Reflections on Graduating from Medical School: Part II

Getting to graduate from medical school with Aaron was so special to me. We were in this together, through the thick and thin. Medical school is such a pressure cooker - I think it can either cause relationships to scorch and burn, or it can create such a rich, savory medley. With God at the center of our marriage, it was definitely the latter for us. I look back on these newlywed years with such immense fondness. Aaron was such a rock for me throughout this entire experience, calming my anxiety, casting our my fear, empowering me when I was weak, giving me laughter and joy when I fell into despair. He has been so supportive of me, even when it meant enormous sacrifice on his part. Aaron always puts me first, which is such an incredible model to me, and to Julia, of Christ's love for His bride. We have been through so much together, but we are stronger and more deeply in love than ever.

White coat ceremony at the start of medical school. I was 21 and Aaron was 22. Seems like light-years ago, in some ways.

Medical school graduation. Older (26 and 25), wiser, more tired (ha!) and more in love than ever.

And how can I begin to describe Julia's role in these years? I would have to link to almost every blog post I've ever written. She has been our light, our pride, our joy, our sweet, sweet song. Julia has changed the way I see the world, and has shaped me more as a pediatrician than any other human being. I hope she can look to these years and be proud of her parents, for heeding God's call, even when it's not easy. I hope I am modeling to her the woman from Proverbs 31, who is "clothed with strength and dignity."

This post wouldn't be complete with saying that we never could have graduated without the love and support of all of our family and friends. The hours and hours of free childcare so many of our family and friends generously gave us. Meals cooked. Listening ears. Prayers and sacrifices offered. We wouldn't be where we are today without you. Special shout out to my sisters, who have poured hours upon hours of time into watching Julia, free of charge, for us during medical school. Aaron's family has pitched in a lot, too. We're so grateful.

In a special way, I want to recognize my parents for the role they played in helping us graduate from medical school. They were the sole childcare providers for Julia throughout medical school, and they continue to watch her today. My mom has had a more than full-time job watching Julia. My dad works so hard at his job to allow my mom to stay home, and he also watches Julia in much of his time off work. There are months that my mom or dad is over at our house at 5:30 am, and watch Julia until late in the evening. There are months that in addition to weekdays, Julia is at their house on weekends while we both work. The amount of time and energy they have invested in Julia is absolutely astounding, and the fruit of their labor of love really shows in the smart, kind, spirited girl Julia is growing up to be. My parents have allowed us to give of ourselves to our work without having to worry about Julia, because we know how safe, loved, and well taken care of she is at my parents' house. Words cannot adequately express the depth of gratitude we owe them. Throughout my childhood, they taught me the meaning of sacrificial love, but they have only continued to teach me this lesson in my adulthood through the way they have poured themselves out for our family. I am so grateful to God for the role they play in our life. My mom and I kept saying, "We did it!" when referring to graduation. Because, truly, WE did it. It wasn't just Aaron and me. It was all of us, sacrificing so much, to get us to this point. My parents are honorary DOs in my book.

Most importantly, I want to give my Lord the credit He is due. God is SO good, isn't He? So faithful. None of this would have been possible without His call, His strength, His grace. He put us on this path, and He brought it to completion. God truly brought about the victory.

"I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus." - Philippians 1:6

"The horse is equipped for the day of battle, but victory is the LORD’s." - Proverbs 21:31

"...Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." - 1 Corinthians 15:57

Reflections on Graduating from Medical School: Part I

In May, we celebrated our graduation from medical school. It was the first graduation of my life that I really felt proud. For many, high school and college degrees are huge accomplishments. And, not to dishonor that at all, but having come from a family with multiple generations of college graduates, high school and college were not remarkable achievements for me or for my family. Sure, we worked hard and did well in high school and college, and, for that, our families were proud, but it wasn't uncharted territory.

At our graduation from undergraduate in May 2009.

Medical school, however, was different. No one in my family or Aaron's family had ever gone to medical school. I often joke that it's good I wasn't close to any doctors because had I known what I was getting into, I may have never begun this endeavor. I love my job, but, there's certainly an element of truth to this joke.

Graduating from medical school was one of the most challenging things I have ever accomplished in my life. It's hard to describe to someone unless you've been through it or someone close to you has been through it. 

It is mentally, emotionally, physically, and even spiritually exhausting.

The mountains upon mountains of material to scale. Wading through textbook after textbook, powerpoint after powerpoint, note packet after note packet.

The pressure of quiz after quiz, test after test, board exam after board exam.

The panic attacks that wake you in the middle of the night after cramming for or taking yet another insanely difficult, anxiety inducing test. 

The incredibly long hours of studying or taking care of patients.

The isolation from doing something so all consuming, that it leaves too little time and space for other pursuits and people.

The miles and miles walked on hard, tile floors.

The pain of missing the people you love. 

The guilt of feeling you can't be there enough for the people you love.

The hours in the anatomy lab, formaldehyde burning your eyes and throat as you hover over cadavers, cramming for the next anatomy test.

The burden of sharing in the sadness of patients and their families. Staring death and grief in the face.

The complexity of balancing the sorrows of work with the joys of life.

The sadness of having to say no over and over again to invitations as your friends get together without you. And, sometimes, stop even inviting you anymore, as you fade from their radar.

The nauseating feeling of setting an alarm clock for 5 am, or earlier, 27 days out of a month.

The anxiety of having to start all over again at the beginning of the each month, figuring out where to go, what to do, and what role to fill on the team.

But, those years were also filled with such joy and fulfillment, that made it worth it.

Those lightbulb moments when the mountains of information finally took coherent shape and made sense.

The elation of surviving, nay dominating, quiz after quiz, test after test, board exam after board exam.

The amazing amount of learning that happened in those years, though the days were long.

The happiness of finishing a difficult rotation or set of rotations.

The camaraderie that develops with the people in the trenches, who speak your new language and understand what you are going through.

The strength that comes from the miles walked.

The pride defeated and the bonds strengthened by having to ask for help from family and friends.

The flexibility and confidence gained from having been in so many new, varied, and difficult situations.

The peace that comes from entrusting it all to the Lord.

The gift of the eyes of Christ, to see Him in His suffering people.

The blessing of making a difference in the lives of patients and their families.

The growth in faith that is born out of trial and self-denial.

And most importantly, the peace and joy in knowing that I was doing what I was called to do.

Medical school graduation, May 2013

The Walls Came Tumbling Down

The day started just like any other busy day in clinic. Lots of coughs and runny noses that needed parental reassurance. Diaper rashes needing Nystatin. Ear infections needing Amoxicillin. Speech delays needing therapy referrals.

An ordinary day until my second to last patient of the day. I had a premonition that something might be amiss by just looking at the chief complaint and the age of the child. My office visit with the patient and parent confirmed my suspicions. This was no ordinary case. This was a potential child abuse case. My attending and I ensured the patient was going to a safe place and would not be around the alleged perpetrator. The patient left after being informed of that authorities would be in touch, and thus began my first experience as a mandatory reporter.

My attending informed me who to call, so I did. That person gave me the number for the Child Abuse Hotline, so I called the number. When they needed more information then I had on hand, I told them I'd call them back. With the attending's blessing, I quickly saw my last two patients of the day, and called the number again.

After being on hold for quite a while, I was finally able to file my report. I was then informed by DHS I needed to call the police to make a report with them. I called the clinic social worker, who was nice enough to come back after hours to continue to help me navigate the system.

The social worker got in touch with a child abuse pediatrician. Meanwhile, I was busy calling two different police departments because two different counties were involved in the story. Each county's police department tried to pass the buck to the other police department.

I was starting to get frustrated. It was well after 6 pm at this point, and all I wanted to do was do my duty to my patient by making my report to authorities, go gather Julia from my parents' house, and go home.

Finally, one of the police departments said they would take my report and that they might call and get it over the phone, or they might come to get it in person. They weren't sure yet, of course, though, so they just told me to wait until they called me back.

So more waiting. More getting inpatient and calling back myself. Finally, they decided an officer needed to come get my report in person. Finally, though, it was too late to stay any longer at the deserted clinic.

However, the police sergeant on speaker phone was wanting an address where he could find me to give my report.

"Just give him your home address," the attending prodded me. "The clinic is closed. We can't wait here any longer. The officer can just come to your house."

So I did, as hot wet tears finally overcame my steely determination to keep them in and began streaming down my face.

"It's okay!" he said. "I'll come with you."

I wiped my face off, apologizing to the social worker, the nurse, and the attending for crying.

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "I didn't mean to cry. I'm just tired and emotional about the situation and I was supposed to pick up my daughter hours ago and I just wasn't expecting all this."

"Don't apologize," the attending insisted, kindly. "You're crying because you're human."

After I wiped my face and apologized for crying, I went to the bathroom to see why I was itchy. My torso was completely broken out in hives. It's been longer than I can remember since my body has decided to manifest stress in that way.

I tried to convince my attending to go home, that I'd be okay, that he should go and be with his family, but he insisted on coming to my house. As an attending, it was his responsibility, he said, to be there. I realized I couldn't deny him that.

So, he followed me to my house where we sipped on ice water and made polite conversation. And waited. And waited some more. And finally, after 9 pm, the attending had me call the police department back and they still couldn't tell me if an officer was even yet en route to get my report, so he had me cancel the call and said we'd just try calling again in the morning, which we did.

I've been trying to sort out my feelings about the experience.

Of course, first and foremost, quite glaringly, there's the potential abuse of a child. And that makes my heart break. I can't help but think about if Julia were to go through something like that and it makes me cry.

Second of all, I think I began crying in clinic this evening because the experience was beginning to make me feel violated.

Of the two, the former is quite obviously the tragedy. There's so much I could say about the horrors some children have to go through, but I want to focus in on the latter, more subtle feeling I had this evening. My feeling of violation.

I didn't want this already hours long process to steal more of my precious time that was supposed to be free.

I didn't want to give up the little time I had left in my day to spend with my daughter, my daughter whom I wanted more than anything to hug tight after a long, emotional day of work.

I didn't want to have a police officer calling my personal cell phone.

I didn't want a police officer showing up at my house and interviewing me about a patient in my own home.

I didn't want my attending to come over uninvited to my messy house, with embarrassing piles of underwear and socks being sorted on the living room floor and toys strewn haphazardly about and  unvacuumed floors since our vacuum belt is broken and the bathroom and kitchen looking like goodness knows what.

I didn't ask for any of this, yet I wasn't really given a choice. No one was invited, yet in they came.

I'd tried to build up some walls, flimsy as they were, around my free time, around my family, around my home. I'd tried to make sure my home was a sanctuary of sorts where we could have respite from work, with its not infrequent frustrations, sadness, and even tragedy.

I felt frustrated, overwhelmed, and uncomfortable to be asked to give so much. And, in an ideal world, this situation would have been handled differently for me. In an ideal world, I wouldn't be asked to work until after 9 pm. I wouldn't have to make arrangements for my daughter to spend the night at her grandparents' house. I wouldn't be asked to have an attending sitting in my living room late at night, surrounded by our family's undergarments. I wouldn't be asked to entertain police officers at my home.

In an ideal world, though, we would not have been put in this situation in the first place by the potential tragedy preceding it.

Sometimes, doing the right thing for patients hurts. It pulls us out of our comfort zones, our sanctuaries. Sometimes, it pulls us into our sanctuaries, embarrassing undergarments and all. We can try to partition off our lives with paper walls, but they will get blown over, or ripped and crumpled.

Life is messy, and to love sometimes means being okay with a lack of walls to hide behind or protect.

In medicine, our patients are so often vulnerable. They sit there on the exam tables, shivering in their paper dresses that crinkles and don't offer warmth. They walk the halls in their thin gowns, clutching the back to try to keep their rears from being exposed. We see their bedside commodes or urinals full of waste, waiting to be cleaned out by overextended techs. We ask them questions about their families, their digestion, their sex lives.  We weigh them and talk to them about how high the number is. We probe with questions, searching for depression, menstrual problems, bloody stools.

But how often are we asked to be vulnerable? How often do we feel naked and exposed?

We ask our patients to be vulnerable because we love and care for them, but are we willing to be vulnerable ourselves because we love our patients?

I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotes from C. S. Lewis:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

It was embarrassing to cry at work. It was frustrating to be asked to give what I maybe should have not been asked to give in the midst of a difficult situation.

But you know what? 

I may cry because I'm human. But, I also give because I'm human. And I love because I'm human.

And that is a gift. I pray I will always hold onto my humanity as a physician, even when it hurts to let the walls come tumbling down.

31 and 32... But Who's Counting?

Julia turned 31 months in July and 32 months in August.

But... honestly... it's not that I was really counting by this point... haha!

I think until a child turns two, you pay attention to months, but not really much after that. You notice that they're a month older, but do you bother to do the mental math to actually figure out how many months old they are? Nah. You just say you have a two-and-a-half year old and call it good.

And what a good two-and-a-half year old! Love that girl.

I had to rely on my journal to remember some of the funny things from these months! Where does the time go??

• Julia started giving these "kisses" where she would jut out her bottom lip and just press it to mine. I would always make a big deal about how "yucky" of a kiss it was, and she thought it was just hilarious. Like, couldn't stop laughing and laughing, best sound in the world, hilarious. Love it.
• Julia would put on her baby size pink polar fleece snow hat to go on (Teddy) bear hunts in the middle of summer. Adorable.
• One blessed weekend off from work, we napped together in the afternoon, and she woke me up by stroking and running her fingers through my hair. Is there a sweeter way to be woken? I think not.
• We played a lot of doctor/veterinarian this summer. One time, when we were playing together, she said her dog Curly was, "sick to gluten," and started coughing, and when asked how long she'd been sick, she said, "Twenty minutes ago." Ha! She makes such great heart and breath sounds while doctoring me. Quite a natural ;-)
• Julia picked up "A Game of Thrones" off the bookshelf when Sarah was babysitting and asked her to read it to her, saying it was her "favorite book." (Sarah, thankfully, took a quick look at page one and passed on that one! Haha!)
• Julia put on a Jasmine sticker. My dad asked her if it was Princess Jasmine, and she said, "No! It's the other Ariel!"
• One Saturday in July, we had an ill fated journey to pick berries (the berry patch was closed). We stopped at an indoor market to buy some fresh produce. When we were buying our cantaloupe, Julia, ever the friendly one, said to the high school aged girl checking us out, "Hi! What's your name?" "Alexis," she said. "I'm Julia Grace Isley [she almost always says her full name]. Nice to meet you! Can I shake your hand?" The girl, of course, obliged. Who can resist such a friendly little kid? As we were leaving, Julia waved to the girl and yelled out, "Bye! See you later, Texas!!" Cracked. Me. Up!!
• Julia had lots of funny conversations with Elizabeth over the summer. A couple highlights:
• One day, Julia said to Elizabeth, "Elizabeth, where's your man?"
• Another day:
• J: "Elizabeth who are you married to?"
• E: "I'm not married to anyone."
• J:  "I thought you were a girl." 

Julia is the spice of our life!

Julia at Months 29 and the big 3-0!

With Julia's third birthday rapidly approaching, I figured I should finally share more of her monthly photos! Thought this would be a fun tribute to the birthday girl during her birthday week!


Julia turned 29 months in May and 30 months, a.k.a. 2 1/2 years old (!), in June.

• A few fun quotes to share:
• While I was tickling Julia, she said, "Don't tickle me! That's gross!"
• Julia, while doubled over, said, "I'm trying to kiss my belly! I can't reach it - it's too far!"
• While I was in orientation in June and Aaron was still at home with Julia, Aaron had a few fun stories to text me:
• Aaron: "I was in the bathroom. Julia walked in and said, "I'm ready to run!" I guess she was putting on her running pants :) "
  
• Aaron: "Super Grover (via Julia) was helping Cookie Monster (me) bake cookies in the oven (under your purse). Then Julia kept putting all the 'Sesame Friends' in the oven and eating them herself." 
  
• Julia's drawing skills grew exponentially during these months! Her muse during this phase of her artistic career? Uncle Erik.
• Julia's picture of "Erik with rain falling into his mouth."
  
• The story behind this photo:
  
• Aaron: "Julia, who is this?"
• Julia: "Erik. He's mad."
• A: "Why is he mad?"
• J: "Because he wants his mommy, Meghan."
• A: "Where is Meghan?"
• J: "She's in Oklahoma City."

More fun to come! We love our Julia!

Remembering the Year of My Silver Jubilee*

*I don't know. I'm a nerd. I can't help myself.

My year of being 25-years-old wasn't my happiest or most stress free year. It tested me and stretched me in ways I never would have asked to be tested or stretched. But, God worked in me, and I emerge from this year, whole and with more peace, strength, and faith. God's goal is my sanctification, and, although I still have so far to go on my road to heaven, He changed me in ways for the better.

This year:

• We traveled to Philadelphia to take our PE, completing our last board exam of medical school, and visiting family and friends.
• I helped throw a baby shower for Meghan and Baby G.
• We welcomed our first niece, Mary-Claire, into the family! A couple weeks later, Aaron and I welcomed her into the family of God as her godparents.
• We celebrated the weddings of some dear friends.
• We took some fun trips to OKC, Quartz Mountains, and Kansas.
• We discerned the call to continue our medical training, and submitted final applications for residency match.
• We each matched to our first choice residency programs!
• We joyfully celebrated the gift of our second child when we began pregnant in February.
• We mourned the loss of our child, Francis Marie, to miscarriage in late April.
• We completed our final rotations in April.
• We marked a huge milestone by graduating from medical school in May (more on this and the below life events soon, hopefully!)
• We had time off in May and June to relax, heal, and get work done and affairs in order before...
• We started residency with orientation in June and work starting July 1.
• We had an interesting, complicated journey trying to find childcare for while we're at work so my parents didn't have to do it all anymore (long, complicated story that I won't share here, but not an insignificant part of my year!).
• We redecorated Julia's room
• We survived the first 1/12 of residency. Is it bad that I'm already counting off in fractions??

This year was marked by suffering. Of course, the major cross was my miscarriage. I had a couple of other situations in my life, though, that caused me a lot of grief and anguish. And, of course, we also started residency. which I've found is a process of continual death to self.

But, I've found myself drawn closer to God through these experiences in a very real way. I'm the sort of person who will not infrequently fall into a spiritual slump, getting more apathetic, maybe just going through the motions of prayer, until, after a little bit, something convicts me, and I get fired up again. It's this constant process of slowing down, then speeding up, like a teenager learning to drive and not knowing how to smoothly accelerate. I never completely quit, but sometimes I'm pretty close to idling. And, when I do realize I'm in a funk, I get all fired up about it. I realize that God needs to be number one in my life, and if I'm not progressing in my spiritual life, fighting the tide of apathy, I'm likely regressing, being pulled back stream. Aaron and I generally make a plan then of what we need to change about our prayer life to get us back on track to growing in God. A different plan for studying scripture or a new book of meditations? Too much structured prayer or too little? Best time of day in the morning or in the evening or at night? We tweak, get going again, and will do better for a while. But, this whole process of discerning how we're doing, and what we can do to grow in God, while it can be good, is also somewhat self-fabricated, self-directed. I'm not trying to discredit this process, because it's important, and something I'm sure we'll do for the rest of our earthly lives. But, the blessing of suffering is that there's nothing self-fabricated or self-directed about it in the least. It drove me into the arms of God. I was close to Him through those experiences, because I couldn't not be. I couldn't have survived without God, and I clung to Him for dear life. Living the mystery of faith. In a way, it was my most effortless year of growing in the Lord. I didn't have to work hard to devise a plan on how to best encounter Him... I just encountered Him. My encounters with Christ were often heavy, tear-laden, and raw, but oh, so real. And that is beautiful. What could be better than that, actually? Encountering the Lord and growing in holiness? What could be better? That realization really helped turn my mourning into dancing, and helped me see the purpose in my suffering.

These experiences also helped give me new eyes of faith. Believers see the world in a way non-believers can't comprehend, but I feel that my suffering fine-tuned my vision. It's easier, now, to see God's hand in everything. If I could see the way He was working in my life through the death of my unborn child, how foolish would I be to ignore the way He was working through the scribbles and laughter of my living daughter? If I could make meaning of my greatest suffering this year, I could surely find meaning in the smaller crosses? That's not to say I always do a good job, still, of embracing those more pesky crosses, but it's at least easier to see how God is drawing me to Himself in not just the big ways, but also the small ways. What a personal God we serve! So focused on each of His individual children, working in our lives in so many ways, all interlaced in such a beautiful, intricate tapestry.

It's interesting that as you grow in faith, prior experiences of God begin to seem flat. I thought I was close to Him as a child, and then, when I started reading and learning more, owning my faith, and got confirmed in high school, I looked back on my earlier faith, and it seemed so flat... that it'd mattered to me much too little. And, then, when I was in college, spending so much time at the Newman Center, attending mass, praying the hours, going to adoration, participating in and leading Bible study, I grew so much in faith. The faith deepened and widened, and I looked back on my high school faith, and it seemed so flat, so one-dimensional, as though it had been too unimportant to me, although it had been important. And now, I look back on those days, and my faith is more tested and rugged and real to me, and my college faith, while still beautiful and precious to me, has even, in some ways, seemed more flat or pale than it used to (although I certainly wish I had time for the kind of prayer life, especially frequent daily mass, that I had then! What an enormous blesssing!). And, though, with the obligations of my vocation, I spend less of my day in formal prayer, I still feel I've been learning more about how to make my life a prayer, and that God is more important to me than ever, and my lens has changed for the better, seeing all things in my life more clearly through the eyes of faith, taking on more vivid tones. I guess I'm just amazed by how much room there is to grow in our infinite God. I really hope a year from now I'll smile at the faith I demonstrated in this post, because it, too, will seem so flat, so pale, so inadequate. At all of these stages, I've been genuine and lovable to God, and my faith has always been a gift. I'm definitely not trying to dishonor where I've been, because each step is such an important part of the journey. But, it's interest how dynamic the spiritual life is, because our God is that big, and there's that much room to grow. I read about the saints and their experiences of God, and my mind is blown, because even the new dimensions I see in my own faith life still seem to be so flat compared to the completely crazy intense, colorful experiences in their spiritual lives. I think this all speaks to the fact that faith isn't a specific moment in time - it's a journey. Such an incredibly exciting/heartbreaking/terrifying/wonderful/beautiful journey.

Anyway, here's to 26! And here's to continued growth, hope, and joy in the Lord!


P.S. For a walk down birthday memory lane: ;-)  23 and 24

My Talented Sisters

All of my sisters are very talented. I want to tell you a little bit about some of the amazing gifts of my three younger sisters.

In April, my family and I went to Elizabeth's chorale concert. In addition to academic scholarship, Elizabeth also has a music scholarship for the beautiful alto voice she adds to her university's chorale. I was nervous about bringing Julia, but after she did so well at the movie theatre, I thought she'd be able to handle going to a concert.

She was able to handle it... but I wasn't! Ha! Julia kept wanting to crawl back and forth between my mom, dad, Sarah, and me. She also had several loud whispers about Elizabeth, about wanting water, and a question about the conductor which she posed during the total silence between the end of a song and the applause. All of these mildly distracting behaviors put me on edge. I was terrified she was going to start being super disruptive in the middle of this formal concert, so when halftime came, I finally breathed a sigh of relief that Julia hadn't had any major issues and we both ducked out. Julia was crushed to leave. She had loved being there so much that she cried most of the way home. And, really, she did awesome for only being two years old. I couldn't have asked for better behavior.

The first half of the concert was beautiful, though. I wish I had music to post in addition to this photo. Bravissima, Elizabeth!

Julia was so proud of her aunt up on stage!

Also in April, Julia and I were blessed to get to attend the opening of the university's annual art show. Sarah is studying graphic design, and had three(!) of her pieces from her studio art classes accepted into the show. We were so proud to see her art beautifully displayed in a gallery, and I was a lot less stressed at this event... haha! My grandparents were also in town, so it was special for them to get to see Sarah's art as well. Well done, Sarah!

Isn't that self portrait amazing? I was a little obsessed with that piece.

Sarah's portrait of a friend of hers.

Sarah's piece is the apple on the mug. My camera does not do justice to these artworks.

Random side note: My dad does not have a mustache in this photo. This phase in his life was extremely short lived.

Meghan is, of course, creative, too! Behold her magnum opus, the gorgeous Mary-Claire! ;-)

In May, after the loss of Francis Marie, Jessica blessed our family with her artistic gifts by creating a beautiful painting to memorialize our daughter. I was so incredibly touched. The quote is from a song by Watermark, Glory Baby, written by the husband and wife duo about their loss of a child to miscarriage. We hung this painting on our bedroom wall, and I love that it is there as a daily reminder and testament to the very small life that had such a huge impact on our hearts, and the hearts of all those who love us. Jessica was able to capture the depth of sorrow, pain, love, and faith we were all feeling during this time. The painting still brings tears to my eyes, in a good way, because it reminds of the goodness of Francis' life in the arms of Christ, and the promise of our reunion with her someday.

Thank you, Jessica.