**Note:  Putting this note here, feels like it will interrupt the "flow" of this post, but the whole point of this blog is to be real, so this is just me being real.  I actually wrote this not quite a month ago...I went through a time of intense grieving, and it was really strange that it came prior to when I expected it.  As I'll mention later...that's the thing about grief...it's quite unpredictable.  I expected this weekend to be really hard for me, but in God's wise and merciful plan, He has had me VERY busy and I've haven't had much time to really dwell on things.  For this, I am abundantly thankful.  While I realize that the day is just beginning, I'm thankful to have distractions already in place and I really think it won't be as bad as maybe I thought it would be.  Several weeks ago when I wrote this, I wasn't sure at what level I would even be functioning (you know...if you can't hold it together a month away from an anniversary mark, how are you going to maintain on the actual DAY?!?), but God is sustaining me.  He is holding me firm, and I am completely humbled with gratitude.  This doesn't negate anything that follows...it is all still so true, but just know that while some days seem really, really dark, there are also days that don't really seem that dark at all. 

Peace isn’t the absence of the dark. 
Peace is the assurance of God’s presence in the midst of the dark.
 Ann Voskamp

The times when my head is full of things to write are the most inconvenient times.  Driving.  Church.  Showering.  Meetings.  Lying in bed, covers perfectly situated.

And then there are the convenient times to write and I can’t remember a thing I was thinking of two days ago and it’s all just a jumbled mess inside my head, begging to escape.  Words, letters, phrases, thoughts all bouncing around.

I think I understand, in a very small way, why many classical composers went insane.  The constant noise in my head is sometimes too much to bear.  Other times the silence is truly deafening.  

The desire to run is great…to run away…but it is inescapable.  It lingers, while you run on…but the running helps.  Not the running away, but the slow plodding, feet thundering on pavement, it drowns out the deafening static that is always there haunting…always trying to take over.

Before you jump to conclusions about my sanity (of which I make no claims), just let me say that grief does strange things to people.  And then, if the grief wasn’t enough, there’s the guilt for even feeling the grief.  And then there’s the anger because why the heck should I feel guilty about my grief?  But, never the less I do, so it’s back to the guilt, but the grief is still there and still just as great, and so the merry-go-round spins…

...never stopping, sometimes slowing, but always, always, spinning.

And then there’s grace.  


An ocean of grace, drowning me, swallowing me up, leaving me gasping for air.  Grace so great I’m not sure I can actually believe it’s real, so I push it away.  But it comes rushing back to swallow me up again, waves lapping at the shore, tide sucking me in, engulfing me.  


Is there a point, you’re asking, for all of this?  Well, not really, but writing helps the crashing and banging of thoughts in my mind to find a place to rest on this page.  To give me some peace, because there…

I said it…

...it’s out.  

Seeing the thoughts in ink (or on a screen for this our 21st century) gives life to them, makes them less haunting, and somehow more endurable.

It’s been a year.  

A year since the lifeless body of my baby boy slipped from within me onto the bloody sheet.  A year since I cried out to God, begging Him to make it stop, begging circumstances to change.

Begging for my plan, not His.  

It’s been a year.

A year in which I spend every day praising Him for the miracle that is my beautiful girl throwing her arms around my neck, squeezing me tight in hugs and saying, “Momma, do you want a kiss?” 

A year in which I start to understand in some small way this phrase of “holding loosely.”  A year in which I constantly hear, “Jesus + nothing = everything.”  




A year in which I find myself trying so hard to be the perfect Christian, the perfect mother, the perfect wife, for fear that I’m not learning whatever lesson it is that God was trying to teach through a tornado, car accidents, miscarriage.  And realizing even in the midst of my trying that I can’t, I never will, and even if I could, that’s not how God works anyway.

A year when I think I’m fine and then something triggers the grief and it suddenly washes over me and the room feels like it’s closing in on me with images, sounds, smells.  Strange things that trigger it…well,some strange…and some, not so much.  And then anger at others…why were YOU not more sensitive to ME?  Surely you knew that THAT would be difficult for me to see, hear, watch, know, etc!  And then the guilt…and the realization that so many, even those who have experienced miscarriage will not, cannot understand.  They cannot understand, because they were not in my situation, they are not me.  They did not give birth to his lifeless body, they did not hold him, see him lying there in the palm of his daddy’s hand, plan his burial service, experience the soul-ripping pain of a child who was a part of me being lowered into the ground and covered with dirt, knowing all the while that his soul was not there, but still the pain was great.  No, they simply cannot understand.  Just as I could not before and still cannot for someone else’s situation.

A year when I watch my little girl playing and think of what it would be like if she were interacting with her baby brother right now.  She would be a good big sister.  A year when I hear her speak of her “brother” not having a clue (praise God for little ones not remembering) who or what she is referring to.  A year when I can’t pass the cemetery without nausea.  

A year of everyday knowing that it is part of God’s plan and trying to get my head to trust despite a heart that hurts.

A year of pouring myself into the blessing I have been given – the beautiful blessing now 3 years old…  Not wanting to miss a moment of this life with her, not wanting to spend another moment grieving the loss of a child when I have one right here before me.  Most days, that’s how things go.  But some days, some days, the grief takes over and we lay low.  We snuggle a lot, I kiss her head through my tears, I drop everything to be with her.  Because our God is good and I must remember this and must trust Him with her life too.  However painful it may be for me to think of that, but I do not want to take one day for granted.

So, if you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll tell you I’m doing well and all is grace.  And that’s the truth.  But that doesn’t mean that some days aren’t hard, that I don’t still feel an ache of loss, and that I can get through a day without thinking about my babies in Heaven.  But, I’m not one to talk about it, so this is all you get.  When the room starts closing in and the grief tries to take over, you’ll find me resting in the arms of my Savior, and lovin’ on the little girl He’s graciously loaned to me and slowly the room returns to normal.

(This is an excellent article by Tim Keller that has not only brought me comfort, but challenged me as well.)

I know You've washed me white, turned my darkness into light
I need Your peace to get me through, to get me through this night
I can't live by what I feel, but by the truth Your word reveals
I'm not holding on to You, but You're holding on to me.
~Casting Crowns~

The sovereign Lord is our refuge...He will not withhold anything from His sons and daughters...including the suffering they need for growth in grace.
~Scotty Smith~

1 comment:

Jess said...

thanks for passing on the tim keller article. while i've not lost a child, it has been four months since I lost my dad, to whom i was very close. grieving sucks and it's hard. it's really difficult to make sense of the loss, even when I know he's in the presence of our Savior and everything sad has come untrue. i just wish it didn't hurt so much.

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