Two days ago, I received a phone call. It was my mom. She had called to tell me she had gotten word that my former band director at John Glenn School Corporation, Dan Fortlander had unexpectedly passed away.

It was shocking to say the least. Absolute Shock. Extra-ordinarily shocking, actually. Why? Because even though I had not seen him in a couple of years, I talk about, think about, or tell someone about Mr. Fortlander almost every day. He was my teacher for 7 years. Not many teachers have an opportunity to impact a student for that long, and he never wasted a second of that time. From 6th grade when I first picked up a pair of drumsticks, until I graduated high school, he was the one ever-present face in my life other than people in my family.

Mr. Fortlander taught me music. No, Mr. Fortlander taught me discipline. Because music is discipline. It’s one of those art forms that can’t be fully appreciated by anyone else other than the performer. Only the performer knows all of the emotions felt, sacrifices made, hours of sleep lost, hot summer days spent, and long months endured practicing so that one 10 minute performance could be as good as it could possibly be.

Mr. Fortlander taught me how to be a leader. He had the best leadership style of anyone I’ve ever known. He had a unique ability to demand really hard things from people every day, and still maintain the best of relationships with them. His influence was wide, and when I was playing, I knew he was listening. I wanted to show him that I did the work, and earn that smile.

His smile. He was good at faces. He was very expressive. He communicated a lot by giving you “a look.” My favorite “look” was a combination of: a single raised eyebrow, and disbelief. If you ever got the look, you know what I’m talking about. It was the look he gave you when you were getting busted for some shenanigan you know you shouldn’t have been doing. It was the look that said, “Seriously? You’re better than that.” Then without a word spoken by either party, he would go back to teaching, and I would go back to being a model student.  It was true. He honestly believed that we were better. He believed in us.

A co-worker at the studio has a son who is exactly the same age now, as I was then. He’s a drummer in his high school band, and I have been re-living my drumline glory days this past year as she shares updates on what his band is doing.

My wife Ashlie and I first began our relationship together on a Falcon Pride marching band trip to Walt Disney World when I was 15 in 2001. I played snare drum, she the flute. We actually just got back from a family vacation in Disney World this April, and we made it a point to show our 3 children where we marched around Main Street USA, and tell them about how hot it was, how my marching line had to march with one foot in the trolley track the whole time, and how it rained that morning, and how their mommy and daddy had their first date over hot dogs at Casey’s Corner. It was the details that brought back memories.

The details. They are what set apart the best from the masses. Mr. Fortlander was set apart. Oh, was he.
 
At the end of every marching band rehearsal he would call us to attention by yelling, “BAND, TEN-HUT!” and we would shout back together in response as loud as we could, “GO!” or, as it was eventually changed to, “PRIDE!” Sometimes he would do it 3 or 4 times consecutively to get us really fired up. It was awesome. I loved it.

The gift of music inside a person is a priceless resource that is discovered, mined, refined, and consumed. He could find it in me. He could get it out of me. He got me to take pride in my gift, and he gave me opportunities to use it beautifully.

Thank you. “Band Ten-Hut,” Mr. Fortlander. You have been called home.
 

-Cody Collier
John Glenn Falcon Pride Drumline, 2000-2004

I love roller coasters. At least most of them. The roller coasters I love the most, are the ones that are the most thrilling. The tallest. The fastest. The ones that seem the most dangerous. There’s something electrifying about “being along for the ride” and is out of your control. But roller coasters, apparently, is where I draw the line.

Ironically enough, I might actually have a control addiction. Let me count the ways. I always drive when our family goes somewhere. I have three jobs, in all of which I serve as the leader of my division. Several times a day, I have the ability to alter and/or approve documents for work, and I am also not capable of allowing anyone else to tell a story that I was involved in. I must tell the story, because no one else will capture the true essence of what we experienced in the retelling. I think it’s time that I examine the possibility that I have allowed myself to adapt a lifestyle of what I’m going to call the “control-privileged life.”

I’ll define the control-privileged life as: “One whom has control over the majority of their choices and outcomes in everyday life.” Of course I have bosses that shape and somewhat limit my choice options, but at the end of the day, I have the luxury of making my proverbial bed, and living in it. But you know what? It’s actually not as fun as you might think.

It’s a burden to know that my own imagination, intelligence, and abilities are the limit. Anything I come up with will only be as good what I’m capable of. I am the ceiling. I am the lid. Pressure is high. The good news is that I have won state awards for my work and have enjoyed success in a very competitive field. That likely feeds my drive to continue this somewhat proven method, but If I’m being completely honest, I’m actually really self-conscience and insecure about my abilities. I’m always afraid that I won’t be good enough, or that someone better is going to get that thing that I really want because they worked harder, sacrificed more, and are more deserving. So I try to ignore those feelings the best that I can, and do my best to produce a stable life for my family.

Someone once labeled me as “stable.” At the time, I took it as a huge compliment and badge of honor; mostly because I was literally being compared to someone who they thought was very unstable, and I agreed, and I thought it was a good thing to be regarded as someone with long-term consistency. But as I grow older, I realize that consistency is relative. And consistency in some ways can be boring. It’s possible to be consistently bad at something, and all stability really means is that I’m not known as a risk-taker. I’ll bet that my professional references would even say, “No surprises with this guy … he’s really stable.”

I don’t think I like that.

Maybe that’s why I like roller coasters so much. They allow me be to out of control for short bursts of speed and excitement, and experience what life is like in ways that I won’t allow myself to go. Then when the train returns to the station, I feel like I accomplished something…

That’s messed up.

See, one of the real reasons I think I like roller coasters is the illusion of relinquishing control. Most major theme parks have a long positive safety record, and while there is some risk involved in strapping yourself into a 100 mph inverted sled on steel rails, millions of dollars have been invested in engineering it to return riders safely to the station, and I trust the system. Millions of people ride them every year, and I’m more likely to get injured while in-line for the ride, than riding it. My wife hates roller coasters. But you know what? She rides them with me anyway, because she knows I like them. She closes her eyes, grips the lap bar, grits her teeth, and prays through every terrifying second. I on the other hand, am all smiles, hands up in the air, and never wanting it to end.

I’ve learned a lot from my wife, Ashlie. We’ve been together 15 years. She lives and acts on her faith like I ride my roller coasters. She introduced me to Jesus as a teenager and she encourages me in my relatively young walk with Jesus. This is where my control-privileged life reveals its most unhealthy feature: fear of acting in faith.

Control is comfortable.  Acting in faith is extremely uncomfortable for me. And it’s ridiculous, really, because if I truly believe that God is real, His word is true, and Jesus died and rose from the dead to cleanse the very sin that I’m guilty of in this moment, it shouldn’t be this hard, right?

I promise this will be that last time I talk about roller coasters, but for Ashlie, riding a roller coaster is an act of faith. She doesn’t trust that evil machine whatsoever. I honestly don’t think she expects to survive the experience. For me it’s not. It’s a logically safe activity. I have the assurance that engineering will prevail, and that I somehow have vicarious control of the ride by making the choice to sit in it. I think the control-privileged life has a way of blurring the lines of control. I think my arrogance has allowed me to reason that I have more control than I actually do, and I’m glad to have identified a potentially de-railing problem. I need to trust God more than a roller coaster.

So look-out world. I’m going to start taking some risks and acting in faith more.  Don’t worry… I’ll start small and work my way up. Remember, I’m too stable to act too unbalanced.  God will not allow me to completely ruin all that I’ve worked for, because the truth is, I didn’t earn it, He gave it to me.

It’s time for me to get on some rides, close my eyes, grit my teeth, and pray through every terrifying second. It should be quite a thrill.
 
-Cody

              For the past year and half, the story of Noah has been on my heart. Every time I read it, I’m reminded of just how little we actually know about Noah and his interactions with the world during his time building the ark. Here are some things we do know:
 
1) Noah was a man of God.
2) God gave Noah a command.
3) Noah followed his directions.
4) God fulfilled.
 
                It's a simple story. Maybe it is the recent Bar examinee in me that wants to dissect each piece of this seemingly simple pie, so as to point out all the ways this plan could have gone awry in a story that can be concluded in 4 steps of explanation, but the simplicity of the story is not the point. It’s the idea of faithful preparation that has been stuck in my mind for years now. Genesis 7:5 says “Noah did everything just as God commanded.”
 
                And I have to believe that was a challenge. Although the math on the time it took to construct the ark from “first call” to “first rainfall” is up for some debate, it’s been estimated in the neighborhood somewhere between 55-75 years. But it was not 55-75 years of waiting, it was 55-75 years of doing; of acting out of expectation.
 
                I have always had this funny image in my head of Noah waking up on his bear skinned rug every morning, and just as he comes awake, but before he opens his eyes, he just listens for the sound of rain. And he thinks, “is it here yet?” And then in the silence he pops one eye open and listens some more. He peeks out his tent window at dry and desolate lands, grabs his tool belt, and heads out to work. With every second of dry skies, Noah prepares for the time when the rain will come.
 
                This idea of staying resolved to preparation has been on my heart the most as the second half of law school began and we started to dream towards the future. Like Noah, we’ve spent time with God, and we recognized His voice when he called. Now the struggle is to stay true to the preparation as we wait for Him to fulfill his promises.
 
Every day that we wake up without rain, is another day to prepare for the day the flood comes.
 
-Ashlie

In 2011, I ran a half marathon (13.1 miles) for the first time. I’ll be honest, I didn’t train very well. I got behind on training and time got away from me, and when the date came, I gave my best effort. Around mile 8, I pretty much couldn’t run anymore. I would only run when I approached photography stations so there wouldn’t be any visual evidence of my failure to train adequately. Around mile nine, I started to seriously wonder if I would be able to finish, and if not, what was I supposed to do? How would I get back home? Mentally, I was defeated. I finally decided that finishing was actually the best decision, because I was closer to the finish line than anywhere else I could escape to. As my legs began cramping in the final mile, I thought I might have to stop because my body was failing and I physically may not be able to continue. But I had come this far, and I was not going to be denied the reward of crossing that finish line and conquering what seemed at several times in that brutal 3 hours and 12 minutes, like a losing battle that would end in a monumental embarrassment. I wasn’t going to go down like that.

When I saw the finish line as I was running down the tunnel at Notre Dame Stadium, and knew that I was only about 100 yards away from the end, I lost all control of my emotions and began just sobbing. I was physically and mentally fatigued to a point that I had never in my life experienced. Adding that to the joy I felt in anticipation of my accomplishment against all odds (and it was over 80 degrees,) I was a mess. I crumbled. I truly gave all I had to give, and when it demanded even more, I found it and gave it too. I was at a deficit of “it.”
 

Fast forward 5 years.
 

My wife is approaching a similar finish line. Ironically enough, in the same location. This weekend, Ashlie Collier graduates with a Law Degree from the University of Notre Dame Law School. She did it while being a mom of three (giving birth ten weeks early while in school) and an amazing, loving, supportive wife. I wish there was a better word than proud, to describe how I feel about her incredible achievement. Since she began pursuing a career in law, I have learned more about our determination, grit, sacrifice, grace, blessing, tragedy, healing, faith, and providence than I thought was possible. What makes what we learned exponentially more, is that we were not alone. Our families, our church, our friends, our children, all made these sacrifices too. We weren’t the only ones struggling to finish what we started. They had to put up with our unavailability, childcare, emergencies, and crises too, and the pressure of putting everyone though all of this, made the burden of completing this enormous undertaking incredibly heavy. If we failed, we would have let everyone down. Our family. One another. Day after day, one foot in front of the other. Just keep going. Don’t give up.
​

Friends, hear me out on this. You will never regret being courageous. Count the cost. Have passion. Dare to challenge yourself. You are capable of more than you think.  And when it asks you to give all you have, you will manage to find more and give that too, because that’s what it takes. It’s possible, but only the courageous will ever know.  

Today, the finish line is in sight, and the relief of all of the pressure being lifted is reminding me of running through that tunnel, onto the field. The same tunnel that Ashile will process through with her classmates onto the same field. My tears are returning for the same reasons. At several times we thought we might not make it. We barely even started. In fact, we had pretty much decided that it would take too long, be too hard, and we weren’t the kind of people who could accomplish something of that magnitude. We are so humbled to have been courageous enough to take a chance on faith, and on ourselves. It’s scary to think we almost didn’t do it. When God is calling you to something that seems impossible, but barriers start to get broken down just by casually investigating it, that’s when you know you must pursue it. Detour. Go. Now.  

She did it.

We did it.

He did it.

-Cody

Last Sunday morning, I was excited. I was excited because I was going to do something that I have not done in several years; Sing a song with my wife in church. You see when we started our family nearly 6 years ago with the birth of our oldest, Charlie, my wife Ashlie took-on the “mom” roll full-time, and bowed out of being involved in the worship team. That was until last week, when I saw an appropriate opportunity for us to reunite. She agreed to come out of retirement to sing one of our long-time favorites; a duet of “Before the Throne of God Above” as part of the final Sunday in our church’s marriage sermon series. It was the perfect plan. We even stayed up late Saturday night practicing after the kids went to bed, and while Aaron Rogers was hurling “Hail Mary” passes to bring the Green Bay Packers back to force overtime, we were harmonizing.

Then tragedy struck.

I left for church early Sunday morning to prepare for our worship service. When Ashlie arrived a couple of hours later on a cold, snowy morning with our children, she slipped on a patch of ice in the parking lot, and in trying to absorb the impact of our 8 month old Piper’s car seat from hitting the ground, she twisted down, and broke 5 bones in her left foot.

Several people in the church rushed to my family’s aid immediately. All of the kids were fine, but when I arrived on the scene, there was Ashlie, sobbing into the chest of one our friends holding her up, and I knew right away, we wouldn’t be singing…

There was still about an hour until church started, and the hospital is only a couple of blocks away, so with the help of all of the Kings men, we gently put her back in our car and I drove her to the ER. She was in a lot of pain, but in true fashion she did not miss her opportunities to make jokes about the situation. I left her in the care of the hospital staff and when back to church to lead our people in worship.

I couldn’t help thinking on my way back church, of the night before. I had actually planned to practice our song when she arrived to church on Sunday morning, but she insisted that we stay up late and practice Saturday night so that we would have supreme confidence that we would be completely prepared. I even whined, and tried to convince her that I was too tired, and that I needed my rest… But she was an unstoppable force. I’m so thankful that she is. Had we not stayed up and sang together for hours that night, we would not have gotten the opportunity to sing at all.

Don’t pass up opportunities. None of us are promised another day in this world, nor are any of us promised that things will ever actually go according to plan. They in-fact rarely do.
​
She has a long road of recovery ahead. She will not be able to put weight on her foot for at least 6 weeks. We have three children, (one a baby) a two story home, and she is in her final semester of Law School.  We would certainly appreciate your prayers for fast healing, provision for our childcare and home needs, patience for all of us, and encouragement for Ashlie. She’s pretty upset that this is going to limit her so much. Limit her roles as a parent, a wife, and a student. Thank you.

It’s so easy to build a life around relying on yourself, or your family, or your work. When things happen out of our control, it’s an opportunity to rely on God. An opportunity that we should embrace.


-Cody

The following  are the words of my wife, Ashlie. Thank you for reading and continuing to encourage our family.

Today, July 7, 2015, is both a day to be celebrated and the final reminder of my inefficiencies. Piper’s due date has now arrived making her 10 weeks old, zero days adjusted. It has been a long road in which Cody and I have remained hopeful and joyful about Piper and her progress, but now seems to be a good time to express some of the effects the last months have had on me and some observations I’ve made along the way. Starting at the beginning seems prudent, so that’s where we’ll begin.

Cody and I have never struggled with fertility issues so when the discussion of having a third child began we approached it from more of a “when” than “if” standpoint. We considered it all. Where would we put a baby in our apartment? When was a good time in Cody’s music schedule? When was a good time considering my legal career? Truth be told, we had arrived at the answer to that question as “December 2014.” As most of you recognize…we did not have a baby in December of 2014.

In April 2014 we suffered a very early miscarriage and from then on the discussion of having a third child was a lot more tension filled than before. In the months between that time and when we found out we were having Piper God revealed a lot of blessings to us that made the miscarriage more understandable but I still approached the idea from a point of fear. I wondered if by asking God for the other blessings in my life if I had somehow prayed my way out of the blessing of a third child. Think “the magic genie who always finds a way to never give you what you wish for.” I know that’s not my God, but as the numerous blessings began to roll in I was still stuck in the one that hadn’t or couldn’t. Eventually we reevaluated and decided that July 2015 seemed like a good time to have a child. There were and still are a lot of reasons why July 2015 would have been a great time for us to have a child, but again, our plans were quickly changed on us.

In January 2015 (13 weeks pregnant) the boys and I were involved in a head on collision when a gentleman crossed over the center line. We all walked away with virtually no injury, but on March 22 (24 weeks+ 5 days pregnant) Cody had to tap on the car breaks to avoid someone who appeared to be failing to stop at an intersection. The result of my seatbelt tightening caused my water to break prematurely. We are told that the bag of waters was injured in the initial head on collision and that the seatbelt tightening caused just enough pressure to cause the bag to leak. Thus began a long hospital stay.

The day following the “seatbelt incident” I secretly went to the doctor to confirm what I already suspected; that my water had broken. Between Cody and I we have a sort of inside joke that I am a really nervous pregnant person and I didn’t want to admit to him that I was again being paranoid and costing our family a co-pay unnecessarily so I didn’t mention it to him before I made a quick stop at the doctor’s office on my way to Notre Dame. The doctor’s test confirmed what we all now know and seems barely worth mentioning other than to point out that in that very instant in the doctor’s office I began to feel terribly and horribly alone.

The first couple of hours and days after that seem to have happened in slow motion. I was admitted and it was explained that there was a high likelihood that Piper would be born with-in the first 48 hours. We had an ultrasound, met the high risk obstetricians and were paid a visit by Dr. White who explained to us the likelihood of complications and successes for a 24 week 6 day old baby. At the time, Piper weighed in at 1 pound 7 ounces and was showing several “soft markers” of Downs Syndrome. Honestly, the first few days were terrifying, absolutely and completely terrifying, and I once again began to feel alone and like my body had failed us.

After those first 48 hours time seems to be a blur. Cody and the boys visited every day. There was Charlie’s 5th birthday party which we held in a hospital meeting room, Easter, Cody did a couple of shows, I completed a semester of law school and wrote a giant paper, my friends threw me a baby shower in my room, and from time to time we spent our evenings with concerned family and friends. For the most part however, I spent those days alone and Piper kept growing like we prayed she would.

Going into labor is a funny thing. At some point that you could never quite identify you suddenly start thinking “Hmmm I wonder if this could be labor?” and then at some other point further down in your day it hits you like a sudden epiphany “I’m in labor and this is happening.” With Charlie and Henry there was no denying it, which was met with a mix of slight fear of the unknown and excitement for the future. With Piper there was also no denying it…just a terrifying “Dear God, please let me be wrong about this.”

I have never been a person who takes particular interest in other women’s birth choices. Epidural, natural, cesarean, in a tub, alone, with a room full of people. The possibilities are endless and the decisions are unique to everyone. When we were told that we would have to have a cesarean if Piper remained breach I didn’t think much of it. I don’t care for anesthesia, but my focus was only on having a healthy baby and I wasn’t going to dwell on the point unnecessarily. Piper’s cesarean seemed to be the perfect storm of all of my fears however. Again, it was terrifying. In an hour’s time we went from wondering whether we were really in labor to an emergency C-section. For those of you who have never had one I can personally attest that it is ten times scarier than you expect and it does legitimately scar you. In psychology we call certain life events that don’t go as planned “the loss of a dream.” This was that. We already have two children. We know what a miraculous thing it is to labor and then to triumphantly have your newborn laid on your chest in their first seconds of life. That didn’t happen and I still can’t help but feel a little robbed.

When we first entered the hospital we were encouraged to visit the NICU since there was no question as to whether Piper would be required to stay. In the five weeks of my hospital stay before her birth however, we failed to visit. Admittedly because we were too afraid of what could be found behind the doors. Once I was able to visit I was wheeled down in my recovery bed to hold Piper for the first time. It was hard and although I felt a sense of joy all I could think to do was apologize to this little life.

By the nature of what it is, the NICU is a very scary place. You cannot help but bear the burden with other parents and their children. It is noisy with alarms. You are constantly reminded of how frail your child is. Every success is met with apprehensive celebration while every setback feels like an unceasing blow. There is no privacy. There is guilt about what you are sacrificing in the outside world to be on the inside of the NICU. At some point the idea of thriving somehow escapes you and your thought is for the hope of the future. One day your child will be well and this ordeal will all be over. Having a child in the NICU is not something you “do”, it is something that you endure, and in all of it you feel a crushing sense of being alone. As a mom you can’t help but feel responsible and in that fear of failure it is easy to feel alone and guilty.

Several weeks before I entered the hospital my brother died. When he died he was by himself. As our family came together and processed the events of his passing my sister and I repeated a common fear. We hoped that in the moment of his passing that he was never afraid, was never aware that he was dying, and never felt alone. As I sat with Piper in the hospital and struggled with my own thoughts and inefficiencies I clung to the message of the sermon at his funeral. The pastor said…”Of this was can be sure, Michael was never alone. In the moments he was drawing his final breaths God was there meeting him where he was.” Romans 8:35-39 says “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more the conquerors through Him who loves us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is Christ Jesus our Lord.”

In the times of the deepest trials of my life I was not alone. All the fear, guilt, loneliness and insufficiency that I have felt since Piper’s birth ten weeks ago have given way to the victories of life. She is home. We are happy and we are thriving. We continue to rest in His promises and relish in the promises of His unfailing presence in our lives. Piper is here and we are blessed.

-Ashlie

When Piper was born 10 weeks early on April 30th, we were told a good target to shoot for taking her home would be her due date, which is July 8th. As days went on and doctors told us how well she was progressing, we hoped that it might be earlier. I selfishly was hoping and praying for that opportunity to come around, if not before Father’s Day. My prayers were answered.

As this season of our lives comes to a close and the new season of our family growing together begins, I can’t help but find reassurance in knowing that in complete and utter emotional and physical exhaustion, God stands in that gap for us when we cannot be complete. This experience has made me a changed man. I’ve never been a very patient individual, but 80 days of your family in the hospital can transform a guy. Day after day, week after week we waited. We prayed. We visited. We laughed. We cried. We ate ice cream. But most of all we never stopped loving each other, and making sure everyone knew that one day soon, we would be able to move on, and go home. Together.

40 days seems to be the biblical standard for endurance trials. We were blessed enough to go through that back-to-back. I say blessed because we know how strong it has made us, and how strong it has made our marriage. Without this season, we may never have found out how strong we truly are, and may have been prone to give up early on something if it seemed too hard, or too far away, or too scary, or too unpopular.

I remember Ashlie saying once that we can be fearless when we know in whom to place our fear.

Perfect love expels all fear.

Jesus gave us the example of perfect love and fear working together when He sacrificed himself for us. Do not live in fear. Place your fear in Him, and live in His love.

Be Fearless.

-Cody

When I wrote my family update last week, I had no idea that Ashlie would be going into labor in less than 48 hours. In fact, that next day when I went to visit her in the hospital, we had a vulnerable conversation with each other about just how hard this had been on each of us. It was the first time I had walked into the hospital thinking to myself, “Man, this isn’t fun at all. We’ve been doing this for a long time.”

That night as I was walking out of worship team rehearsal, Ashlie sent me a text saying not to send my parents home (they were at our place watching the boys) because she had been feeling a little strange. So I ended up sending the boys home with my parents and I went to the hospital to be with her. Overnight, doctors eventually decided that her body was in the beginning stages of labor and began planning for a C-section since Piper was still breech. Doctors would not allow labor to happen for long because it would not be safe for Piper.

So after an exhausting night of being on the edge of our seat, wondering what was going to happen, Piper was delivered at 9:06 am on Thursday, April 30th at 30 weeks and 2 days, weighing only 3lbs 2oz.

The first thing I can remember thinking when I saw her for the first time was, “Oh my! She’s Huge!” In the weeks prior, I had been preparing myself for a possible pre-term birth, and expecting a super tiny baby. But that was not the case. Don’t get me wrong, she’s tiny, but not shockingly small like I had anticipated.  I’m thankful for in the moment I first met her, it was a reaction of joy and encouragement, and not of fear and worry. There was no flurry of drama in the minutes after Ashlie delivered, and we were able to spend a few moments with Piper before she was taken to the NICU and Ashlie was taken to recover from surgery. From the first moments, we were told that Piper was doing great, and they expect her to do very well. Carrying her for the 5 extra weeks was quite literally a life and death difference.

Piper has now been in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit for a week! She is doing very well. She is in an incubator to keep her warm, but she has made some pretty incredible strides in just 7 days. Piper is no longer on an IV, she is able to digest enough milk (via a feeding tube) to sustain herself, and she is also no longer on additional oxygen support. She still does have a breathing tube to inhale lung development medication, but her oxygen levels are the same as room air.

Doctors expect Piper to remain in the NICU until around her due date (6-9 weeks), but they also said that they will send her home as soon as she starts living as a full term baby would. There is no age goal, no weight goal. So in theory she may be able to come home a littler earlier if she does well.

37 days ago, my wife Ashlie was admitted to the hospital with pregnancy complications with our third child, a daughter, Piper Anne Collier. She has been there ever since, and the boys and I go visit her every day. Unless she goes into labor early, we expect her to remain hospitalized until doctors induce labor at 34 weeks soon after Memorial Day.

It can be a grueling routine, but our faith and little bits of good news keep us encouraged. Just recently she was granted wheelchair privileges, so once a day we take her on a 30 minute wheelchair ride around the hospital. There aren’t many places to go, but Charlie and Henry enjoy pushing the elevator buttons, going to the hospital cafeteria, and occasionally petting the hospital therapy dog when we happen to see him in the hall. His name is Nemo. Nemo is pretty cool.

We received more good news yesterday at our latest ultrasound. Piper is still growing, and has actually picked up the pace. Her estimated weight is now 3lbs 10 ounces placing her in the 50th percentile of her gestational age. Ashlie’s Amniotic Fluid Index is also at a very comfortable level at 17. (Normal is considered to be between 18-12.) The only frustrating part is that Piper is now breech again, meaning that if Ashlie were to go into labor early she would need an emergency C-section. We are hoping that over the next few weeks Piper will flip around so that we do not have to go that route.

I haven’t updated in a few weeks because there hasn’t been much excitement, and I’m glad it’s been that way. It’s already been plenty exciting, and there are still exciting times ahead of us. So I’m thankful for this period of relative normalcy. It has been good for the boys’ ability to predict what their lives will be like, when they will see their mom, when they will go on a wheelchair ride, and when they will see Nemo. We are hopeful for a Nemo sighting today!

Again, thank you so much for your continued prayers and support. Your love has been felt, and needed. We have about a month left of this season. We are excited to begin our new season with our new family this summer.

-Cody

Easter week was hard for all of us. Between multiple church meetings, services, rehearsals, and activities the boys and I were exhausted. We however did get to have our traditional Easter dinner with extended family and hunt for eggs. It wasn't the same without Ashlie, but we took our baskets to the hospital and shared our candy with her that afternoon. 

Piper is now officially 27 weeks. Two more weeks older than what we were facing when our lives were turned upside-down on March 23rd. Thank you again for all of your prayers, support and concerns. We’re still taking all of this a day at a time, and even though the boys and I have found a new daily routine, it’s not easy not having mom around.

Ashlie had a much anticipated ultrasound this week. We have been craving new information on Piper’s development ever since the doctors said, “We’ll check again in two weeks.”  Here is what we learned:

Piper is still growing. She is only in the 10th percentile in size, however she has measured there consistently. Our doctor says she has little concern and she thinks Piper is just a small baby. Her estimated weight is 1lb 14 oz. They will however keep an eye on her size.

Ashlie’s AFI (Amniotic Fluid Index) is actually up to 15.  She had measured as low as 12.5 last week. When her water broke last month, she initially measured at 18, but that number has fallen ever since. To see the number bump up a little is encouraging. A higher AFI (a good level is between 12-18) is likely to help reduce the risk for infection and provide more room for Piper to move. Piper is also no longer in breech position. She had been breech since her last ultrasound and this was especially concerning since delivery would be more difficult and dangerous if Ashlie were to labor early.

All of this is very encouraging to us and we remain cautiously optimistic. Last week we were quite discouraged with a dropping AFI, and with Piper measuring small and breech. Even though this report is better than the last, we have to remember that she is still at very high risk for early labor, and it could very well happen any day. At least we know that if that were to happen today, the outlook is as good as it has been since this all started.

Thank you all for holding our hands through this. Being lonely is something we have definitely not felt. Your continued prayers are appreciated as we theoretically still have 7 weeks of 24 hour hospitalized bed-rest to go. We keep reminding ourselves that this is just a short season of our family’s story. We remain faithful that after this is all over, we will still end up being the same family of which we've been dreaming. Next Easter there will be a little girl in this picture. 

God is good. He is not surprised by any of this.

-Cody