Life as we know it

I am the child who cannot talk. You often pity me, I see it in your eyes. You wonder how much I am aware of -- I see that as well. I am aware of much, whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or impatient, full of love and desire, or if you are just doing your duty by me. I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express myself or my needs as you do.You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times. I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated. I do not give you answers to your everyday questions, responses over my well-being, sharing my needs, or comments about the world about me.I do not give you rewards as defined by the world's standards -- great strides in development that you can credit yourself;   I do not give you understanding as you know it. What I give you is so much more valuable -- I give you instead opportunities. Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not

Romans 8:28-And we know that for those who love God, all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. For the last few months, I have memorized this verse, read about it, prayed about it, and counted on it.  Depending on what you have going on in your life, you probably interpret this verse differently than I do, but I think we can all apply it to our lives at some point.  Derik and I met with several doctors back in February down at University Hospital in their in vitro clinic. We knew we wanted another baby or two, but after lots of genetic testing, we also knew that we were both carriers of the Cystic Fibrosis gene, and the Microcephaly gene.  With that in mind, we had a 25% chance of having a baby that could end up with either of these genetic disorders.  We had our mind made up, we would do in vitro, with our sperm and egg, but make sure the ones that got implanted had neither genetic disorder.  Our mind was made up until they told us it woul