Thoughts on Selah Grace

There are many blog titles like this in my drafts folder. I never finish them.

Maybe I will this time.



One year ago.

We were having a girl! My extra time was spent painting and sewing and hot-gluing. The mural in her room. The onesies with her name embroidered. Her name means A New Beginning. We would say to each other, We are so blessed.

She was born in a whirlwind. A funny morning, really. Zachariah was well taken care of with sweet friends and family. Finally - our roly-poly squishy-squashy BIG baby girl. 9 pounds 10 ounces! I had spent hours sewing her coming-home dress.

Lots of visitors, but none to celebrate. Mostly to study and examine and ask us questions and questions and questions. And to show us that photo. The one depicting her future physical development.

Excitement clouded by worry and confusion.

Flippant disregard by me as I was sure she was fine. My baby was fine.

We had originally chosen not to have visitors because we wanted that time to bond together. Not to spend it sharing her with doctors.



I sent Brian home that first night. He needed sleep. He needed a break. I kept sweet Selah Grace in my room. Her cheeks... so big! Every part of her.. so big! I put bows on her head The shoes I brought for her. White. With bows. Simple and pure. Like her.

I tried them on her feet. They slid on. White satin bows lying across the rash atop her slender feet.

I wished I brought tights.

She slept like that. All dressed up. Lying on my crossed legs. While I researched on the computer for any other explanation.

Give it to me, Lord. Don't touch my child. She isn't Yours. She's mine.



Days later. She slept in my arms. I stood at the window. Tears streaming out of my silent face. The boys in the middle of a soccer game in the backyard. I could barely see them. Zachariah bounds up the stairs. Oblivious. And hungry. Brian and I make eye contact. It will have to wait, though.


We comfort family and friends. We assure them we are okay. We lie.


We kiss her rash.


I do not pray. I am tough. I am angry. If you hurt me, I will shut you out. God - you hurt me!


I am so selfish. And that comforts me.

I feel complicated.


Others pray for our baby girl. People we know. People we don't know. Meals come. Gifts given. Parties attended.

Always prayers. Always hope. From others. Not from me. I appear strong. I feel defeated.



Brian gives in first.

On his knees. Having it out with God, he finally gives her over. To His will. Brian lets go. He feels peace. He is renewed. Still hurting, but renewed.

I don't.

My only prayer time is with Zachariah. Who I gave over to Him years ago. In another hopeless life. I trust God with Zachariah. He has been faithful. He has redeemed. He has encouraged. So I pray 5-year-old prayers with my boy. Not with my girl.


We go on. Making appointments. Family history. Insurance payments. Doctor bills. Always undressing her. I start to look away. She cries. Brian cries. I had never seen him cry before her birth. It's unnerving and scary. Especially the deep cries in my arms. It's unnatural. And it makes me mad.


This goes on. For months.


Until the day that prayers were answered. The phone call comes and goes. It doesn't last one minute. Yet it affects her for a lifetime.

I act excited. And I am. But I am angry, too. Why?


I feel surrounded by a thousand eyes. I dream of it. I don't know what to do.


"Thank you for your prayers!" I exclaim.

I don't know what else to say. I didn't pray for this. The guilt is overwhelming. I feign disbelief and amazement and awe. I feel so confused. And numb. I deserve suffering.


Deciding her story should be told, I tell many. But my words are fumbled and disjointed. The story sounds a little crazy. The rash was probably nothing I am told. And I am angry all over again. Furious and spiteful. Yes it was, I say in my mind. Instead, I smile and shrug. I begin to hate defending it. I stop telling her story. People don't deserve to hear it.


I revert back to years ago. Only trusting a small handful of people who really knew me. Years ago. Feeling lost and forsaken. I disappeared inside myself. Safe.



Months pass. It's been five months now.

We got a letter from the geneticist yesterday. She wants to see Selah Grace. The note is next to my keyboard as I type. Reminding me to call. We need to make our next Scottish Rite appointment. They want to see Selah Grace.

Just in case, they say. Just to doublecheck.



And I still can't wrap my feelings in a box. They are everywhere. Like dust. So many thoughts. Cluttering my mind.

Normal questions... Why did all of this happen? Why was she healed? How is that possible?

Why was I so devastated? Was I looking for a perfect child? Why couldn't I give this to God? Why did he heal the child with the selfish mother? Why not the child with the devoted mother? I am horribly diseased inside. A liar. A martyr. Ugly.

Why didn't I pray for her healing? Why didn't I trust in a miracle? Why did we get one when I am such a terrible example of a Christian?

I surely can't tell people all of this. How can I give glory to Him in this - when I didn't even give it to Him to begin with? I have a hard enough time defending all of it already. Now I've screwed it up so much that I can't even use it for Him.

How can I give one child to Him and keep one for myself? How can I rely solely on Him for years and years of torment, yet in this situation - I resist? Why am I so broken?

My heart aches for a purpose. For forgiveness.


This morning, I prayed for Brian. Oh, how I prayed for him. The love of my life. My rock. The most amazing head of a household - I almost can't contain my tears of thankfulness.

I prayed for Zachariah. Fervently. Bless his little heart - I can only trust in our great Lord with his life, his purity, his protection, his purpose. He's got my little boy and I claim that child in Jesus' name. My journals and books have his name written all over.

Yet I struggle with Selah Grace. And another prayer time goes by. No words for my baby girl. Knowing God knows my heart. Ugly and yucky and messy, somehow He can decipher it. I know I don't deserve it.

My Savior, how do You love me?

I feel almost ready. To give her over. To release my baby girl. I struggle with what-if.


Her smile melts me. Her eyes captivate me.


I still compare her leg length.


I feel like I've made a mess of it all. Even writing this all out. It makes no sense. It is hard. It's embarrassing. It's probably dumb. It's just where I'm at, I guess.

I wish I could end this in some prophetic bible verse that makes all of this make some sense. But I guess that just how life is sometimes. And that's how God is sometimes.

And if He can be patient with me, I guess I should be patient with Him.