Understanding

This morning, I awakened by a nightmare.  I dreamt that my home was being broken into.  We were not home at the time, but when we drove up, we could see our garage open and our door had been kicked in.  There were still burglers inside.  We pulled into the driveway across the street and called 911 and though J is a police officer, he did not get out right away.  He was waiting for back-up.  I can remember seeing these people ransacking our home from the rear view mirror.  I picked up the phone to dial 911, while J watched and got ready to take action.  That's when I woke up.  I was in a panic.  I felt like I was having an anxiety attack.  I laid in bed for a few moments trying to calm myself down, but it wasn't working.  As my mind raced, I couldn't stop thinking about my love for God.  As my mind started to wander from dreams to reality, I reached for my devotional.  This is the first time, I have ever woken up to a need to read some sort of religious text, but I needed it.  As it normally sits on my night stand, it was not there.  I knew I had moved it yesterday as I wanted to share yesterday's with my sister and and sister-in-law so I sent her a picture of the text.  I felt called yesterday morning to send it to them before I even opened it, and when I did, the words that were on the page were so necessary for both of them that it floored me.  They didn't pertain to me so much as I felt like I had already made the leap and things were all coming together for me.  All of these days reading this book have been focused on something I was going through, but yesterday's was needed for them.  I cried when I read it and then something happened.  I closed my eyes and spent almost 15 minutes in prayer.  My normal prayers have always stumbled around, fumbling for the words to say, but this time, the words just rolled off of my tongue, even though I wasn't uttering a single one.  It was as though this was the most natural thing for me to do.  I had a great day yesterday.  But back to this morning, I couldn't locate my devotional.  I instantly picked up my phone, and went straight to Instagram, searching the hashtag Jesus Calling.  A lot of people post pics of their pages through out the day, so I knew I could find it there without getting up and waking up J.  To my surprise, there was not one posting of today's.  There were a lot from yesterday, but no one had posted today's.  I laid my phone back down and debated on whether or not to get up.  My mind started to race once more and these thoughts came over me like a wave.  I started to think about the page I had set up on Facebook for others to join.  I had sent it out wanting to share it with whoever wanted to read it.  I tried to link it to my blog, but Facebook requires you to have 30 likes before the link will work and you can see certain things about your page.  I thought to myself that this couldn't be that hard.  30 likes?  This morning though, I realized, why am I seeking "likes".  I am not.  I do not want anyone to "HAVE" to visit my page.  The more likes I have means the more suffering there is.  I don't want that.  I can live without anyone liking my page.  You don't have to like it to visit it.  I wouldn't like it either.  I would use it though, secretly.  I was suddenly more aware of what I was going through.  I started to think of that fateful day that I lost the girls, all that had gone on that very day.  My doctor is the most compassionate of all doctors and, literally, means the world to me.  He is caring and honest and most of all, he is understanding.  My mother and I spoke some yesterday about the things I had been writing.  It was the first time ever that the conversation had gone as deep as it had.  She understood what I thinking.  We spoke about the picture I saw of the baby and she said she spent the night searching for it, but couldn't find it.  I told her I could show her.  Before getting to the page, we spoke about the girls faces.  She said, she had searched for pictures last night, but all she could find were abortion pictures as well.  I told her finding this photo was the first time I had seen a baby at that age that hadn't been ripped apart.  Back then people weren't writing blogs and talking about all of this so freely.  She looked at me and said, Michelle, I can't imagine that your doctor would have done that to your children.  Look at how much he cares for you and your family.  She was right.  I had worried all these years that something had happened to them during the birth.  I was unconcious because I was so sick, so I have no idea what happened.  Once it was over, it was a race to keep me alive.  No one asked about the babies.  We trusted my doctor to do the right thing.  He told us he sent them for genetic testing, but maybe this was his way of sparing me a funeral.  I was so sick, that I just trusted him and never spoke of what I needed.  I needed to hold them, to see them, to know that they were really there.  It's haunted me my whole life since.  Did it actually happen?  It did.  Am I the mother of two twin girls?  I am.  But no one, not even me, treated it as such.  It was like it never happened.  I shut down so fast that no one spoke of it again.  Had I been the one to lead this nightmare of a mind I had?  I was blaming everyone and everything around, especially God for what had happened.  I was blaming myself for not speaking up and saying I wanted to see them.  I was mad that no one else thought to ask either.  I was incapable of asking, because I was unconsious.  The thing is they did.  They did want to ask, but because I had spent so long shutting people out of my life and not allowing them to know my true feelings, they were afraid to ask.  They were afraid to do the wrong thing, because I would hold it against them for the rest of their lives.  I have been led by God, to find out the truth, but is the truth I am searching for the right one?  I have always had the ability to call and ask my nurse or doctor any question I wanted.  I never did.  I even came across the same nurse that helped deliver them, so many times in my life.  She was amazing and every so often I would run into her and she would embrace me and tell me how she will never forget me.  Why hadn't I just asked her what happened?  I wanted to, but I was afraid to do it.  God has given me so many opportunities to find out the truth but I have never used them, because I was too afraid.  I instantly had that thought that my devotional was on the floor, that in the midst of having visitors yesterday, the kids knocked it off.  I reached for my phone, so that I could use it as light and as I shined it down to the floor, there was my book.  I couldn't open it fast enough.  I opened up to yesterdays and knew that when I turned the page this morning, something was going to happen.  I almost hesitated to do it, but I knew I had to.  The first sentence read, "Understanding will never bring you peace."  I dropped the book.  I believe.  100% I believe.  There is not a doubt in my mind that I am being spoken to by Jesus and that he is leading me down this journey for a reason.  I have been skeptical my whole life, but it has been erased.  I couldn't even finish the page.  I couldn't get to the next sentence.  I got out of bed, book in hand and came straight to the kitchen, where my laptop sat.  I wanted to start writing while all of this was so raw.  Instead, I ended up on my knees, praying for forgiveness and asking Him to please take over my life.  I no longer want control.  He knows what is best for me and I am willing to let His words lead me to wherever they may.  I got up in tears and began to write.  The words flowed onto the page with ease.  I didn't stop to think about what I was writing.  I learned that I liked it that way.  I could re-read it over and over and it would seem like a new story to me.  I decide right now, that I am going to finish the page.  I'm actually speechless.  I'll post a picture of the page to allow you to read it as well.  I don't know what else to write at the moment as this is going to take some processing, crying and praying.