The Prayer Room

2.8.14

    At this retreat, we had several rooms that were reserved for us. It was a very "campy" experience, meaning that there were cabins of four rooms that each housed four Hope Moms, and we would have to walk up to the main building where our sessions would be held. There was also one special room in the main building that had been reserved as our Prayer room, and at the end of telling our stories, we were invited to take some time to go explore the Prayer room.
    Creative Kellye had several of her friends come over and paint canvases for the Prayer room, and I snapped some pictures of some of my favorites:

Did you hear the song, "He makes beautiful things?"

Oceans

    The ladies who made these canvases are super talented. They took the time to love us through their creative juices. You bet Kellye was behind all this.

     In the center of the room, they had taken stones and written all of the names of our babies and their dates of birth on them. 

Our stone is about 3 inches by 2 inches by 1 inch. 

  

    Even now, its weird to see her birthday. It feels surreal. It feels like it was eons ago, and yet yesterday. Kate use to like to say, "There's been a lot of life happen in these few short months." That's why it feels like forever ago and today all at the same time. 

    I miss her every day.

    As I was wandering around the room looking at all the decorations, Carla came up to me and asked to hear our story. She had snuck into our group late, so she didn't hear my story but I think she caught everyone else's. 

    This was the fourth time I had told our story, and the other three times I didn't cry. I could tell the story like I was stating a fact like the sky is blue. But for some reason, the fourth time, in the dimmed lights of the prayer room, I could barely get it out. I started crying immediately, and looked for some kind of solace in the rock that had her name written in cursive. Carla patted on me and told me that it was okay to cry. Its just funny- the other times I didn't need to cry. I didn't feel the sorrow welling up in my chest and my eyes stinging as I let the words pour out from my soul. But this time, I did. I needed to let that sorrow out. 

    So I sat and cried and told the story of Kaitlyn Sophia. I let the story consume me, in the safeness of the Prayer room, surrounded by things that had been made to show us God's love for us.