Bear with me, it’s been a while.

I opened up Facebook to post a status about something that I have been thinking about lately. A question someone once asked me. Then I thought some more, and realized this question deserved a bigger answer. A bigger platform.  So I thought about this blog and how much I miss it. How much it means to me.  So I closed Facebook, and typed in the web browser the URL for this blog. This moment resulted in several moments of panic.  Has the site changed? I can’t find my posts.  Where are my posts? My posts are gone! Did they delete my site because I haven’t used it in 5 years?! Would they do that? This huge part of my life. My memories. My precious accounts of my memories. Gone. All gone! The tears fell, and I spiralled down a path of misery. And then I clicked just one more spot. And the tears stopped. There they were. Staring at me, once again. This moment made me realize how much I miss this.  Telling my story. Remembering, reminiscing. Writing. How important this blog was and still is to me.

I used to write.  I lost that part of me when I had my Rainbows. Life got in the way. A beautiful, challenging, fun, and demanding life.  Somewhere along the line I changed. When I became mommy, again, and again; I lost the parts of me that made me, Me.  I don’t mean this, in anyway, as a bad thing.  I love my children. I wouldn’t give them up for the world. Though I mean this with all my heart, that doesn’t make it less difficult.  My children, my family, are my number 1.  My everything. Everything else in this world, even the things that used to be incredibly important to me, take a backseat to them. Some things had to go. Writing went. And that is OK.  I want to sit her and type that I’m back. That I will write every week again. But, even as I sit here wishing this to be true, I know it isn’t. Life will continue to take over. My son, my wonderful, challenging, anxious, needy, but amazing son, will continue to need me more than I ever imagined any child should need his mother. My daughter will continue to need help with homework. Rides to birthday parties. We will travel. We will make memories. Beautiful memories.  Memories I will want to write about. But I probably won’t. Until another year, or maybe 2, or 3 go by.  Until something powerful grips me so deeply that I MUST find this page again. And write. And read. And remember. Because my children, my husband, my family. They are what make me, Me now. And that’s ok. Because I love them, and I need them, as much as they need me.

But right now? Right now I need to write. So here I sit. Staring at this now full page. Full of thoughts, but still not yet answering the question I meant to write about.

“Were you a Christian before she died?”

I can already hear some of you now. Oh great, I read this far, just to see that this is going to be about RELIGION? You know who you are.  And if you choose to stop reading here, I won’t fault you. I won’t love you any less. But if you have a moment, bear with me. Because I need to answer this question. And the answer isn’t an easy one, nor a short one. A simple yes or no does not answer this question. Not for me.

See when someone first asked me this, I imediately responded “yeah.” But there was hesitation in my voice. And in my heart.  I went to church. I even participated in a Bible study or 2.  But was I really, wholey, Christian?  Well, that depends on your definition of Christian.  If you define a Christian as someone who goes to a church of a Christian denomination regularly, then yes.  If you define a Christian as a crazy Jesus freak, who pushes their belief system on everyone around them,well than, no. If you define a Christian as someone who relies on Faith, Jesus, and God in times of trouble; someone who prays regularly; praises God for their blessings, and someone who shares their faith openly with others, outside of the Church walls; then no. No, I would not, by this definition, have met the requirements of being defined a Christian. I honestly didn’t know if I really believed or not.  I had doubts. A lot of doubts.  But I went through the motions, because I wanted to believe. I wanted something bigger to look forward to.

And then she died. My precious, first born, baby girl. SHE DIED. And as I sat next to her limp, lifeless body in the ER, while multiple nurses and doctors worked to bring her back, I held her hand.  I held my baby’s hand and the words “Jesus is here, baby. Jesus is with you,” came out of my mouth.  And her heart began to beat. And that is the moment that changed my life forever. Not because Jesus performed a miracle and my baby lived, and survived this awful moment. Clearly she did not. She’s gone. But in that one moment, no matter how short, she came back to me. And from that moment on, I believe.

I spent many days, weeks, even months, being angry at God. So angry! Because he took her. Because he didn’t save her when I prayed to Him.  But yet I continued to talk to Him. To yell at Him. To ask Him why? Because, even though I was heartbreakingly angry with Him, I believed He was listening. You can’t be angry at someone that doesn’t exist.

Am I a Christian? Yes. Will I push my beliefs on you, try to convert you? No. But I will never stop praying for you. When I see you hurting I will openly offer prayers, and I will speak your name in prayer along with the name of Jesus. Not because I want to convince you that becoming a Christian will make it all better. Because I believe in the power of prayer. Because her death should not be in vain. Because I believe that good can come from tragedy. You don’t have to believe. I promise you, this is your choice. But I believe. I believe in the power of prayer. I believe that God can, even if he doesn’t. I believe I will see my sweet angel again. That is what makes me a Christian.

Still miss you like crazy Kaiya Rae. Forever and always. With the power of 10000 Suns.

Love,

Kaiya Rae, Eliana and Raedyn’s Momma

 

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