···Dreams Come True···

April 28, 2012, at around 4 a.m.

It was the middle of the night, I opened my eyes and began to search around the bed for my sleeping baby. He hadn't cried in awhile. Where was he? I pulled back blanket after blanket. Why are there so many blankets? "Troy, Troy! Wake up, I can't find Isaiah!" Half awake he turned over to look at me and tried to make out what I was saying, but before I could speak another word, I heard myself scream. A pale, lifeless, limp child was in the spot he had just rolled off of. My eyes panned the room but my body couldn't move. I began to scream and plead and pry his eyes open looking for life, but there was none.

I loudly gasped in a giant breath and sat straight up in bed. Wide eyed, I looked over to see my sleeping boy next to my snoring husband. It was just a dream. It was just a bad dream. With tears in my eyes, I picked him up and held him close. "Thank God you're ok, sweet boy. I'm right here. Mama is right here." I soothed and whispered that more to myself than to him. 

Little did I know... Only 24 hours later, that dream became my reality.

Ever since I can remember I've had dreams about things that ended up happening the next day. Never anything that seemed vitally important. Just a piece of my day that I can recall thinking "this is so weird, I dreamt about this last night." 

And I was never angry about it. Until April 29th. Was this some sick joke? I awoke to a real life dead baby being handed to me, and I thought for certain it was another nightmare. Why would God allow that? Why would God allow me to have those feelings of fear, a mother's worst fear, and then sit by while it unfolded into a reality? Was it a warning? If it was, couldn't He have said something in my dream, like "beware, this is what could happen if you try to get some sleep by yourself tomorrow and leave Isaiah to sleep with Troy."

*disclosure* that is not at all how Isaiah actually died. He was sleeping ON Troy's chest, on the couch, and it was ruled SIDS on the autopsy. 

So I've held onto this angry bitter feeling because it just isn't something a loving God would do, am I right? I've went back and forth on the reasoning behind it, and I got nothin. No plausible idea on why it was vital I freak out about a dream, reassure myself he's ok, spend the night holding him close and thanking God for his sweet life, for that same God to be like "gotcha!" the next day. 

I wish I had an amazing answer. I wish God came down, in all his glory, took me to Starbucks and sat me in front of a PowerPoint presentation about why this was ok to do. But the truth is, I feel like one of my legs stands on the solidity of knowing my unchangeable God has a purpose in this so I shouldn't question it, and one leg is twirling my foot atop quicksand demanding an answer before I abandon His plan and let my doubt take me under.

I don't have an answer. I don't know that I will ever have an answer. I only have the ability to choose and I have this truth.

This truth that has always found its way into the deepest part of my heart.

Isaiah's story, despite my questions, the anger, the despair...it rips me to the core. It allows God in more even when I'm trusting less.

If I'm being brutally honest, and I am, because what other purpose do I have in writing if it isn't the real deal, I hate letting God into this place. I like the quicksand. It feels like home. It's cozy. I get to spend months feeling justifiably angry towards something or someone. And if I don't hold onto that, I become...

...free.

But freedom is uncomfortable. Imagine being in a jail cell, handed three meals a day, and always told what's next. Then, one day the gates open and there's this huge world staring you in the face wondering what you're about to do with this new found freedom, and you freeze. Sometimes you're a repeat offender, because let's face it, being enslaved to your mistakes is eerily comfortable.

Yet other times, you decide that your freedom to choose is empowering. So you dive headfirst into unchartered waters, and you open yourself up to the possibilities of being exposed and vulnerable and you risk the comfort of closing off the mess, in order to understand the message. You were made for more than a life of hiding behind the pain.

I was. I am.

I have two choices and it's a daily one. Either let the uncertainty of the mess hold me captive... or take that sinking foot, place it on the solid ground, and run steadfast and hopeful with His message.

If God lined up all of the truths He has shown me over the years, and I got to choose just one, it'd be that he lets me choose.

And if God lined up all the little boys in Heaven and He let me pick just one, it'd be the one He chose for me.

I love you Mama's mans. You were chosen for more than this world, and so was I.