When readers read my novels, I want them to feel inspired to be more like Christ and fall more in love with Him. That's because, to me, novels are two things. First, an escape from the lives we are currently living, and secondly inspiration to live these difficult lives better than we currently are. They give hope that with Christ, if we continue to endure, to persevere, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. This life is difficult, yet. I know that well, but I also know that we have power in Christ to change maybe not what's going on in the exterior, but our attitude. If one person decides to be cheerful, even in the most darkest of circumstances, it can shine a light brighter than even we realize. Also, sometimes it's nice to be able to worry about something that doesn't matter. To kick our feet up and get lost in the pages of adventure.
On Tuesday, December 3rd, 2019, Deb, my midwife, put the handheld ultrasound into her white coat pocket and placed her hand on mine. “I don’t think this is a healthy pregnancy, sweetie.” There had been trouble finding both my two older children’s heartbeats their eight week appointments, so there was probably nothing to worry about. But, then again I though, between thirteen to sixteen weeks there shouldn’t be a problem. “I’ll see if our ultrasound technician can squeeze you in.” Deb slipped out of the white room and came back a few minutes later to escort me to the ultrasound room. It didn’t take long for her to locate my baby, and I smiled as I saw his or her little form. She pushed it down and used every possible angle and feature, but the answer was still no. My baby who had stopped growing at about eight weeks and a day.