Hello Hurricane: The Eye of the Storm

Often Wesley and I still listen to, or watch, the sermons from our old church in Dallas, Munger Place. Since our Sunday morning are often hectic and mostly spent apart, we don't really get to go to "church" together like most couples. It's nice to listen to and talk about together.

Last May and June, we started listening to their series called "Hello Hurricane" about the storms of life. Not if they will come, but when, and being prepared for them. We both loved the series so much we then taught it over the summer to our Young Adult Sunday school class. Everyone in our class seemed to love it to and take the lessons to heart. And so did we. You know what they say about teaching: your retention of the material is the highest (90%), than if you just passively listen (5%). And I'm incredibly grateful that we did that together. Because the words of the series have often rung through my head throughout all of this ordeal.

http://www.mungerplace.org/series-detail/hello-hurricane/

• Step 1: Storm survival
• Step 2: Be Sheepish
• Step 3: Practice the paradox
• The wild dogs of gods mercy

Little did we know, we were about to face our own hurricane. Although, honestly, listening to it, I couldn't help but feel like our life couldn't be so perfect and storm free forever. At the time we were living in a brand new house we loved, with jobs we enjoyed, a fun and spunky toddler who makes us laugh and a new baby on the way. We were cruising through life in many ways.

The past 6 weeks of our baby's diagnosis have been incredibly hard. We've been through part of the hurricane already. Crying and grieving for our little girl. The future we had envisioned for her. The dream we had of bringing her home with us and the place she'd have in our family. We've cried over the bottles that were already washed. The crib that was put together. The matching outfits for big and little sister. And the bassinet already assembled in the corner of our room. 

After what seems like endless meetings with pediatric specialists, some of the best children's doctors in the world, we've signed a birth plan not to resuscitate our little girl. Deciding not to do everything medically possible to save her has been one of the most heart wrenching decisions we've ever had to make. We've decided the most wise and loving thing to do for our girl is to let her go. It seems like a horrible thing to do as a parent who wants the best life for their child. We are supposed to be her advocates and champion. But somehow, we're at peace with our decision. Not that it still doesn't make us cry, but when the choice for her future is between the "terrible" and "horrible," we know that the wisest most loving thing is to let our little girl go. 

So we will love her, sing to her, and hold her for as long as we can. 

We will say "hello" and "goodbye". 

We are in the eye of a hurricane. Waiting for the rest of the storm to come. And at this point it's no more than 3 days away.