hope

In the first few days after we got our risk assessment, I could not sing. I tried, but my heart was too full - so full of worry, so full of fear, that the words could not come out of my mouth. Almost every song I heard brought tears to my eyes, as I mourned for my fourth child, the child I was told would almost certainly have a chromosomal disorder, and possibly one that would take his life.

I heard such strong words from my doctor, and my heart lost hope.

I do not know why things should be any different now, almost two weeks on. But they are.

I can sing again.

I can sing songs of worship to my God. I can sing songs that speak of loss. I can sing songs that remind me to trust in God. And I can sing songs that look forward to us being reunited with those we have lost.

In the days that have passed, I have regrouped. Little things have come back to my mind, things that were obscured by my initial emotions. Things that have given me reason to hope again.

We have heard from many friends, here and across the world. I have been humbled by the love they have shown to us, as they lift up prayers for our family, for our youngest baby. Through their words of encouragement and love, they have helped to hold up my arms, when I was too weak to do it on my own. They have helped me to hope again.

Then, a friend helped me to remember that as I was having the ultrasound, I had noticed the technician wearing a cross around her neck. I didn't give it much thought then, but now, I think God was showing me that He was there. He was with us, even before we knew how much we needed Him to be there.

K also reminded me of a video we watched a few weeks ago. It's part of the NOOMA series, by Rob Bell. The particular episode we watched is called Rain, and in it, Rob Bell talks about how he was hiking with his baby son in a backpack in the woods when it started to rain. It rained hard, and the baby was scared. Throughout the storm, as his young son cried and screamed in fear, Rob held him close, whispering in his son's ear over and over again, "It's ok, it's going to be alright. I know the way home."

Sometimes the rain pelts down so hard and the thunder cracks so loudly and we are so seized up in fear, that we don't even realise that God is carrying us, that He is holding us close, that He is whispering in our ear, "It's ok, it's going to be alright. I know the way home."

He knows the way home.

And so I can sing again.