Be Still...

Whew.

That's all I can really say after the past 4 weeks of chaos.  Actually, after the past 9 months of chaos.  It's been a whirlwind.  It's been pretty foggy at times.  But through it all I have experienced some of the greatest blessings to date.

And for me, it all came in the form of one tiny little human.

This boy.

Cohen Jeffrey Shamblin.

My son.

A gift.

From my loving and gracious Father.

To my heart and to my life.

Words cannot possibly express what this boy's short life on this earth has meant to me.  But I must proclaim, I must shout from the rooftops, I must attempt to put into coherent sentences what God has done in this mama's heart because of him.

I didn't have the easiest introduction to motherhood.  No first time mom dreams of their firstborn child being born with a birth defect.  No mom at all for that matter.  Nobody wants to miss out on their child's birth due to complications and to have to wait months to hold their son for the first time.  And certainly, no one wishes to spend days, weeks, and months away from their fragile newborn baby.

It's a rough start.  Let's face it.  And as much as I love my firstborn son with all of my heart, I do not love the way in which he had to come into this world.  I don't love the brokenness and the pain that came from it.  I don't love the wide open wounds that were left behind.  I just don't.

This world is ugly.  It is full of hurt.  Hudson knows that well already.  I do too.  It is no secret to our family and is a reality that will be spoken of frequently and openly.  Not because we want to be Debbie-downers, but because it is only through our understanding of the brokenness of this world that we can truly experience the life-altering and healing power of God's redemptive work in it.

That's what my second born son has been in my life.  Redemption.  A little piece of my Father's love, grace, protection, and understanding for the wounds I have experienced thus far in motherhood.

Now before I go any further, please do not misunderstand.  Hudson was just as much a gift to our lives as Cohen has been.  We love and cherish ALL that he is and will continue to be.  But just as each child is different, I believe that we can learn different lessons through each child as well.  I believe God reveals himself in a new way.  Speaks to our hearts differently.  Uniquely.  With each life that blesses ours.

And the fact of the matter is, the gift of Cohen's life has brought me healing.  In more ways than I can count.  And for that, I am thankful.

It all started back when we first talked about wanting a second child.  After our experience with Hudson, I must say I was a little scarred and was unsure if I was even going to have more biological children because of it.  I didn't want to risk it.  Didn't want to take the chance of something happening again.  I didn't think I could handle it a second time.  I didn't want to handle it a second time.  And yet, through all of this fear, there was a still small voice inside my heart.

One that whispered... Be Still.  Be Still and know that I am God.  Be Still and know I Am.

And so I was.  I was still.  I surrendered.  I stopped trying to control what my family looked like.  It wasn't mine to control.  I knew that.  He taught me that.  And so I let go.

8 months later, I was pregnant.  And we were moving back into my parents house because Clint had lost his job.  Not exactly ideal.  But through all of my fear, I heard that still small voice inside my heart once again.

Be Still.  Be Still and know that I am God.  Be Still and know I Am.

And so I was.  I was still.  Well, as still as I could be at this point.  I'm not gonna lie.  I squirmed a little bit here.  The situation was looking all too familiar.  We had been here before.  We had been jobless and pregnant not 2 years ago when we found out about Hudson.  Everything in me wanted to flee.  Wanted to take back my surrendered heart.  Wanted to tell God that I could do it better.  That my plans were far superior to His.  But instead, I sat in the arms of my Father.  I sat silently.  I sat still.  Even when I wasn't happy about it.

20 weeks later, I was walking into the same ultrasound room where we found out about Hudson's Spina Bifida.  I was anxious to say the least.  I had knots in my stomach.  I almost couldn't breathe.  I closed my eyes and begged God to give me peace.  And he did.  With that still small voice saying exactly what I needed to hear.

Be Still.  Be Still and know that I am God.  Be Still and know I Am.

With each time this phrase was whispered to the inner darkness of my heart, I felt a little bit of healing.  I felt my wounds closing up.  I felt free.  Free to enjoy the tiny little life growing inside of me.  Free to love him no matter what.  And free from the bondage of hanging on every word the doctors would say.

When the doctor came in that day to tell me my son looked 'perfect' I felt relief.  But honestly, the true relief came far before that.  It came in the waiting room when I chose not to worry.  When I chose to believe that my Father was sitting right there with me, reassuring me that no matter what happened He was still God, and I was not.

And then we fast forward another 3 months, when we made the choice to move to Portland knowing this tiny little baby would be just 2 weeks old.  Knowing that if there were any complications with his health, we would be heading to a new state, with new health insurance, and absolutely no support from family and friends nearby.  Not knowing where our income would be coming from.  Not knowing when exactly the baby would come.  Not knowing where we were going to live.  Pretty much knowing nothing but the fact that we had to go.  We just had to.  Because we felt the urgency of our call.  We felt a conviction so deep in our core that we couldn't ignore it.

This is when I could have absolutely lost it (and did a couple times).  Because this was never part of my plan.  I wanted my little boy to be safe.  I wanted to make sure he had proper health insurance.  I wanted to make sure he was healthy and strong before making plans to uproot our entire family.  I wanted him to grow up with his family, with his cousins, with our friends.  I wanted to be in control of it all!!!  And yet, when I sat in the corner of my room in tears, feeling helpless and so unsure...my God kept whispering.  He kept shouting at me until I would listen.

Haley, my daughter; Be Still.  Be Still and know that I am God.  Be still and know I am.

And so I lifted up my little boy into the Father's capable arms once again.  Knowing he was much safer there than he ever would be in mine.

2 months later, my due date had arrived.  And sure enough I found myself in the hospital with contractions coming 3-5 minutes apart.  Our son was on his way.  Clint and I had made the decision that I was going to forego a C-section as well as an epidural for my delivery.  We wanted things to be different this time around.  I didn't want to miss out on my son's birth.  Clint and I wanted to experience our little guy coming into this world together.  With him by my side, as my coach.  Talking me through contractions.  Breathing alongside me.  Offering me water.  Taking me to the bathroom.  My amazing husband was willing to do it all.

And by the time I was about 5 hours into labor and my water had broken, boy did I need him by my side!!  The pain was intense.  Breathing through the contractions became harder.  Screaming through them was a much more natural response :)  There were moments I wanted to give up.  There were moments when the pain felt unbearable.  When I thought of abandoning our plan and instead crying out for the epidural.  But through it all, my heart was at peace.  Because again, my Father was there.  Right there.  Walking me through the pain one step at a time.

Be Still.  Be Still and know that I am God.  Be Still and know I am.

We had come on quite a journey, He and I.  And I wasn't about to stop now.  Not when I was moments away from meeting my son.

And so, just when I thought I couldn't expend one more ounce of energy.  Just when I thought I couldn't push one more time.  I did.  I pushed.  And I fought.  And I struggled.  I listened to my husband's excited voice as he saw our son slowly coming into the world.  I thought about seeing my son for the first time.  I imagined his little body.  His tiny cry.  I used this as motivation to continue on.

And sure enough, after 12 long hours and one final push, Cohen came swooping into my arms.  A moment I had dreamed about for so long.  Getting to hold my baby boy within seconds of his time on this earth.  I sat in disbelief, staring at him as he laid on my body.  He was there.  With me.  I looked to my right and saw my husband.  There.  With me.

Words cannot express the joy this moment brought.  At 12:11pm on July 12, 2013, my Father gave me an incredible gift.  One that felt so special and unique to me.  It's as if he wanted to show me that he knew the desires of my heart.  That they mattered to Him.  He saw the wounds and scars I carried with me, and for the past 9 months was showing me that he alone heals.  And he alone redeems.  I felt that in this moment come to completion.  And my undeserving heart was so full.

Since his birth, Cohen has continued to bless not only my life, but our entire family's.  Clint and I have talked about how much closer we feel as a couple because of going through Cohen's birth together.  United as one.  Our precious son gave us the opportunity to experience something together we may never get to again.

And as far as Hudson goes, he doesn't want to go anywhere without 'baby brother.'  He is enamored with him.  I can see their little relationship forming even now.  I can see the bond they will share.  The way they will love and protect each other.  I couldn't have given a more perfect gift to Hudson.  Just what he needed.  Right when he needed it.  What should have brought a lot of insecurity into his life, actually seems to have brought about more peace.  During a time of being unsettled with a big move and so much changing, it's as though Hudson feels more comfortable and at home with Cohen by his side.

Cohen, this family would not be the same without you.  You are a blessing in every sense of the word.

Love you to pieces my littlest monster.

First Steps!!!

I keep meaning to post this video.  It was taken about a month ago.  When my baby boy (although he's not really that much of a baby anymore) took his very first steps on his own!

This has been a day that I have much anticipated.  Not just for the 2 and a half years Hudson has been on this earth, but starting at that 20 week ultrasound when I first found out he had Spina Bifida.

I know it sounds crazy, but I mourned on that day.  I mourned the image I had in my mind of my son.  I mourned the loss of his legs.  I mourned the image of him running down the street and playing in the park with complete freedom and abandonment.

Because my son taking his first steps has never been a given in our family.  It has never been an expectation.

Instead, it has become a gift.  A precious and undeserving gift.

I wish I could sit here and tell you that in this moment I broke down in tears and rejoiced full-heartedly for the gift of my son walking.  But to be honest, I didn't.  I was joyful, and oh so proud, don't get me wrong.  But it wasn't quite the magical moment I had built up in my head for so long.

I just kept wanting more.  Like this accomplishment in my son's life wasn't good enough for my human heart.  I wanted him to take more steps.  I wanted him to not need his walker anymore.  I wanted him to run.  I wanted so much more than these first baby steps.  And honestly, the ugliness of my heart's response was really disappointing.

But this is what I love about my son.  I love that he teaches me to slow down.  I love that he teaches me about thankfulness.  And I love that being his mom reveals so much of the brokenness inside of me.  Because it reminds me of the absolute completeness of the Father's love.

I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there was rejoicing in Heaven on this day.  As Hudson's earthly mom sat there wanting more, his Heavenly Father beamed proudly with more love in his heart than we could possibly fathom.  He needed nothing else from his precious son.  He loved him just as he was...

Brokenness and all.

I know I will never be able to love my son the way his Father does.  But I also know, that through my son, God is teaching me the incredible vastness of His goodness, grace, and love.

And this is the truest, most precious, and most undeserving gift there is.

Sweet Hudson, here is to many more steps to come.  And many more gifts to be thankful for.  Love you so much, buddy!

God is Good

Yesterday was a day of reflection for me.

On February 11th, just 2 short years ago, we were able to bring our baby boy home from the NICU for the first time.  Given that he was born on December 9th, this was a date that was a long time coming for us.

 However, I kind of thought that as time went on days like this would quickly begin to fade from my memory.  That I would begin to feel more and more like a 'normal' parent (whatever that is), who got to bring their baby home from the hospital with them from day 1.  And yet, here I am, 2 years later still thinking about it.  Still processing through how I feel.  Still feeling so unbelievably 'abnormal' in the way my child got ushered into this world.

Many of you have asked me (and many of you haven't, yet I'm sure are curious) about how my experience with Hudson has or will continue to affect my current pregnancy.  In light of my reflective state, I thought this would be a good time to share my heart on this.

Let's start with the statistics first.  The numbers that really mean absolutely nothing, yet are thrown at us as complete truth and often paralyze us in complete fear.

Because Hudson was born with Spina Bifida, we have been told that we are 3% more likely to have another child with Spina Bifida than the average person.

There it is.  The phrase that haunts me.  And while 3% doesn't sound like a lot, in our experience, small percentages are certainly not out of the question.  Just because it's unlikely to happen, doesn't mean it won't.  We know.  We watched our first-born son fall into the 1% statistics too many times to think that we are immune to it.

And yet, God is Good.  All the time.

This we know with absolute certainty.

I must admit, that the day I got the phone call from the Genetics department telling me that my son was going to be born with Spina Bifida, I questioned God's goodness.  The day I walked in and found out he had a life-threatening infection, which happened to be Christmas and the exact day I had prayed for months and months that he would be able to be home by, I doubted again the goodness of God.  The days and the months I spent tirelessly praying for Hudson's healing and begging God to allow my son to walk, only to be met with silence...once again, left me refusing to believe in God's goodness.

And yet, God is Good.  All the time.

Growing up in the church, I heard this phrase a lot.  The funny thing, though, is that it always seemed to correspond with a positive circumstance or answered prayer.

"I just got a promotion."  God is Good.
"I finally got pregnant."  God is Good.
"My son was healed."  God is Good.

And the list could go on and on.  For whatever reason, I kept waiting for God to bless me.  Kept waiting for the answered prayer.  Kept waiting for the trial to be over.  And kept waiting for my circumstances to change before I was willing to declare the goodness of God.

But not this time.

This time around, with my next son (yes, we are having another boy) I made a pact with God that things would be different.  That I would declare God's goodness despite our circumstances.  That all glory would go to him, no matter what.

We have our 20 week ultrasound in 2 weeks.  That's when we will find out if our second child has Spina Bifida, or any other birth defect.  Have I been anxious about this date?  Absolutely.  But only when I allow myself to believe the lie that God's goodness depends on the health of my children.

This pregnancy I have not spent a lot of time praying for this baby boy to be healthy.  Or praying for me to get to hold him in my arms and take him home right away.  Instead, this has been my prayer.

May the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, guard my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus.  (Phil 4:7)

I have prayed for peace.  And nothing more.  That I may trust so fervently in the goodness of God that no circumstance would ever shake that.  And so, without yet knowing the health of my son, I declare with absolute conviction that...

God is Good.  All the time.

And when I walk into the same scary ultrasound room I did 2 years ago, I pray audaciously not that the results will be different, but that my heart will remain steadfast in the truth of who my Abba Father is.  No matter what.

Some of you have asked how you can be praying for me over the next couple weeks.  This is it.  Please pray that my husband and I will have a peace that transcends all understanding, one that can only come from our gracious and loving Heavenly Father.

God is so good.

All the time.

Sweet Baby of Mine

Precious baby,

I wanted to let you know something on this day.  It has been weighing on my heart to tell you since the moment I knew you existed.

My fears have already come true about you being our second child.  Because there is not a single picture taken of me being pregnant with you yet.  There is not a single journal entry written to you (until today that is), and honestly I'm pretty sure I have forgotten to tell most people that I am even pregnant at all with you.  

15 weeks into this journey, and I have no idea how any of this happened.  It just feels like time whizzes by and I have no control over it at all.

But, here is a little secret that I want you to hold onto throughout your childhood and beyond...

None of that stuff really means anything.

If there are less pictures of you, it just means I am spending more time enjoying you rather than stressing out about grabbing the camera to capture a moment.  

If there are less words written to you, it just means that I am so consumed with my love for you, that I can't quite put it into words.

And if there are less people that I talk to about you, it just means that I am spending more time talking to you.

My love for you knows no bounds.  It hasn't from the moment I knew you were going to be a part of our family.  

Please know that.

If there is one thing your brother Hudson has taught me, it's that being a mom opens your heart up to love in a way you never thought possible.  

Honestly, I thought it would be impossible to love another child the way I did the first time around.  But in fact, I have found it so much easier to fall in love with you each day.  In such a unique and special way.  Completely separate from your brother.

You have a special place in my heart, little child of mine, and you always will.  You are a gift.  I could sit and wonder for hours what you will be like and who you will become.  But what I know for sure is that this family doesn't feel complete anymore without you.

So remember, don't worry about the pictures, don't worry about the scrapbooks.  Just hear my words when I tell you...

We dropped to our knees and endlessly prayed we would get you.

We fell down and wept the moment we knew we had you.

And we wait with longing in our hearts for the moment we can finally hold you in our arms.

You are loved so desperately, sweet baby of mine.

Love, Mama

P.S.  I promise there will be at least some pictures of you soon :)