I am still marveling at how good it felt to be back in church yesterday and how different I felt. It was like I had never worshiped before, or at least not for a really long time. Every word of every song I sang rang with true conviction, and every song we sang felt like it was written just for me.

"Everyone needs compassion, Love that's never failing; Let mercy fall on me."

I now know what God's compassion feels like. It's amazing and awesome, but really, there are no words to describe it. His compassion does not erase pain, but somehow, His compassion allows me to embrace the pain and yet rise above it in order to hold fast to His great promises at the same time. I'm not sure that makes sense, but that's the only way I can think of how to describe it.

And His Love is never failing. Like Angie Smith said when she first received the news that her baby would not survive outside of the womb, "My Jesus is the same." Reading her faith-filled response took my breath away. Before I knew God, and even as a growing Christian, I could not help but to see God having the same sort of conditional love as an earthly father might have: rewarding us for good behavior and punishing us for bad. Losing Stella and talking with other friends who have experienced the loss of a child (thank you Bethan!) has helped me continue to understand that God does not punish us. He does allow circumstances to challenge us and help us grow, and He gives us the free will to choose how we will react to every degree of trial, whether it be an annoyance or a tragedy. Since God is our perfect Father, He loves us before and He loves us after every trial we face. I am writing this down, because I know there will be times I will be tempted to believe the opposite.

His mercy has fallen on me. I have already seen the many ways His mercy has fallen on me and on my family, and I continue to see mercy fall every day. While I am deeply saddened by the loss of our dear Stella, I am not without hope, and more often then not, I am not afraid of waking up in the morning and facing a new day. "This is the first day of the rest of your life. This is the first day of the rest of your life. And even in the dark, we can still see the light. It's gonna be all right." (Matt Maher, Hold Us Together)

After facing death, there are moments like these when I feel so alive, a new type of alive that I've never felt before. I hope this feeling never fades.

When Ely and Milo came home from helping Daddy clean out the cars today, I was reading Angie Smith's blog and crying intermittently. Ely asked me if they were pictures of Aidan's mommy's baby, and I said no, that these were pictures of another mommy's baby who had died shortly after she was born. I showed him the picture of Audrey Caroline, and he said, "Baby Stella died too." I told him that yes, he was right, and that she is in heaven. Ely replied, "Mommy, I'm happy." How bittersweet. Mommy's sad.

As the boys were eating lunch, Milo was looking at wall photos of Ely as a baby, and he thought they were of him. He's made this mistake dozens of times, and every time, I feel like a terrible mother because I don't have a collage frame full of Milo's first year. (I really need to fix this.) Milo says to me, "Mommy, was I born like baby Stella?" I replied, "Yes, you were born like baby Stella." (Oh boy, here comes the rush of emotions again). Then Milo continues, "Will I go to heaven too?" Fighting back the tears, I told him, "Yes, but hopefully not for a long, long time, when you are old and have had a family of your own." I explained to both of my boys that I hoped they would grow up and get married and have children. Ely says, "You kiss a girl when you get married." Mike and I laughed and both began our answers with "Well..." and Mike interjects, "That's a great plan, Ely. Waiting to kiss a girl until you get married." Then Ely wants to know if he will go to heaven too to be with baby Stella.

On our way to dinner tonight, "Everything Falls" came on the radio. Our very observant Ely recognized the song and then asked me if I created it. Surprised by his question, I replied, "No, bud, but it is one of Mommy's favorite songs." Ely told me he remembered Chad singing the song at church (at Stella's memorial service.) and "I really like this song, too, Mom." Then, as Ely randomly does, he counted the members in our family, "1, 2, 3, 4. There are 4 people in our family." I corrected him. "Actually, bud, there are 5 members in our family. Baby Stella will always be a member of our family even though she's in heaven." Pointing out the number of people in our family again, this time Ely counted to five, adding in Stella. Staring out the window (we were driving on Lake Road), Ely then pronounced, "I want to jump in the lake." Mike and I laughed heartily and asked him why. He replied, "'Cause I want to get my hair wet." Mike challenged him, "I know a way we can get your hair wet. It's called a bath." Ely smiled and said, "No" like it was the silliest idea he'd ever heard.

When we arrived at Applebee's, Ely again changed the course of the conversation and said to me, "I'm still sad, Mom. Are you sad?" Of course my answer was, "Yes, Ely, I will always be sad that baby Stella isn't here with us." Ely then admitted, "I'm sad too, Mom." For a few precious seconds, Ely held my hand (which he never does anymore because big boys don't hold their parents' hands), and he melted my heart with an "I love you, Mom." Peering over Mike's shoulder, Milo yelled to me several times, "Mommy, I love you, too." He followed it with, "Come give me a kiss." I was especially touched because our punk three-year-old often refuses hugs and kisses just assert his own little will over ours. After I happily obliged his request, Milo asked for a hug, too. My boys definitely know how to make me feel better.

Then, inside of the restaurant, when we were asked how many people were in our party, Ely says (slurring the "v"), "Five." Amazingly, I held it together and explained that while we do have five in our family, Stella isn't here with us on earth, so we only need to tell the waitress "four."

Life is such a roller coaster of emotions for us right now, and the highs ands lows change as quickly as the seconds pass. My boys make me weep uncontrollably and laugh hysterically, sometimes at the same time. I praise God for my two crazy, sweet little men who have helped make my sorrow bearable over these past few weeks.