noelan truth

By addysengrace, america, christian, eisleyhope, family, Foster/Adoption, mercyadoniyah, noelantruth, romania, travel

I didn’t think I would write about this honestly. Part of me wants to close up and not share a word. Yet the questions have come quickly but out of love. Why?! I don’t get it! Can’t you do something?! Can I help?! I am not sure where to begin. I have been quiet – – we have been quiet, because we were doing quite simply what we were asked to do – – parent. Last February found us in no way planning a trip to the USA. Christian and I packed up our family and moved to Eastern Europe on January 16th, 2012. We didn’t do it because we are amazing. We did it because the call is real and we consider ourselves disciples and followers of Jesus Christ. And then that push comes to shove, you go. And so with a whole lotta awkward, no idea, we packed up our three year old, our six month old, eight 22 gallon plastic sterilite containers, a carseat, a stroller, a sewing machine, and a few other random things. We were blessed to be surrounded by very loving, very forgiving people as we blundered through culture shock and insensitivity, being homesick, grief mixed with excitement and so much more.

Fast forward from January 2012 to March 2015, when our world changed in every way. My niece, Eisley Hope was born on March 23rd and twelve days later, her brave fight to live was over. We had experienced adoption loss before and we had experienced the death of grandparents and friends, but this was something we had never experienced before. Addy and Mercy were shaken. We were shaken. They were crushed and bruised. We were crushed and bruised. After a whirlwind come back to the USA just three weeks after our 2015 furlough, we found ourselves back home in Romania with a huge hole in our hearts. So we did what we know best – – we kept going. We can look back now and see all the amazing people that walked alongside of us, making sure we were okay. We found Mercy the resources she needed and after two very scary months with our precious little girl that had stopped communicating, she started trying again. we saw her slowly emerge from the dark shell she had disappeared into. At Christmastime, DohDoh (my sister) and Uncle Tanner came to visit (Eisley’s parents). As I stood back and watched the chaos of laughter, fun and life – – I saw our family healing. I saw a new kind of “okay” where Eisley’s death doesn’t define us but it changes us into better people. I saw hope and joy in our family again.

So when February 2016 rolled around, we didn’t see ourselves doing much or going anywhere anytime soon. Gosh, we were just proud that we made it through most of winter and spring was on the way. Addy is doing brilliantly in Romanian public school. She is funny and energetic and social and bright and loud. She is creative and joyful. She speaks Romanian better (proper with amazing vocabulary) than many seven year olds born in Romania. Christian and I have felt a tiny bit of jealousy a few times, listening to her flawless language skills. Mercy is doing simply amazing at her new kindergarten. After a rough spring/summer 2015, we were so blessed to enroll her in a brand new kindergarten where we watched her become a new child. She is fierce and intense but loving and kind. She is freakishly smart and can already out argue her parents through logic and persistence. Every morning, she would wake up ready for school and life. I can honestly say the girls were thriving and I think Christian and I were doing pretty good too.

Let’s face it – – we are surrounded by kids without parents. It comes with the job. If I wanted to go find myself a child to make “mine” it wouldn’t be legal but it wouldn’t be difficult either. My life is a mixture of family, church family and kids without a family. Our holidays and weekends include extra kids on a regular basis. I can’t pick up Addy from school without giving 14 million hugs and receiving 29 million crushing squeezes. I go to the mini-market and find 1 or 2 kids I know that shout, “hey Meeeerrrrrrryyyyyy!” I say this because we weren’t looking or even really considering growing our family just yet. Our desire has always been to adopt while living in Romanian after we receive citizenship (the legal way for Americans to adopt) and citizenship takes time. So when Noelan found us, we weren’t sure. Noelan’s story is “simple” enough yet filled with trauma. He was born in Africa and quickly shuffled around from orphanage to foster mom. His California family began his adoption and asked us to be his godparents. We began praying for him while he was just an infant and I love that part of his story.

Like many, most, all Africa adoption, his hit some major bumps and he ended up living with his sweet foster mama for the first three years of his life. Many times it was thought his adoption would not take place but then in January it did. And we found ourselves peering through FaceTime watching him arrive in SoCal and we were full of excitement and joy. But as we know and have experienced and lived, adoption is not an easy nor simple way to add a child to your family. It is a decision to love a child that might be “broken” according to the worlds standards but I would argue that the world is what is actually broken. Adoption is parenting a child with a complex and confusing background, understanding that they might look “fine” on the outside but on the inside they are carrying very deep, very real, very painful wounds. And Noelan’s new legal parents found themselves unable to care for him, to which I say, that is okay.

So in February when they asked us to come and be his forever family, we found ourselves very, very conflicted. Everything in us said we needed to go and yet nothing inside of us wanted to uproot our lives for an unknown time. We wrestled and sought counsel. I still remember my older brother saying, “my fear is that he is too much to for them to parent while he is living with them but once he is gone, he won’t be too much to parent and they will think they can do it and then they will get him back and he will be too much for them to parent and a vicious cycle will start.” And we knew he was 100% right because let’s face it – – we are all awesome parents until we actually have kids. Heck I was the world’s best parent before Addy was born. Yet in our heart of hearts we still felt the urge to go. Our sweet little godson was in danger – – this isn’t stuff you make up. His new legal parents were crying out for help, confessing that they wanted him out of the house, their marriage was in shambles, their home was dangerous and toxic from him – – all words direct from their own mouths. Christian looked at me and said, “if we don’t go, we will always regret it.”

My parents rearranged their lives and schedules to pick him up from SoCal with less than 24 hours notice – – because from the mouths of his new legal family, it was for his own safety. My sister and her husband rearranged everything to provide emergency respite for him. And on the night of February 18th, they got my precious little boy, shell-shocked, numb and turned off to the world. He wasn’t in good condition. He was very dehydrated. He drank and drank and drank water until you had to take the water away and he would tantrum for it. His lips were scabbed and peeling. His skin was dry and peeling. He was simply numb to the world and life around him. DohDoh rocked him for hours those first ten days. Tanner sat on the floor and played cars over and over and over. Pops would get him from DohDoh’s office and drive him up to the “big house” (our name for Grammie and Pop’s house) and Grammie would watch him during the day. He had a non-stop “cold” for the first week.

And we furiously paused life in Romania. We got out cash time and time again (ATM’s have limits you know) and prepaid bills for a couple months as customary in Romania. We started praying and rearranging money to come up with the needed adoption fees (let’s be honest, missionaries and humanitarian workers don’t exactly make big bucks). We pulled Addy out of school and her gymnastics class just a month before starting competitions. We pulled Mercy out of her kindergarten and her swim lessons. Tears of confusion streamed down her cheeks on her last day at school with her sweet best friends Tibi and Iusti. We tried to explain to our “other” kids that we would be gone just for a couple months and we would come back but I knew in my heart “gone” means “forever” in these kids’ hearts and the tears that welled up broke my heart. Our ministry director was encouraging through it all – – reminding us that God would take care of the ministry while we were gone. So with time we didn’t have and money we didn’t have, we came to California on February 29th and we met our son.

It was blurry in the beginning, jumping into mama and daddy to an adorable but freaked out little boy but it was so worth it. The nights were long and the days even longer but it was worth it. The first snuggle, the first “I love you mama” that came in April made it worth it. The girls reaching out and hugging and tickling and loving their brother made it worth it. And with time we saw him start to thrive. He began using words instead of wails, eating healthy portions of food and using the potty for pee and poo. Yes, these are life’s little successes. Don’t get me wrong, for every two steps forward we would take a step back. This is normal development for an adopted child. Noelan’s three and a half years of life are filled with loss, pain, goodbyes, fear and failures. But we were blessed to know a little better this time around how to meet his needs. So we took every day as a new start in this weird pretend life we were living in California. We morphed into homeschooling Addy and Mercy in Romanian (hello challenge) while blending a family of three kids that were strangers one day and siblings the next.

And we kept waiting. It gets tricky here but you asked, so here is the “simplified” answer. Noelan’s legal family was not completely his legal family – – because he was in the middle of an uncompleted African adoption. So his legal family couldn’t sign over parental rights until they legally completed his adoption. Maybe Christian and I are dumb, maybe we just love and trust too much, maybe we just need to have faith that Noelan needed us. But the problem is that we simply believed their word. So we plowed ahead with nothing more legal than a Power of Attorney. We did medical appointments, blood work, vaccinations and minor surgery. We did play therapy and TBRI (Karyn Purvis’ trust-based relational intervention). And we waited for April 5th when his legal family would receive the paperwork they needed to relinquish parental rights.

But they didn’t sign. We asked them why and it was a new excuse every day. We tried to explain we couldn’t stay here indefinitely while they let us babysit Noelan. We tried to remind them why they asked us to come. We tried to answer questions and be 100% open and vulnerable. All the while, the stress just grew in our little family. We tried to hide it from Addy and Mercy but they are just too smart and they would overhear something, see something, know something. And meanwhile, the love and bond between us and our new son simply strengthened. He became a mama’s boy with a deep love for daddy’s tickles. He found comfort in his relationship with Addy and mischief in his relationship with Mercy. He asked daily to visit Grammie or Pops or DohDoh or Tanner.

And we kept waiting, trying to financially afford two lives, one here in California and one in Romania. And we tried to give a grieving family time and space and love. When May rolled around and we were told that no paperwork had been signed, we were confused and devastated. There is nothing quite like loving and pouring your life into a child that you have no “legal claim” to. Our watching in desperation, knowing he has attached to his new family, us. Watching his behaviors show the beginning steps of healing, watching the successes begin to outnumber the setbacks, all the while knowing that a family he wasn’t attached to was weirdly obsessed with him. And finally, waiting as his legal family was told by the adoption agency, “You need to make a decision because Noelan is attached to his family and Noelan deserves permanency” and instead being told, “Nope we changed our minds, we want him back, we are attached to him.” Because you know, 20 days of “this child is in danger in our toxic home” is more beneficial to Noelan that 93 days in a unconditionally loving and stable environment. (sarcasm) Please don’t get me wrong – – I won’t claim perfection, simply unconditional love and safe stability. And that is what Noelan needed and deserved.

Why is he gone in a blur? Why weren’t his aunties and uncles, other grandparents or friends able to say goodbye? Maybe because on Thursday we chose Monday to take him to the adoption agency (over an hour away) and on Friday at 9a we received a call from our social worker telling us they were demanding him that day and we needed to have him in Sacramento by noon. I am so grateful that in that blur at least his Auntie DohDoh and Uncle Tanner were able to drop everything and race up to see him. And I am more than grateful for Uncle Tanner and Pops that bravely drove him to Sacramento and handed him over to a family that was acting out of selfish gain without a single concern for Noelan. And I am so grateful for Pops, that bravely tried one last time to advocate for Noelan.

And now we are here. In California without our home, but surrounded by some of the most amazing and loving family and friends. I lay awake last night, unable to sleep for most of the night, as my mind whirled and swirled, as I, Noelan’s mama, cried myself to sleep wondering if he was ok, as I woke up panicked over and over hearing his phantom cries in my head. To be the parents of a young, innocent child but not have any legal rights over him has got to be one of the worst things I have ever felt. I don’t have a lot of answers or resolution to this blog post. I would just ask that you would pray for Noelan Truth, his safety and his heart. I would ask that you would pray for Mercy Adoniyah because she feels so deep and so strongly. I would ask that you pray for Addy Grace because she loves so intensely. And I would ask that you would pray for us, our family and everyone around us. This pain is deep.


one year of missing you

By america, eisleyhope, family


memories are weird. i can’t tell you what i ate last week. but in a moment i can flashback and be re-living last march. and all of a sudden it is the weekend and i am chatting with my sister and she is saying, “i don’t feel great – – do i have the flu? could i be in labor?” and i am reassuring her and telling her “i don’t think so – – klein baby girls are late. you probably overdid.” or two days being awaken in the middle of the night, trying to process the voice on the other end saying, “marie, sarah is getting ready to have an emergency c-section” and me breathing in as deep as i could before saying, “okay – – can you give her the phone?” and trying in all my fake bravery to tell her, “everything is going to be okay – – babies are born healthy at 31 weeks all the time.” and then i am sitting there at my kitchen table all over again, staring through my imsg, willing it to tell me that everything would be okay. two days later i ran through frankfurt with mercy to make my connecting flight. i barely made it. i watched the movie “boyhood” on the airplane ride from frankfurt to sacramento. i still listen to the song “hero” to fall asleep. cacey met me at the airport, took me to sarah and took mercy for the night. i met my eisley hope in the nicu at uc davis on a thursday night.

and then there are entire months that i do not remember. i can’t tell you what i did in april or may. i am told i went to work. i have pictures of me at the orphanages, me and the girls, me and christian. i don’t remember a single day in may. i don’t remember if i wished my mom a happy birthday OR a happy mother’s day. i can barely remember my middle child’s 4th birthday. in may, i wondered if we would ever be the same, ever laugh, ever relax, ever stop worrying. i made deals with God – – while my heart froze every time i received a text from anyone in my family. there were times this past year where i stared in the mirror and didn’t recognize what i saw. there were times this past year where i wondered if i was living one big made up joke. there were times when i just didn’t know.

and then i have memories here and there. summer memories that slowly brought small moments of laughter. my children were the beginning of my road to healing. grieving like a child is so simple and yet so powerful. my kids TALK about eisley. my kids CRY about eisley. my kids have zero apprehension about telling someone “my cousin died. her name is eisley. she went to heaven to be Jesus.” the biggest thing i learned this summer is that there is no “returning” to “normal” but there is finding a new normal. and that new normal will include laughter and smiles and jokes and happy moments but that new normal will always be missing a strawberry blonde little girl names eisley and that new normal will always have a little bittersweet because we have experienced loss and death.

this post really has no end. it has no moral or amazing wow moment. it isn’t even finished. we still have a lot of pain. and we still have days where we wonder why and struggle. there are still moments when we doubt. and then there are days when we laugh and smile and giggle. there are days when we forget for a moment. i don’t think there is a earthly end to this story. march 23, 2017 will be the same and yet different. we will still miss eisley and hurt and wonder why. and maybe next year it will feel easier. but who knows – – maybe march 23, 2018 will be the hardest of “anniversary-birthdays.” i don’t know and i am pretty sure sarah and tanner don’t know either. i think grief is a strange kind of song. sometimes it gets stuck on repeat, sometimes it plays without a problem, sometimes it freezes and doesn’t play at all. i guess that is simply grief.

but today, well it was the most beautiful way to spend a day i never wanted to spend. never in my wildest dreams did i imagine celebrating my sweet girl’s first birthday without her. but today i stood around a beautiful headstone, covered in amazing flowers, surrounded by some of the strongest people i know. and today we let balloons sail up to heaven, carrying sweet messages to our little girl. and then we enjoyed dinner and strawberries for our little strawberry blond munchkin.


happy first birthday sweet girl. we love you and miss you more than words can describe.
uncle christian, auntie marie, addy, mercy and new cousin


By addysengrace, bucuresti, christian, eisleyhope, family, holidays, mercyadoniyah, romania

by far these past three weeks have been some of the best. the weather was amazing, the company even better. so while right now we just really miss dohdoh and tanner at least we have all these special memories to think about.

happy 2016. a year to move forward in peace and joy, forever changed for the better in 2015.

i’m sorry

By eisleyhope, family



“i’m scared. can i sleep with you?”
“are you really scared?” i replied. “or do you just want to snuggle.”
you didn’t answer, you were fast asleep.

“i’m in trouble, i need to sit on my bed.”
“are you really in trouble?” i replied. “or do you want to be in the room with me?”
you didn’t answer, you were playing with my toys.

i showed you everything. how to pick out your clothing. how to brush out your tangles. the proper way eat a cupcake and the best places for hide and seek.

i showed you the radio stations that were worth listening to.

i introduced you to the movie classics that all teenage girls need to love.

and for the most part, i never led you astray. for the most part, i did a good job.

i stuck up for you, defended you and all around scared off the bullies.

but i lied to you and i didn’t even realize it until recently. and i am sorry. if i could do it all over again, i would be wiser. i would be better prepared.

i told you motherhood would be the best thing in your life. i told you it would be wonderful. i told you it would be beautiful. i told you it would be absolutely perfect.

but i forgot to tell you that it might be painful.

and while i know it has been wonderful, because now you are a mom.

and while i know it has been beautiful, because eisley hope is beautiful.

and while maybe motherhood has been the best thing in your life, it has also been the worst thing in your life. and the most painful. and the most devastating.

i’m sorry i didn’t warn you. i am sorry i told you it would be perfect. i am sorry i forgot to tell you that it might hurt so much, so deep, so strong.

i know you will tell me that it isn’t my fault. i know you will tell me that i couldn’t have known.

but in my heart i will always know i promised you beautiful, perfect motherhood and you bravely wore the messier, more painful version.

Screen Shot 2015-09-01 at 10.50.50 PM

a week of thoughts

By eisleyhope, family

i have had the opportunity to hear a lot of worship/praise songs in english this past week. i guess i didn’t realize that i havent heard english praise/worship since i was in the states for eisley hope’s birth. i have found myself listening more than singing. in the beginning i found myself wishing that i could pin a sign to my back that read, “please don’t judge me – – i have a story that you don’t know.” yet during this week i have found comfort that the people i am surrounded by this week have turned out to be very kind and very gentle.

i am not mad when i sit there not singing – – i am just thoughtful. i find myself reflecting on the song, wondering what the song writer was thinking when she or he was writing the song. we sang a song that had the line, “i am confident in life and in death” (or something close). i was looking around the room at the different men and women singing, praising, hands raised. and i found myself thinking, “but don’t you realize that it is so easy to be confident in death until you actually stare death in the face.”

truth be told, i am not sure how to keep moving forward – – learning, healing and growing – – without becoming a cynic. i think the death of a child, the death of a niece – – combined with being a dreamer, an inspirer, a “sickeningly optimistic positive morning person” as my husband lovingly refers to me – – is a hard mouthful to swallow.

i haven’t closed my eyes and pictured my pictures in almost five months. i don’t even know how to describe what that means. but my dreaming, inspiring, crazy brain is very dark and very quiet now. when i close my eyes, pictures don’t dance the way they used to. instead i find that i either see absolutely nothing or a flashback. the flashbacks are not always bad – – sometimes i am leaning over my brand new niece and smelling her little strawberry blond head for the very first time. those flashbacks i don’t mind. it is when i close my eyes, and i am crumpling to the floor as i realize my precious niece has trisomy 13 or watching my sister bite her lip as tears stream down her face or watching my four year old kiss her cousin’s oh so tiny cheek. those flashbacks leave me simply exhausted.

mercy misses eisley the most lately. she finds things almost every day and softly, sadly whispers, “i miss eisley hope.” i think it is interesting that mercy never calls her just eisley, but always eisley hope. mercy still struggles with me leaving her for long periods of time. she still flips out if she doesn’t know where daddy or i are at all times. she still goes into these “baby phases” where she won’t use words and won’t walk on her own. i know with time that this will fade but for now mercy is a daily reminder that we all just need a little extra grace.

on tuesday, we sang “it is well with my soul.” the weird part is that on monday i thought to myself, “if we sing that song, i don’t think i could sing it.” when we started singing it, i sat there listening – – and as i listened, i started to wonder. if you know the story, you know that mr. spafford lost his three children when the ship carrying his wife and children sank crossing the atlantic ocean. his wife survived and as he traveled to europe in another ship to be with her, the story goes that he went up on deck around the place his children had died and wrote the hymn we know as “it is well with my soul.” i always believed him to be some sort of spiritually mature amazement – – some sort of rock of faith and belief – – something to desire and pursue. eisley hope has not only changed me, she has changed my doctrine too in some ways. and sitting there, i began to realize that perhaps mr. spafford had absolutely zero faith in God at that moment. maybe he was furious at God for taking his children from him. maybe he truly doubted Jesus’ existance at that moment. maybe he was simply choosing to voice the words he knew to be true but didn’t believe at that moment. maybe he didn’t belt them out in some almighty chorus of trust. maybe he choked them out in angry and confused whispers, pausing in between verses to weep.

and maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. when i step back and look at it all, the bigger picture – – i can’t help but wonder if that is the healthier thing to do anyway.

i think Jesus wants us to be real more than anything else. i don’t think jeremiah was exactly thrilled with God in the first part of chapter 20. i think when he says in verse 9, {but if i say, “i will not mention his word
or speak anymore in his name”} i think he is truly doubting if God really has all His ducks in a row. read habakkuk 2 and you will see a prophet that not only complained but simply doubted what the heck God was up to. psalm 142:2 says, “i pour out before him my complaint; before him i tell my trouble.” the writer of psalm 102 has all but thrown in the towel from depression and sadness. in fact, a quick google search says that as many as 65-67 psalms are full of those christian behaviors that we click our tongue at disapprovingly – – things like anger, doubt, sadness, complaints, depression and more.

and yet john 16:33 tells me, “i have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. in this world you will have trouble. but take heart! i have overcome the world.”

and so with mercy, mr. spafford, the prophet jeremiah, the prophet habakkuk and all the psalms in mind, i extend myself another does of grace. i remind myself that i don’t have to sing praise songs to worship Jesus. i whisper to myself, “you will be okay” while breathing slowly, calmly. i remind myself that someday i will dream again. i tell myself that it is okay to be comfused and doubtful. i allow my “devotions” to be nothing more than reading the Jesus story book bible to my kids and praying with them. why not – – we are told to become like little children. maybe i will find my Savior through my kids and their childlike faith.

and if that is all that makes sense today – – well, so be it. “we have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure…”

two little ones

By america, eisleyhope, family

yesterday, my sweet friend danielle gave birth to her baby boy.

only it was all so wrong. again. a couple days ago, her and her husband found out that their sweet baby boy had died in her womb. he was strong and healthy and thirty-nine weeks gestation and just waiting to be born.

and once again i had to be reminded that life is fragile and a whisper and passing away.

last night i lay in bed, tormented by my one regret from eisley’s life. i have replayed it a million times, tried to fix it a million times…and yet time and time again i find myself back at my parents’ house at christmastime, working, working on something. and sarah calls from the other room, “hey come in here for a second. she’s moving around.” and i reply, “ok just a sec” but i finish whatever i am doing.

i can’t even remember what i was doing. i think it was something about christmas. you know, preparation. something that needed to be done. i just can’t remember what. but i finished, maybe just a minute or two passed. i set my stuff down and walked in the room and put my hand on sarah’s tummy…but eisley had drifted off to sleep and stopped kicking.

i felt eisley quite a few times during her 31 weeks in utero. i honestly don’t know why my mind keeps replaying that one scenario. i don’t know why it can’t replay all the times i did stop and feel her kick. grief is a weird thing you know. it hits you deep, hard, sharp when you least expect it. it floods you like a gigantic tidal wave, just when you think you are doing okay. it sneaks in like a pesky mosquito and manages to bite you while you think you are peacefully sleeping. oh grief. you are a pain in the booty.

my friend irina share a quote with me the other day. “there is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” i know that i have to look forward. for me, i have realized a few things. i have become very quick to drop everything i am doing just to snuggle “just one more time” with mercy before bed. and to stop everything and help addy paint/glue/cut “just one more project” before we do chores or homework. when christian says, “hey do you have a second, i want to show you something” i don’t find myself struggling between that and “what needs to be done.” i am not so worried about “what needs to be done” these days. people. i find myself much more concerned about people than tasks.

this post is for danielle and her husband nathan. i am so proud of them these past few days. i don’t even know nathan, but i know a little of the shock and pain he is feeling right now. i know a little of the anger and doubt and fear and sadness and desperation and bargaining and grief that will follow. i have watched from afar as they bravely went through the delivery of their precious baby boy, knowing that they would never meet him alive and well. and this post is for sweet william harrison, who i will never meet on this earth but i have a feeling is making quite the playmate for my sweet eisley hope right about now. today our hearts are aching for yet another sweet little person that we should be snuggling. i am so thankful that there is no end to love.

goodnight sweet william…have fun playing with eisley…but beware, she has small but mighty klein girl blood in her. 😉

Screen Shot 2015-06-07 at 11.39.37 AM

{i’m trying}

By eisleyhope, family

one month ago, my beautiful niece left this place called the world. i have been trying to write a blog post for the past month and i have deleted at least twenty attempts.

i don’t know why. my mind is still spinning and sometimes if i think too much about it, i suddenly can’t breathe and things go dark and quiet.

life sucks. and yet life is amazing. i look at my younger child, blonde and feisty. she keeps me on my toes but oh she is amazing. i analyze my oldest, freckled and fiery. she is so smart, it blows me away.

and i don’t know why.

i wanted my girls to have another cousin. i had saved every single matching addy/mercy cute outfit because the mercy/eisley age difference was going to be perfect.

life is just cruel sometimes.

this past month i have been doing a lot of searching, reading, thinking. trying to figure out what terms Jesus and i are on. if that shocks you, i am guessing you haven’t reached a crisis of faith yet. i know i have and i am strangely okay with that. i know i will get through and i know my faith will be even deeper than before.

i’m just not through yet. and i am not rushing. i need to figure some things out and i need them to change the way i think and act and do. i need to take time to let Jesus reveal himself to me in an even more intimate way than before.

but last night as i lay in bed…i had a revelation. i was talking to my sister, my husband and a friend. and my revelation was this simple. doctrinally, i believe 100% in the mystery of God. he is mysterious and his ways are a mystery. in other words, there are parts of him and parts of my faith i do not and will never understand on this earth, using my humanly thinking. as a teenager growing up, i was misled to believe that if i studied enough and learned enough, i, in my great and mighty abilities, would be able to fully understand God and all his ways…down to the last greek and hebrew letter.

i was raised with a lie. there really isn’t a nicer way to say it. i am not that great and i will never be that amazing. i think there is a reason we are told to have the faith of a child. my children have the most amazing thought processes, especially when they don’t fully grasp something.

and suddenly i found great comfort. something i have seen people saying (in regards to eisley’s death) that has bothered me is “praise Jesus.” see, i had a problem with that, because absolutely zero of me wants to in anyway say “praise Jesus.” but then it hit me…i don’t have to. gasp all you want, i don’t mind. see…if i believe in the mystery of Jesus (which i do) that means that while someday (heaven) i will understand his ways, right now…try as i might, i will never understand all his ways.

which means that maybe on this earth, using my humanly thinking, i might never (that’s right, never ever) praise Jesus over eisley’s death. and i think that is perfectly okay. i have complete peace that my Savior doesn’t actually care if i am praising him specifically pertaining to eisley’s death. he knows i have chosen to believe even when i haven’t felt like it. he knows i am walking forward, choosing to have faith that he is with me and he will always be with me. he knows he is my beloved and i am his. and that is all he really cares about, in my little itty bitty humble opinion.

i am very thankful he is mysterious and infinite and i am human and mortal. and i am pretty sure that is the best place for me to be right now.


eisley hope klein hutchinson, i will never be the same. you changed me and i am eternally thankful for that. i don’t miss you any less today than i missed you last month. the pain in my heart doesn’t actually feel less right now. but baby girl, i will keep going…your mama and daddy will keep going…we are so very, very grateful for the twelve days you gave us. sleep soundly little girl, i am coming to see you someday.