The following words were spoken by my beautiful sister-in-law Linda, on Saturday, in the church where we celebrated Grace's Mass of Resurrection. I asked Linda to write them out for me because they so clearly speak the truth we believe; that LIFE is good, always and everywhere, and that it is always a gift that should be received with love, regardless of the manner in which we were born or the path nature took in the womb, causing handicaps or disabilities. Where there's life, there's hope. Life is good, Life teaches us, Life is of God. 
I've shared about our story of adoption, both with our baby boy (so new and so beloved to us), and of our little ones over the last few years, 12 of whom went to God before ever seeing the light of day. I'm so happy to say that, for a short while, Little 13 saw that light.
Baby Grace Elizabeth came to us early on Sunday, the feast of the Epiphany and of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton (we think Gracie planned it that way). We waited, praying, while the c-section proceeded. Someone sneezed and we all whispered "God bless you." And the doctor said "That was Grace." What a way to come into the world! Blessed in her very first seconds.
She cried and squeezed our fingers, she turned her fragile head towards the light more than once. I baptized her with water from a tiny cup and we prayed, not knowing how long she would live in her condition. Then she fought for 10 hours before going back to God. She gave up her spirit just after the Angelus bells at 6pm.
For how this day unfolded in the plan of Our Father, we could not have asked for more. We had the tremendous blessing of family, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins around her, hugging and kissing her all day. Photographs and videos were taken, our pastor came and blessed her, and a dear friend from Maryland came too; he and his wife having lost their own precious daughter at birth, and truly knowing our pain.
We sang "Amazing Grace," we prayed together, and Gracie met her big brother too. We wept, wishing she could stay, but at the end of the day we had a sense that she was going. Family left the room after saying their goodbyes, (over 20 people who had shared time with Grace), and then in our dimly lit room, Rebecca, S., Grace and I huddled up. We kissed her and sang hymns, and prayed some more. S. rested peacefully beside his sister for an hour, allowing his parents the grace to cherish every breath Grace took. For an hour, a holy hour, we kept vigil. And then she went home, and now she is whole.
We are so thankful for all of the prayers of people near and far. Messages have come literally from all over. What does this mean? That life is precious, that one little life so fragile and so fair as Grace's can have such an impact on our hearts. Grace Elizabeth lived just 10 hours but filled our hearts with enough memories for a lifetime. Every little move she made was magic.
We have truly felt "carried" this week by so much love and support. So now, from the hospital, we're just resting, reflecting, and praying. God has been with us at the foot of this Cross; on it in fact with Grace, we believe. We prayed for one miracle and got so much more.... "grace upon grace."
Grace Elizabeth Donaghy
Born - January 4, 2009, 8:04am
Died - January 4, 2009, 6:08pm
Baptized, Beloved, and Beautiful. We will NEVER forget you, our little saint. Rest now in your Father's arms. Love you forever, Mommy, Daddy, and your big brother S.
"Every human life is sacred, because every human person is sacred."
- Pope John Paul II ________________________ Read all the posts on Grace's Story Listen to Rebecca's Song for Grace Embryo Adoption Amazing Grace
On another note, unconnected but providentially related to our story with Grace... we have been given a different kind of miracle, and you may from the picture have already guessed it!
We have been chosen to adopt a BEAUTIFUL BABY BOY! It's been a real whirlwind of finding out about him, praying about it, deciding, and then being chosen. It all happened in a period of just about three days! When God cooks up a miracle, sometimes He just pops it in the microwave.
So, what are feeling right now? Peace, joy, love…. The fruits of the Spirit, and that's been a good sign for my wife and I that we made the right choice in opening the door of our hearts and our home to him, even in the midst of our via dolorosa with Grace. There was no fear or feeling of not being prepared, or anxiety. We gave our YES and a YES was given back! He's come like a ray of light into this fog of uncertainty with Grace, and I think he's the reason his little sister is dancing in the womb! Like a little Simon he's helping us carry this Cross, just by being who he is.
Because of the nature of this private adoption, and because it’s still in process, there are a few things I think I should keep from print, simply because of its sensitive nature. One amazing thing I will mention is that his given name from the birth mother can be translated as “appointed one.” For my wife and I, waiting years for the gift of children, this was a pretty amazing sign! He’s unlocked a new level in the adventure of our lives; he’s given us new names too. For five years Rebecca and I have been husband and wife… now we are mommy and daddy. It’s all a grace, everything is a grace! And every day, we will pray for grace to be the best parents we can be.
The Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from every face.
- Isaiah 25 
An update on our Snowflakes adoption story....
We had another ultrasound this week, and our baby's condition has not changed since the diagnosis of acrania. We're still holding out for our miracle, through the prayerful intercession of Pope John Paul II, because nothing is impossible with God. And what our baby needs is the impossible. Bone where there is no bone; a total and complete healing.
We did receive a tremendous blessing, though, in coming to discover the baby's sex. So we welcome to the world, though still hidden in the womb, our little girl, Grace Elizabeth.
And she is a dancer. In our 22nd week, the images seem so clear. She came waltzing out of the murky shadows of the ultrasound screen, in a dimly lit room at the perinatal testing center. We could see her hands waving, the bones of her tiny fingers, her heart pounding strong and fast. When the technician, Janene, said "It's a girl," I felt such a swell of emotion. Coming to know someone's name has a power in it. It's a privilege actually. And now it strikes me as so much more personal than before... We have a little girl... and we will always have a little girl. Sixteen years from now, come what may, we'll be celebrating her birthday. We'll speak of her, dream of her, talk to her, and if the miracle doesn't come (though in a certain sense it is here already) we'll ask her to wait for us in Heaven. And we'll all look forward to meeting her in that Perfect Place where everything is whole and every tear is wiped away.
But here below, this new knowledge is a two-edged sword; even as it helps us cut through a section of the sadness by our naming and knowing our little girl, it tears at us because we must consider all ends; we might have to say goodbye just as we say hello. I know it's not by coincidence that we found this all out on the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. Feasts of Mary and the saints have been curiously aligned with our visits and appointments throughout the past couple of years. A comfort on this way of the Cross.
Grace Elizabeth.... be strong, be whole, be healed. We love and wait for you. Keep dancing in your watery world as we treasure every second of this journey.
When we've been here ten thousand years Bright shining as the sun. We've no less days to sing God's praise Than when we've first begun. - Amazing Grace
When I was in college seminary, our rector gave a homily that I've never forgotten. Well, at least the line I'll quote today. I remember it so well because I thought it was goofy when I first heard it. Really goofy. And I think he said the line three times.
We all thought it was goofy, and had a good laugh afterwards (wasn't that very Christian of us?), thinking it was one of those "how not to preach" moments to keep in mind, should we be called all the way to ordination. But now, years later, having left those studies and discerned this beautiful vocation to marriage, having experienced so many joys and sorrows already that Life has spilled out before us, watching five fast years unfold like delicate wrapping paper from each "present" moment, the phrase from that homily has come back to me.
"The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing."
That was it. Want to hear it again? OK. "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." You can sort of put your inflection anywhere, which is fun. For example, "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." Though, personally, I think I like "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." This sentence, of course, begs the question: What is the "main thing"?
Right now, it's easier for me to see than ever. In the midst of the fires of our sorrow, of possibly losing our unborn child, all the plans, desires, dreams, worries and wants of a lifetime just melt away, like paper tossed onto a burning wood. What matters most? The main thing is life with God in it; with God all around it, surrounding it... because this life and this suffering make no sense without Him. Honestly, this suffering makes no sense with Him.
I think suffering falls sometimes without rhyme or reason; it can be random and reckless. Sometimes we bring it on ourselves, it's the friction caused by the scraping of sin in the world against God's original dream for us. But mostly I think it's the fallout or aftershock of that rebellion, sending rippling waves throughout the universe. "Thorns and thistles grew," nature rocks and rolls and reeks havoc, from the macro to the micro, the physical and the spiritual, and even into the tiny cells of a little baby that should be healthy and whole.
I don't know what it is keeping me afloat. I'm not angry at the world or God. I'm just in a white-hot furnace of sorrow. Barring a miracle, our baby will die. This is insane and this is burning us. I'm not carrying the baby, but I'm doing my best to carry Rebecca and the baby. I don't know what to say. But I know God isn't doing it to us. It's not His fault. It's not our fault.
His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.
- John 9
The main thing, it seems to me, is a life with God in it. The kind of God Who Himself entered into this mess, bore suffering to the extreme, and redeemed it. He tells us to carry on, the way He did unto the Cross itself. The main thing is for us to know we need God. We pray that this suffering might end in a miraculous healing so that the works of God might be made visible through our baby. We are fervently praying for this. But in it all, I remember the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing. Love is here, burning us in sorrow. But in 10,000 years this sorrow will have passed, have been redeemed, transformed. In eternity we pray that we will be surrounded by the beautiful little ones we've adopted and lost. And the destiny of our 13th little child, who soon will be given a name, we don't yet know. We live in hope for life here and now, to have the grace to walk a little life through the beauty and the brokenness of this world, and we hope for life in its fullness in the world to come for all of us.
I must keep alive in myself the desire for my true country, which I shall not find till after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others to do the same.
- C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
Pope John Paul II, intercede for us.
I watch the movie The Passion of the Christ about six times a year; five times with the five sections of freshmen I teach at Malvern Prep, and usually once at home with Rebecca during Holy Week. Needless to say, the powerful images, encounters, music, and ancient languages in this film are deeply ingrained in me the way few things are.
One of those images occurs as Jesus is pushed by the people outside of the walls of Jerusalem (and this image alone speaks volumes) and encounters his cross for the first time. One of other condemned criminals watches the Christ kneel and take hold of this tool of torture and press his face against it, almost lovingly.
"Fool! Look how he embraces his cross!"
I've been thinking about that line these days, now two weeks into our own way of the cross. When I was a kid, fresh from my own "awakening" to the reality of God and the call to a relationship with Him, I used to be perplexed by the whole "embrace your cross" mentality. I was reading about it in the lives of the saints, and over and over again I could hear in their voices such a passion for the Passion, a real love for suffering. I struggled with my own attitude towards the cross. I thought... "Well, these guys are saints, I should feel this way too, but this sounds nuts." It was very unsettling, almost morbid, I thought. "Is this what God wants of me? Doesn't He want me to be happy? Am I missing something here?"
Suffering is a funny thing. It surrounds us all like air, it trembles beneath nearly every step we take, and sorrow echoes in so many of our conversations every day, but we rarely look it in the eye. Our right to the "pursuit of happiness" as Americans has become an all out mad dash, an arms flailing race towards almost any door that will get us out. Anything but that narrow, cross-shaped Door that seems to lead only to pain.
But here's the truth we're coming to see, and strangely it was quoted to me in a movie back in 1986 that seems totally random right now, but perfect. The Man in Black says to the Princess Bride... "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something."
Well, there it is.
Ever since the Fall there has been conflict, pain, death, and war; inside and outside our hearts. So what do we do with it? Most people want to run from it (hedonists), some people pretend it doesn't exist (Buddhists), a few take a morbid pleasure in it (masochists), and a few, a select few, have come to peace with it by allowing themselves to be nailed to it, trusting in a greater plan.
So the saints weren't nuts, though some may have been slightly off balance in the penance department. Really they were just.... realists. Just like the One Who came in a body to take on Death like a hero. And He destroyed it. He really did.
So all of this is to say that I think I'm going to pray harder every day facing not fleeing from this cross that Rebecca and I have been allowed to carry. Maybe some will say "Fools! Look how they embrace their cross!" (We've already gotten that from the eyes of one of our doctors).
Good Friday has come early again. But we hope it leads to a miraculous Easter Sunday, and we're imploring the prayers of a man who bore his cross heroically, Pope John Paul II. We don't know how long this via dolorosa will twist and bend, but I want to feel the wood, let the weight of it sink in. I was encouraged by a good friend to swim into this dark abyss, and keep swimming into Rebecca's pain as a mother, to swim and not to give up. He said that at a certain moment, if I hold fast like an Olympian, then I'll make a quick turn, like Michael Phelps, and we can rise again into golden light. I'm banking on that!
We revel in the beauty of her body, not as the world does, with a
beauty only skin deep; we see the big picture, not parts but the
whole. Like a crystal that shines throughout, it's the body "capax
Dei" - capable of the Divine. The body as a temple, God's dwelling
place, open to Grace, now glorified and divinized!
Mary is taken up into glory today. And why should this seem so
unlikely, this mystery that seems not to appear in the Bible? Isn't it
in fact the Song that suffuses the entire Bible? This song is the
original music, the song of life, the Song of Songs, and the score
that sin tore apart and twisted. But we still in this valley of tears
remember the melody. Mary's Assumption into Heaven is God's symphony
for sinners.
And so we gaze in wonder, and reflect on the fact that for us too, by
His Grace, what has fallen shall be raised up, what went sour shall be
sweet again, what was broken will be repaired in us. And not by our
merit, or by Mary's alone. In the end it is all and always the Son who
supplies the Light in this darkness.
As we pray for the healing of our unborn child, I relish this feast of
the Assumption even more. We're asking for a miracle, for God can heal
all of our wounds, weakness, cancer, acrania, disease, decay, and
deformity even now, today. In this moment He can make all things new.
He did it before and if He so wills it He can do it again. So I pray
He pours His redemptive and healing power into the womb and bring
forth life! Through the hands of Mother Mary, like a channel of grace
from God, through the prayers of Pope John Paul II, Apostle of the
Human Person, and all in the Name of Jesus... let it be done unto us
according to His Word. Mary, Mother of the Unborn, pray for us.
A much repeated sentence we hear at our Theology of the Body retreats and courses is "I wish I heard this when I was younger!" ...
