Leif’s Story (Day 1 Continued)

Breauna 

I’m not tough. I wouldn’t call myself tough at all. I knew Who had me. When the doctor told me how far along I was, I was dumbstruck, as well. How could I be almost ready to have a baby? I wasn’t in pain! My quick bathroom prayer was definitely being answered. However, I also knew this took me completely out of the running for an epidural. I was too far gone. So, this is how it’s going to be, huh? I thought. You’re going to allow me to feel the full force of what I’m about to do…All the pain…on every level… And then, a warm thought filled my heart. What WE’RE about to do. I’m here. I’m carrying you. I’m carrying all of this. Lean into the pain. Trust Me. 

I couldn’t stop crying. I’d dry up for a minute and then a new flood would burst forth. I still had no idea how I was going to do this, but I knew I wanted to see him. I wanted to see my baby.

The OB and nurses had left the room for maybe ten minutes when my contractions started coming on full force. This was the kind of pain I remembered well. I turned to Leslee, “It’s time! It’s happening! They need to hurry back in here.”

He dodged out the door and they came back with him. I was in the middle of an intense contraction, so they and Leslee lifted me onto a different bed to take me into the delivery room. I sat bent over, cringing, on the edge of the bed as they wheeled me down the halls. Laying down hurt so bad that I was refusing their directives at that point. When the uncontrollable desire to push started to present itself, we had arrived in the delivery room. They needed to move me to a different bed. Seriously? I was able to stand just long enough for another contraction to take me down. Leslee and the nurses lifted me again. The OB was in the room and I pushed. I couldn’t help it. My body had taken over and my brain could only focus on getting this baby out. Emotional pain went out the window while I felt the full physical force of bringing my son into the world. My son that wasn’t even alive. That thought never really left me.

The nurses put my feet on the stir-ups and told me to hold onto the back of my legs. I moaned, “I can’t!!”

“Yes, you can, Breauna! Put your hands up here!” they coached me.

Another contraction rocked me and I pushed again, crying out to God for help.

“One more push,” the doctor said.

“Breauna, honey, you need to grab hold behind your knees and push!” the nurse said again. I was in so much pain that I didn’t even have the ability to pull myself up there. As the next contraction started, I drew up with all my might, sideswiped several nurses with my right hand on the way up, and grasped hold of my husband who was standing at my left. He stood there like a boulder while I held onto him for dear life, face buried in his shirt, and brought Leif’s little body into the world. Three pushes. I thanked God for that and fell back onto the bed completely exhausted.

In the nurses rush to help me labor, they hadn’t had time to hook me up to anything. Leslee went into a little bit of a panic. “Hey, can we make sure she’s ok over here? She’s not hooked up to anything. Nothing’s monitoring her. Can you—can you just make sure she’s ok?”

I wasn’t concerned. At that point, I didn’t really care if I lived or died.

***

That moment was short lived when the nurse turned to me and gently asked, “Do you want to hold him?”

I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more. Nothing in the world.  He was swaddled and she placed him carefully in my arms. He weighed only almost 6 pounds, but I was surprised at what a solid almost 6 pounds it was. His eyes were peacefully shut and it looked like he was sleeping. I studied him with tears rolling down my face. Leslee was looking over my shoulder. Our son. The little boy I was so proud to give Leslee. I knew he was destined for great things…and now this… Dreams completely gone and love that felt like it had nowhere to go. Could he feel it? In Heaven, did he know that I loved him with everything I had?

“He’s beautiful,” I said as I looked at Leslee, both our eyes full of tears that streamed down our faces.

He nodded. “He is. He’s perfect.”

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We both continued to simply stare at him. His hair was dark, but as it dried, it went blonde. It had grown in a ring around his head and the top was bald. I smiled and looked at Leslee. “He has your hair.”

Leslee smiled and laughed a little, nodding.

His eyes were closed, but we could tell they were big, with long, wispy lashes. He had a cute little smushed nose and generous little lips. Pretty lips. Kissable lips. We both saw a very even mix of his sisters in his features. The girls the Lord blessed us with are absolutely beautiful and Leif was, too.

The OB had told us by looking at Leif, his estimate was that he’d been gone for 2+ days. His coloring was not that of a baby born alive, but that was ok because parents only see perfection anyway. And I was thankful—so thankful—that I was able to see him when I did. That I was actually able to give birth to him rather than have him removed from me via medical intervention. I thanked God for allowing me that mercy. I didn’t get to meet my son, but I got to see him. I got to see the little soul that was knit to mine for 9 months.

The medical staff left us alone and I handed him to Leslee. I still didn’t feel like this could be real. This couldn’t be happening to me. This happens to other people, not me. I’m not sitting here watching my husband cradle our dead baby in his arms while we cry. My heart continued to cry out to God for something to hold on to while wave after wave of grief overtook me. I turned to Leslee.

“Can you have someone bring the girls? I want to hold them.”

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Leif’s Story

Note to the reader: On August 27th, 2017, we arrived at the hospital to have our full-term baby boy only to find out his heart was no longer beating. From that time on, I’ve been writing. Writing has been my release. October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness month, so it seems as good a time to share as any. I’m posting this today with the full intention of sharing everything I’ve written and what my husband and I have been through so far. It is my hope that the Lord will do something wonderful amidst this tragedy and I believe knowing our story better sheds light on where and how He’s been moving. I don’t do this with any desire for attention–only the desire to process this process. To let other parents that have experienced this loss know I now see, hear, and feel them. And, ultimately, to glorify the Great Comforter who has been with me through this even before I knew I needed Him to the extent I would. This story is written (to the best of my ability) in the voices of my husband, Leslee, and I–because fathers are so often looked over in this loss. So, here’s our story and it will continue on this blog as I am able to post.

 

Leslee

We pulled into the hospital parking lot after stopping by Panera to get some breakfast. Neither one of us had eaten breakfast and Breauna was only moderately uncomfortable every 9 minutes, so a little breakfast was necessary for energy to bring our son into the world. It was just a couple minutes from the hospital and when we arrived there, Breauna said, “Don’t worry about pulling under the covered drop-off area. I’m ok right now. I’ll finish my bagel and we can just walk in together.” We were happy. Jubilant, really. Breauna was nervous about the pain she knew was involved, but her anticipation overshadowed it. I always tend to be more high strung about everything than she is, but it was excited anxiety.

We had left our house that morning uncertain whether this was the real deal or not. The doctors had told us our son’s due date was August 30th based on where he was measuring at his 21-week ultrasound, but by our account, he was due September 7th.  Today was Sunday,  August 27th, so we were definitely full-term and ready to welcome our son, Leif, to our lives. We had two wonderful little girls already and this boy was icing on the cake. Our family was complete.

Breauna was having to breathe through the contractions when they came, but they only lasted for a minute and then she could resume whatever she was doing.  The closer we got to the hospital, the less anxiety I felt. We arrived with time to spare, ( more than I could say for our second daughter’s birth) walked into the hospital, and made our way to Labor & Delivery. Breauna greeted the desk attendant with a smile and said, “We’re here to have a baby.”

 

Breauna

I grabbed the gown I was instructed to put on and made my way into the bathroom to change. While in there, I breathed through another contraction and talked to God. I was feeling anxious and fearful about labor. I had decided I was going to do this naturally long beforehand and Leslee was on board. I had done it with Luxe—but not by choice. This time…I knew what was coming. I whispered a quick prayer, “Father, I’m feeling nervous. Be with me as I do this. Calm my nerves. Eliminate my fear. Give me strength and endurance. I’d be so grateful if this labor could be quick.” I asked Him for strength…not knowing I would need so much of another kind.

I laid down on the bed and prepared to have the nurse do the routine heartbeat monitoring. She squeezed the green gel on the monitor and started on my right side. Nothing. I wasn’t worried, though. Nurses had found Leif a little uncooperative before. She moved to my left side. Nothing… Maybe this nurse didn’t know what she was doing. I glanced at Leslee, aware that this kind of thing always freaked him out, but couldn’t get him to return my gaze. We had just heard his heartbeat—good and strong—on Monday. Everything had to be fine.

Without any look of alarm on her face, the nurse said, “I’m going to go grab a different machine. I’ll be right back.”

She returned with an ultrasound machine and another nurse. The two of them brought our son into view on the ultrasound screen and the first thing I noticed was the lack of that little pulsing, rhythmic beat you see when a baby comes into view. The nurses exchanged several glances as they looked with us at the screen, but said nothing. I continued to glance at Leslee, but he was boring holes into the monitor. Our eyes searched frantically for the one thing we weren’t finding.

“I’m going to go get the OB on call and have him take a look at this,” the nurse said to me. Leslee still wouldn’t look at me.

 

Leslee

I couldn’t look at her. One look and I would have fallen apart. I knew. And she wasn’t there yet. I had prayed so hard for this baby. Harder and more consistently than I’ve ever prayed for anything before. I prayed he would be born healthy and that Breauna would labor quickly. That they both would make it through Leif’s arrival in the world. Our oldest daughter, Taegan, never left him out of her prayers, either. Oh, God, I thought, please give us a miracle. Please don’t let this be. If not for me, than for that little girl who thinks she’s going to meet her baby brother today. Father, please! I’ve been down this road. You gave me Breauna and she helped me pick up the pieces. Please don’t make her travel it, Lord. Don’t let her suffer. I’m begging, Father! Please let him be ok. My mind ran crazy. All I wanted someone to do was come in here and tell us we were scared for no reason.

 

Breauna

I was scared—but I still had hope. There was a mistake. There had to be. I had prayed too long and too hard over this little boy for something to be wrong. A doctor we didn’t know walked into the room and took over as the nurses stood alongside him. We couldn’t read his face. It was emotionless. Tears started to roll down my face. My body and my brain already knew, but my heart refused to believe.

He turned to look at the nurses, his mouth in a grim line, and quietly said, “Yeah, I’m not finding a heartbeat.” He turned to us with that same grim face and repeated it. Meanwhile, my heart raced. It wanted to beat out of my chest. I looked at him and said, “So, are you saying–are you saying he’s dead?” I needed him to say it. That was the only way this unbelievable, unimaginable situation was truly happening.

“I’m sorry. He’s passed.”

I couldn’t look at anyone. I could only stare at the white sheets on the bed, my eyes tethered to my feet while my soul felt like it left my body. Disbelief. Shock. In moments like this, the two take over and a person can’t even think. The brain goes numb, a form of protection, and you can’t even speak.

The medical staff stood in there and quietly discussed what the next step was while my world fell apart. “We’re going to have someone from radiology come down here,” the doctor said. “They’re going to take a look and maybe what they find can give us some answers.” All I could do was continue to stare off into space.

I looked at Leslee and his face mirrored mine.

“Can we have a moment?” he asked.

“Of course,” replied the nurse.

The door shut, he grabbed me, buried his face in my hair, and we wailed.

 

Leslee

“This is not your fault. I want you to know that, baby. This is not your fault.” I cried into her hair and kept repeating that. All she could say was my name. She had told me last night in passing that she hadn’t remembered him moving during the day, but how could he move? There was no room. Plus, she’d been busy and distracted with the girls and grown so used to him moving that it simply became commonplace. She said all this last night to calm her worry wart of a husband down. I couldn’t bear for her to think in this moment that I blamed her for not being more aware. I didn’t. I didn’t at all. “I can’t do this! I can’t do this, Leslee. God, I can’t do this! I’m not this strong!!” I have no words for what my wife was going through, but I mustered up the strength to say, “Yes, you can. We can. We’ll do this together.”

They left us in there for a long time. Finally, the OB on call came in and it was time to talk about what we were going to do from here. By that time, we had called our parents and close family members to tell them our horrific news. The OB wanted to check to see how far along Breauna was and make a decision of whether to induce or let everything happen as it would. As he was about to check her, Breauna stopped him.

“I’m starting another contraction. Can we wait just a minute?” she calmly asked.

“Of course,” he replied.

As she came down off of it, she said, “I have questions. If we have to induce, does that make the contractions more intense? Do they hurt worse? I wanted to do this without an epidural, but—“ she started to cry—“I don’t know if I can without having something to look forward to.”

He nodded his head and said, “Yeah…well, a contraction is a contraction. Induction doesn’t make them worse. They’re as bad as they’re going to get on their own. So, no, it doesn’t make them more intense, it just brings active labor on more quickly. It’s like going 0-60 in 5 seconds rather than a slow acceleration.” I don’t know if that put her mind at ease at all, but she was processing the information.

He had to leave the room for a moment, which left us and the nurse in there. Breauna turned to the nurse with a pained look of dilemma on her tear-stained face. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t even think right now. And I’m scared! I mean, seriously, what does a man know about this?”

The nurses face was full of sympathy when she said, “Woman to woman, I would go with the epidural. There’s no pressure to endure the physical pain when you’re already suffering this emotional pain.” A tear rolled down her face. “We want to make this as easy as possible for you if that’s what you want.”

“Ok, I think I want the epidural.”

Immediately after she spoke, the doctor walked back in and proceeded to examine Breauna’s progress. He quickly looked at the nurse and said in a rush, “She’s 100 effaced and dilated to a 9.”

He looked at Breauna—who was calmly lying there– with a slightly dumbfounded look on his face. “You must be one very tough woman. I’d be screaming like a little girl right now.”

When You Give a Toddler a Kitten

When you give a toddler a kitten, cuteness abounds. Even if you feel a little sorry for said kitten because she is definitely taking a fair amount of abuse all for the sake of teaching a small child how to treat her.

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“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…”

The sweet savor of victory! Even if Luxe resorts to pulling them out by one leg…or their throat. Whatever works!

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This is the girls’ little female kitten. Her name is Pippa.

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It appears that Pippa’s attempts to run at this point are futile. You shoulda’ tried that beFORE she caught you, honey.

And then there were two! Pounce is Pippa’s brother. He’s a glutton for punishment. He comes running anytime anyone comes outside. You would think he’d go running as soon as he saw who it was outside, but no… He’s obviously starving for love no matter what he has to endure to get it.

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I think Luxe has figured out that she can basically paralyze him with this style of choke-hold. I’ll be submitting this to Webster’s Dictionary when they need a visual representation of the word “mischievous. Pounce says, “Haaaaalllppp!!!” and Pippa’s look clearly says, “I hate my life.”

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But, just look at that little face. Such love and glee.

Thank you, Pounce and Pippa, for being so patient with a baby. Certain animals just seem to know.

Messes and Miracles (The Flood, Part 2)

The rain turned into a light mist and then dissipated. While enduring the waiting, all I could do was pace…or clean. The girls were inside with me and we were all restless. Little Luxe was feeling the vibes and constantly wanted me to hold her. Taegan decided that a rainy day was good day to go to Papa & Nanny’s, so she took off before Leslee came in the house.

When he walked in, I was ready to get in the side-by-side and go see the situation. He was hesitant to even go driving around because the sound of our Ranger is a call of sorts to our cows. They know when he’s driving around in it that 1) food is coming or 2) it’s time to go to the milk barn. Our stranded cows were already motivated to be milked—as they are every morning—and Leslee didn’t want that to entice them to attempt crossing the creek. It was way too deep and swift!

Not knowing cattle as well as he, I asked, “Are cows good swimmers?”

“Ehhh, they do alright. They really need to be able to bounce off the bottom while they swim to stay afloat. I don’t think they could ever get any footing with as fast as it’s moving and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s 10 feet deep.”

Well, that settled that for me. Cows are big, but they’re not that tall. I was really hoping that even if some did attempt to cross this morning, worst case scenario would be getting washed down to a different property, not drowning.

“Can we go check on them? See if they’ve moved or maybe if they’re even there at all??”

He hesitated, but curiosity and concern won out. We loaded ourselves and Luxe into the Ranger and took off for the only vantage point Leslee was able to get to.

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Beauty amidst disaster

It was a muddy mess of a ride with little flood-made rivulets all over the property. Dairy farms tend to be muddy, anyway, so it made an everyday problem ten times worse.

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Sometimes disaster creates beauty.

As we drove through the first gate, the cows that had stayed on higher ground all night were gathered…just standing there. That’s not normal.

“See, look at them,” Leslee said. “They know something’s wrong. You should have felt the mood in the barn this morning. They were mopey and a little tense. They’re missing the rest of the herd.”

He called another cow by name and said, “She’s been bawling quite a bit this morning.” (Bawling means “calling by mooing” if you’re not familiar with dairy lingo). “The girls she’s with aren’t the ones she usually hangs out with.”

Cows have cliques. They stay together for the most part, but they have their certain little tribes within the group. Kind of like people. You tend to separate into different age groups, different likes/dislikes, etc.

Listening to him speak with such care and intimate knowledge of his cattle led me to think of all the bad press farmers get regarding their treatment of animals and the farming practices they choose to implement. I’m sure I could meet some farmers around the world that practice a moral or ethical code that I would not agree with. Show me a career field that DOESN’T have unethical or immoral people. But, THIS farmer on THIS day and every other day is what I know. And it’s worth sharing in a world that seems to be so angry all the time at the people providing them food. This man knows them all by name or number, knows whom runs around with whom, immediately realizes one might be walking with a limp, notices when droopy ears might be a sign of sickness…all of it. He cares.

We arrived on a high-point from which Leslee had last seen a few of the trapped cows. I’d never seen anything like it! Water was EVERYWHERE—to the point I was disoriented about location. I couldn’t pinpoint where exactly we were from where they were because all dry land was covered.

We looked through a gap in the trees and about 250-300 yards across the water, we could see some cows. Not all 36, mind you, but at least some. Leslee breathed a small sigh of relief and said, “They moved.”

“What do you mean they moved?”

“That’s not where they were when I came over here last. They were able to retreat.”

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“Ok, so that’s not the piece of land they were on before?”

“No, it’s covered now.”

I felt an overwhelming amount of gratitude to God then. A friend had told me she was praying for God to put “a hedge of protection” around our cows and seeing them butted right up to a line of trees immediately made me think of her wording. A hedge. That’s exactly what He had done. And whether He had given them some extra intelligence or moved them Himself, they were on higher ground.

Fortunately–and yet still unfortunately–we could only see 6 or 7. Although Leslee was glad to see some had survived, I could tell he was preparing himself for the worst. Thirty-six cows was over half of our milking herd. When you’re a small operation, every last cow matters. Six or seven of 36 was not going to improve our potential loss. Replacing thirty cows was not an option for us financially. The only option upon suffering a loss of this magnitude was selling out and starting a new, unknown journey.

“These are the same cows I saw earlier. I don’t see any new ones,” he said.

“At least these are still OK. We know He’s got these. Maybe we just can’t see the other ones. There’s a lot of trees and brush they could be hiding in. Or maybe they got separated from this group and they’re holed up in a different spot.” Positive Polly here…trying to lift her husband’s spirits.

I was choosing to believe it. I was still going to believe that God had saved every last one of those cows and I just couldn’t see them. So, I got back on the computer and updated our friends and family about the current situation while continuing to ask for prayers of protection. The tremendous outpouring of love, offers of help, and prayer was palpable. If it’s possible to tangibly FEEL the power of prayer and love, I was feelin’ it.

It gave me a good boost for what was next. More rain was coming.

 

Messes and Miracles (The Flood, Part 1)

Friends and family are familiar with our story, but I haven’t shared it publicly. So, in an attempt to not forget, I share it now and I hope all my loyal readers will hold me accountable for finishing it. Although we consider ourselves extremely blessed all the time, this is the full, behind-the-scenes story about the time God showed the little Krider family tremendous favor, goodness, and love in a very tangible way.

The flood began at midnight Friday night. I remember waking to loud peels of thunder and seeing lightning flash. It was difficult to go back to sleep after that for the strobe light show the lightning was causing on our walls followed by immediate thunder. Over and over again. It didn’t take long for Leslee to be out of our bed and 2 little girls to be in it.

Leslee usually moves to the couch on nights like this one. Protection is of more importance than sleeping, so the girls and I try to sleep knowing Daddy’s watching. Little did I know that not only were we under a flash flood warning, but a tornado warning, as well. Also unbeknownst to me was the fact that my husband had attempted to go outside and round up our entire herd of cattle to take them to higher ground, but the lightning wouldn’t let up for a second, so he came back in. You have to make tough decisions in times like that: Do I risk my cattle and our livelihood or do I risk myself and possibly leave my wife and children without me?

The girls and I didn’t get much sleep that night and Leslee didn’t get any. Watching. Waiting. Fretting. Praying. The weather let up a bit and I woke to the sound of the front door latch clicking. He was on his way to the barn. I got up and made myself some coffee, started my normal routine, and hung out with Taegan while Luxe slept in. Taegan and I decided to do a little Bible devotion/study—something that we rarely  get to dive into because Luxe isn’t one to cooperate yet. She’ll come sit on Taegan’s notebook while she’s trying to write. Or talk over what we’re trying to talk about. Or pull Taegan’s hair. Or steal our pencils and run off. Or it gets really quiet because she’s silently wreaking havoc in a different room. Simply put, it’s hard for either one of us to concentrate. So, we took advantage of her sleeping and sat down to talk about Phillippians 4—for no other reason than that it was the verse of the day on my Bible app and we decided we’d just talk about the whole chapter and our takeaways.

Looking back, I believe it’s impossible us sitting down to look at that particular Scripture was a coincidence. We were at verse 6 –“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God—“ and then my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey…um…I’ve got something to tell you…,” said my husband in that ominous tone people use when their news is not good.

On immediate alert, I reply reluctantly, “Okaaay?”

“Breauna, I couldn’t milk all the cows this morning because over half the herd is trapped by the creek. And it’s not just because they can’t get across to me; they’re trapped in the middle of it. They’re on an island with water on all sides and I don’t know what to do.”

His voice broke on the last word. My husband without a plan and desperate is something I have rarely observed in our years together. He’s resourceful. He’s inventive. He easily sees solutions and quickly solves problems on the fly. However, he had no options that were within his physical capability.

“This isn’t good, Breauna.”

Knowing him as I do, I could tell he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“Why did I let them down there?! Why didn’t I just swing the stupid gate the other direction?! Breauna, what was I thinking?! I should have gone out there at midnight and moved them!”

“WHAT?!” I replied. “No way! You would have been absolutely nuts to try that with that lightning!!”

I love storms. Like, LOVE them. It’s amazing to me to see God’s power so magnificently displayed. I’ve never been afraid. I find security in knowing my Father is the One behind all of it. I respect the safety hazards they produce, of course, but I don’t fear them. Leslee calls it reckless. I call it an exercise in faith. However, I’m glad He chose not to test the Father that night. I wouldn’t have, either. It was like nothing either of us had ever seen before. There were a few times I flinched in the house and pulled the covers over my head.

Leslee continued. “I watched the weather and they said we might get, like, 7/10th’s over night, but the flooding would begin around 10 this morning. I thought, ‘Ok, that’s alright. I’ll have them milked by then and make sure they can only stay up here where it’s high.’ But, that’s not what happened. I don’t know what to do!! If we lose those cows, Breauna, we’re finished. There’s no coming back from it.”

I knew it, too. The part of the story I didn’t publicly share at all was the fact that none of those cows were insured. In farming, sometimes you have to choose the most likely circumstances to insure against because there’s just so many different, awful, fluke things that can happen in this lifestyle. One can insure against everything and be insurance poor OR you can choose to accept that God is your insurance in some things. Anyone who farms takes a leap of faith almost every day. So many things are out of our control. I personally don’t know any farmers who don’t have strong faith.

We live in a place where there are very high points to keep our cattle, so my husband watches the weather like a fiend, tries his best to be responsible, and asks the Lord for the rest.

I won’t deny I shed a few tears just hearing my husband’s desperation on the phone. Meanwhile, Taegan was watching this whole one-sided conversation go down with an alarmed look on her face. As soon as we finished the call, I said, “Taegan, Mommy’s gotta pray. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” she said, “Why are you crying? What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.”

As we sat there in the little dark closet and I poured my heart out before the Lord, I heard little sniffles as Taegan sat there and held my hands, realizing what was going on. We couldn’t see each other, but I was so happy she was in there with me. I tried my best to be as specific as I possibly could about what I wanted…even though my mind was a mess. I believe if there’s one thing I want to leave my children the most, it’s having taught them how to pray. Specifically. Strategically. Boldy. And fervently. I asked God to perform a miracle for our family, get those cows off that island, and protect them in this storm. Every. Single. One. I also stated, if he chose not to do this, I still knew He was good and that He would take care of this family. I was mindful of the importance of Taegan knowing that, especially.

I finished our prayer and walked out of that closet with an excitement I can’t explain. It was excitement and peace at the same time. I couldn’t hold it in and said to Taegan with every ounce of belief I could muster, “Taegan, God’s going to save those cows.”

She looked up at me and replied, “Mommy, how do you know?”

“I can feel it. He’s going to do something amazing and He’s going to save those cows.”

I called Leslee next. I told him, “I don’t want you to worry anymore about it. God’s going to save those cows.”

“I hope so.”

“He’s going to. I can feel it.”

It was at that point I felt the need to share our situation with my Facebook friends and family. If my hunch was correct, I wanted them to share in this and having people pray for us all over the country sure couldn’t hurt. I typed,

 

Friends and family: I have a BIG prayer request this morning. Our wet weather creek is like a rushing river after last night’s rains and over half our herd is trapped on an island and can’t move. Leslee can’t get to them and is beside himself. Pray hard we don’t lose them. Pray hard the waters go down and don’t rise any higher. I’m not one to use exaggerated words, but this would be a catastrophic loss to our farm and livelihood. Thank you! I believe in the power of prayer and we need some mighty prayer warriors right now!

 

I’ll admit, I hesitated to press “Post” in that moment. Leslee tends to be a private person and I wasn’t sure he would appreciate me making our dire circumstances public knowledge.  And what if my hunch was wrong? Was my faith a little overconfident? I told myself there was no such thing as overconfidence when it came to the Lord. Worst case scenario: Everyone would know the circumstances that led to the end of our farming journey and the beginning of a new trajectory for our family.  I really felt we needed some extra praying power either way, so I pressed “Enter” and we all waited.