Moving to My Dream House...

...so why does this feel like a nightmare?
I'll tell you, I can't seem to stop crying.  As soon as we left the real estate office on closing day last week, I burst into tears.  I had imagined Will running through those fields with Adam...without that picture, I just wasn't sure I wanted the house.  It seemed like an eternity ago that we signed the contract on the property.   Two weeks after signing that paper, Will died. 
   I kind of feel like there was some sort of deal God was offering, but, as if in a warped (er?) version of  a Monty Python scene (something about deciding if a person was a witch or not), I chose the wrong answer.  As if God said, "House or baby?"  and I, not hearing the "...or baby?"  answered, "YES!  House!"...and then, whoooosh...the baby was gone.
  How weird is that? 
Now, I *know* that isn't the reality of the situation.  But still...the Lie Whisperer.
    I know a lot of people have been surprised after asking me, "Are you excited about the new house?!"  when  I answer, "Well, I have mixed emotions."  I know it's hard to understand.  After all, around the first of May, when we signed the contract on the farm, I was ecstatic.  But I would gladly live in a rental house the rest of my life if I could have my baby back.  The grieving heart doesn't necessarily make sense.  I have felt so guilty for not being thrilled to be moving.  It is a beautiful farm.  It is everything we ever wanted in a home.  I know this grief will pass and I will settle in the new place.  I just have to allow myself to not feel excited right now.  It will come.  I'm just not there yet.
     The last few days, I've been packing, packing, packing.  I keep coming across mementos of Charity and Will.  I was filing papers, and came across some lab bills from last Winter.  "Quantitative HCG"  "TSH"  It all reminded me of finding out I was pregnant and feeling scared, but excited.  Then, from March, I found the 18 week sonogram report, "Healthy  male."  We were so relieved that Will showed no signs of the tragic birth defect that sweet Charity had.
  Then, seven weeks later...another sonogram.  "Fetal demise."
How in the world can I go on?  This feels like childbirth--"I can't do it!  I can't do it!"  The Voice: "You CAN do it.  You ARE doing it." 
   One of the men at church said something a couple weeks ago that I keep coming back to.  There is a lot of hurt happening in our church right now...so many people discouraged and in pain, heartsick.  Mr. R was speaking of Ephesians 6--
"13Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. 14Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace."

He pointed out that Paul didn't say, "Do this, then attack!"  He said to just *stand.*  Mr. R encouraged us who are hurting by saying that it's ok if all we can do now is stand on wobbly legs.  Just stand.  No need to run, or even walk--just stand.
   I'm thinking there's just enough Monkey Brain Grace to do that.  I can stand.  Barely.  No storming the castle...just standing.  Just like when the epidural was  wearing off. 

   That full armor is heavy.