And He is faithful.
And He is good.
In all things.
Y'all, I'm about to spill my heart. And this post is very long. And probably not very eloquent. And I am praying that God will guide my words. I want to be honest. I want to be transparent.
Tuesday afternoon at 4:05 I went be-bopping into my OB's office for a routine check up. I was a little over 17 weeks. I knew I'd be in and out. I checked in and was greeted with smiles and "how ya feeling?" I stepped into the lab and said "hi" to the lab technician. She asked about the children. We talked about our Christmases. I plopped down in the waiting room and noticed I was the only patient there. Turns out I was the last patient of the day. That was God's providence. The nurse came and got me almost immediately...again, asking how I was feeling while she got my weight and blood pressure. I laid back on the exam table and she started checking for baby's heartbeat...she couldn't find it. I felt a little anxious and asked if she was concerned. She said she could hear the placenta and "good stuff." She thought she'd picked up the heartbeat, but couldn't keep it, so we stepped over to ultrasound. I wasn't too concerned. This had happened with Little Bit and ultrasound picked up her heartbeat immediately.
So I lay on the table and my sweet friend began the ultrasound. I was running my mouth about not wanting to even know if she could tell the sex of the baby. And while I was talking, I was staring at the screen and I kept wondering why she had taken a picture of the baby and was studying it so intently. Everything was still, eerily still and quiet. I mean, I was there to look for the heartbeat. And then as I stared at the baby, I thought things looked really, really odd. My friend wasn't talking. I stopped talking and stared. She turned on a view that shows blood flow. Normally it fills the screen with color. There was hardly any color on the screen. And I looked at her and she said, "I know you've noticed I'm being really quiet. I've got to be honest with you. I can't get a heartbeat. This doesn't look good. I'm going to try from a few other angles." And then she said, "Sweetheart, I am so sorry. Your baby is gone."
And I wept. And the nurse came back in and brought another nurse with her and they held my hands and let me lean into them and I sobbed and the only thing I could think...what kept going through my mind...was that I had killed my baby. And I turned to the nurses and I told them I'd been under so much stress recently - with homeschool and preparing to move and getting the house ready to go on the market and mama's sickness and so much more. I told them I'd been doing house projects and I asked, because I had to know, "Did I kill my baby?"
And they immediately assured me I had not. And they held my hand and led me into another room. And I wept. And I had peace in my heart. And big, huge pain, but also a deep peace.
They tried The Engineer at home and couldn't get him. And God graciously provided. Our neighbor was home and went to the house immediately and told The Engineer he needed to meet me at the doctor's office and our neighbor took our children back to his house.
And my precious, precious doctor came in and he hugged me and just held me while I wept. And then he never let go of my hand while he talked to me about our baby. He spoke of how rare miscarriage is this far into pregnancy. He assured me there was nothing I could have done or not done to prevent what happened. He said this was God's sovereignty. He told me after looking at the ultrasound, based on baby's measurements, he thought the baby had died roughly three weeks earlier. I asked how that was possible. I'd still been so nauseated, I'd even thrown up recently. He explained that my body was still acting like I was pregnant...that my hcg levels were still high, thus the nausea. He went on to tell me that 99% of the time when a baby dies in the second trimester, it's due to some type of genetic abnormality. He said our baby's neck was very large - swollen, if you will. Which explained why things looked so odd to me on the ultrasound. He also told me he thinks the baby had died about three weeks earlier...which crushed me. I'd been carrying my baby, deceased, for three weeks, all the while glowing with hope and eager expectation. We'd just been at a wedding last weekend and we'd beamed as we shared our joy again and again. Who knew?
About that time The Engineer came running in, not knowing...and I barely got the words out, "There's no heartbeat." And I collapsed into him.
And he held me tight and he kissed me and he told me he loved me and I wept.
My doctor came back in and talked with The Engineer about all we'd already discussed. He assured us the genetic abnormality was there when sperm met egg. There wasn't anything we could have done.
And we asked, "What happens next?" He explained that I wasn't quite far enough along to deliver...I needed to be 20 weeks. We asked about all our options and agreed that a D&C or D&E was the best choice. And I was crushed. I mean, I know the baby isn't alive, his or her soul had departed, but all I could think about was that a D&C is one of the methods used in abortion and my precious baby - I didn't want that for my child. And my doctor also told us because of how far along I was, there was a much greater risk of damage to organs and of massive blood loss with the possibility of a blood transfusion.
He was so gentle with us. I asked when we would need to schedule that and he told us he didn't want to rush us. That we were in shock and should take some time to grieve. We could act Thursday morning (yesterday) or we could wait until some time next week.
He held our hands and he prayed with us and for us. He thanked God for our baby. He thanked God for us. He prayed for peace for us. Tears ran down my face. I bit my lip - nearly gnawed it off.
We walked out of the back office, hand in hand. The receptionists were still there and they were teary and they assured us they were already and would continue to pray for us.
We walked out the front door and The Engineer held me in the front yard of the office and I wept. Finally we pulled apart, the office was dark. The parking lot empty. The staff had left. The Engineer wanted to drive me home, but I couldn't bare the thought of him having to leave me later that night to pick up his truck. I assured him I was okay to drive and we left.
I started my car and remembered the Sunday after our miscarriage, nearly six years ago, and I remembered holding The Engineer's hand and weeping as we sang with the congregation Blessed Be Your Name. I remembered singing that song again after our ectopic pregnancy. I remembered singing it when mama and daddy divorced. It's always helped my heart - to remind me of truth. To speak truth. And I knew I had to sing it now. I had to choose to force myself to utter the words...
And so I turned it on and I don't think my voice has ever sounded so horrid. I was sobbing and moaning and I sang every word of that song, as a prayer to God. Because I knew in my flesh there was no way I could praise Him. No way my heart could choose that. And I knew I had to sing it as a prayer, pleading for the Holy Spirit to work and move in my heart - to enable me to thank God in this horrible time. I don't want to be bitter and I know God is good. I know He is sovereign. I know He works all things together for the good of those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose. I know this baby was intentionally knit together by an almighty loving God. This wasn't a mistake. This genetic abnormality was part of God's perfect plan. And that's what hurt so so much.
I kept touching my belly - because I'm showing. Heck, I'd worn a maternity shirt to my appointment. And though there was peace in my heart, deep down, I felt really angry. And so, so hurt. I threw my hands up at God...why? "WHY? If this was Your plan, WHY did I have to endure four months of nausea??? WHY??? WHY???"
And I remembered Job questioning God.
And I remembered the story in John about the man born blind and the disciples asked Jesus who sinned? The man or his parents? And Jesus told them neither the man nor his parents had sinned, but the man was born blind that God might be glorified.
And I put my hands back on the steering wheel and told God I didn't get it, but I could trust Him, that He is was bigger than me and He sees fully and I was kind of mad about the nausea, but I could trust Him. (And I know that sounds lame, but it's where my heart was.)
And we got home and I went straight to that stack. That stack tied with a red ribbon, of all my journaling, all the cards and letters of love and encouragement from the two babies we'd already lost and I found it. Two pages of scripture a dear, dear friend had sent me, all truth. And my heart needed truth. I poured over the pages and wept and thanked God and The Engineer read some, too and we prayed and talked about how best to tell the children...and my heart broke all over again. I love my children and the older two are old enough to grasp what has happened, especially Sister. And she'd prayed faithfully for two years for this baby and everyday since we told her we were pregnant she's prayed for a healthy baby. I knew she would be crushed. And I prayed God would use the pain to make her more like Him, that He would guard her heart and keep her tender.
Turns out Little Bit was still next door and the older two had gone with our neighbor's son to Boy Scouts and then out to dinner. Which was perfect. We took Little Bit home and I've never been so happy to hold that child. To smell her. To kiss her. To breathe her in. To take her to the potty, even!
And we began the long and painful process of calling family. As we shared, I was seeing God's magnificent grace in my being the last patient and the only patient in the office...that the ultrasound tech had stayed, though there was no other appointment scheduled...that our neighbor had taken our children and so fast...that The Engineer got there so quickly...and our families wept with us and for us. And while we talked and wept, Little Bit sang and danced and I was so thankful for her innocence, for her happy contentment just to be with us. She reminded me of God's goodness and blessings.
We prayed about how best to tell Sister and Little Man and we prayed for their hearts, pleading with God. We want them to know that God is good. To see His faithfulness.
They got home a little later and were still nibbling on what was left of their dinner. The Engineer read to them about God being sovereign over all the earth, from the beginning and forever. That He rules and His throne is established. He read to them from Isaiah about going through fire and the flames not consuming us - about God's faithfulness. And he spoke of how even in the hard times, when life hurts so much, when there is pain and we grieve and things aren't the way we want them and nothing seems good, that God is still sovereign and good, even though the pain feels unbearable.
Sister knew. She kept interrupting and he gently quieted her so he could finish and then he told them. And Sister collapsed in tears, gut wrenching, body shaking sobs. I went to her and held her. Little Man sat there stunned. And as a family, we mourned.
A few minutes later, Sister pushed away and punched the air with her fist and shouted, "He's taken THREE! Why has He taken THREE? Why would He do that!!!???" And then she collapsed in sobs again.
It was a long night. A hard night. When we lost our second baby to miscarriage and then our third to an ectopic pregnancy it was hard, but grieving with children who comprehend what's happened is a whole different ball game. It wasn't just my hopes and The Engineer's that were dying, it was our children's, too. And they spoke of their desires for the baby, of their hopes and plans. Of the things they'd wanted to teach the baby...of wanting to hold the baby...of the games they'd wanted to play with baby.
It was heart wrenching. We talked about it being okay to be angry...that God does love us and He will sustain us. He is faithful. He will and is carrying us through these flames.
Eventually we tucked two exhausted and heart broken, teary children into bed. I went in Sister's room to kiss her goodnight and she'd spread pictures of her own birth and first days home with us all over her room...and it was all I could do to thank God for her and not think about all we'd be missing come June 16. She cried more and kept asking why and I kept telling her I didn't know. That God's ways aren't our ways. That I want to know why, too, but that we can trust and rest in Jesus.
I made my way over to Little Man's room where he, too, wanted to know why. And then he said, "Mama, if the baby was a boy, I am really really sad he died. And if the baby was a girl, I am still really, really sad she died. I wanted the baby to come out and sleep right there (and he pointed to the space beside his bed, where we'd told him baby would sleep, should baby be a brother)." And then he said, "Mama, I know we aren't supposed to look at privates, but when the doctor does your surgery, will you ask him, if he doesn't mind, if he would look at the baby's privates and tell me if the baby was a boy or girl." I assured him if we could find out, we would. And in tears, I tucked him into bed and crept out of his room, aching and grieving, but so thankful for his precious life.
I fell into bed, exhausted and aching with grief. My eyes were so swollen from crying I felt like I was looking through slits and despite two advil, my head throbbed from the tears. The Engineer brought me the salad I hadn't eaten earlier and a beer. And we sat on the bed and ate and drank and talked. We talked about how sad we were. About the dreams we had for this baby and the dreams for our family of six. We talked about how hard it is to bury those dreams. We talked about having wanted and tried and pleaded with God for this little one for a year and a half...of how He had brought us to a place of contentment, of not knowing how not having a fourth child could be better than having one, but that we really wanted His will, even if it meant no fourth child...and we talked about how God brought us to that place and then threw open His floodgates and overwhelmed us with a baby. We remembered our joy, our happiness, Sister's tears of joy when we told her. Our families had cried with joy. What a sweet and precious time of rejoicing we had had.
The Engineer and I curled up together and he held me and I wept...quiet tears and then body wrenching sobs. I made our bed a couch of tears. All night long.
Around 3:30 I got up. I couldn't sleep, couldn't quit crying...I got my Bible and my journal and those pages of scripture and I read through them again and I prayed through them. Y'all, it's hard to say, "God, You are good" when He took my baby. I mean, I know these truths in my heart, in the depths of my soul. I can reflect on times when His goodness didn't make any sense and I can see how He was working those things for my good...but oh the reality, to flesh it out in the midst of such pain and searing loss - it's something that simply cannot be done in the flesh. Scripture speaks of peace from God being a peace that passes understanding. As I spent the next three hours reading and praying and journaling and writing my prayers to God - of confessing my unbelief, of trying to trace Him, of trying to make sense - I kept a hand on my belly and I cried and I ached. It was and is so, so hard. And I wondered what I'd been doing when my baby's soul left his or her earthly little body. I thought back over the last few weeks...where had I been? What had I been doing? Had I been acting lovingly or speaking harshly?
Did my baby know how very much we loved and wanted him or her? Did he or she know there were ten hands and arms and five hearts and lips longing to hold and love and kiss him or her?
And what about my hopes for baby? My dreams? Coming to grips with knowing I'd never meet this little one this side of eternity has crushed me. I thought about all the joys of my babies growing in my womb, of the kicks and hiccups, of the birth process and the delight when baby finally appeared and The Engineer would call it - "It's a boy! or It's a girl!" And he would cut the cord and how we would both cry happy tears. I thought of the sleepless nights, of soothing the baby at my breast. Of the pitter patter of his or her feet that we would miss. I was so happy to have four children - FOUR. I'd already planned how to place car seats...that chair at our table would still be empty. That box I'd already packed, planning to have the movers place it in the nursery in our new home...not only had our baby died, but so many of my hopes and dreams had as well. Gone.
Three hours of aching and grieving, of crying out to God, of praying through scripture, of preaching the Gospel to myself, of pleading with God to sustain us, to be strong in our weakness, to fill us, to carry us...I climbed back into bed and slept until 8. I called the doctor to schedule surgery for Thursday morning...and when the receptionist got on the phone I couldn't speak. I was so choked up. And she got teary, too, and told me she'd prayed for us all night long and she spoke truth, gently and lovingly. She helped me get through the call. Registration, blood work, and surgery prep would all take place that afternoon. We were to be at the hospital at 5:15 Thursday morning with surgery scheduled sometime around 7.
That day (Wednesday) was a blur. I told The Engineer I felt like everything was out of control, including our house. There was a bathtub in the living room and tools everywhere and stuff everywhere - we'd still not finished moving belongings back into our bedroom, the life size manger from Christmas was still out and filled with paperwork...and together, we set about straightening and putting away. Mama and JJ (The Engineer's mom) arrived and jumped right in...hugging and loving and dusting and sweeping, mending and ironing. Oh they blessed me. And still, my heart was heavy with grief and tears sprang forth often, but working, having something to keep my hands busy was a blessing.
By that afternoon I think I'd cried every tear in my body. There were no more. They wouldn't come. Friends came and called and texted and we felt the love of God and we were ministered to. The body of Christ is a beautiful thing. Many prayed with us and even more prayed for us.
And I was afraid. So afraid. I knew God was in control. I knew He would do His will. It's just that, His will so often isn't mine. And so often His will is just plain hard and it hurts. And I don't like it. At. All. And I kept thinking, "what if His perfect will is for my uterus to be damaged during surgery...for us to never be able to have another baby? What if that is His plan?" And I told Him...I told Him I was scared. I told Him that's not what I wanted and I begged and pleaded with Him to preserve me, that in the future He might bless us with more children. And y'all - I knew what I had to do before surgery - and by the grace of God I had to do it, with the help of the Spirit...I had to determine, to purpose in my heart that should the good and perfect will of God be for permanent damage to occur, that my heart would choose to say, blessed be Your name. That my heart would choose to give thanks, in all circumstances for this is the will of Christ Jesus for me. That is not something I can do on my own. I am so weak, but really, I am seeing it, in my weakness He is strong.
I took my time reading to the children and kissing them goodnight. I memorized their beautiful faces. I smelled their hair and I kissed their little lips. I prayed with them and for them. And I made them promise me they would always remember that God loves them and that no matter what He is good and He is sovereign.
I didn't fall asleep until close to 1. All night I had been cramping and my back aching. There were other signs my body was preparing for labor. At 4:40 in the morning Warrior started barking. I was furious, until The Engineer realized our alarm hadn't gone off and it was a blessing the dog had barked. Stinkin' dog.
I showered and dressed and knelt beside my bed and prayed. I begged God to give me strength. I begged Him to sustain us, to carry us. I pleaded with Him to protect my body through this procedure. We prayed most of the way to the hospital.
And then I was a jerk and fussed at The Engineer for being so far past due on an oil change for his truck. I knew in my heart I was wrong. I knew I wasn't really frustrated about that, that it was fear and hurt and pain, but I let him have it just the same. I'm a jerk. And he was gracious and loving and gentle. He was Jesus to me - turning the other cheek and loving perfectly when I was so unlovable.
We checked in. I determined not to cry. My nurse shared with me she'd lost two babies. She was sweet and kind and gentle. I could tell she loved her job. And she loved us well. She stuck me for my IV and it didn't take. She promised not to stick me again, said we'd wait for anesthesia to do it. She left the room and I cried. It had hurt so bad and I felt angry at God. I mean, not only were we going through all this, not only had He taken our baby, not only had The Engineer's "check engine light" come on the day before, not only had the heat pump quit working the night before, not only, not only, not only, but now I'd had to go through the pain of being stuck with an IV that wouldn't take. WHY??? "What for, God? This is just one more thing! And for what purpose?"
The Engineer and I held hands and we prayed some more and the call came. They were ready for me. I made a quick trip to the bathroom and there were more signs of labor and I was so thankful to be heading into surgery, though my heart ached. I was thankful for more signs that it was time, that though baby's body was still in mine, his or her soul had long departed. The Engineer kissed me and my nurse reminded me that Jesus loves me.
A big black man pushed my bed down the halls and he was kind and he was gentle. He pointed out what a beautiful day it was. And I agreed. The sun was shining and the skies were blue and I would walk out of that hospital with empty arms and an empty womb.
He took me to the holding room. The nurse was gruff. I started crying. She asked what I was afraid of. I told her I wasn't afraid. I was sad. The anesthesiologist stood beside my bed. She gave me kleenex and she asked me how far along I was. She patted me and was kind and told me how sorry she was for our loss.
The nurse came back, much gentler. She got my iv in, and this time I barely felt the pain. They started me on something to take the edge off...and then our pastor and The Engineer appeared. And they stood beside my bed and prayed for me. I kissed The Engineer once more and he left.
And then another nurse came in and she smiled at me with the most sympathetic and precious smile. She told me her name and that she was a patient of my doctor's and I knew from her gentle spirit that she was a believer. She told me she'd be with me from that point on. She and the other nurse talked...I heard them talking about having blood ready...
As the nurse pushed my bed down the hall I placed my hand over my abdomen, over my baby, and I left it there. I asked if I'd get to see my doctor before surgery. We rounded the corner and there he was and he leaned down over my bed and hugged me and he held my hand and he walked with me through the halls and corridors, never letting go of my hand. He helped me onto the operating table. One nurse stood at my head and rubbed my shoulders and wiped my tears. Another nurse stood at my feet and rubbed them. My doctor sat to my right and held my hand and talked to me, he leaned close to my face, he spoke words of encouragement and truth to me. The anesthesiologist was to my left and he was so kind and so gentle.
And I realized, had that first IV taken, I'd have missed all of that. All of God's precious grace. Because I would have been too medicated. Oh the sweetness of God working all things together for my good.
I woke to the same nurses in the same places, stroking my head and rubbing my shoulders and feet and tears streamed down my face. Waking to the horrid reality that it was finished. My baby was gone. My womb was empty. A third nurse stood to my left and held my hand. She leaned over me and asked if she could pray for me. I nodded and thanked her and those three nurses prayed for me. Oh how they ministered to my aching heart. I asked if there were any complications and they told me everything had gone perfectly and more tears came - tears of joy mixed with grief and pain and hope. And then, they were so precious, they kept me right there in the OR and let me recover in their care, rather than sending me to "recovery." And I was so, so thankful. God's mercies were so obvious, pouring out over me like a soothing balm.
Shortly thereafter I was back in outpatient surgery and The Engineer came in first and he hugged me and kissed me and mama and JJ came in and loved on me. And the nurse was kind and precious. And we headed home...with empty arms. And I was thankful I didn't have to leave through the same exit I'd left through with my babies in my arms.
We pulled up to the house and there was no lamb with a big pink or blue bow to welcome us. No baby carrier to unload. No nursery and glider in which to nurture baby. There was a peace lily on the front porch and our empty arms. A friend pulled up. She'd been through this. She'd tread this path. She knew our grief. She held me on our sidewalk and cried with me and for me. And she gave me a book that had been dear to her heart...From Grief to Glory. As I scanned the cover and realized the great men of faith who'd been through the same sort of thing my heart filled with hope...Spurgeon, Charles Wesley, Luther, Calvin...they had been here.
I climbed into our bed, that mama had made so sweetly for us. Our bedroom was clean and neat. I asked The Engineer to raise all the blinds and let the sun stream in. He brought me my Bible and journal. I prayed and read. I thanked God for guiding the doctor's hands, for protecting my organs. And I began reading From Grief to Glory. I pulled out my friend's vegetarian chili recipe from within the pages of the book...she had read this very book and now had passed it on to me. And God spoke through the words in that book, through the shared experiences of other believers who knew God to be good and sovereign and faithful, to have a plan better than anything we could ask or imagine...and I read of their grief and their pain.
30 pages in I closed the book and I lifted my arms up and I prayed. I poured out my heart before the Lord and He comforted me. And He spoke to my heart. I remembered Sister asking why He would take another baby. I had felt the same way...like He'd taken what was mine. Ever so gently, He reminded me that He is the creator of life. That our baby had never been ours. The baby was His. He knit that baby together and He gave us the hope of baby's life, the privilege of carrying life...He didn't take something from us that wasn't already His. Our baby always belonged to God and was His to take and to do with as He pleased. And He reminded me that all of our children are but a gift, that we are to hold them with an open hand because they belong to the Lord. He has entrusted us with them, but they are not ours, they are His. And He loves them more than we are capable of loving.
I'm not sure how to express the depth of grief we feel and are experiencing and the pain...the brokenness...the crushed hope...the death of our baby and so much more. And yet, I can say that God is good. He is faithful. He is real. The Gospel is real. He is in control of everything. Everything. I can thank Him, in tears, for this dear child. I've even smiled and laughed. Our grief is deep. Our sorrows are deep. There are wounds, cuts that are deep. We are broken. And He is the restorer. He gives joy and hope and peace. He binds up the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
We are so, so very weak and He is strong in us. We have talked and prayed - we don't want to waste a second of pain, not a moment of the hurt. Teach us, oh Father, shape and mold us. Change us. Be glorified through this and in this. Make our family more like Jesus. Show your goodness and faithfulness through this and in this. Make much of yourself, sweet Jesus. Be honored, be glorified.
I know the days and weeks and months ahead will be hard. Sister asked if I was done crying, I told her I was only just beginning. I know from the other two babies we lost that the pain and grief hit, often at unexpected times. I don't know that I'll be able to look on a growing belly and not tear up. I don't think I can look at my friends who are carrying and not weep. And I pray they will bare with me. I love them and I am happy for them and it hurts, too. And I am raw. I don't want to be that girl who can't stop crying...who is hard to be around because she makes you feel weird. I don't want to be like that...and yet I know, I know these days are going to be so hard, so hard.
Coming home to the...noise is what I thought at first, and then I decided it's not noise, it's a symphony of life. The clatter and the banging, the playing, the running, the barking, and the messes - they are indicative of life and this life God has given me, us, is beautiful. Through the tears and in the pain, there is beauty.
I love my baby. I love my baby so much. And I am so sad, crushed. And God has shown His goodness, His faithfulness. Always. In all things. I am so thankful that I am His and He is mine.
I am thankful for others who have gone before us. Who have endured. Who have tread this road. I am thankful to know of God's faithfulness to them. There will still be an empty chair at our kitchen table. And another piece of my heart is gone. And my belly doesn't look so pregnant any more. My heart is raw and at the same time, it is filled with love for God, with peace. It's an unexplainable paradox...the joy in the midst of deep, deep grief.
And I am thankful for each of you. I am so thankful. Knowing that we are moving in four months, knowing that baby would have arrived shortly after our arrival - I'll be new in a new town with an open wound in my heart few will be aware of and there is comfort in friends who know and love and weep with you when you weep. I am so thankful to take you with me. I know there will be many days of weeping and sadness ahead. I pray God will continue to carry us, that the waves will not consume us, that the fires will not burn us...that He will be strong in our weakness...that He will guard our hearts and keep us, make us tender before Him. I pray He will keep us from bitterness, that He will be glorified. That He will make us satisfied, delighted in Him...that He will wipe our tears. I have great hope that in God's sovereignty, our baby is with Him.
We ache. Deeply. And God is good. This chapter is sad and heavy and hard and yet, in His mercies and tenderness He is writing a beautiful story. To Him be the glory. Hold us close Father. Comfort us. Be our peace. And please Lord, be glorified.
Friends, I love you. We covet your prayers. It is wonderful to know we are loved and are prayed for. Please weep with us and ache with us and love us. We are setting our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of our faith, pray He will keep our eyes and hearts on Himself.
To God be the glory.