and asked her that question. She slowly typed the words, "Do you ever think God could make me walk?" I didn't know how to answer her. At that point, my dad (who was strong in his faith) died of cancer a few years back, and frankly, I became bitter with "miracles". I knew they happened, but not to me. So I responded to this girl who locked her eyes on me the best she could, "Maybe some day. You never know." I forced a smile, but wanted to hang my head low.

Years passed and I sat at a graduation ceremony. The names were endlessly called and I began to drown it out. But then, out of nowhere, the crowd started roaring! The role calling had ceased for this moment, and there she was. With walker in hand, that precious girl from youth group, walking across that stage and took her own diploma. I get teary just thinking about it.

The heart healing goes so much deeper. This is where "the Body" really comes into play in my life. I've seen miracles, but I've also seen suffering and death. This kind of healing is life long. People are put into your life that give you Jesus' love. It's those moments when things didn't go your way, but they turned out to be a blessing. It's the times when you meet someone and they share with you a story that was so encouraging to you, and now you can walk more confident that you are, indeed, loved. It's those times when that woman who was abused and dehumanized, realizes that she is so very precious. It's when a piece of heaven is brought to earth and the Body coming together as it should. That's a miracle.

And God knows I can't wait to find that ultimate healing that comes in the end. As Marcus Mumford wrote in his song,
"And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but release your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there
with Grace in your heart and flowers in your hair."

Open your eyes to the miracles all around you. Embrace the now. Love on each other.
~
When I heard that once strong man say those words, I responded, "When Dad got sick, we prayed for 2 things: That he be healed. And that we would be prepared for the journey ahead. Our prayers were answered."
~
My dad is now healed as he sits in paradise. And we are still standing on our crippled legs. It's not a matter of having enough faith to be healed. It's a matter of having the faith that opens your eyes and reaches you further passed the physical healing into the heart healing. Both are real. Neither should be used against anyone, judging them on their own faith. Don't be defeated by any absence of physical healing, when heart healing is always happening.

Just Breathe

Oh, my heart. It hurts!

I was just reading a caringbridge post from a friend of mine from church. Her adult son has cancer and is told he has only a few months left to live. I've been following their story and it hits home.

When I read her talking about their journey of all the triumphs and trials, I remember my teenage-hood clouded with anxiety and grief as I watched my own father die from cancer as well.

There's nothing like waiting for someone close to you to pass. There's nothing like watching them and taking care of them in the years, months, and days before they pass. There's immediate shock when one dies so suddenly, taking every strength you have just to catch your breath. Not having a chance to say "good bye". Your heart being ripped out of you so fast, you're not sure if you're going to survive. But when you have to watch and wait and talk to them, knowing that they are not going to be here anymore very soon. It's like the oxygen is getting slowly sucked out of the air. You panic. You hold your breath. You are left helpless.

Both are just as traumatizing, but so very different.

It takes it's toll on you when you watch and wait. I call it "pre-grieving". You are already grieving them, with no release, no "moving forward" with that point. You just are. You're stuck. Some for days, some for months, and some for years. Stuck in this "pre-grieving" state.

As their health deteriorates, your prayer starts to change. You go from "Lord, please, give us time!" to "Lord, please, give them mercy and bring them home to You where there is no pain, no suffering, and no tears."

Only when they have passed, can you even start any amount of the healing process. You find solace in the fact that they are no longer suffering any more. You look as if you've been drug through dirt and you have. You have been stuck in this "pre-grieving" phase and now... it's done. The fear of their absence is finally upon you.

And you breathe.

"You are so strong" they say.

No, I'm not strong. I'm crumbled into a pile of ashes that feel stomped on by every person who brings up what kind of fork to use for their pasta that arrived so late! Everything seems so futile at that point. But you keep breathing.

"You are so strong" they say.

No, I'm not strong. I'm mad. I'm angry. Why? Why did this have to happen? Why can't I have him anymore? What have I done to deserve this? Why does anyone have to die? Why, Lord?! Yeah, I'm talking to You, WHY?!   .... more tears. more groaning. more breathing.

"You are so strong" they say.

No, I'm not strong. It is He who is strong. He who made the heavens and the Earth. And now He has my loved one, sitting next to Him, at home where we all belong.

with no more suffering. no more tears. no more pain.

and you breathe.

You breathe in the promise that you will one day be reunited.

You breathe in the memories.

My heart still aches from this pain. It depends on the hour whether the ache is at it's greatest, or it's least. But it's always there. Faithfully always there.

But I try not to let it haunt me anymore. I let it remind me of the bigger picture.

I honor his life by standing on my crippled legs and singing "Blessed Be Your Name".

Why?

Because I am a child of the Most High God.

I am His bondservant.




You can read my friend's story here. Join us in prayer for the Bickford family.

Death and Banjos.

I look at her and weep for him
my jealousy has come again
As she lay there, begging for death
A promise made with a last breath
to hold him close, and think of me
and tell him of my love
As banjos, cameras, and people alike
remind me of what I'm missing
This very woman, she gave me him
now is passing back
Away from us, and toward him
now is passing back
O Heavenly Father, give her peace, and let her pass...


My mind has been in a whirlwind of emotions recently. It always seems that everything "heavy" always happens all at once. Like they were always meant to be connected. "When it rains, it pours" is a true statement for me, however... I love rain, especially when it pours. Shoot, I get out and dance in it, excited children following me, all for the splendor of one of my favorite creations, and then when we are good and wet, dry up and cuddling under blankets until we're warm again... I guess you have to be careful what you wish for.

I just received a banjo that belonged to my dad. The moment it was in my house, I opened the case, and couldn't help but touch the neck of it and imagine my dad's very fingers holding that very spot. He played when he was young, younger than I am now. Then he sold it to his brother in law shortly after he and mom got married to get much needed cash at the time. When Dad died, our uncle gave it back to us, and it's been with my brother ever since, until now that is   :) I have a friend, who eerily reminds me of Dad, also a banjo player, that's going to help me get Jimmy (the name given to the banjo) playing again. Having that banjo has brought me joy and grief, all at the same time. I can't wait to play him, I'm excited about it, excited to learn and do something my dad always wanted to do. But hunting down the history is disheartening... because in a perfect world... I shouldn't have to hunt. I should be able to just call Dad up and (after begging him to let me have his banjo) ask him about it and he tell me, gladly.

At the same time, I get a visit from my uncle (my dad's brother) who sat with us, counseling us about our current situation with me coming off of my depression and my husband coming off from all the stress that created these twitches... to which I loving refer to him as "Twitchy"...... :) My uncle also brought news that Grandma was dying. The very woman that brought Dad into this world, the very woman whose mental illness has been pretty entertaining, especially among us grandchildren, the very woman that I get all my humor, wit, spunky-ness, my art abilities from, all my Norse roots.... She is dying.

Unfortunately, I haven't been very close to her in these recent years. So visiting her yesterday in the hospital, before she was moved to hospice was hard for my heart. I went into her room to find that the nurses hadn't been taking the best care of her, so that was disturbing me. I walked up to her and held her hand, she asked, "Who are you?"
I answered, "It's Kailan."
She responded, "Oh" with a deep sigh "I thought that was you!"

Grandpa and Grandma Ruppert the day they were married. 

I sat with her and talked with her. Half of our conversation was about normal things.. how all the kids are, that kind of stuff. She asked about my brothers 3 times, called me my sister's name once, and kept saying to me, "that's a good girl, you've always been a good girl."

I ran my fingers though her thinned out hair, whirling my finger through her naturally curled bangs as they swooped upward like all those vintage styles you see. :) I felt her head and exclaimed, "My! Naomi does have your round head!" She smiled. I told her how much Naomi looked like her as I've always thought so, always proud of having my Norwegian baby... (finally!)... I told Grandma that Noami was the only one that really looked Norwegian and that the rest all have so much of my husband in them. She quickly responded, "So you only have one beautiful one then!" She smirked and I laughed, and said, "yeah, the rest are ok, but my, she's beautiful!" hahaha... oh Grandma.... always being arnry... (can't imagine where I get it from, can you?)
She consistently broke the conversations with her soft and genuine voice, saying, "I just want to go home. I just want to go home."
She had asked me at one point, "Do you miss your dad?"
After immediately bursting into tears, I said, "Desperately." I sat for a moment and continued, "I've been thinking about him even more lately. I just got his banjo and I'm gonna get it fixed up to play it."
She said with her weak voice and a smile on her face, "Oh good. I'll be sure to tell him about that when I see him soon." I wept bitterly after that as she rested her eyes and said, "I'll hold you to that!" totally joking, but she got it, of course, and gave another smile. I also, made her promise to give Sarah a kiss for me too, and she promised. I always make dying people promise me that.. can't help myself.
"I just want to go home now." she went on frowning.
"I know... you're always so eager in everything you do" got another smile...
A moment of silence fell in the room, just her and I, and I thought... I should sing to her. I racked my brain for a song, a song she would know, a song that spoke a Truth to her.... Ah! I had it... Just a Closer Walk With Thee. ( a song that was sung by an old chaplain to my Dad when he was in the hospital before he died)
I started singing with the chorus, and I could hear her humming in relief as I sang the words, "grant it Jesus, this my plea... daily walking close to Thee, let it be, dear Lord, let it be"
After I was done singing, she said, "thank you... always a good girl, always a good girl... I remember many times, when I was younger singing that song... always a good girl. I want to go home now. Just take me home."
I kept having flashbacks of my "great depression" within this last year, and begging God the same thing. I just wanted to go "home". With her eyes resting, I watched her with her pouting expression, and thought about how old I already feel and how much life I've already lived (with the circumstances) and how ultimately, we all want that same thing... to just go home.
After a while of sitting with her, going back and forth in conversation, she grew more tired, so I readied to leave so she could sleep.
I said loud, "Welp! I'll pray for you to die soon then!" She smirked and nodded her head in agreement, "Thank you so much!" I kissed her forehead probably half a dozen times, told her I loved her and that I'll see her later and meant it, either way.

On the drive back home, all these memories of her, of Dad.. kept flooding in. Such heaviness. Sometimes I pity myself about the heaviness I carry. But other times, I consider myself blessed. O the gifts I've been given to see things that not many see. O the burden that I bear because of it.

From Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam:27, 1850:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

I love this poem, in an earthly sense. However the greater Love that is Truer is never truly lost, more so, it continues to be found. I've learned that the more you experience this Love, the more torment you are able to feel on earth. How agonizing it can be to be so in love with a husband that I will lose someday. To love children that aren't truly mine to keep. But to seek out and fall in love with the Beloved, whom you can't truly be with until "the end", but only get closer to, until then. The world is cursed, but what a blessing it is to feel it more, just so you can feel His love that much more. What a paradox. Many may not understand this, but there are some, O melancholy brothers and sisters, that will. I don't know how to explain it better at this point. Maybe some day...

for now... rest well soon Grandma. And let the banjo playing commence!

So Much to Say...

First of all, these anniversaries that we have just passed have put me in a whirlwind. I quickly chalk it up to being in my first trimester (which I'm just reaching out of) while dealing with all these emotions, but for some reason, it's hit me a little more about Dad's death anniversary.

Although September is my favorite month, hands down. It comes with all these bittersweets.

Sept. 2nd, my Dad has been gone for 11 years!! I can't believe it's been that long. I missed him more lately. It could be my hormones talking, but this pregnancy has brought fear and excitement to me with the VBAC decision. AND Tesh has been doing so well, and Sarah is still missed, and my babies are growing up and one can't help but see their family grow and know that Dad isn't here to experience it with us. I know... he can probably see us now.. but it's just not the same. He isn't here to hug me and hold me in his arms and bring reason to me. :) He isn't here to show my kids all there is to know about "THE GARAGE" especially during "A STORM"  I want my kids to know their Grandpa Joe and they only know him through my stories. It just makes me sad... I miss him.

Then there's my beautiful angel named Sarah. She would've been 5 on Sept. 7th.
5! I can't believe she'd be that old already. The baby that all I can see as a baby would've been 5... I would've started Kindergarten with her, and I would've brushed through her long blonde curls, looked in her bright blue eyes, telling her, as well as Evey, that they are such beautiful princesses.
Isaiah had been having these "sad moments" this year about Sarah. Asking more questions and fearing certain things. It seems the older he gets, the more aware he is about losing his little sister. It doesn't effect Eve as much, of course, but Isaiah.... I think a part of him remembers. 





And then there is Eve. My little "princess" that reminds me everyday that she is my princess. She will be 4 on Sept. 22nd. She is growing into this beautiful little lady.

And Tesh is doing so well. Her head is looking great, and she is smart! AND funny! She's a riot, always trying to make us laugh. And I've been so proud of her social bug coming out, after she lost it with the surgery, she's opening up to a few more people.... other than Mom and Dad. :)

This pregnancy has been going great! No more scares so far and I've been so encouraged by many women that I can accomplish this VBAC. I'm not saying it's 100%, cause there's always that chance, but I feel empowered, knowing that God has designed my body to take care of my baby and deliver this baby. I'm not nearly as scared as I was when I blogged last, thanks to the all the "ICAN" support. I'm doing things to encourage a healthy natural pregnancy and delivery, and am excited about it now. Of course, it helps that I'm not nearly as sick as I was before either. The sickness is lifting! and I can really enjoy my growing belly, which that's one of my favorite parts about being pregnant. :)

So there's my bittersweet month as I know it. Enjoy the pics of my kiddos and Sarah's 5th Birthday Celebration this year.

Watching the balloons go up!








Eating cupcakes :)






Grandma Lyn and Isaiah having a sad moment together.

Couldn't help but take a picture of these three sitting together on the bench.






Our goofy Tesh!







No one would ever know anything was ever wrong with her when she was a baby. She's been doing soooo well.

And Homeschooling continues on.....

Eve is doing some pre-school work,

while Isaiah works on his 1st grade writing.

Daddy's teaching science. He was explaining how, "We are like baking soda, and God's love is like the vinegar. When we have Jesus in our hearts and we show God's love, like our experiment, God's love grows for all the world to see."

They thought it was pretty cool :)

Today Marks 10 Years for Dad

I can't believe it's been 10 years since I've sat in my dad's arms this way. I can still hear his voice when I remember things that he would say. his "Yep!" and "Yello?!" and his whistlings when an oldies song would be playing on the radio. I love him so much and I miss him. There's so much I think about today that I would love to ask what his thoughts are, but of course, now I might as well seek the Lord's council even more. It's hard how it works that way, the more people I lose, the more I thrist for God and read scripture.
I wonder if he has felt these passed 10 years, as I have. Probably not, though. I'm sure it hasn't even been an hour. He's probably still taking his first breathe of true life. It's a hard subject, that one.

I do, however, love thinking on the fact that him and Sarah are together. No matter what my beliefs are about heaven and when we actually get there after we close our eyes to this world, I can't help but imagining him lifting Sarah up and holding her high and twirling her about as she giggles the whole way. That sentence just made me start bursting into tears. What a jealous mother I am. Is it jealousy? or envy? Jealousy is to not have something that belongs to you. Envy is to want something that is not yours. No matter, cause for this, it still hurts, just the same. oh, it just stings when it comes on so suddenly.

Well, to bring some good news in our lives... September 1, 2010 marks, for us, the day that Josh first became a Youth Pastor!! He is now employed with CrossPoint United Methodist Church in Bondurant. We are so excited about finally being able to lead in this way. We are trying to be careful to do the right things, that God would have us do, which makes it a nerve-racking expedition. But we're young and up for the challenge, as if we haven't had harder challenges already. Josh and I's marriage is a strong one, and we need prayer for sealed protection of that and our family. I know satan is going to be trying to get even bigger guns out, but I know that because of what Jesus Christ did for us, satan has no power over us. For with just one Name, he flees.

I'm so proud of Josh, I'm proud to be his wife. I know I'm bias but he's a special character and I love him.

I know Dad would have loved Josh, and would've gladly given me away to him, I know he would have been exceedingly proud of him today.

Turning Point

My turning point in my faith walk was when I watched my father die. Growing up as a little girl in a christian home, I sang "Jesus loves me, this I know...." and I knew He did. But watching life separate itself from this earth into another dimension just blew me away. My 15/16 year old brain was challenged to think and ponder the reality of the spiritual world around me. For the first time, in my life, I was starting to understand the realness of God. Even Christians sometimes take God for granted, like He doesn't exist. When I watched my Dad labor for his life, I saw a glimpse of the fear of God, and the little control we have over situations. Watching the slightest peace to the greatest of peace when I'd witness my Dad's smile peering through his weak eyes, I saw the mercy of God. As Dad unfailingly spoke of God and Jesus to others, even on his death bed, I witnessed a true warrior and saw a glimpse of God's faithfulness.

I had been this little girl, playing in my own little world, and it was as if God took the chin of His child, and turned it toward Him, and asked, " Do you hunger for food?"
I can't say I have been eating "food" ever since, cause sometimes I find myself staring at the milk I'd been drinking. I'll fall asleep and wake with even more hunger pangs. And like always, you have to make sure you aren't eating too much at once, cause your stomach is now smaller than it was. So slowly, but surely, I'll eat food again. But I've never tasted food like that before this experience with my Dad.

I do not feel fatherless, nor will I ever. His legacy will live as long as our family lives.

A word to fathers:

Protect the time, and use the energy for leaving your legacy with your own children. Spend the time it takes to train them for the war that lies ahead. Don't ever assume they've got it, and that they don't need you. "Mom's arms are comfort, but Dad's arms are security." Gary Ezzo

The beauty of it......... God covers it all.

More Journal Entries by Dad

All of these scans are various things I've taken from his journals. There were 3 different journals he wrote in while he was sick, so there is a lot more where this came from.









(3)Who would've thought that this would be so meaningful to us as we start to lose a whole strand of people in our family, after him. Especially near the end of this passage.
(4)The line at the end of this one, is one that he taught us as kids, so we'd be 3 and 4 years old, fumbling through this rule, as we recited it.









This was a long running joke that did in fact come true. Mom had always liked leather, but Dad couldn't stand his skin sitting up against it. So while he was around, he made it so we never owned any leather. So he wrote in his journal, basically giving mom "the green light" to go ahead and get her leather furniture. ...... and she did. :)

The Finishing Touch

At the viewing, I remember sitting, hidden, in the corner of a room, up the stairs away from all the public that was looking onto my Dad's body. Not only do I have a serious phobia of dead bodies, but I needed to be alone, away from everyone. I didn't want to be talked to, or starred at. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts and emotions, free to cry as hard as I wanted, free to stare at nothing and not be interrupted. It took a little bit for someone to find me, and I don't even remember who did, but whoever it was, did not understand why I was away, and made me come down to socialize, because "there was people that wanted to see me."

The funeral was just as I imagined it would be, back when we first heard the results of his gall bladder surgery, that there was a tumor. We, as a family, walked down the aisle, with Dad's coffin, closed, right there in front of us. Sad eyes all on us, with my hair pasted to my face from all my tears. The color black, in respect to the grieved. I hate the smell of Easter Lilies. Always have, always will.

I remember the burial ceremony the most. I sat there, in my soft fabric chair staring into the flowers on top of the coffin, that held the man that I will not see ever again here on earth. My high school band instructor, Mrs. Meunier, bless her heart.... she got together, at the last minute, students, my peers, that wanted to volunteer to play a song for this ceremony, because Dad loved the band that much. It was a good sized group, and my brothers and I felt loved because of it. As I sat there, breathing in the air, as the wind dried the tears from my face, listening to the soft sound of the band playing the song, "It Is Well With My Soul". Perfect.... Dad loved this song. It is an unforgettable tune that will stay with me forever.

Afterwards, I spent some time with my friends, back at the church for "food and fellowship". There is only one person that sticks out in my mind, that I saw there. Having played in the band, my Joshua..... well he wasn't mine then, but he was. I was still with my boyfriend, but my heart truly belonged to Joshua. The first time I saw him, 2 years before this, I fell in love. I was a little surprised to see him, since we hadn't talked much at all before this point, but his presence there made it more meaningful to me than he will ever understand. I remember getting a little hug from him, that made me melt. Of course, all of that, made my boyfriend a little jealous, but I didn't care. In fact, I became ruthless with that boyfriend, due to the way he had treated me all these horrible months. I dumped him a week after Dad died. I'm sure that was hard on him, due to him knowing my Dad from being with me, but I did "have a good head on my shoulders" and knew he was not "the one".

From that moment I mainly saw Josh at school in Woods class and band, later joined the Free Delivery crew. I actually did have another boyfriend before I finally landed Joshua... .. Bub.
I met Bub through my brothers, and he had joined Free Delivery. Bub treated me like a princess, respected me for my ways, and understood fully what it was like to lose a parent. It was nice having someone to talk to, that could appreciate everything you said. He was a lot younger when his mom died, he was 7, but he knew the grief and struggle of living without them. After Bub and I broke things off, he stayed with Free Delivery, and we stay good friends. To this day, he has a special place in my heart for being such a support for me in my grief with Dad, and treating me like the princess I deserved to be still, even though I didn't always feel like one. I'm told, he's off sky diving, these days:)

Going back to my family.... I remember mom, consistently falling to the ground, with her face planted in the floor of the house, crying out, "why!!!" as she desperately tried to learn things or do things that she had never had to do before. She threw herself into Free Delivery, making it everything that it possibly could be, she really did a good job with managing. The band had a good run for 3 years, before we all decided to call it quits and go our separate ways.

Here's a scan of the letter that Dad wrote to me in his bible that he gave me before he died. I treasure it always.

I understood it then, but I understand it even more now.

I'll Never Forget The Air

The reclining chair that I feel asleep in was so uncomfortable, I awoke trying to reposition myself so I could get back to sleep. Because of the unfamiliarity of the place, I was having a hard time getting back to sleep. I had forgotten where I was, and fear was creeping in at the thought of "this is where people die" I laid there for about 5 minutes, watching all my siblings sleep, listening to the clock's tick.

All of the sudden, the night nurse came into the living room, and went straight to the eldest of us,.... Angie. I watched her every move, trying to wake Angie up. I sat straight up, and asked, " What's wrong?" She replied, "It's time for you to go in there."
By that time, Angie had woken up, for the nurse to repeat herself in instructing her to wake everyone up, to go to the room.
I raced out of the living room, through an entrance way, and down the hall, leaving my sister behind me to wake everyone else up. My pace got slower as I approached the doorway. I noticed it was quiet, but I figured Dad's breathing got way slower, and that he was, in fact, going to die soon.

I entered the room to find Mom knelt on her knees beside the bed, with her head on Dad's shoulder. She was crying, silently.
My eyes met Dad's hand, that was not being held. I wanted him to know I was there. I went to hold his hand, gently, but quickly.
What I felt.......... I'll never forget. ...
His hand was ice cold-

I ripped my hand away, in a freight, not expecting him to feel that way. I was not stupid, I knew what that meant. He was gone........

I stood back, in shock with tears welling up in my eyes. My brothers and sisters made it to the room, hearing my mom crying a little louder now. It was like dominoes, as everyone came in, one by one, they fell in tears, realizing... he was gone...

I came to the other side of him, and sat down. My brother Noah was on the same side, crying. I'm not sure I had ever really seen either of my brother's tears like this. We all grabbed at each other, clinging to each other as we sobbed the greatest cry we had ever experienced. I grabbed Noah from behind, he hugged me back, and we cried together. I remember catching Angie's eyes, we both looked at each other being able to read the grief on eachother's faces.

After a while, there were various people coming in and out. Mom told us what happened. She said that the nurse was "doing rounds" and when she checked on Dad, he looked good and the same, comfortable. After she had checked on others, she came down his hall going back to her main station, she noticed the silence. It hadn't been but 10 or 15 min. since she saw him last. She evaluated him, seeing that he had indeed, died. She woke sleeping Mom up, to break the heart- crushing news of her husband. That's when she came into the living room, to wake Angie to get all of us.

I had realized then, that I must have woken up very close to the time of his death, not being able to get back to sleep. I remembered my feelings of wanting to be there when he died, but at the last minute, not wanting to witness it. But I also, didn't want to miss it either. It was complicated, but it all worked out in the way it was supposed to be.
I believe he wanted just Mom with him, but with her at a peaceful hour as well, for she WAS asleep. He wanted all of us kids near, but not to witness that last breath. And I got a little piece that I wanted,...... to not miss it... for I DID wake up, ... on my own... almost to the minute.

After crying for, what seemed like forever, my Uncle John Madison offered to take... us... home. That was an odd concept for me to be faced with. That it was over, and time to go home. All 5 of us kids packed into his car, with the top down:) I remember sitting in the back, in the middle, before we took off... feeling the air. It was moist, and slightly foggy. When you breathed it in, it felt like medicine for your lungs. My eyes and face hurt so bad from crying, but the coolness of that air soothed my face, like an angel was caressing my face with a cool heavenly cloth. It was healing, both my face and my heart, and started to soothe my soul.

We started driving off. In that car ride, there was a combination of crying, silence, and laughter. On the interstate, it was so foggy, and we saw, in the sky a ring of lights. It curiously frightened all of us as we were all gazing at this site. I think we looked at it for a good 2 whole minutes before we found out that it was a fancy street light. That got us chuckling at each other for awhile. And it started, ...... "if only Dad could've seen that one."

We arrived at our house..... the sun was just starting to rise, making it easier to see through the fog. I was looking at the house, thinking, "this is it..... this is what it feels like to be fatherless, coming home without him"

I breathed again.... that medicine air.... I'll never forget the air.

The Six Knots

Soon we were following an ambulance down the interstate, that was holding the man I already missed. I think we all got to the point that we quit begging God for his life, but for his peace.... to go home, .... to stop this suffering. We were all so worn from this experience. Mom hadn't slept barely at all. She would be up, day and night cleaning after him, waiting on him like the most devoted wife I've ever seen. It was beautiful, but heartbreaking. It was September 1st.

When we arrived at the Kavanagh House, Dad was wheeled in on his bed, saying, "Can we do that again?" We all settle him in his simple room. I noticed there were tons of tissue boxes everywhere in the whole building. The nurses showed us the kitchen, the living room with of course, the puzzles:), and then brought us back to Dad's room, where he laid, looking the same as what he looked like in the hospital. My sisters left to be with their husbands and kids for a little bit. The head doctor wanted to talk to us all in a different room, away from Dad, so we all gave him hugs and walked out the door into the living room. A nurse sat with him as we were away.

We all sat in the living room with this very nice doctor lady and she explained to us what was about to happen. She said that they would stop his IV because that would just keep his body trying to work. She talked about pain medication, that they would be able to give him as much as he needed in order to feel no pain. She warned us of "the last burst of energy" that happens before they die, she gave us some examples. We wondered what Dad would do for that. She said that there is this burst of energy that makes them do things that they wouldn't be able to do in their condition, and shortly after that, they pass.
By the end of our meeting, it was about 6pm, a nurse came in and calmly said, "you guys need to come and see this."
Mom rushed down the hall, in a frantic, we followed including the doctor. We all shuffled in the room in silence, looking down on the oddest site of my father. We gazed at him and the nurse started to explain what happened. She said that they had started the pain med. for him, and he was resting, but he, all of the sudden, became agitated, it seemed. He sat up, tying the single sheet that was on him into knots.

She asked him, " Joe? What are you doing?"
He replied, "How many are there?"
She counted. "Six",
he said, "ok, I'm done. I'm making their life lines." He laid down pulling the sheet over him, exposing his legs and arms, but covering the main part of his body. The nurse, because he was sweating and seemed to be hot, pulled the sheet off of his chest and belly, to give him some air, but he grabbed at it again and pulled it back up to where it was. She left it...and he instantly fell asleep into a coma and that's when she came to get us.

This site was holy. You could tell because we stood in awe, with frozen tears. He was in a different place, and the crinkles on his forehead were gone. With the sheet laying on him, like it was, he looked like Jesus. He did, indeed, have six knots in his bed sheet. Two at his right shoulder, one at his left. One at his right hip, two at his left. We knew that each one was for each of us, his wife and five kids. It took Mom a few more minutes to find this, but she found that the knots were put in the exact shape of her mothers ring, she loves so much. He was famous for doing things like that in the past. So she knew, that is what he meant to do, when he kept pulling that sheet on him, in that manner. I soon went out of the room, crying my eyes out. I knew this was that burst of energy. I knew that it was not going to be long at all. I headed straight for the House phone and called my sisters, telling them that they needed to come back. I told them what Dad did, and that he going to go soon. They both made it back within the hour, so they saw for themselves.

I wrote a song that night, called, "Six Knots of Love" for Free Delivery to someday perform. It was telling this story of this night. My Uncle John Madison brought his guitar, so we put the words to music, and Noah was there to learn the chords. Before we knew it, it was late, and time for bed.

Dad was still in his coma, breathing slowly, but loudly. You could hear it down the hall. Mom was there not leaving his side. All five kids camped out in the living room. For some reason, I couldn't be in there tonight. The eeriness of Dad's coma, frightened me to the point of not wanting to sleep in there. I realized I really didn't want to be there, when he died. My mom convinced Seth to sleep in there with her. He kept saying he wanted to be out there with all of us, but she held onto him. The light was on, she sighed that tired sigh, and said, "Seth? Can you turn the light off, I forgot?" He huffed as he looked at that light, but it slowly dimmed on it's own. Mom said, "That was weird.... maybe it burnt out or something." That made Seth very nervous. Then the nurse came in and flipped on the light to check on Dad. Seth bolted out, "Sorry mom, I'm sleeping out there." She understood and let him go. The nurse said he looked comfortable, checking to see if Mom agreed, she checked his vitals and left the room.

We all got as comfortable as we could and went to sleep.
and for the first time... Mom fell asleep.... . sound asleep.....

Watching Him Breathe

I have no pictures for you, for this moment. It is all in my memory..... those 2 weeks ..... those last 2 weeks in the hospital. School was in session, but I couldn't bring myself to be there. I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to be here... where he was..... soaking in every last minute I had with him.
There was a cot I slept on, and just outside of his room was a nice secluded waiting area with tables full of huge puzzles. (of course:) I remember my brothers and I putting together so many puzzles. That's how the time went by, as various family visited... coming to see Dad.
Dad did not look good. He was as pale and frail as anything I've ever seen. He had rings under his eyes. He had a lazy eye that came out whenever he was tired, but now, it was permanently half down his eye. He had so many tubes coming out of his body, but somehow managed to move, just a little. He had a tube coming out his nose that when to his stomach. He was not allowed to eat anything, but the nurses let him suck on life savers. We would watch the fluids coming out of his nose change colors to whatever he was sucking on. That was pretty neat, I guess.
The surgeon told us that he was full of tumors at this point, the oncologists said we could start another round of chemo, but it would only give him a little more time. That round was the round that he was warned against, by his late friend, who had passed away from the same thing. Dad looked at Mom, Mom looked at Dad. They knew that this was the end. That the fight was over, and that now all that mattered was keeping Dad comfortable so he could die peacefully. They called Hospice and requested a room for him at a Kavanagh House.
While still at the hospital, we waited...... we all sat talking, laughing, crying, whatever we felt. My Uncle Ed came by with a small slab of wet cement. We had Dad imprint his hand on there, so then when we got the new driveway put in, we could put his hand print in there somewhere.
Dad would sneak a sip of Diet Pepsi, (his favorite) just so he could once again, and maybe for the last time, taste something nice in his mouth. His health didn't matter so much anymore, just his pain. I remember his forehead was permanently crinkled because of his pain, but he was too weak to complain too much. The hospital could only do so much pain meds with him.

Have you ever watched someone breathe? Except your baby, have you ever watched someone breathe? Waiting to witness their chest never to rise again? I remember sitting their, right by his side, my eyes glued to his chest as he slept, going up..... going down..... ever so slowly... . then he would open his eyes enough to catch me staring at him, and he'd crack a smile. I remember in one of those last moments asking him, "Dad,..... who do want me to marry?" At the time, I had a boyfriend. He didn't treat me very well, didn't respect me, but I held onto him because I didn't want to be alone. I put up with him, cause I couldn't discern any better because I was so consumed in Dad. I asked Dad if he wanted me to marry that boy, and he answered....
"Kailan, " he put his hand on mine... " You have a good head on your shoulders... I trust that you"ll find the right person. I trust you..." I laid my head on his shoulder with tears in my eyes, as I held the freedom that he just gave me, clinging to his opinion of trusting me. My dad trusted me, that was a big deal in a lot of ways.

It was a day or two later, that the ambulance was ready to take him to that House. The House that he was to die in, the House that he (and we all) would finally have peace in..... well that is what we all hoped.

It was it, there was no looking back. We saw the final flame, but we somehow managed to keep walking forward, straight into it. We could feel the heat from it, but we picked up our shields of faith, and put on our war faces.

Last Full Ruppert Family Pictures

This picture was taken about 3 weeks before he died. The whole family was there taking pictures. We got our last full family pictures that day. And then each one of us with him alone. Even my best friend Megan made it in town from California this day, to share in these pictures. When we were 13, her dad could no longer take care of her due to an illness he had, she lived with us for a little while, we almost adopted her. Then the mom she barely knew demanded she come to live with her, we could not deny her that right, so off she went, coming back to visit as often as she was able.
For as long as I can remember Mom and Dad were taking in somebody. Whether it be friends of ours that needed a safe place to live, or foster care. They had made such an impact on so many lives, and taught us kids that you never turn away someone in need. Today, I am very sensitive to that about people and I owe that to the example both of my parents set before us.

The question "Do you need to grow old to complete your service to our King?" was answered in these short 6 months. Certainly not....... so be ready for anything. Be willing to embrace any and every situation to help and serve others. From opening a door for someone or helping them find a specific book in the store..... to taking someone into your home when in need and being that mentor for life.

There were lots of tears this day, thoughts went through our heads of "this is it". How did we know it? When you're in it as deep as we were, there comes a point when you just know, that there's not much time left. I remember my oldest sister Angie was 3-4 months pregnant with her second child. That was hard for all of us to accept, the fact that Dad won't be here for all the other grandchildren to come. A huge feeling of jealousy would overcome me at times because not only would I not have him here for my babies, but my future husband will never have the pleasure of meeting this man in my life. My Daddy would not be there to sift through my boyfriends and give consent for marriage. Little did I know that he had already met my future husband, in fact my husband's whole family had been introduced to him almost 2 years before this moment.

We knew what was about to happen, but didn't know how we were going to get through it. But what mattered more than all those things, is that we knew why we were going to get through it. Because God gave us this job to do. .... to make it through this in order that people see Jesus when they look at us. We knew that God would give us strength, but we didn't how He'd make us stand. We knew He would give us courage in the face of death, but didn't know how we'd be able to even breathe. We knew somehow He'd comfort us, even when our tears seemed endless.

So I say again, whether or not we knew what was about to happen, we didn't know how we would get through it, but held on to why we were going to go through this fire. Because HE wanted us to, and that's all that matters in the end.