Keziah Ember

Keziah (kez-EYE-uh) Ember…

Naming your sisters was hard enough. I never thought we’d find a name for you. Little did I know that we would not only be given a name for you, but that it would be full of so much hope and promise. You, my love, are a reminder of God’s goodness. A shot of light into the darkness that pain has brought to the path your Daddy and I have walked the past several years. 

You are our rainbow baby in so many ways.

Three years before we found out you would be joining our tiny tribe, a different pregnancy test was telling me we were about to go from four members to five. I cried. Not happy, excited tears. But tears full of fear and disbelief. I hadn’t recovered from the delivery of your sister and I held that test in my hands truly wondering if the pregnancy would kill me. 

Two short weeks later I would start bleeding and- having lost a baby to early miscarriage before, I knew what was happening. So the tears changed. No longer full of fear and disbelief but overflowing with guilt and shame. Had my anxiety and detachment caused this loss? I carried the question and regret for a while. But your sisters were a great comfort to me during that time. Watching them play and listening to them laugh and stroking their soft curls when their bodies lay heavy on my chest. I didn’t know why I had two babies on this side of heaven and two on the other, but I had to find a way to embrace that reality and raise the ones I could touch, while holding onto the memory of the littles waiting for me. And though my desire for another child hadn’t yet sprouted, my desire for a large family never dwindled and I believed with time, I might be ready to try again. 

But you see, after I had your sister I wasn’t the only one traumatized. Your Daddy had to sit and watch while my face sagged on one side and my speech slurred. While I was poked and prodded. He sat and listened to doctors argue over whether I had Bell’s Palsy or was suffering a stroke and buried frustration as they never agreed which had actually occurred. He held my hand helplessly while I hemorrhaged after her delivery and doctors and nurses crowded my bedside to try and get the bleeding to stop. He heard me scream while they treated me and had visions of raising two daughters alone. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he told me we were absolutely done having kids and that he was ready to do something permanent about it. 

Although I was nowhere near ready to entertain the thought of another pregnancy, I definitely didn’t feel ready to close the door entirely. Our family didn’t feel complete. And now I know, it’s because it wasn’t. 

We argued for a while, never really agreeing on what to do. I hoped so badly he would change his mind. We agreed not to talk about it for a while because it was only causing tension between us. And eventually my prayers changed. Instead of wishing for your Daddy to change his mind, I just prayed that one of us would. That my heart would no longer wish for another if it wasn’t what God had for our family.

Less than a year later, we were attending a worship conference together and during one of the sessions, your Daddy leaned over and whispered in my ear, “We’re going to have more kids.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover the emotion I felt. Relieved. Giddy. The feelings crashed over me and I let them. I still didn’t know if, how, or when our family would grow, but to know that our desires were aligned made me feel so content. 

We talked to several doctors to get an understanding of what my repeat risk factors might be. And although no pregnancy is without risk and mine would have to be monitored very closely, no doctor would tell us that another pregnancy should be out of the question. And in April we found out you were on your way to us. By June, we knew you were a girl and I thought it would take us the full pregnancy to decide on a name for you. Instead, it was the quickest we have ever found and agreed upon a name. 

The name Keziah (kez-EYE-uh) is Hebrew, just like your sisters first names. It comes from the book of Job. She was one of the daughters that was “born after his terrible affliction”. Now, I do not pretend to understand the suffering of Job, and I am grateful that I have not experienced loss like he did, but having walked our own season of loss- from jobs, to babies, to facial paralysis and walking the road of special needs with your sister, we have hoped and prayed desperately for a season of redemption. Of beauty to replace ashes. And here you are…

We have also added an element of worship or singing to the names of each of our babes and you are no different. 

Jaryn means “to call out or sing”

Selah (say-luh) describes a time during worship to be silent- to pause and reflect. 

Keziah means “a sweet spice”. This definitely has a less obvious connection to singing or worship. Oh. But it’s there. In 2 Chronicles 13:11 it says, “They offer to the LORD every morning and every evening burnt offerings and incense of sweet spices…” In the Old Testament, these offerings were an act of worship. 

Your Daddy and I pray daily that your life would be an offering of worship to the Lord and that he would use you in mighty ways. 

Keziah is also believed to be derived from the root word “cassia” which is a tree that produces a cinnamon-like spice. And that’s how you got your nickname- cinnamon bun.

The meaning of Ember is more literal- “a small glowing piece of wood or coal”

This part of your name came quick and obvious. 

You see, at that conference where your daddy’s heart changed about growing our family, the speaker was talking about embers. About how a large fire can be lit by a tiny coal. He spoke about how revival happens when the existing church is reignited. And of all the things we leave behind, our children are our greatest legacy. You are an ember of our flame for Christ. And our prayer is that you would be used to light a fire in others for our Savior. We hope He will accomplish more through you than He ever could through us. Your name reminds us that you do not belong to us- and to pray that you would find your way into the story He is writing for you. We are so grateful to be a part of it…