My dear sister, Joyce, is right now, as I type, at 10:38 on Wednesday morning, at the hospital.  She found out yesterday that the tiny baby that has been alive in her womb for several weeks had died.  She was so excited about this baby.  It has been difficult for her to conceive, and many times she has been disapointed by false hopes.  So when she found out that she was definitely pregnant, and when she saw the baby’s heart beating strongly during two different sonograms, she thought it was safe to get her hopes up.  We had so much fun talking and dreaming, shopping for maternity clothes, discussing possible baby names, and doing whatever it is that sisters do when one of them is pregnant.  I even found myself thinking that I was eager to get pregnant again.

Yesterday when I talked to Joyce by phone, and then as we sat and talked over coffee, I found myself realizing how ungrateful I am for the blessings God has given me.  I take for granted the babies, the diapers, the craziness.  I prayed that God would help me to see with new eyes just how fortunate I am.  And I prayed for my sister that she would be comforted as only He can comfort.