Remembering Abby, Six Months Later...

Six months ago today, my sister’s life and the lives of every member of my family were changed forever. Six months ago today, our precious Abigail Rose, my baby niece, passed away. When I looked at the calendar today, it hit so hard. Has it really been that long? Or that recent? Sometimes, I’m not sure which it is.



I’m haunted by the memories of those final days, I can recall with such clarity the drive to the hospital the day we knew would be her last. The music playing in the car, “10,000 miles” a song that still haunts me and reduces me to a puddle with the first few chords. [listen/watch] The last time I held her in my arms and kissed her little face. The day we said goodbye. Walking away from the place we knew her tiny body would be laid to rest. And the trip home. I took all of it with me. None of it was left beind, except the little token I left beside her in her coffin, a tiny silver heart inscribed with the words “we will miss you forever.” I knew it wouldn’t be forever before I’d see her again, but they were the best words I could muster at the time and best described the sorrow that was so overwhelming. -- and still is.

Fortunately, as a Christian, I know that Abigail is not in Staten Island, where my sister is headed in a few minutes to visit and lay flowers on her grave. I know that she is in heaven, that she is in the arms of our Lord, that she is free from all pain and suffering. I just wish sometimes we had had more time with her. I just wish I could kiss her little face again, look upon her navy blue eyes, and see her little "Elvis" sneer that I loved so much.



I know that everything happens for a reason but sometimes it is so hard to come to grips with. Fortunately, I know that even when I don’t have the words, I have God’s promises to stand on. I just pray that my sister would have this assurance and that she would realize that she never leaves her baby behind when her visit to the cemetery ends. Please keep that in prayer…

When we gather at our church and I see so many people singing songs of praise with such joy, I think about Abigail, my sister in heaven, and I think of how we will worship together someday – and that gives me comfort. In the meantime, I hold on to her memory, I cherish the short time I had with her, and take comfort in knowing she is more alive than I can ever conceive of.



Still, I miss her...

A Much Needed Reminder

“For I know the plans I have for you…”

It’s easy to wonder sometimes whether we are following the correct path in life, and this gives rise to doubts as to whether or not we have truly been “put” where we belong or if we have chosen it for ourselves. For those who choose to live their lives seeking God’s will in all things, it’s difficult sometimes to escape these doubts as to whether God chose our course and brought us where we are or if we chose it and brought Him there instead. These are doubts I’ve entertained for the last few months since beginning my second semester as a first year law student… They have truly tried my faith.

I had hoped to draft this earlier in case the novelty faded. I wanted to write this to preserve a reminder for myself in the event I become discouraged about the course I’ve chosen in life, which I’m sure I will do from time to time…

I must confess, law school has been harder than I imagined it would be. (This leads me to wonder if I perhaps watched Legally Blonde one too many times.) Given everything that took place last semester concerning the month long illness and eventual passing of my precious niece Abigail, I did not do as well as I’d hoped to do on final exams, which took place at the same time as this tragedy in my family. I let the fact that I did not score as well as I thought I could have get to my head. I started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all. I started to wonder if I had chosen this course for myself and done so to my own disadvantage. I had once been sure that this was where I belonged, but I began basing the accuracy of my decision on the world’s standards and not God’s. Perhaps a truer statement is that I’d been pretty sure that this was God’s will, but I wasn’t feeling very sure that it was mine anymore. That was until last Saturday, when I had a powerful reminder.

Public speaking has always been one of my biggest fears, but in facing that fear in the past (through mock trial in college and L-D debate in high school) I felt strong and convicted; I forgot myself. I was worried that I had changed too much since then and that this would no longer come naturally to me in my mid-twenties when I learned that I had to compete in a first year Oral Arguments Competition last weekend. I was fortunate to have been proven wrong. Not only did I feel as strong and convicted as I did in younger days, but I felt stronger than I ever had. In the midst of arguing I nearly forgot the fictional state of my client. Every minute was a total rush that left me wanting more. The judge’s comments and encouragement at the conclusion of the round only fed this fire. I left the competition not knowing whether I would advance but feeling reassured. I prayed the whole way there making requests of God and the whole way home thanking Him just feeling something inside me reminding me that I was born for this. This is what I want to do. It’s what I was made to do. This was the reason I felt convicted to go to law school: so that someday I can stand and do this in an actual courtroom. I felt convicted that this was what God wanted for my life and I felt so grateful that He sustained me through it.

When I learned on Monday that I advanced to next round, which takes place this Saturday, I was thrilled beyond belief. It was icing on the cake. I already had my reminder and whether or not I go further, I’m positive I will not be one bit discouraged. The point, I guess is that sometimes we doubt and when we do, God usually gives us that gentle nudge (or great big push in some instances) to remind us what it is we should be doing.

How awesome is our God that He cares even about the trivial things, which we inflate to such great proportions in our tiny lives?

Keeping God in the Details

It has been some time since I posted. It is not because I have been completely destroyed by the death of my precious niece. I have not stayed away because I’ve lost an ounce of hope or faith. It has just taken me some time for me to be able to write again. (Fortunately, I was encouraged and admonished about this recently by a dear friend I had not seen in many seasons.) Abby’s death still weighs heavy on my heart but I am secure in knowing that God has a purpose, even if I don’t know or understand what it is right now and even if the details leading up to her death still haunt me.

In the months that have followed, I have been consumed with trying to keep up with the workload for my second semester as a 1L, which has been quite challenging. I have also been trying to recover from another car accident I was in just a few days after Abigail’s funeral in NY that was certainly a setback to my progress. To quote my physical therapist, I am "back at zero." But in these months I have discovered that it is more than just mind over matter, it is keeping God in the details.

About two years ago, after having one spinal procedure and one major surgery that left me hospitalized for a month and not walking unassisted for some time afterwards, I was told that I needed a double spinal fusion. I’ll spare you the gruesome details and just note that it involves removing discs, bone grafting and inserting metal rods and screws into the spine and pelvis. (I guess that was still pretty gruesome. Sorry.) This was before this last accident and after the second of three that have taken such a toll on my body. For years I wondered why God would not heal me. I struggled with being in pain all the time and muddled through physical therapy, which only seemed to make matters worse and showed me how far I needed to go to get better.

This time, I decided to try something new. I decided to work this through without doctors and with God. M and I moved recently into a great building in Arlington that has a rooftop gym with an amazing view of Washington DC. For the last two weeks, I have been going up there almost every day and “working out like a rockstar,” as I like to put it. I’ve been on spring break this week and so I have had the gym mostly to myself. I’ve been amazed at what I am capable of doing if I approach it in prayer. I know there is a long road ahead to recovering completely and I may not be able to push surgery off permanently, but I feel stronger and healthier and more capable then I have in years. I have turned my workout into a time of worship. With Chris Tomlin and Matt Redman blasting through my ear buds, I feel strength that I didn’t know I had and it is taking me miles – literally.

Sometimes there are so many distractions that make staying in constant conversation with God difficult. But it is in the little things, such as washing dishes, cleaning the house, going to the grocery store, or taking care of our bodies that we can magnify Him. (I'm sure there are some better examples that don't involve chores that could be inserted into that sentence too.) It certainly has taken me further than I ever could have gone on my own. And who knows how far I’ve yet to go! It helps to know that I'm not going it alone... and never really was.

An Angel for Christmas

Last Monday, M and I hopped a flight to New York to get to the hospital to see baby Abigail before it was too late. Nothing could have prepared us for what we would see when we got there. (I tell you only because you need to understand this to understand the blessing God would give us in the midst of all the pain we would experience…) When I walked into the room, I took only a few steps before I ran the other way, out of the PICU and into the waiting area where I fell apart. In that moment, it made sense to me why everyone in my family who I’d spoken to earlier that week shut me down every time I expressed the hope that she could still get better. She no longer looked like a swollen sleeping baby in a coma. She no longer moved her eyes and mouth as though to cry. That adorable wincing face that gave us so much hope was now so still. She was skinny, positioned in an upright position, her head was bandaged and bleeding through, her eyes were partially opened, her skin was so dry. She looked so sick, as though she had given up too.

We stayed there until 3 in the morning, holding her hands, talking to her, saying our goodbyes. My other little sister painted her nails with pink polish. She had promised the baby over and over that she’d give her manicures when she got older and realized that this was her last chance. My sister Michelle was so strong. “She’s tired; she’s ready to go home,” she said.

The next morning M and I arrived at the hospital and sat with Michelle and Abby. After the rest of the family arrived, the doctors asked us to leave the room. Abby’s heart rate had begun to drop. She was telling us she was ready to go. They wrapped Abby in her favorite pink blanket and put on a little pink hat to cover her bandages and Michelle held her. Her husband sat beside them. The family sat out in the waiting room crying while my uncle watched the monitor and let us know what it said until it was turned off. The doctor who’d cared for Abby since the night she was brought in came out and said, “She’s gone.”

One by one we were called into the room, but eventually we were all in there together. Walking back in could not have been more different from the morning before. Our sick little baby had become an angel. Her face no longer looked thin and sad. It seemed to glow. It was as though peace had just come over her little body. I would be lying if I said that I’d ever seen her look more beautiful than she did after she passed. It was God’s gift to us. Rather than remembering how sick she looked, I knew we would always remember how angelic and at rest she looked.

Never in my life have I seen something so small touch so many lives, that even the doctors and nurses were crying after Abby passed. They all took turns with the rest of my family making the sign of the cross over the baby's head with oil and consoling my sister who was still holding her on the bed that Abby had laid on for exactly one month.

The greatest gift for me was when she was placed in my arms one last time. All that time she was sick, I grieved that I’d gotten so little time with her. I never imagined I’d get to hold her again. Holding her in my arms one last time and kissing her little face gave me more comfort than I could ever put into words.

After leaving the hospital to go home and prepare for her funeral and burial, which would take place 5 days before Christmas, I couldn’t understand why I felt this overwhelming sense of peace about everything. I knew it wasn’t coming from myself. I trusted that Abigail was happy in the arms of Jesus.

The next few days were very hard. Saying goodbye is never easy. We mourned not only for our dear niece, but for my sister Michelle. She had changed her life so much because of this baby and I knew our loss could not compare to what she was going through. When a child dies, a parent doesn’t just lose a baby, but all the hopes and dreams they had for that child and for their own life. I do believe that God has a purpose for this loss, but it’s still hard to come to grips with.

M and I made our way back home to be with his daughter for Christmas, even though neither of us had much celebrating in us. How do you explain death to a 6 year old? I just told her that God needed an Angel and couldn’t find a baby more beautiful than Abigail Rose and so He took her home. She just nodded and smiled.


<3...Abigail Rose...<3
Forever in Our Hearts

What My Heart Still Doesn't Know, But Head Believes...

Abby is gone. All that’s left of her is an empty shell. That is what the expert from NYU, who went to the hospital to evaluate my precious niece and give my sister a second opinion, told my family earlier. There is nothing left of her. All those moments when it seemed that she could hear our prayers over her, all those times she opened her sweet little mouth and winced her face trying to cry, might just have been involuntary reflexes. All this time we thought she was fighting, she was only sleeping. She might already have gone home to be with God.



I never wanted to believe that. Even now, my heart will not accept it. How can that be true? How can she be gone when we only got to keep her for such a short time? We never got to hear her laugh or see her take her first steps. We’ll never get to know what kind of child, what kind of girl, what kind of woman she would have been. She’ll never know how wonderful and beautiful and tragic this world can be.

All I have left are a few precious hours engrained in my mind, when I held her in my arms and felt amazed at how much love I could feel for something so small.

Today, my sister got to hold her baby for the first time in four weeks… minutes before they told her that her baby was gone. Instead of planning Abby’s first Christmas, she is planning her funeral.

There are just no words…

Waiting For God. An Update on Abigail

I remember when I arrived at the hospital the Sunday before last, I opened my Bible trying to make sense of what was going on, hoping to land on a verse that would bring me comfort and understanding. For the next week that I was in New York with my family, I tried my hardest to push that verse aside. The verse was Isaiah 57:1-2: “The righteous pass away; the godly often die before their time. And no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For the godly who die will rest in peace.”

Clearly, I could not imagine that God would take this precious little one who never had a chance to walk upright, let alone sin, before we had a chance to know her, before she had a chance to grow up and learn about this world or His word… I could not fathom it, though it rested heavy on my heart in the days that followed, and still does.

God has not taken Abigail. She is still with us, though how much alive she is, and what is left of her is still a matter of so much speculation.



Yesterday, my dad called with new that Abby was showing signs of some improvement, though she was still so deep in her coma. Today, there is new news, news of such a different character. The bleeding in Abby’s brain has worsened. One of her doctors has told my sister that Abby is paralyzed. Another said it’s not conclusive but there is little evidence that it’s not true.

There, Abby waits in her coma. What comfort does she have? We do not know if she can hear her mother’s voice or if she heard our prayers over her, our pleas for her to get better. All this time it was a comfort to me to know that even if she could not hear, God could. I struggle with why He does not answer. I know He is sovereign. I try to hold my head up high and wait patiently for God. But this is so defeating and we are crushed by the weight of this.



Why does God choose not to heal? I'm sure that any member of my family would bear any suffering if it could bring this little one back and restore her. Isn’t that how much God loves us? That He died to save us? How I wish that He’d have mercy on this shattered family, on this broken child. How I wish He'd heal her. I trust in God’s power… I just wish His will was the same as mine. There is no way for me to tell. My hope is all that sustains me and it seems to fade so fast. I know God is faithful and I put my trust in Him, even if His will should be to "spare" Abigail in a way different from what we hope and pray for.

Still, we hope and pray.

Giving Thanks; Needing Prayers....

At this time last year and for every year for as long as I can remember, my grandmother and I sat and cut celery for the olive salad, spiced our homemade stuffing with fresh sage, mixed our sweet potato balls, and prepared the mixture for the manicotti we’d roll the next morning. This year, we sit vigil. There are no preparations to be made. We just wait for news to come. Thanksgiving this year will not be like the Thanksgivings of years past. Tomorrow we will be thankful not for the bounty of food we lay upon the table but for what little hope we have to hold onto. Thankful that our precious Abigail Rose is still with us. That she is still alive and that our family is together. There will not be turkey, but there will be thanksgiving…



Three days ago, the morning after my birthday, M and I awoke to a call from my sister telling us that her 26 day-old baby was in the hospital in critical condition. How could we have known that by the time we got to NY after a 5 hour bus ride that that little angel would have had 3 cardiac arrests and be fighting for her life? How could we have anticipated that she would be hooked up to all kinds of machines, that a ventilator would be breathing for her, or that within three days her brain would swell so badly that she’d be in a coma? There is nothing that can prepare a person for a sight like this. The sight of my sister, helpless, broken down, asking the same question that everyone has asked every hour, everyday since this happened – a question that no one can answer or understand: Why? Why does a thing like this happen? Why does God allow such suffering? I have never known pain like this.

Everyone sits around and cries until they are too numb or tired or frustrated. A family that has never really prayed, whose religion has always been so textbook, is now asking God for help and answers. But they don’t come soon enough to make anyone content. Abby’s life is in His hands and the future is so uncertain. The doctors take care not to give us too much hope. They are so grounded in the reality of their science that they forget that our God is bigger than this. It’s just a matter of whether or not He’ll choose to move in the way we hope He will. And how we hope…

I have never wanted anything in my life the way I want to see that precious baby wake up, open her eyes, stick out her tongue at me when I sing… just for one moment to hear her cry. Just to see her again in her mommy’s arms. Right now, she is so absent from her little swollen body… But I know God is present even if Abby seems so far from us. And I thank Him for every minute I have with my family, even when we are at odds with each other and our stress and fear and frustration lead us to lash out at one another…. I thank Him for every minute I can look at that little girl and remember what it was like to hold her in my arms, and picture the way she brought such joy to her mother’s eyes, the way they both lit up like her little glow worm.



This year, Thanksgiving will not be about eating. We won’t come together as a family at the dinner table we’ve eaten at for the last 26 years. But we will come together…

Please keep my sister Michelle and her husband Shawn and my whole family in prayer this Thanksgiving and thank God for those who are in your lives, even the littlest lives that we sometimes take so for granted.



Please pray for Abby….

Twenty-Five (Happy Birthday to Me)

Today, I turned 25. Yes, it’s true, I’ve made it halfway through my twenties. Guess it’s time to start planning for retirement, checking out the local assisted living facilities, and saving up for that hip replacement I’ll undoubtedly need! OK, so maybe 25 is not THAT old. Today, though, I feel like a dinosaur. Truly, Barney has nothing on me. Except that he’s fat and purple…

For whatever reason, no birthday has hit me like this one has. I guess it just caught up with me, how fast time has flown by. My twenties are a blur to me. I hardly remember them. And here I am, 25, married, a stepmom (not evil, fortunately), living far from home, almost half-way done with my first year of law school... Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was planning my Sweet 16 and praying to get as far away from high school as quickly as I possibly could? Well I did, but it just happened so quickly! Fortunately, there are no regrets. I’m where I belong in every sense of the word… only I’m “old” now.

I feel… grown up. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. (I’ll try now to stop offending those of my readers who are not as “young” as I am (sorry!!)) In truth, since I got baptized in August, I’ve felt like a different person, probably more myself than I’ve ever felt before. And that’s a little scary because I can’t help but wonder why it took so long to figure all that out. It was all in God’s time. My desires have changed, my heart has changed, my outlook on life, all of it has changed… matured, I’d like to think. For the first time in my life I’m happy; I’m settled. I am content with where I am and what I’m doing. I know God has me in his grip. He is hard at work. So many wonderful things are happening all around me…

My wonderful husband just found out he’ll be playing guitar for our (mega-)church. God has brought him to a place where he can use the talents he’s been given to serve Him the best way he knows how. My baby sister is a mom now, growing up too, and I’m an aunt to this precious little child. I am so blessed to have godly friends in my life who encourage and inspire me everyday and push me to be the godly woman I so want to be. In 25 short (long?) years, God has brought me to a place of peace I never thought I’d reach. Through all my doubt, He was so faithful.

I am old now, so I’d like to think that makes me “wise.” I am grateful.

Loved By God

I am a sinner. I am so far from perfect. Never have been, and quite certain that I never will be. Yet, I am loved by God. Though sometimes I despise this body that I so often take for granted, I am told that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I have read that suffering and physical pain produce patience and perseverance but, so often, I’m too bound, too selfish, too caught up to be made wise. I’m such a stubborn girl. And though I’ve been such a reluctant student, I’ve received such divine instruction. I’ve gained so greatly from the lessons I too soon forget. Only to have the nerve to question why I’m at a loss again, as though there’s anyone to blame but me. I’m so forgetful. So ungrateful, it would seem, for all that I’ve been shown -- for the trouble God has pulled me through, for the reward I could have never earned.

It’s so hard to comprehend the love of a God that I have never seen and only known.

What could I have done to deserve the love of One who is more perfect than I’ll ever comprehend, when I’ve done nothing but disappoint and reject and forget, time and time again? And there’s the truth: The answers not a thing. The same conclusion, once again, comes down to that cold sentence: “It’s not about me.” It’s all about Him and His Grace: a Love, a Forgiveness that I could never deserve – not even if I had 100 lives to live.

And sometimes the burden seems too much to bear. How could I live up to that, knowing I’m so apt to fail? [I can't.]

“All men sin and fall short of the glory of God.” That’s little comfort to me now. Yet, whether we glorify Him or not, He’s still there watching, loving, providing. His hand is steady, though we’re so easily moved. He remains willing to widen the road beneath our feet if we should lose our way in a world where there are so many lost. He seeks to find them out.

How could I ever express the gratitude I feel for a Gift no works of mine could ever match?

I can only try to live a life that's worthy, knowing I’m so certain to fail, certain that in any case, through anything, He’ll love me still.

Just Married... <3

52 days ago, at sunset, Friday, August 11, 2006, M and I became one in a Christian wedding ceremony before God on Grace Bay Beach in the Turks & Caicos Islands. It was a night more perfect and romantic than I ever could have dreamed of. It was straight out of a fairy-tale and my groom was more handsome than any prince I could have imagined as a little girl growing up. The wind and the sounds of the ocean were our music. The sunbathers standing far down the beach and clapping loud enough for us to hear it when we kissed were our witnesses. And the setting sun lit up the sky brighter than any candles. It wasn’t the big fancy wedding I had once envisioned but it was more than I could have ever hoped for: to be marrying my best friend, the person who knows me and understands me and accepts and loves me better than anyone in this whole world, the man who has my whole heart, who helped me through the toughest times and darkest days of my life, who stood by my side through so much more than any man ever has, my other half, my partner in crime is now my partner for life. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

There was so many times in my life that I wondered if I’d ever get to this point. Where I am truly, 100% happy and content with my life. Still, there are problems with health, which never seem to go away, but where my heart is concerned I know it is in able hands. In M, I’ve found more than a husband. I’ve found peace. And I see now more than ever why marriage is to be like our relationship with Christ and his to us. If M and I can love each other this much, how much more does God love us? He has been so faithful!

Still, I know that there will be times when our marriage will suffer trials. It already has in the 2 short months we’ve been married and I truly believe we are stronger for it and will be, come what may. In such a short time, I’ve become a wife and a step-mom, a law student and a newly-baptized Christian. It amazes me that given my past mistakes, God has brought me this far and continues to increase my joy. Nothing I could ever have done could make me worthy of such a reward as His gift of salvation, as the glimpse of heaven I have in my beautiful husband’s deep blue eyes. How could I ever put to words how grateful I am to be where I’m standing? I can't.

Still, I try... <3

The Healing is Slow

Has it really been five years since my beautiful New York City was turned into a war zone? Though I’ve watched the images replayed countless times, they still cut to the bone like they did the first time I saw them. They still produce the same shock and fear. It’s hard not to get angry.

I just got off the phone with my younger sister, who lost someone she loved that day. It’s no easier to talk about it now than it was then. The wound is still so fresh. There are still no words. She got off the phone just a moment ago, before the moment of silence at 8:46. She couldn’t speak anymore. She’s married now and has a baby on the way that will be born next month. She decided to go to work today to avoid watching the news, which I’ve been doing all morning.

They’re reading off the names of those lost now and I wait for the names of those I knew, people I went to school with, relatives of close friends, people whose bodies were never recovered, like my sister’s boyfriend. For five years those families have suffered. Has there been any healing? It’s hard to say.

New York has been built back up in these five years but the towers no longer stand and never will again. Soon it will be a memorial, something a lot of New Yorkers fought against. In many ways, it has gone back to business as usual – some might say that that’s a tribute to those who died, that we carry on - but has anyone forgotten? Maybe some have. We are no longer united as we were in the days and weeks and months following the attacks. There are no longer American flags streaming from every front porch and every passing vehicle. Politics have taken over again, dividing us. Americans have forgotten how our President stood with the people of New York and vowed to make the terrorists hear from us. I haven’t.

I’d like to believe we are still in the process of making them hear. In the meantime, all we can do is pray for those who are still suffering today as they suffered five years ago and hope that there will be retribution and peace for them someday. The healing comes slowly, but eventually it will come. (Won't it?)

However hard it is to recall or put into words, I know I’ll never forget. I doubt any of us touched by that day will.

The second moment of silence has just passed...

And the memories of that day rush to my mind. Walking in the door after running through the streets to get home. My family answering the door in tears . We almost collapsed right there. But mostly, I remember those days following 9/11, when my family and I all sat together and watched the news for nearly 24 hours at a time. We sat and cried together, talked together, watched the countless childen holding up "missing" signs on the news, begging for their loved ones' return. I felt so fortunate to be with mine. Up to that point in my life, I don't think I ever felt more love for them as I did in those days.

What a reminder that day was and will always be of the need to tell those we love how much we love them -- especially when we think of how many people likely died without ever being able to do so... I'm glad I was able to today.

NEVER FORGET.

Finally Back & Ready for the Next Adventure!

These last few weeks have been a complete whirlwind and unfortunately it took me away from blogging for some time. It was surely the longest I've ever gone without checking in, so I apologize for going MIA on those who follow! As some of you know from the prayer requests blog, my oral surgery (to get out all 4 impacted wisdom teeth in mid-July) did not go very well at all... I ended up missing the last 3 of my 4 weeks left at the organization I've loved working at so much over this last year and a half... and that has all wrapped up now.

M and I also just got back (last night) from vacationing in the Turks & Caicos Islands - the most beautiful place I've ever laid eyes on and possibly the most beautiful place on earth. To put it simply: if heaven were a beach it would surely resemble Grace Bay. As for the airport situation (which, began on the morning we were scheduled to leave) I'd rather pretend we didn't have to fly to get there... I think that should say it all!

This has been an incredible week in my life... and it's only getting started. I start law school the day after tomorrow! The time for relaxing is past (and too quickly at that) and the time for hard work and major stress (I'm sure) is at hand. But my faith is in God that I will be able to succeed at George Mason, and I remind myself often of something Kristin said in the comments section of this blog many months ago.... that God puts desires in our hearts' for a reason. I have to believe that He will give me the strength and perserverance to do the best I'm capable of, come what may.

When I think about the girl I was a little over a year ago, I feel like I am recalling a photograph I saw once that's date I can't remember. Something I remember briefly, that is gone from me. God has surely raised me up from times of trouble and He has surely blessed me immensely in this last year! The gift that M and his precious daughter have been to my life have meant more to me than I could ever put into words - though I've tried to time and time again... I reflect on where I've been and where I'm going and I know that I am standing exactly where I need to be... with M by my side and a future that we can only imagine before us. (When we are baptized together on August 20th, my joy will be complete). And the words to that hymn that is sung at Frontline so often ring so true now... "It is well with my soul." Wherever the road leads...

A Short Vacation

"Once in a while you have to take a break and visit yourself ." - Audrey Giorgi

It’s not something I’ve done in a while, it seems. I’m so easily distracted these days by the mundane tasks that often amount to so very little in the big scheme of things. How easily do we become so enveloped in the things we have to do that we forget the things we need or want to do like give ourselves a moment of quiet or say a silent prayer?

In these last couple of days - as the last few weeks at my job before I head off to law school wind down absent a decrease in day-to-day stressors - I’ve been planning my escape. Not from my job – or even from Virginia, necessarily – but from “it all,” I guess. (I think we all need that sort of vacation sometimes.) That’s why this quote struck me as it did when I visited the Christian Women Online Magazine to read more about their In “Other” Words feature, which I hope the other women in this blog community will consider participating in.

In the last week, I’ve been busy orchestrating the details of a last-minute trip to New York with my fiancé and his daughter to celebrate my sister’s wedding as well as a trip to Turks & Caicos (in August) to get some much-needed and well-deserved (I think) R&R before the stress really piles on. As my workload has increased along with unavoidable anxiety about the future, my blogging has been reduced to sporadic entries, the last of which has nothing to do with myself, really. What do I really care about Superman anyway? I’m trying to work out a budget while signing my soul away in student loans and planning for a May 2007 wedding for which funds remain a question mark while trying to learn how to be a step-parent and preparing to be a wife and not lose my mind or patience or sense of peace in the process. Sometimes, I think I need to lose myself in the things that don’t matter just to stop thinking about the things that do. Introspection can be wearing.

But maybe Audrey Giorgi had a point… So I took a moment to think on her quote. What does it really mean to take a break and visit yourself? I think it means to do the things we bloggers (male and female alike) do whenever we sit down to empty our minds/souls of our thoughts or burdens or ideas. We visit ourselves. We take time to really examine our conscience without the added burden of resolving all worries or conflict or solving all problems. We just allow ourselves for however long to be still; we just allow God to look at us.

This is not to suggest that God is not ever-watchful. But sometimes, it’s nice to just resign to the quiet of your own mind and let God look at you. Rather than trying to conjure up some eloquent prayer or find the words to thank Him for everything you can bring to light or apologize for, just letting your words be few: simply clearing your mind for a while and resting in the peace that you are Saved no matter how dire your circumstances may be.

One moment of un-interrupted quiet may be the best vacation there is….

I’ll certainly test it out in Turks & Caicos. :)

Truth, Justice and All That Stuff: Superman Returns

The Summer movie season has officially begun with the release of Superman Returns, the blockbuster that hit screens this past Wednesday. Having grown up watching the series, I felt compelled to rush out and see it. The fact that the newly cast Man of Steel was very dreamy indeed and in some ways resembled the late Christopher Reeve was also a plus. Yet, in my haste, I missed some warning signs that may have changed my mind…

For a movie that is based on a comic book star who has for more than 50 years been believed to be an American hero and icon - and one that opens on 4th of July weekend - the movie lacked something a bit telling about it’s producers: anything American. For an American hero, the lack of references to the United States, absence of a single American flag and total lack of patriotic underpinnings was a bit disturbing, though the film did provide many throw backs to the original series in non-conventional ways.

Truth be told, Superman Returns is a lot of fun, albeit a bit corny. Yet this corniness is part of what makes it so fun and funny. The movie reminds us that although this is a hero we have known - and who has not changed - for years and years, it is still a man in tights who flies. As has been reported in many magazines asking the question “Is Superman Gay?” Superman is a bit…. daintier than you may remember. Perhaps, a little lighter in the loafers. He’s not as masculine and far from as manly as you might remember, but he’s still a far cry from either members of the Ambiguously Gay Duo of Saturday Night Live. Yet, he is still faster than a speeding bullet, durable beyond comprehension and as strong as he ever was. As for Clark Kent – who did not enter into any phone booths this time around, much to my dismay - he is a lot nerdier than you might remember. This makes for an interesting viewing and provides some good laughs. At times it is just silly and at other times endearing. I found it very enjoyable (politlcal grudges aside).

The special effects are at times very gripping and at other times very clearly CGI. Superman, when wearing his tights, has an almost angelic glow that is obviously computer generated, but it helps to distinguish him from the geeky Clark and give a little more plausibility to the implausible idea that no one realizes that the two are one in the same. Though, be careful to note, there is one person who almost seems to…

Superman Returns is a movie that doesn’t take itself too seriously. It is a far cry from Spiderman on many levels, but still suspenseful and enjoyable enough to warrant seeing - if you can get past "all that stuff..." Let me explain...

When I left the theater, I couldn’t wait to call my dad, whom I feel obliged to call whenever I see some film we both watched when I was growing up (King Kong, Star Wars, etc.) Not expecting the response I would get, I called him to tell him that he would love the film. “You actually went and saw that movie?!" he said to me with a bit of hesitation and shock. “What do you live in a bubble out there in Washington DC? You haven’t heard about what they did with that movie?” I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.

Of course, for those of you who are familiar with the news item, my dad was referring to the interview given by the writers of the film in which they defended their reasoning behind removing any American references to the American icon in the film. Yet, though the lack of American paraphernalia was obvious, I had missed the throw away line that summed it up. For those of you familiar with the man in blue tights, you may remember his catch phrase: “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.” Well, I’ll let you read what the writers had to say about that (as featured in the NY Post article entitled “Man of Stuff”):

June 27, 2006 -- SUPERMAN'S motto, "Truth, justice and the American way," has been rewritten in the new "Superman Returns" to "Truth, justice and . . . all that stuff." Jeannie Wolf reports on Movies.com that screenwriters Mike Dougherty and Dan Harris wanted to avoid outdated jingoism. Dan: "I don't think 'the American way' means what it meant in 1945." Mike: "He's not just for Metropolis and not just for America." Dan: "He's an alien, from Krypton; he has come to Earth to be kind of a savior for this world, not our country . . . And he has no papers." Mike: "What would happen with the immigration laws we have now?" Dan: "I'd like to see someone kick him out!"

Sadly, an anti-American or liberal bias is to be expected from Hollywood filmmakers nowadays. However, one would think that given what an institution Superman is in this country that they would have given more deference to tradition. When dealing with iconic films like Star Wars, King Kong or Superman, you would think that the filmmakers would realize the need to take care not to go to far. (If you remember, in Spiderman 2, the filmmakers practically dedicated the film to this country, featuring a scene where New Yorkers rose up with great patriotism to fight back against Spidey’s enemies.) In this case, I’m sure many fans will see Superman turning his back on his roots and his country as nothing short of a sacrilege. That Superman no longer stands for the American way is a put-off beyond measure and one that leaves me wondering if I would have seen the film if I’d heard of this before.

So does the anti-patriotic take on one of the most patriotic figures from the last 50+ years warrant skipping out on this fun Summer film? For my dad, it will. And for other Americans, I suppose that is to be seen.

Superman is rated PG-13 for some intense action violence.

Nan Plans...

“Man plans and God laughs.”

That was what a mentor of mine once said to me. I remember being a little surprised by his statement because he was an atheist, but I agreed that in some ways he did have a point. We plan and plan and plan our lives but we forget that nothing is guaranteed, not even tomorrow.

This week, I’ve learned all too well what my mentor meant - though I doubt that God is as sadistic as the adage implies. If anything, I think it’s more of a chuckle than thunderous amusement.

When I was very young, an endocrinologist told me that I would have to have a baby very young if I ever wanted to be a mother. I couldn’t have been much more than 10 years old and my parents had taken me to see him only because I was very short for my age – something I never really grew out of, no pun intended. It was an irresponsible statement to make to someone so young and impressionable and not one I fully understand even to this day. Needless to say, I grew up with the irrational fear that I’d never be able to have children. It was almost as though my fears spoke it into being true.

After much speculation and several years of treatment for endometriosis - something the vast array of doctors I saw were not even positive I had, I decided I’d had enough. There was no real evidence then that suggested that what that callous physician had said would come true. Yet, that (combined with large doses of hormones I received and several unrelated surgeries on my spine I underwent) did not stop me from tumbling into a pit of depression so deep that I’d only recently managed to climb out of. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust God. It was that I didn’t understand why His reasoning would be so contrary to what I deemed, “common sense.” I’ve always believed that I would make a great mother…

“My daddy is going to marry N and they’re going to have a baby and I’m going to have a sister,” V announced to a perfect stranger at the bus stop a week or so ago. I looked down at her and pressed my lips together and nodded. “Or a brotherrrr,” she sighed.

She couldn’t have known why my face had changed the way it did. She couldn’t have suspected that I had just found out days earlier that evidence had finally surfaced to support the case the vast array of doctors had made. For three weeks after the tests (which the technician clued me in to without the doctor present), I was filled with fear that everything I thought I’d overcome was coming back to haunt me. But the doctor never called to give me the results. No news is always good news, I reasoned. Finally, I called and scheduled an appointment, determined to hear an explanation of the results from someone authorized to tell me. That appointment was this morning.

The whole train ride, I felt really proud of myself for brushing off my fears. The doctor would have called if something was wrong. The technician must have misinterpreted what she saw. I was going to have a beautiful family with M and V would be thrilled. God wasn’t really going to allow this to happen to me after everything that’s happened and I had been foolish to worry. That was the lesson I was going to learn.

Nan planned…

I guess that’s why I was surprised when the doctor confirmed my wildest fears and left me in an even more certain limbo than I’d ever been before. Although she officially diagnosed me, she explained that it would be years before I’d be able to have the necessary surgeries to determine whether or not I’d be able to have children. I’d have to be married and trying to get pregnant for at least a year before the insurance would pay for it, she explained - noting that I was just starting law school in a month and a half and explaining that given that, it would be at least 4 years before I’d be eligible for the necessary tests. That would leave me a year away from 30 before I’d even have certainty – and who’s to say I ever will? I am grateful my faith is strong.

With all the recent planning for my future: my career, my wedding, my life, I had forgotten that no matter how much control I think I have, some things are out of reach and nothing is guaranteed. Some things have to be left up to God. And while there is comfort in that, there is still fear. I don’t want to become bitter or resentful. I don't want to be angry at God. In this case, it seems that what I want is beside the point.

“My times are in Your hands…”

Rules of Engagement

Yesterday, my fiancé and I had a meeting with my soon-to-be step-daughter's lawyer. "When are you planning to marry?" she asked innocently enough. So I told her. "Next May after finals." After chewing the end of her pen for a beat, she offered, "Well why don't you just elope now? Honestly, the best thing to do would be to get married immediately and save yourselves all the hassle." I must have been a little stunned because she seemed to watch me for an eternity as I stared blankly back at her before she spoke again.
"Why are you waiting anyway? Oh, let me guess, it's your first marriage and you want the big church wedding, right?" she said cynically. "Trust me, in the end you'll end up spending so much money for a little piece of paper you'll wish you hadn't. Better to just go ahead and get it over with now – involve [step-daughter to-be] - and then have a big wedding next year when you want it."

Had she just referred to my impending vows as little more than a technicality? Was she equating my starting my life with M to nothing more than a signed document? In an instant she had whisked away all romantic notions and left me with little more than a legal strategy designed to best resolve the conflict regarding M's ex. She had also given M a better excuse to support his joking about us running off to some island and getting hitched. Now when M text messages me during the day asking me if I want to get married after work, I'll have to take his suggestions a little more seriously. (P.S. M: you don't really stand a chance!)

With all the media attention swirling on the value of the institution of marriage, the lawyer's comments did not come as that much of a surprise. For so many, marriage has lost it's appeal or relevance or value. Though her suggestions were well-intentioned, it was still a bit unsettling. But what struck me more than anything was a fear that my views on the world would too be forever reduced to that of legal technicalities and reasoning. Can law school really strip me of my values and romantic notions about life? Can the challenges of the curriculum and pressure of the Socratic method really challenge my faith and lead me to doubt?

Have you followed this blog long?! :) I wouldn't count on it! Even if I should become more argumentative, I'll still be me. And for the first time in my life I'm really OK with that.

As for the lawyer's advice, in the end I'll have to do what's right for me, M and my precious V. Needless to say, theres more than a piece of paper involved. Regardless of what others see.

I see... possibilities.

I Am...

I AM: passionate and persistent, small but strong, someone who puts my foot in my mouth a little more than I should, not afraid to be who I am

I SAID: “You want me to write it down? What do I look like?!” (while getting lost in VA), “"I’m still in the sink” (while texting at the hair salon), "Right now my pinky toe and my big toe feel like they are being held for questioning... 'I swear I don't know anything'" (after walking around in a pair of too small stiletto heels).

I WANT: Peace in my life and for those I love, and not much else.

I WISH: I could fix everything that’s broken and take away others’ pain. (big dreams, I know… but they’re supposed to be…)

I MISS: Midnight rides on 3rd avenue with my girls eating food in cars parked outside of peoples’ houses like we’re concealing a crime. Holding my sweet little step-daughter to-be in the pool (the only time I can actually lift her up). Not having to pay bills – but who doesn’t?
.
I HEAR: The sound of 5 economists working in close quarters: nothing but pages turning and keys clacking (mostly mine).

I WONDER: What my crazy black lab and fat boston terrier are doing right now.

I REGRET: Getting so worked up sometimes. In the end, it’s rarely ever worth it.

I AM NOT: One to hold my tongue when I know the answer.

I DANCE: Not as much as I used to but whenever I can.

I SING: While my fiance’ strums his guitar and I scribble out lyrics that don’t quite work yet.

I CRY: When I can’t take it anymore.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: As strong as I’d like to think I am.

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: the best meatballs besides my grandma, “Ma.”

I WRITE: Whenever I need to get something out of my system, good or bad.

I CONFUSE: others? I dunno… myself sometimes. When I look at a map definitely.

I NEED: A driver’s license and it’s about time.

I SHOULD: Start waking up earlier in the morning. I’m such a bum sometimes.

I START: At least 10 projects a day.

I FINISH: Every book in about a week, except “Just Exchange: A Theory of Contract (The Economics of Legal Relationships)” blahhh

I LOVE: with all my heart and no hesitations...

I TAG: KC and Corry, Kristin, Audrey, Pia and PinkLetterLaw

On Being Content & Worrying

“The funny thing is I’ve never felt this content in a relationship before,” a good friend said to me as she sat picking apart long greasy fries and sipping diet coke from a short straw.
“It’s scary, isn’t it?” I asked as I knowingly smiled back at her and nodded.
“Terrifying.”

And it got me thinking… Why is it when a relationship finally reaches the critical stage of comfort that we begin to freak out and question everything? Why is it so easy to become discontented by contentment and doubtful when there’s no indication that we should be?

What is it that makes comfort so uncomfortable for so many people?

If there’s one thing my girl friends have in common it’s that they never want to put too much stock into anything – especially a new fling. (A Coach wallet, a Louis Vuitton purse, and a new line of Mac makeup - maybe, but never something as uncertain or potentially permanent as a relationship!) So, of course, I was surprised when one of my best friends who’d flown solo for as long as I’ve known her announced that she had since become someone's girlfriend. As do most twenty-somethings, she went through the initial stages: cautious interest, experimental flirting, and a testing of the waters so-to-speak before she dove in head first. And much to her surprise, she was actually happy. Yet while happiness was easy to relish in, it was a sense of contentment that launched a sea of red flags. (As the saying goes where women are concerned: if nothing is wrong, find something wrong.) Eventually something will go wrong along the way, won’t it? Sometimes it's easier to have faith in that -- and often safer.

For women (I can’t attest to how men think and doubt they usually can either where matters of the heart are concerned), when you reach a level of comfort in a relationship, it can only mean one of two things: you’ve either found a good thing and the feeling is mutual or you’ve seriously deluded yourself somehow along the way and are in for a crash landing. If there is one thing a girl wants to avoid like plague it’s a false sense of security – better to have none at all. Fortunately for the girl in question, it doesn’t seem she’s wandered into such territory and I think that things might very well work out as she hopes. Yet, by entertaining doubts, she’ll unnecessarily hold back somehow or fail to enjoy what she’s found as fully as she might otherwise have.

For trust to grow – like anything else – time and patience are required. Perhaps it is best to remind ourselves that those initial feelings of comfort do not always blossom into the type of contentment that can last a life-time. But we should still take heart in knowing that time will ultimately tell. I’ve learned that to a large degree in the last year.

With M, I’ve found a contentment I never thought possible – and I don’t think I quite realized just how much until I had this little chat with my friend last weekend. I’d been so busy trying to keep up with work and wedding planning that I hadn’t left myself time to worry – at least not about anything other than which reception venue to choose or which cake design I liked best. In the interim, I’d been too busy just enjoying my life with M to allow my mind to wander. For whatever reason, when I nodded my head and offered my opinion on the matter, I felt surprisingly mature and it just hit me that I was exactly where I needed to be in my life. That I was living proof that there doesn’t have to be fear in love. That things really do work together for good.

Sometimes, I think I’m too busy to realize how blessed I really am. I’m glad I took the time today…

...have you?

Would it Be Better To Forget?

Lord knows I’ve tried on several occasions and in many different entries to write about the value of our pasts. And still, that does not keep me from retracing the same arguments in my mind and wondering whether or not it’s an absolute truth.

And it got me thinking… Does the pain of our past always serve some purpose? Or should we instead be seeking “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind” by deciding to forget?

For those of you who have seen the movie (I highly recommend it by the way), you may already know where this is going...

If it were possible to forget the past, if it we were somehow able to erase the painful memories entirely from our recollection, if we could manage to wake up tomorrow believing it was nothing more than a bad dream who's details we cannot remember – would we? Should we?

Everyone deals with heartache differently. Some of us learn and grow in spite of (or because of) the things that previously hindered us and others harbor negative feelings and emotions until they turn cold. For those of us able to look back and push aside the bitterness and see the bigger picture, even the most tumultuous past can seem like a blessing. If we hadn’t been where we were, surely, we wouldn’t be where we are. But there are still some people who are forever trapped in the past, who cannot help but relive their mistakes time and time again. They cannot go forward. They cannot move on because instead of looking ahead or up, they are forever looking back. They are bound to stumble. I’d like to think there’s a happy medium, but I’ve been on both sides of the spectrum. I know how difficult it is to find the middle ground. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of faith and more than anything it takes time. Healing comes slowly.

For years before I met M, I lived life in the shadow of a past I couldn’t out-run. I decided before I was 21 that I had, had my shot at happiness and had ruined it and I made up my mind that every future attempt at love would fail. And it did! I saw to it. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy that I would not admit to as I sabotaged one relationship after another reminding myself that nothing would repair my broken past. Regardless of the steps I often took in spite of myself to move on, I was too wrapped up in the things I could not change. I couldn’t forgive myself. Even when I thought I was moving on, I was just running in place. And it’s sad to say, but it took facing the demons of my past in the most confrontational way possible before I finally put it in perspective. It took almost losing everything to realize everything I had right in front of me.

It took time. And it was not long before I started to see M for the gift he was intended to be in my life -- a realization I would not have been able to come to had it not been for the contrast with my past. And it brings us back to the same line of reasoning: that we could never appreciate the day without the dark of night and we could never know what is good without first knowing the bad. Yet, for those who have not yet seen the day or stumbled upon the good, it may seem ludicrous. The pain of the past may be nothing more than painful. Yet, there is still hope.

If we can look back even on the bad times and remember some spark of happiness, some shred of a memory when we felt joy, then we have something to look forward to. (Those of you who saw the movie may be remembering that one moment that the main character tries to hang on to, which makes the painful past worth remembering.) If we could just believe that God will not let us settle, that the best is yet to come. If we could pinpoint all the times we were low and God pulled us up. If we could realize the truth: that God hasn’t put us here to punish us or keep us down and that sometimes, down is the only place we can look up from, it would be easier not to look back. It would be easier to see the past as a piece of the puzzle, as a thread in the tapestry. It would be easier to trust that someday we will understand the reasons that have been concealed.

If we don’t remember where we’ve been, how can we know where we’re going? I’m glad I know now. It was a lesson worth learning.

Entertaining Doubts

“Cannot you not hear? Cannot you not see? And if with words You could change the way things are arranged Surely you'd be speaking, speaking no change…”

The music was blaring through the apartment as I made my way around it cleaning up from last weekend’s events. It was a song on a CD that I had listened to countless times, but for whatever reason it felt like it was the first time I was really hearing it.

“Oh and I pray, my prayer's not heard. Could it be your death, death to mortal words? Oh, and see her pain, and drain and drain. Could you be deaf, and blind my friend?”

In spite of having always known that Dave Matthews Band was secular, it had always moved me to hear these objections to faith put so plainly. Despite being a Christian long before I was introduced to DMB, these were notions I had also struggled with. And listening to the songs reminded me of how difficult it often is to understand a God we cannot see and not always understand. For whatever reason, the music deepened my faith because it clarified for me how necessary blind faith often is.

The song in particular used an example of a suffering child that the singer believes God could save if He wanted to. Because nothing is done to spare the child or ease it’s pain, the singer concludes that there is no God and if there is, He is not a loving God.

“Oh, so I'm praying all at night. And I wake up praying the whole daylight. I pray to you, and hear my request. I ask of you to save this baby Oh, look at the girl. Awful inside, is cancer-eaten, is life-deprived. And if so by who? Could it be you?
I see no need for a baby's wisdom for you.”

This is the classic disconnect between the unbeliever and faith. It is two-pronged. It’s the argument that on one hand, if we are to believe that there is a God we must accept that He is indifferent at best and on the other that if there were an all-powerful God who could correct the situation, He would, so there isn’t one. Listening to the lyrics of DMBs songs, these notions are clearly illustrated.

“If at all God’s gaze upon us falls it’s with a mischievous grin, look at him…”

The problem of pain, as C.S. Lewis wisely noted is one that plagues the believer and nonbeliever both. Even for those who love and accept God, it’s sometimes impossible to come up with an explanation when we witness needless suffering or unspeakable tragedy that seems to serve no purpose. It is at times difficult to trust that God is working when we cannot see it and accept that in order to allow free will, the problem of pain must exist. Yet in order for us to make choices, we must be given a range of possibility, we must be allowed to make bad choices that hurt others or ourselves as well as good choices that help others, otherwise we’d be no better than puppets.

Yet, rather than blame the people who sin, we blame the God who allows us the choice. We reason: if He could fix it, He would. But if He did, it would rob us of what makes us human: the ability to decide, to believe or not to believe, to sin or not to sin, to help or to hurt, to do good or evil. It is entirely our decision whether or not we trust Him and put our hope in the notion that all things will work together for good, even when we cannot imagine how.

But the point of this entry wasn’t to try and explain it away or make excuse. It wasn’t to try and re-iterate the finer points in C.S. Lewis’ masterpiece or dabble in philosophical reasoning of my own. It wasn’t the concept of God’s indifference that struck me when I listened to the song that prompted me to write this blog. It was the notion that I hadn’t considered: That if we suffer when we witness pain and tragedy, how much more does God suffer BECAUSE He could change it?

At any moment, God could rearrange any situation (as the singer in the song requests). But it would contradict who He is and who He made us to be if He were to pull the strings, interrupt our actions or prevent consequences. Our actions and decisions would be meaningless. We would be playthings instead of people. Instead, God must sit by and watch us destroy ourselves and each other knowing that He had the power to prevent it but could not. It would be the end of the world as we know it. Instead, God must watch the creations that He loved enough to give such limitless possibilities to go astray. I can imagine that if it hurts us to hear about, it hurts Him a great deal more.

So why not scrap the whole thing? Why not stop the world as soon as a tragedy occurs?

I’d like to think it’s out of love. That in spite of our misdeeds, God finds a way to use pain to reach us, to teach us, to perfect and improve us, and that He works to comfort those who suffer through no fault of their own. And that, I guess is where faith comes in. Though every now and then I’ll hear the words to some familiar song and entertain my doubts for just a moment before realizing how fortunate I am to know the truth.

Surely, He is watching.