Choices

Sometimes I tell Henry I love him out loud and my sweet son repeats my words. I cry, of course, but know that he really would have loved his little brother. They would have been best friends. Partners in crime. I realize how badly I want to give him a little brother or sister to love. Someone to walk though life with. But the guilt sets in. It would feel so wrong housing a child in a womb that should hold Henry. And when that child is born, they will be on this earth because Henry isn't. That feels so wrong to me. Will I be glad Henry didn't make it because I love this one so much? Or will I look at this child and only want my Henry? All these thoughts have to be normal, but deep down I know I was never given that choice. Just like the widow that remarries was never given that choice either. The only choice given is to live or to die in my grief.

I was running the other day and saw a lady pushing her 2 children in a stroller.  She had a newborn and was still carrying her baby weight. It felt good to run and have energy. I started thinking about how I'd love to run another marathon and how happy I am that I'm back in my jeans, but my heart really longed to be that overweight woman. I have a lot of freedom with only one child and that feels wonderful. I can work when I want. I get plenty of sleep and have a pretty easy set up. But this simplicity is not what I would have chosen. I would gladly accept the pounds and sleepless nights. Everything the comes with having Henry. But sometimes in life we aren't given a choice. We are given a bad set of circumstances and asked to trust Him no matter what befalls us. As I ran I thought, will I choose to live? Will I choose to have another child? Will I love God if it happens again or I'm unable to get pregnant? Yes, yes, and yes.

No one and nothing can replace Henry. He was created in God's image, knit together in my womb, known before he was even conceived. No high in this world can replace him. Not food or success or any material thing. Nothing, but the blood of Jesus can make his loss a gain. A gain for God's glory. A gain in my walk. A gain for The Kingdom.

Until I lost Henry, I never needed God. I know that sounds blasphemous and I hate to admit it, but it's true. I loved God, but I had everything I needed. When things were bad, I had my husband, my mom, resources to pull me out of any crisis. Losing Henry stripped me of all sense of security. No amount of money. No words of wisdom. No person. No high could fix my broken heart. Nothing on this earth could give me the only thing I wanted in this world...my Henry. It's the most helpless feeling, but the cross can give Henry purpose. It can make his life meaningful. It can make my pain matter. For the first time in my life I know what it's like to carry around the death of Jesus. I don't want to take that verse out of context, but for me it has meant that His death is now a constant reminder of the hope I have in Henry's death. The death of Jesus means everything to me. Not only did it save me from hell, but because of His death, Henry's life mattered.