Contemplate.

Three years ago, I was sitting in a hospital room in Nashville wondering what life would look like outside of the windowed walls of the L&D unit. Cameron and I had been there for 4 days and (unbeknownst to us) would be there for another 4 days before we were released back to our Wellman Drive house. It was so upsetting, we were wondering if we were going to be able to be back in the house for Christmas, or if we would be celebrating it inside a hospital room. Mom brought us some Christmas decorations to hang up, and we were transferred to a larger room that could accommodate visitors “just in case.” Each day, I was going to the Fetal Center to check on Atticus and each day being taken back to my room without knowing when we’d be leaving the hospital or if we were in the long haul to delivery and meeting him face to face finally. It was depressing. I was tired of waiting. 

I have a picture in my camera roll that I took one night when Cam went to get coffee. I was left by myself, had the TV turned off and sat on the side of the bed taking in the silence. The hospital room was large and had massive windows surrounding it. I loved seeing the city at nighttime because it reminded me of Cincinnati, and I would sometimes just sit at the windowsill in the rocking chair watching people walk down the street. On that night, it was super dark and the clouds had completely blocked out the moon. We had a thunderstorm rolling in and you could see flashes of lightning in the distance. I could see myself in the reflection of the window, so I took out my camera and took a picture. Why? Because I wanted to remember. 

It wasn’t until I joined Sacred Heart here in town that I understood what it meant in Luke 2:19 when Mary, “kept all those sayings, and pondered them in her heart.” It honestly was something I glanced over when reading my Bible because I didn’t understand the significance of that moment in her personal life until I found myself in a state of prolonged and painful waiting. That night when I took the picture of myself in the window, I firmly believe it was the Lord giving me my “Mary Moment” of keeping something in my heart so I could remember. But remember what, exactly? The pain, both physical and mental of that moment? The excitement of being one day closer to meeting my baby boy? The quiet of that night and how I found comfort in silence because things had been so noisy in that hospital room? It was certainly a combination of it all. 

Being so separated from that moment with the passing of time, it always surprises me when a specific memory of our time in Nashville pops into my mind. With every year that comes and goes, and with watching Atticus grow up into this beautiful boy, I tend to forget that Nashville was even a thing in our life in the first place. But when those memories pop up, especially when I’m in a moment of quiet silence or prayer, I’m always grateful for it because it reminds me of my “Mary Moments” when I get to keep things quietly to myself and remember all the ways God has journeyed with us as a family. But let me tell you, when I took that picture in the window, I wasn’t ready to be quietly contemplative. My heart was still in pain. 

Advent season is one of my favorite times of the year, not just because of all the holiday festivities and decorations (because I LOVE those!), but because of the reminder of anticipation while we celebrate the birth of Christ. Bishop Barron describes Advent as, “Advent is not meant to be a time of passive waiting, but rather of hopeful preparation for the coming of the Lord.” I remember so clearly living in Nashville and wanting so badly to be at the end of the journey of Fetal Surgery where Atticus was born, we were home in Russellville and all of this was just a memory we were working on putting in our past. But now that I’ve done that and have spent two, going on three amazing years with my son, I realize Advent isn’t a season of just waiting for things to “get better.” Rather, it’s an active participation of walking with God as you get ready for whatever the next step is in life at that time. In 2021, it was preparing for the birth of my beautiful son. In 2022, it was settling into the routine of motherhood and raising a child with a permanent disability and what our new life was starting to look like. In 2023, it was focusing on not running screaming from my house because raising a toddler is NOT for the weak (Kidding, kind of). No, 2023 was anticipating the growth of my son and how to foster his love of God at such a young age, how to be responsible for his care and a good steward of the life God entrusted me so he could always know the voice of the Lord and what it sounded like. In 2024…it’s preparing to move our family into a new space so we can have a fresh start and lean into the life God has called us to live. And just like in 2021 when I was sitting on the side of my hospital bed wondering what was next, I find myself holding these memories quietly in my heart (and now sharing them with you!) being so grateful for those painful moments because they have turned me into the person I was designed to be. Through pain came the beautiful rebirth of the woman I am today, and the woman I am becoming tomorrow.  

So what is the point in all of this, then? The truth is….I don’t know yet. I’m still learning myself, especially with the changes Cam and I are trying to make for our family. It feels like being back at Square One but with a few more tools in my toolbelt this time. But what I do know is that over the course of the last three years, holding space for the memories that have hurt the most or brought the most joy has been one of the best faith practices I’ve ever done, albeit one of the most difficult. It reminds me that my life with God isn’t just one magical moment when I decided to give my life over to Him, but rather a constant journey with the One who loves me more than anything in the world, and how beautiful life is when you truly give up your future to Him. I see the ways He’s showing me to be more patient, to quell whatever human feeling I’m having that might be really hurtful to those I love the most. I can see how obedience in certain areas that felt like giving up on my personal goals and dreams were actually audibles in my life that led to more amazing opportunities for myself and my family. I can SEE where God had my best interest at heart, even though in that moment it hurt to walk through. That gift of sight is something I am most thankful for, because it is something I’ve struggled with the most. 

In my Bible study this morning, this question was posed: “How do you need to be more like a child and look to God to receive all that He wants to give you?” It took me a while to realize that I govern myself with worrying even still, even after all these amazing things He’s done for me. It still is a stumble. Even in the days where things are going incredibly well, especially on the days when things feel out of control; but most importantly, I tend to worry on the days when things are mundane because I always worry I’m not “doing enough” to be worthy of the things I’ve been given the past few years. But when I take these moments to hold space for the past, both good and bad, I find my worrying becomes less and less because I’m reminded of the multiple ways God has been right beside me this entire time; especially since September 10, 2021. I realize now that the picture in the window of a Vanderbilt hospital room in downtown Nashville was actually my first experience with quietly contemplating the Lord’s guidance in the moment of my life where things were the darkest. Thank the Lord for his patience, because I know I wouldn’t have been as patient with myself. 

My advice to you is this: If this is your first advent or your 31st, when God encourages you to quietly think back on the ways in which He has shown up for you, do it. We tend to want to forget and shy away from the moments in our past that caused us the  most pain. I certainly don’t like revisiting the days where I was separated from Cameron, my friends and family and the memories that make my spirit feel heavy. But when I think back on them and see the way God has redeemed that pain into beautiful new memories with my son and husband, I see the ways in which my life is better? I SO wish I could go back to that night on the side of the hospital bed and say, “Just you wait, my friend. Just you wait.” 

Holidays tend to be difficult for people, especially when trying to hold space for memories that may be painful or unresolved. My encouragement to you is this: 

First: you are not alone. 

Secondly: it gets easier with practice. 

Matthew 11:28-30

28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”