1:00 am

Copeland has lived exactly 36 hours. We are in awe at how well she's done.

I say that knowing we are likely in the final hours of her life. We've had the most incredible time with her, rocking her, cuddling her, singing to her, sharing her with friends and family. Tonight. I sat in my hospital bed and chatted for about an hour with an old friend who happens to be a labor and delivery nurse here. It was wonderful getting to talk about totally inconsequential things while Copeland slept in my arms. Conor slept for a while on the sofa. Then, suddenly, her color began to change and her chest rose and fell a little less routinely. I called the NICU nurse and it seems we've landed on one stretch of the journey we were a little unprepared for: ultimately Copeland will continue to grow more and more weary, and every cell in her body that's fighting for life will give in to the fact that she just can't make it on this side of heaven. The nurse we spoke with was gentle but firm in her statement that "this will be hard to watch." We are aware that as she fades, Copeland may struggle to breathe, and as a result, may turn a little blue. I tell you this only to let you know that we are specifically asking for prayers right now that she will not suffer - not that there will be no evidence of this, necessarily, but that the Lord will give us a peace that despite the physical signs, Copeland will be free from pain even in the midst of the process. I believe He is capable of delivering us from the heat of the fire - look at Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego - even as the flames burn around us, so we ask that you would pray against suffering for our sweet girl.

I told Conor tonight that after my molar pregnancy, which happened in 2005 and required chemotherapy in its aftermath, I felt incredibly betrayed by God. Not that I doubted His sovereignty or even His goodness. God's ways are not mine, as I've always 'known' in a sort of Sunday-school-sense. But to believe that He was good in a way that I might totally understand or feel, from an emotional standpoint, is something I've wrestled with for two years now. If God is good, why does so much of life hurt? After miscarrying again the following fall - 2006 - and then of course getting this diagnosis about Copeland when we believed we were finally going to have the baby we'd so prayed for, I have to tell you the struggle within my soul has raged on. I have often felt that Jesus, the Jesus I knew and loved as a child, has changed in so many ways and that believing in Him wasn't as much the issue for me as believing in His character... trusting Him despite the incredible pain He has allowed into my life. As C.S. Lewis wrote, I don't fear coming to a place where I doubt His existence but rather a place where all the qualities of God I've believed in, everything about Him, suddenly feels like a joke. And then came the last 36 hours.

Having Copeland for any time at all - the fact that she even made it to birth - has been one of the most wonderful and blessed gifts of my life. I know I speak for Conor and I both when I say that we expected a couple of hours, if that. What we're getting has been beyond our wildest dreams. David writes in the Psalms, "Restore unto me the joy of Your salvation." I think sometimes we all need our joy restored, even when it comes to incredibly basic theological ideas about God that we 'should' get after years and years of believing in Him. I needed that restoration in my faith. I needed to believe Jesus would give me good things just because... not because I did something right or asked in the correct way. These last two days with the daughter I thought I might never get to spend a single hour with have been that for me: faith-restoration.

We have no idea what the next hours will bring. We are alone in our room and the hospital is quiet. Copeland is snuggled safely in her daddy's arms. We would ask you to pray for these three things: one, that Jesus would keep her from suffering. Two, that we would be given energy and strength despite our emotional and physical exhaustion, so that we can enjoy her for as long as the Lord oermits. And three, that as we approach the moment when He takes her home, we will be filled with a peace and even a celebratory spirit that allows us to offer her up to Him with joy, knowing full well we will be with her for far longer in eternity than any length of time we might get with her now.

Blessings...

Boothe