20 Months

Weight: 26 pounds

Height: 34.5 inches

Head: 48

20 months is a little hard to swallow sweet Reese. Evie was 20 months when she went to be with the Lord. I can't believe you are already her age. 

We are so thankful for you, Reese!

You sat up in your bed the other night, not crying, just sitting there. I couldn't help but go in and just get you out of bed and love on you. I think you knew I needed to do that.

We rocked, sat in silence and i thanked God for your life. Rocking you in the same chair as i rocked your sisters. Its hard to not get sentimental. Every now and then you would just look up at me. God was using you to give me comfort.

I had bible study this week. We have had a good discussion on rest this semester and this week we talked about resting in your past. Our speaker showed a video of a man who lost his son then lost his business, then lost all 3 daughters.

His name was Horatio Spafford and he wrote the words to "It is Well with my Soul" when he was on his way to meet his wife who was saved alone after a ship sunk with his 3 daughters.

I hear this song all the time. Its one that somedays I can sing and sometimes I cant even listen to.

I am sure one day losing Evie will be well with my soul but i am just not completely there yet.

1. When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
   When sorrows like sea billows roll;
   Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
   It is well, it is well, with my soul.
2. 
   
3. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
4. Let this blest assurance control,
5. That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
6. And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
7. My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
   My sin, not in part but the whole,
   Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
   Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
8. For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
   If Jordan above me shall roll,
   No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
   Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
9. But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
   The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
   Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
   Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!
10. And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
    The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
    The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
    Even so, it is well with my soul.