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The day those two pink lines showed up on a pregnancy test, I was beside myself with joy. After months of praying for just such a thing, Andrew and I were able to have our gleeful moment of celebration together. That same day, I went to Target to buy batteries but instead found myself meandering very slowly through the baby section.

My palms were sweaty from all the new hormones coursing through my body. I reached out swollen hands to finger little baby socks, baby blankets, baby hats. Then my eyes came to rest on a small, blue elephant. He had a green tail that played a lullaby when pulled. I glanced around guiltily to see if anyone was watching and then dropped the little guy in my basket. I took him home to Andrew and we curled up on our bed together and pulled the tail over and over, beaming.

But in a few short weeks, that pregnancy ended. I sat and held that elephant as I sobbed out my sorrow. Eventually, I put the elephant in a closet so I wouldn’t have the constant reminder of our baby that wasn’t.

In a few more months, more pink lines. Almost as soon as I’d delivered the good news to Andrew, I headed straight for the closet to pull out our elephant. We were more cautious in our joy this time, but no less excited at our miracle. We pulled the elephant’s tail and left him out to make us smile. (We had to keep him out of reach of Samson the Wonder Dog, of course, who would have disemboweled the elephant in twenty seconds. So the elephant mostly lived on our bed or on the couch.)

But there was sorrow at the end of that short pregnancy, too. I remember coming home from the doctor’s office after hearing that we were once again without child. I picked up that elephant and stroked his fuzzy head, a bittersweet smile showing through my tears. Through all of our disappointed hopes, God had proven Himself faithful and I clung to the promise of His sovereignty. I hugged the elephant close to my chest, whispered, “Some day,” and stuffed him high up in the closet where I couldn’t see him.

Fast forward six years.

I sat on my couch yesterday and watched the twins toss their toys around the living room. The rain that had driven us indoors yet again had also made us all slightly stir crazy. The kids had their box of stuffed animals out and were making piles of animals on the floor. Then they were jumping in the piles. They’d jump from creature to creature, grinning, yelling, and being their rambunctious little selves. Suddenly, underneath Ian’s foot, I noticed a blue trunk and a green tail.

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There was our elephant. Being joyfully trampled on by no less than four (almost five) sets of little feet.

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In the Old Testament, whenever God proved Himself to His people, they set up stones to help them remember His faithfulness. Here at the House of Vitafam, we’ve got a stuffed elephant, a pile of scrapbooks, and a whole lot of dirty footprints that fairly scream out His constancy. It may not be a literal pile of rocks, but they’re our stones of remembrance. How do YOU remember?