Oh sweet friends.  The time is nearly here for this POSH Mama-to-be to become a full-fledged POSH Mama. I cannot believe it’s already September. There is a chill in the air and I’m not sure much more baby can fit inside my tummy. Our lives have been turned upside down over the last few weeks but one thing is certain–God has used this experience to break our hearts and reshape them all over again. I have yet to surrender total control but I am trying. When I do finally get a taste of grace, boy is it sweet.

As I sat down to write to you today, I thought about sharing pictures from my baby showers or telling you a bit about my favorite POSH Picks for pregnancy but once again, something different tugged at my heart. I was thinking about all my fears about becoming a mama, when we finally announced the big news and now, as Bebe P.’s big debut draws near, it seems only right to share a few words for our son. I wrote this letter to our baby just before we got pregnant. As we wait ever so patiently to meet our handsome son, these words have a whole new meaning. Please get here soon baby, we can’t wait to meet you. XX

Dearest Baby,

Hi sweet baby! Well, it’s Christmas morning 2011. We’re in Colorado visiting your Grandma and Grandpa Powell and Auntie Janie and Uncle John who just had a baby a couple of days ago. There is lots of excitement in the air with it being Christmas and a new baby in the world. In a few days, we’ll go visit more of your family; Grandma Donna, Auntie Tarryn, and your great Grandma and Grandpa Rohret.

It was an absolute miracle that we made it in time to be here for your cousin’s arrival! We were so worried we’d miss it so we prayed and prayed all week. As it turned out, God blessed us with sunny skies, dry roads and speedy travel. As you’ll come to find out, He can gift you in even the smallest ways if you ask Him with all your heart. We got here a little over an hour before he arrived and he was a whopper at 9 lbs! His name is Ian and he is so beautiful! Your papa is just smitten over him. I can only imagine how excited he’ll be when you get here. You’re really going to love all your family. They’re all a bit quirky but sure do have big hearts and lots of funny stories.

With the birth of your Savior, Jesus and what that means for the world and the birth of your cousin, Ian and what that means for our family, it only seems right to write you and tell you how excited we are to meet you. Now, you’re aren’t even in my tummy yet and we haven’t told anyone about our hopes to start a family soon, but over the last few months your daddy and I have been talking a lot about you. That’s just how thrilled we are to meet you. It’s like our own special secret that we share just between the two of us. I love it. We talk about what you might look like, what sports you might want to play, what subjects you’ll like in school. It sure is fun to dream about you. Last night, your daddy lit a candle for you at Christmas Eve service. I just thought he was being silly and stealing a second candle to hold but he leaned over and whispered, “This one is for our baby.”

It’s probably a good time to tell you that your dad is one of the most incredible people I know. He is kind and fair and generous. And he can make me laugh so hard my stomach hurts. Not many people can do that for your mama. He has such a big heart sometimes it takes my breath away. It’s because of these things that I already know what a great father he will be. He’ll hold you the day you’re born, look at you with his beautiful blue eyes (which I hope you’ll get!) and love you so much you can barely stand it. One day he’ll teach you to ride your bike in the driveway, and if you’re a handsome son, fix cars and shoot guns—hopefully in that order. If you’re a beautiful daughter, well let’s just say I’ll start praying for your future boyfriends now. You did see that part about shooting guns didn’t you?

We’re not sure when you’ll get here but until then, we’ll keep dreaming about what you might look like, what sports you might like to play and what subjects you might like in school. We’ll dream about teaching you to ride your bike in the driveway (I’ll let your dad dream about fixing cars and shooting guns). We’ll also be dreaming about how to be the best parents we can be. We’re scared that we’ll mess up (at least your mama is, your daddy is pretty brave) but we know, and as we’ll teach you, all things are possible with God. We love you to bits and can’t wait for the day we find out you’re on your way and even more so, when we’ll finally get to hold you in our arms.
                                      
Love,
Mumsey

After the initial shock of the fire, the Powells had to get their game-faces on. After all, that’s what Powells do–they strategize. You’d think we’d learn our plans didn’t matter much after we watched our house go up in flames but it quickly became clear that while we’d continue to make futile attempts to get behind the wheel again and again, this was much bigger than us. This, as we would see, was ordained and orchestrated by a sovereign God as the ashes from the fire barely had time to cool before blessings began to rise from the blaze.

After crashing for a couple of days at our dear friend’s house, we called on some other friends for a place to stay. They were, as life would have it, traveling in Europe for two months leaving their beautiful three-bedroom condo right near Ken’s work vacant. They answered our email with a resounding “YES! OF COURSE! Stay at our house!” (Miracle #4).

(Miracle Recap: #1 KP woke up out of a dead sleep and saw the fire in the first place, #2 He thought to shut the sliding glass door before we ran out and in the process likely saved nearly all of our belongings, #3 Everyone in the building made it out without a scratch.***)

That Sunday we had the chance to share with our Sunday School class exactly what we’d been through in the preceding 48 hours. We found the experience to be both humbling and healing. While it felt as though we were babbling erratically, we hoped that in some way, our experience touched those around us and God was able to use us whether it be to merely spark a conversation about having a fire safety plan (even though ours went out the window before you could say “Smokey the Bear” we did have one and now know to add “get a bigger extinguisher and a rope ladder” to the plan) or something more precious like giving the little ones an extra squeeze before bedtime, we were honored to speak about what was on our hearts. Let’s go ahead and call this Miracle #5. Having beautiful friends to pray over you and practically give their right arm to help you (or in our case a crib) is hardly anything less. Oh yeah, Miracle #6, our friends are having babies left and right leaving a slew of onesies, bassinets, swings and blankets in their wake.

Monday we did a walk through with Service Masters, a restoration company that State Farm set us up with (Miracle #7, #8 and #9…thank the GOOD LORD we had renters insurance, KP had upped the policy recently with the addition of baby loot and our SF claim guy rocks socks). We would learn that only a few of our belongings would need to be completely replaced and the rest could likely be restored after being treated for smoke damage, Miracle #10. The process would start as early as the next day with Amanda from FirstTeam Fabric Restoration coming to pick up all of our soft goods. Amanda turned out to be as warm and kind as the day is long. As we tossed piles and piles of clothes in bags, we chatted about pregnancy and babies and jobs…she was an angel and even thought to use hypoallergenic soap on all the baby items, Miracle #11. The rest of the week Service Masters themselves would pack up all of our other belongings to be cleaned and “ozone-chambered” (don’t look at me…I have not a clue how it works other than it just does.) They, too, were a pleasure to work with and BOTH companies were very sympathetic to our situation and didn’t hesitate to “rush” crucial items for us including all the stuff in the nursery and our bed so we’d get them back the first week of September, Miracle #12.

That brings us to Thursday. Thursday was sorta sucky. That is, until a perfect stranger who isn’t even from around here prayed over Ken and I in the middle of MOD Pizza. That’s right. We had just gone to look at an apartment that was a total dud and feeling utterly discouraged and exhausted at just the thought of finding a new place to live, we decided to drown our sorrows in Barq’s and Pepperoni. As I walked in, a woman eating with her daughter gestured toward my giant belly and commented on how beautiful she thought I looked. I could’ve kissed her right there but exercising self-control, I smiled and uttered a quiet, “Aw, thank you.”

After dinner I grabbed a to-go box and suddenly felt compelled to give the woman a more proper thank you. It was, after all, one of the hardest weeks of my life and her kind words did not fall on deaf ears. I approached her and told her as much to which she quickly replied, “I’m so sorry to hear that. May I pray for you?” You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Like a wilting flower dying for a drink, she could barely finish her question before I ran over, grabbed KP by the hand and scurried back to tell her the whole story. What followed was something right out of Psalms and one of the most beautiful prayers I’d ever heard. She’d even taken the time to place her hand over my tummy and pray for our little boy. It brought tears to my eyes and so much peace and comfort to my heart, I could barely stand it. As quickly as we had said our hellos (her name was Shannon) we had to say our goodbyes. But we left feeling a million times better, Miracle #13.

Friday morning we got an email from a good friend from church who said he’d hook us up with an old real estate pal of his to help us find a place. He didn’t normally do rentals but he was willing to help us out and was happy to send along some options, Miracle #14.

I am skipping the rest of Friday because my heart can’t bear it. Friday night we had to say goodbye to our apartment and lock up for the last time. Like an old friend being ripped from my arms mid-hug, It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do and I wouldn’t wish something like that on my worst enemy.

Early Saturday morning we reviewed the listings, Dustin, the agent had sent over. My heart skipped a beat. There it was, Miracle #15. A beautiful, brand new, never been lived in condo for rent in a complex we had nearly bought at a few years back. We loved the property but held off on buying to pay off debt. (That, too, was a miracle because the market crashed shortly after that.) It was renting for the same price as our other place but had a washer and dryer and garage parking–two things our last apartment lacked and were desperately wanted by this mommy-to-be. We arranged to look at it later that day. (We’d come to learn that this would be the one and only listing we’d see with Dustin but without him, we wouldn’t have been able to see it at all because it was listed privately, Miracle #16)  It was exactly how we remembered it–modern yet inviting, open yet quaint, chic yet homey. It was perfect for our little family. Ken and I exchanged glances, clearly both smitten kittens. Careful not to get too excited, we asked about the pet policy. “Oh you guys have dogs? Hmm…they probably aren’t going to go for that. It says no pets in the listing.” I slowly made my way from room to room, still envisioning where all our furniture would go.  I stopped in the nursery and imagined Ken and I laying our son in his crib. “You can definitely call them and ask anyway.”

And call I did. I left a message with Tony, the agent, and heard back shortly after. “Put together an email pleading your case.  Include pictures of the dogs and anything else you think will help your story. We could’ve rented it a hundred times by now but no one has good enough credit. Maybe they’ll make an exception on the dogs.” At that point, I opened a new email and proceeded to play all the cards I could…our house burned down…I’m three weeks away from giving birth…our dogs are little and nice (the nice part was a bit of a stretch for Bear but I went with it anyway.) All Saturday night and Sunday morning I kept checking my email. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Sunday morning we shared the update with our Sunday School class saying that so many things had fallen into place and all we needed now was a new place to live. As we were leaving church, I saw that I had missed a call and voicemail:

“Hi Lacie, this is Tony with Windemere, I forwarded your email to the owners and I just heard back this morning. They said that yes, they would consider your application. Congrats, you are the first ones they’ve let apply with pets (Miracle #17) so they must just be ready to rent it. Oh and…um…we were all kind of curious…they actually live on Market Street (Miracle #18) and I’m near there too and we all saw what we’re guessing is your building…the one Gibralter owns…I actually knew Gabe your landlord and know his brother Jerry (Miracle #19)…we were wondering if that was your place? I’m guessing it was most likely was…we’re so, so sorry. Anyway the next step is to submit…”

That my friends, brings us to today, Monday. We submitted our application, have been approved and are leaving in a few minutes to go and sign a one-year lease for a place we love, Miracle #20. Just ten days after the fire we will have a place to call our own and bring our baby son home to. And, hopefully by the time he’s born, we’ll have returned to us his tiny crib and soft jammies to put him in at bedtime. Then, after the Mr. and I toast with champagne, we will be able to slip into our own bed and drift off to sleep, only now we’ll probably snuggle a little closer together.  God is not just good, HE IS GREAT. And with Him ALL things ARE possible. A few weeks ago, we were asked in Sunday School, “How would you do if everything was stripped away?” Ken and I both remember thinking, “Not well, not well at all.” And don’t misunderstand me, we are both completely aware that “everything” is a relative term and things could’ve been much, much worse. Grateful is not word enough to describe our feeling that it wasn’t. The fact that this completely rocked our world says a lot about the size of our world to begin with. We are working on that. We know this isn’t the end of His story or work but for now, the Powells could not be happier and we have written on our hearts this verse:

But he said to me, “My GRACE is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power may rest on me. -2 Cor 12:9

***All these miracles don’t even include the “gift with purchase” miracles…a.k.a. the mini-miracles and joys that we got with the bigger ones that have just plain made this more bearable; officially meeting and bonding with neighbors that we walked by dozens of times before without much more than a “hello,” finally having use of a washer and dryer that doesn’t require us to get a roll of quarters at QFC, spending more time with friends through numerous invites to dinners and coffees to get the latest scoop, the several empty boxes we got from a friend that we didn’t think we’d need but actually turned out to REALLY need, a lease ending next September putting us in a better place financially to finally buy a house than a lease ending in June like we had at our old place, we can move without actually having to MOVE because both companies we’re working with will deliver all of our things to our new house…and finally one of my favorites of all…our nearest and dearest and even those we rarely get to see or talk to offering to do ALL they can to help. Our cups runneth over sweet friends. We love you all very, very much.

So there we were, a modern day Mary and Joe, expecting a wee one in just four short weeks with no room at the inn. And, at least for the time being, no swaddling clothes to speak of as all of our stuff was being held hostage at our house.

Our. House. Our. HOME.

With a baby on the way and my Type A/OCD ways that I’ve openly admitted to, I probably don’t need to go to great lengths to tell you what the Mr. and I had been doing the last several months, but allow me to paint you a picture anyway.  As soon as I quit feeling like I was going to toss my cookies, I was a woman on a mission. I had often joked with friends shortly after finding out I was pregnant that I would take nesting to the Nth degree. And I did. Nearly all of our spare time over the last five months have been spent, as you’ve heard me call it, squirreling.

I worked my way through the house starting in our room with a closet makeover getting rid of a ton of clothes and re-folding and re-hanging everything to make room for Ken. Then we bought and assembled all new bedding and furniture and finally hung our beloved headboard that we spent hours making over a year ago.

After that, I made my way through the kitchen methodically going through each and every cabinet and drawer donating stuff we never use and non–perishables. The living room got a few updates as well. I also went through and organized our entire linen closet full of towels and sheets.

Last but not least, we turned the guest room into a nursery. We sold all the existing furniture, painted and then bought all the trappings for baby. We purchased a new dresser, a crib and mattress, a bookshelf, and all kinds of cute bins to organize the closet and that, thanks to our many sweet, sweet friends, we promptly filled with oodles of baby goodies. We hung on the wall behind the crib gorgeous mock barn doors that my husband lovingly made with his future son in mind. We went store to store on errands picking up a package of nails at Home Depot or exchanging the 5 oz bottles for the 9 oz bottles at Babies R Us. It was a lot of hard work but man did we have fun. We’d laugh and eat popsicles as we looked at the IKEA directions for putting together our bookshelf and daydreaming about what our baby would be like. It was a truly precious, precious time that I will never forget.

Nearly every day for the last few weeks I had waddled down the stairs and spent time in the nursery. I washed all the tiny onesies and hung them by size in the closet. I filled an adorable rustic bit with neatly rolled blankets fresh out of the dryer. I carefully arranged diapers and wipes in the drawer so they’d be easily accessible late at night. I filled the bookshelf with some of my favorite childhood stories and often times would doze off while reading to the baby in the rocking chair.

About a week before the fire we had all but finished our squirreling. The last pair of tiny mittens our son would soon wear were put away and all that was left was to do was get the dogs groomed and have the house and carpets cleaned. We were thrilled to be DONE. And in time! I could, as I had so diligently planned, take the last month off to relax in our freshly primped home, read books on becoming the best mom possible and put my feet up during the hottest time of the year. I had even planned on getting back to blogging for a bit before the baby came. I was thrilled to share all our latest redecorating projects like the bedroom and nursery with my POSHees.

God had, unbeknownst to me, other plans in store.

(Again, more to come. The next installment won’t be so depressing, I promise.)

One week ago today, Chateau Powell literally went up in flames.

I still can’t believe it. In fact, as I type this, I want to scream at myself, “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!” Then I hear the word “fire” and suddenly it’s as real as real can be.

Last Thursday, KP and I went to bed around 11 having no clue that it would be our last night ever in our sweet little house. Shortly after 3:30 am the Mr. awoke suddenly (we still aren’t sure why…on second thought maybe we are) and got out of bed. I awoke at his high-jump maneuver. We both noticed our normally white bedroom door appeared to be glowing a faint orange. We knew something wasn’t right. He peered around the corner to see huge flames coming over our balcony. He yelled, “What the hell?!” (I swear it was in a southern accent but he’s not so sure) and ran downstairs thinking perhaps we had been pranked. I, too, arose from bed to see what was the matter, as quickly as someone eight months pregnant can anyway. I saw the flames and was instantly paralyzed. Surely this was just another one of those crazy pregnancy dreams right–except, where was Donald Trump??

Thinking quickly my husband, the rockstar that he is, grabbed our kitchen fire extinguisher and attempted to put the fire out. In a pathetic five-second spritz, it became clear we were passed that now. Ken tossed the fire extinguisher aside, threw the sliding door closed and yelled at me to call the police. He leapt upstairs in one bound. We must’ve been quite the sight…I’m going to pause a moment here to tell you that it had been hovering around 90 degrees all week and we were in the middle of having some work done around the house so we were in our skivvies and we had crap EVERYWHERE (except it seemed, clothes anywhere in our bedroom) We were running around bumping into each other trying to make ourselves decent. Meanwhile the dogs were barking frantically and I was struggling to hear the 9-1-1 operator. We began to hear sirens and police pounding on the door so I hung up the phone. (Sorry 9-1-1 lady.) We finally got dressed and ran downstairs, each with a dog under our arm.

We sprinted across the street and gathered with neighbors. I looked back to see giant flames climbing up the west side of our building. Time had both stopped and sped up in an instant. Why were the firemen taking so long? And how were the flames billowing bigger so quickly? I turned and buried my face in Ken’s sleeve. I began to sob. We were ok. We were all ok.

And then the shock and panic began to set in. I started to lose feeling in my hands and feet. We sat down on the sidewalk that still felt warm from the day’s sun. Stunned, we watched as the fireman pulled alongside the building and cranked a long ladder out from the truck. It looked like a giant straw poking out of a milkshake. It seemed to take forever for them to reach the apartments and even longer for the water to begin to quench the flames. The next three hours went by in a daze. We sashayed back and forth between joking quietly with our neighbors to stave off the sadness to standing stiffly neck-deep in bewilderment. We were all interviewed by the fire inspector one at a time and I (unknowingly) almost made my TV news debut. Thank goodness for my 6 ‘ 7 ”  agent who interceded with a swift, “No comment.” Now I get why everyone interviewed on the news sounds so stupid. It’s because THEY DON’T KNOW THEY’RE ON TV.

Finally at around 6:30 am we were escorted back inside. We were told to pack a bag for the weekend and await further instruction from our landlord. We called some friends who were out of town to see if we could use their shower and try to get our bearings at their house over the next couple of days. We were so thankful for their place and just thankful to be alive after everything that had happened. I fell asleep Friday night wrapped tightly around Ken and so grateful to be sleeping in a bed and even more so, a Queen rather  than our Cal King we’re used to because it gave us the chance to snuggle that much closer together. Half the time at home I wasn’t even sure if KP was in bed with me. The next couple of days went by in a blur as we began to share the news with family and friends and exchanged phone calls with our landlord and insurance agent.  We soon learned that while the cause of the fire was still being investigated, it was clear that due to massive damages, we would not be allowed to move back in.

We were homeless.

(More to come soon. As you can imagine, this has been quite the shock and a lot to process. And well… it’s a long frippin’ story.)