In quiet times of reflection- in peaceful moments of thought, I often wonder where the stillness within me comes from. How can I not be furious at the Lord for the deaths of my sons?
I ask myself this question and the answer is that I have been angry.
I have been greatly disappointed.
What I have not been though, and what I refuse to be, is disbelieving.
However easy it is for me to allow myself to cry and wail over my losses, it is a far more satisfying thing to believe that all of this is a brief and temporary season. The Lord, my God, that I have placed my trust in tells me that I will see my boys again. And while He stands beside me, He weeps. He cries for me and he cries with me. He hurts too. I think He cries because He sees what I can't.
--------------------------------
I believe that God could have healed my body and protected Aiden and Jeremiah from being born too soon. I have never questioned His ability to do that. What I have questioned- what I have been curious about, is why He didn't.
Many well-intended people have tried to answer this question for me. I have heard people try to tell me that "it was for the best," but quite honestly, I disagree. I have been told that "God needed another angel" and again, I don't believe that. I have grown tired and weary of people trying to explain my grief and pain away because they couldn't stand to just say: I don't know why this happened.
I am learning that there is a very safe place with the Lord where we don't have to have all of the answers. God is perfectly capable of revealing Himself. I don't need to try to fill and the gaps- and you don't either. I believe that the gaps are there to serve as opportunities to lean into Him despite the gaps being there.
-------------------------------
I will lean on God despite the loss of my sons. Their seasons of life were cut short and I will continue to grieve the loss of what my boys would have been. I know that they will not come back to me. But I know that God has gifted us with the rest of the story.
I wholly believe that He is real.
I believe that he is working everything in my life, and yours, for good.
I believe He can.
I find comfort knowing that I am walking a road that leads to Him and to our precious boys.
No, they won't return to us.
But one day, not so far from now, we will go to them.
------------------------------
I believe that God can and does perform miracles around us every day. On the day that Jeremiah was born, I had been active in prayer conversation with God. I prayed that He would stop my labor and heal my body. I prayed that my child would be protected. I prayed to God that I would not have to say hello and good-bye to my child in a single day- again.
Although my prayers were not answered in the way that I wanted them to be, I still believe that God was with me on that day and continues to be with me. Every single day. Every moment of my life.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Not why, but how?
A natural part of the grieving process is asking the big, fat 'WHY' question. Why did my little boys have to die? Why have I had to bury not one, but two little boys? Why wasn't I taken instead Why me? Why our family? And on and on and on...
After the loss of our first son, I think I definitely went through a period of time where I was angry and I asked, screamed, and pleaded with God and asked Him WHY? Why did my son die before he even had a chance to live? I think I knew deep down there would never be an answer to this question but it felt good at the time to ask and it released some anger at God.
I learned that I had to let go of the ‘WHY’ and find a way to peace and contentment in my mind and my heart. I had to start moving and keep moving forward and not get stuck in my grief knowing there was not ever going to be a satisfying answer to the WHY questions.
Over the years since the loss of our first son, my relationship with God has carried me through my darkest days. My faith encourages me to keep moving on even though I don't understand and, on this side of heaven, I don't believe that I will ever fully understand the reasons for the grief that I have faced in this lifetime.
I've learned to trust- not blindly, but hopefully.
I trust that God is working on me, in me and through me. He is beside me with every step I take. And as the poem goes, when I am unable to walk, it is then that He carries me.
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Once I accepted and understood that there was no answer that would satisfy WHY, I had to start asking a different question... How?
I have been thown back on this tumultuous path of grief and I am trying to, again, get back to asking more hope-filled questions. I know that the WHYs will never be answered. My faith redirects my why questions and refocuses them into how questions.
How can I make Aiden and Jeremiah's lives and deaths mean something?
How can I honor their lives?
How can I leave a legacy for my little boys who never got to laugh or cry?
How can I move forward and feel better about myself and my life?
How can I help others who are suffering?
How, how, how instead of why, why, why?
-----------------------------
I so badly want to get to asking the HOW questions, But in today's moments, I am not quite there- not fully atleast. I still feel numb.
At times I catch myself staring blankly throughout the day. The emptiness somehow seems more bearable that letting my imagination run free. Part of me wishes I could just close my eyes and imagine my boys, all four of them, walking hand and hand with me. But at the same time, I am so afraid to let my mind go there. To really visualize what I will never have is... heartbreaking and scary.
I've developed a shield around me that enables me to get through my days. The tears come less and less, but they are right there- knocking on my wounded door. Ready to come through at any moment.
I am surviving. But I am not thriving.
I just don't know how you do that after burying two sons.
-------------------------------
I do know that I am able to see more joy around me everyday.
Last month I was driving in the car and I noticed the sun. Imagine that? Something that most definitely has been here every day in the months since Jeremiah died. But, for the first time in many months, I really noticed it. I noticed its brightness and its warmth. I'm noticing the flowers in bloom. The birds chirping. The green grass growing.
Joy is finding its way back into my life and my heart.
Each tender kiss from Gabe, I cherish. Each inquisitive question from Gavin, I embrace. I hold on to these moments.
And I hope you hold on to these beautiful moments in your life too.
After the loss of our first son, I think I definitely went through a period of time where I was angry and I asked, screamed, and pleaded with God and asked Him WHY? Why did my son die before he even had a chance to live? I think I knew deep down there would never be an answer to this question but it felt good at the time to ask and it released some anger at God.
I learned that I had to let go of the ‘WHY’ and find a way to peace and contentment in my mind and my heart. I had to start moving and keep moving forward and not get stuck in my grief knowing there was not ever going to be a satisfying answer to the WHY questions.
Over the years since the loss of our first son, my relationship with God has carried me through my darkest days. My faith encourages me to keep moving on even though I don't understand and, on this side of heaven, I don't believe that I will ever fully understand the reasons for the grief that I have faced in this lifetime.
I've learned to trust- not blindly, but hopefully.
I trust that God is working on me, in me and through me. He is beside me with every step I take. And as the poem goes, when I am unable to walk, it is then that He carries me.
-------------------------------
Once I accepted and understood that there was no answer that would satisfy WHY, I had to start asking a different question... How?
I have been thown back on this tumultuous path of grief and I am trying to, again, get back to asking more hope-filled questions. I know that the WHYs will never be answered. My faith redirects my why questions and refocuses them into how questions.
How can I make Aiden and Jeremiah's lives and deaths mean something?
How can I honor their lives?
How can I leave a legacy for my little boys who never got to laugh or cry?
How can I move forward and feel better about myself and my life?
How can I help others who are suffering?
How, how, how instead of why, why, why?
-----------------------------
I so badly want to get to asking the HOW questions, But in today's moments, I am not quite there- not fully atleast. I still feel numb.
At times I catch myself staring blankly throughout the day. The emptiness somehow seems more bearable that letting my imagination run free. Part of me wishes I could just close my eyes and imagine my boys, all four of them, walking hand and hand with me. But at the same time, I am so afraid to let my mind go there. To really visualize what I will never have is... heartbreaking and scary.
I've developed a shield around me that enables me to get through my days. The tears come less and less, but they are right there- knocking on my wounded door. Ready to come through at any moment.
I am surviving. But I am not thriving.
I just don't know how you do that after burying two sons.
-------------------------------
I do know that I am able to see more joy around me everyday.
Last month I was driving in the car and I noticed the sun. Imagine that? Something that most definitely has been here every day in the months since Jeremiah died. But, for the first time in many months, I really noticed it. I noticed its brightness and its warmth. I'm noticing the flowers in bloom. The birds chirping. The green grass growing.
Joy is finding its way back into my life and my heart.
Each tender kiss from Gabe, I cherish. Each inquisitive question from Gavin, I embrace. I hold on to these moments.
And I hope you hold on to these beautiful moments in your life too.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Speechless
While driving in the car today our 6 year old, Gavin, asked me a question: "Mom," he said, "Why do your babies die? Most babies don't die. So, why do YOUR babies die?"
There was silence in the car. Pure silence- for what seemed like forever. The world stopped moving and my mind began spinning- twirling in fast-paced motion. So many thoughts raced through my mind, but I was speechless.
I wasn't prepared for this question. It came out of nowhere. There was no conversation leading up to it. I simply didn't see it coming and didn't know how to answer it.
Thank goodness my husband was seated beside me. I think he saw the color leave my face and in an instant, the tears welled up in my eyes. If there was ever a time that I needed him to speak for me, this was it. And thankfully, he did. It took every fiber in my being to remain focused on the road.
My world shattered and I was crushed. In an instant, I was afraid Gavin pegged me for being a fraud and a failure. Many of my insecurities rose to the surface. My face became flushed with shame, guilt and embarrassment. Gavin has seen several friends and acquaintances of ours recently have babies. It was like he asked, "Why can they have babies, but you can't? What's wrong with you?"
As a mother, my greatest job is to protect my children and my child just realized that I was unable to do that for his brothers. How will he ever trust me again to protect him? In a flash, I feared that I broke his trust and this promise to him.
The question that Gavin had asked, shot threw me like a dagger. His question was innocent, but I felt like I was being accused and acknowledged for the failure that I am. I struggle with feeling like a failure and now, Gavin knows that I am one too.
Although this is not at all what Gavin said, it was like I heard, "Mom, you killed my brothers, Aiden and Jeremiah. How will you ever protect me?"
------------------------------
I have no idea how my husband answered Gavin's question. I completely zoned out and tears fell down my cheeks.
-----------------------------
As I drove, guilt consumed me. A part of me wanted to just throw my hands up (not out of anger, but out of despair) and say, "You're right. I am a failure. My babies die."
Logically, I know that I did everything possible to save our little boys, but there is still a very natural feeling of guilt that I have for not being able to protect my children. Aiden and Jeremiah were perfectly healthy little boys. My body failed them. I live with this thought every day.
-----------------------------
After a few minutes, there was silence again in the car and I knew that I, myself, had to acknowledge and answer Gavin's question. I don't know if he was able to see my reaction to his question. I don't know if he saw that I was crying. But I do know that I want him to be able to ask me anything that is on his mind and to not be afraid. Alll of the crazy thoughts that had just run through my head, were my thoughts- my fears- my insecurities. I owed it to him to answer his question as best I could.
I took a long and deep breath. I wiped the tears from my eyes and I tried so hard to keep my voice from cracking. All that I could think to say to him was to reassure him that if there was anything, anything, that I could have done to save and protect his brothers, Aiden and Jeremiah, I would have. I told him that sometimes sad things happen and we just don't know why. I told him that I felt so blessed to have him and his brother, Gabe, here with us.
---------------------------
I don't know if that was the right thing to say and I'm sure I will replay this conversation over in my head many, many times. I will come up with better responses and I will wish that I had said this or that, but I'm learning too. I don't have all the answers.
---------------------------
And then, again, from the back seat I heard Gavin say, "Mom, what do you think is the biggest thing on the earth?"
---------------------------
And so the story goes...
There was silence in the car. Pure silence- for what seemed like forever. The world stopped moving and my mind began spinning- twirling in fast-paced motion. So many thoughts raced through my mind, but I was speechless.
I wasn't prepared for this question. It came out of nowhere. There was no conversation leading up to it. I simply didn't see it coming and didn't know how to answer it.
Thank goodness my husband was seated beside me. I think he saw the color leave my face and in an instant, the tears welled up in my eyes. If there was ever a time that I needed him to speak for me, this was it. And thankfully, he did. It took every fiber in my being to remain focused on the road.
My world shattered and I was crushed. In an instant, I was afraid Gavin pegged me for being a fraud and a failure. Many of my insecurities rose to the surface. My face became flushed with shame, guilt and embarrassment. Gavin has seen several friends and acquaintances of ours recently have babies. It was like he asked, "Why can they have babies, but you can't? What's wrong with you?"
As a mother, my greatest job is to protect my children and my child just realized that I was unable to do that for his brothers. How will he ever trust me again to protect him? In a flash, I feared that I broke his trust and this promise to him.
The question that Gavin had asked, shot threw me like a dagger. His question was innocent, but I felt like I was being accused and acknowledged for the failure that I am. I struggle with feeling like a failure and now, Gavin knows that I am one too.
Although this is not at all what Gavin said, it was like I heard, "Mom, you killed my brothers, Aiden and Jeremiah. How will you ever protect me?"
------------------------------
I have no idea how my husband answered Gavin's question. I completely zoned out and tears fell down my cheeks.
-----------------------------
As I drove, guilt consumed me. A part of me wanted to just throw my hands up (not out of anger, but out of despair) and say, "You're right. I am a failure. My babies die."
Logically, I know that I did everything possible to save our little boys, but there is still a very natural feeling of guilt that I have for not being able to protect my children. Aiden and Jeremiah were perfectly healthy little boys. My body failed them. I live with this thought every day.
-----------------------------
After a few minutes, there was silence again in the car and I knew that I, myself, had to acknowledge and answer Gavin's question. I don't know if he was able to see my reaction to his question. I don't know if he saw that I was crying. But I do know that I want him to be able to ask me anything that is on his mind and to not be afraid. Alll of the crazy thoughts that had just run through my head, were my thoughts- my fears- my insecurities. I owed it to him to answer his question as best I could.
I took a long and deep breath. I wiped the tears from my eyes and I tried so hard to keep my voice from cracking. All that I could think to say to him was to reassure him that if there was anything, anything, that I could have done to save and protect his brothers, Aiden and Jeremiah, I would have. I told him that sometimes sad things happen and we just don't know why. I told him that I felt so blessed to have him and his brother, Gabe, here with us.
---------------------------
I don't know if that was the right thing to say and I'm sure I will replay this conversation over in my head many, many times. I will come up with better responses and I will wish that I had said this or that, but I'm learning too. I don't have all the answers.
---------------------------
And then, again, from the back seat I heard Gavin say, "Mom, what do you think is the biggest thing on the earth?"
---------------------------
And so the story goes...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
I wonder and I remember
I often wonder what God has planned for me.
I desire to be many things for myself and for others. But, I continue to have this nagging ache to just be peaceful and whole. That is something internal that can't necessarily be acted out or shown. That is a desire of my heart. And that I don't know how to be.
I feel scarred and broken. That I know how to be. That I am. But I want more. I want- I desire a genuine peace in my heart and I just don't know if that will ever be.
I wonder if my ability to feel whole and complete has been taken. Maybe that is just not for me? When a part of you is gone from this earth, how can you ever be complete again?
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At night, as I try to sleep, I re-live each moment leading up to Jeremiah's birth.
I remember the early morning contractions. I remember the denial. I remember watching each passing minute on the clock. I remember my tearful phone call to my sister asking if she would watch my son so I could go to the doctor's.
I remember driving to my doctor's office alone- unable to reach my husband. I remember my relief as I finally got ahold of him.
I remember sitting in the waiting room with my husband waiting to be called to see the doctor. I remember my fear growing with each passing contraction. I remember seeing my beautiful, healthy baby boy on the ultrasound screen. I remember the look on the doctor's face as she confirmed that my worst nightmare and greatest fear was happening again.
I can literally hear my own screams of agony as I heard the words come out of my doctor's mouth. I remember the blood.
I remember the look on my husbands face as his heart broke once again.
I remember my heart breaking. I can feel my heart breaking- over and over and over again.
I remember another stage of denial and my brief hope that everything would somehow still be okay.
I remember my realization that I would deliver my son much, much to soon...
I remember asking for gloves to wear because a part of me was afraid of all of the blood. There was so much of it. I am ashamed to admit that the first time I held my little boy, I was wearing rubber gloves.
I remember quickly taking off the gloves as soon as I realized I had nothing to fear. I held a blessing in my arms, my precious baby boy, and craddled him in all my love.
---------------------------------------
Nearly every night this is what I remember.
And I wonder... Is the desire for genuine and pure peace in my heart too much to achieve in this lifetime?
Maybe that will just have to wait for when I get to heaven???
---------------------------------------
P.S. Don't worry. I have no plans to get to heaven any time soon. :) My work here is far from done.
I desire to be many things for myself and for others. But, I continue to have this nagging ache to just be peaceful and whole. That is something internal that can't necessarily be acted out or shown. That is a desire of my heart. And that I don't know how to be.
I feel scarred and broken. That I know how to be. That I am. But I want more. I want- I desire a genuine peace in my heart and I just don't know if that will ever be.
I wonder if my ability to feel whole and complete has been taken. Maybe that is just not for me? When a part of you is gone from this earth, how can you ever be complete again?
-------------------------------------------
At night, as I try to sleep, I re-live each moment leading up to Jeremiah's birth.
I remember the early morning contractions. I remember the denial. I remember watching each passing minute on the clock. I remember my tearful phone call to my sister asking if she would watch my son so I could go to the doctor's.
I remember driving to my doctor's office alone- unable to reach my husband. I remember my relief as I finally got ahold of him.
I remember sitting in the waiting room with my husband waiting to be called to see the doctor. I remember my fear growing with each passing contraction. I remember seeing my beautiful, healthy baby boy on the ultrasound screen. I remember the look on the doctor's face as she confirmed that my worst nightmare and greatest fear was happening again.
I can literally hear my own screams of agony as I heard the words come out of my doctor's mouth. I remember the blood.
I remember the look on my husbands face as his heart broke once again.
I remember my heart breaking. I can feel my heart breaking- over and over and over again.
I remember another stage of denial and my brief hope that everything would somehow still be okay.
I remember my realization that I would deliver my son much, much to soon...
I remember asking for gloves to wear because a part of me was afraid of all of the blood. There was so much of it. I am ashamed to admit that the first time I held my little boy, I was wearing rubber gloves.
I remember quickly taking off the gloves as soon as I realized I had nothing to fear. I held a blessing in my arms, my precious baby boy, and craddled him in all my love.
---------------------------------------
Nearly every night this is what I remember.
And I wonder... Is the desire for genuine and pure peace in my heart too much to achieve in this lifetime?
Maybe that will just have to wait for when I get to heaven???
---------------------------------------
P.S. Don't worry. I have no plans to get to heaven any time soon. :) My work here is far from done.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Progress
I think you have two choices when you are going through grief. You can either learn and grow (about yourself and about others) and move through the journey. Or become stagnant and lifeless.
It's not easy. But, I think those are our choices. Those are MY choices.
Me? I keep moving. I fought through my grief after the loss of Aiden and I continue to fight through my grief after the loss of Jeremiah.
Daily I remind myself to take control over my journey and be led by my faith in God and His many plans for me. I have to give Him and His promises the control instead of letting my grief control me. This is what keeps me moving. When I don't feel like I can fight any more, I ask God to help me through. When I am unable to see my future, I trust in the future that I know God has for me.
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Progress? It's hard to measure on your own, but if you don't stop and measure your progress, you won’t be able to see it. I think that is why people often get stuck, because they cannot see how far they have come.
When I look at the posts on this blog and reflect on my own private thoughts, I see change and progress. I see a lot of pain and sorrow too. It’s all there, I’ve held nothing back- there's no place to hide. I’ve been as real as I can be. But know this: while I have had and will continue to have moments of weakness and sometimes feel like I want to give up, I know that it is in those moments, that I can trust God to take control and put me back on track.
I have fought many inner battles over the deaths of my sons... Guilt, shame, anger, mistrust, and sorrow so deep that I can’t see my way out. When you are so wounded it’s hard to fight the negative, sad and destructive thoughts.
There are still moments when my heart is so heavy I feel like I can't bear it nor do I care to. At times, I feel so wounded that I have little desire to move on. I wish I could have and hold Aiden and Jeremiah in my arms and watch them grow. But through friends, scripture and the love and grace of God, I get through those difficult moments.
Through the shadows, I see more and more light began to shine again every day.
It's not easy. But, I think those are our choices. Those are MY choices.
Me? I keep moving. I fought through my grief after the loss of Aiden and I continue to fight through my grief after the loss of Jeremiah.
Daily I remind myself to take control over my journey and be led by my faith in God and His many plans for me. I have to give Him and His promises the control instead of letting my grief control me. This is what keeps me moving. When I don't feel like I can fight any more, I ask God to help me through. When I am unable to see my future, I trust in the future that I know God has for me.
.jpg)
----------------------------------
Progress? It's hard to measure on your own, but if you don't stop and measure your progress, you won’t be able to see it. I think that is why people often get stuck, because they cannot see how far they have come.
When I look at the posts on this blog and reflect on my own private thoughts, I see change and progress. I see a lot of pain and sorrow too. It’s all there, I’ve held nothing back- there's no place to hide. I’ve been as real as I can be. But know this: while I have had and will continue to have moments of weakness and sometimes feel like I want to give up, I know that it is in those moments, that I can trust God to take control and put me back on track.
I have fought many inner battles over the deaths of my sons... Guilt, shame, anger, mistrust, and sorrow so deep that I can’t see my way out. When you are so wounded it’s hard to fight the negative, sad and destructive thoughts.
“Warriors cannot fight when they are wounded. The kind of battle that rages in a grief-filled heart is one of hopelessness. When we don’t care if we survive, it’s hard not to give up on everything, even God. It’s hard to lay down the heaviness of grief long enough to put on our spiritual armor, but it is the armor that equips us for the rest of our journey.”I've surrounded mysef with quotes like this. I've put them up on my bathroom mirror so I could see them everyday. I put messages in my pockets. In my books. On my laptop – anywhere I will see them to remind me I am NOT fighting this battle alone.
There are still moments when my heart is so heavy I feel like I can't bear it nor do I care to. At times, I feel so wounded that I have little desire to move on. I wish I could have and hold Aiden and Jeremiah in my arms and watch them grow. But through friends, scripture and the love and grace of God, I get through those difficult moments.
Through the shadows, I see more and more light began to shine again every day.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Next?
I'm feeling a little guilty...
It's December 26th and already the tree is down, the decorations are put away- nearly all signs of Christmas (minus the wreath on the front door and a house full of new toys!) are packed away.
I'm not sure what my rush is or was, but I think a part of me has been bracing myself. Just get through Christmas, I keep telling myself....
Now, I guess I can check that off of my list and move forward.
------------------------------
Next hurdle? The excitement of the New Year and Jeremiah's due date. January 19th. Ready or not, it's coming. And I am bracing myself...
-----------------------------
My goal for 2012 is to truly be hopeful. I want and need to get beyond the words and really feel it. I want to be happy and joyful again. I want to quit thinking destructful and sad thoughts. I want to be thankful. Greatful. Appreciative. I simply want to feel like me again. I don't like looking at life through these grief-colored eyes.
I'm torn between my grief and my future. They are not sitting well side-by-side. One is getting the best of me.
Before I got pregnant with Jeremiah, I felt the strongest and healthiest- both emotionally and physically, than I have in a long time. I want to feel that strength and motivation again.
------------------------------
I will feel that strength and motivation again.
Because I am not alone:
I know good things are in store for me:
Although it may feel impossible to me:
Nothing is impossible with God.
He is my strength.
My courage.
My hope.
My future.
It's December 26th and already the tree is down, the decorations are put away- nearly all signs of Christmas (minus the wreath on the front door and a house full of new toys!) are packed away.
I'm not sure what my rush is or was, but I think a part of me has been bracing myself. Just get through Christmas, I keep telling myself....
Now, I guess I can check that off of my list and move forward.
------------------------------
Next hurdle? The excitement of the New Year and Jeremiah's due date. January 19th. Ready or not, it's coming. And I am bracing myself...
-----------------------------
My goal for 2012 is to truly be hopeful. I want and need to get beyond the words and really feel it. I want to be happy and joyful again. I want to quit thinking destructful and sad thoughts. I want to be thankful. Greatful. Appreciative. I simply want to feel like me again. I don't like looking at life through these grief-colored eyes.
I'm torn between my grief and my future. They are not sitting well side-by-side. One is getting the best of me.
Before I got pregnant with Jeremiah, I felt the strongest and healthiest- both emotionally and physically, than I have in a long time. I want to feel that strength and motivation again.
------------------------------
I will feel that strength and motivation again.
Because I am not alone:
I know good things are in store for me:
Although it may feel impossible to me:
Nothing is impossible with God.
He is my strength.
My courage.
My hope.
My future.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Hope
I often sit in silence with tears in my eyes and what seems like a permanent ache in my chest. In these moments I ask God to help me make it through. That’s all I want – to get through Christmas and the months ahead and to come out the other side as unscathed as possible.
So today, I remind myself what Christmas is about… HOPE.
Hope isn’t a wish, or a dream, or a warm fuzzy thought.
Hope is a reality.
Hope is a fact.
Hope is Jesus.
Hope is the reality that because of Christmas… because Jesus came in the form of a little baby to offer salvation to the world… I will one day stand in heaven with all my babies in my arms.
Until that day comes, I remember that I was chosen to carry them.
I remember that they have made me who I am.
And I will remember that I have been given the greatest gift of all. Salvation.
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As I walk into this Christmas season with my heart aching for little ones no longer with us, I can rejoice and celebrate knowing that hope is a fact and I will one day hold them again.
Greatest blessings and prayers to you all this Christmas season. May you have hope and peace in your heart.
So today, I remind myself what Christmas is about… HOPE.
Hope isn’t a wish, or a dream, or a warm fuzzy thought.
Hope is a reality.
Hope is a fact.
Hope is Jesus.
Hope is the reality that because of Christmas… because Jesus came in the form of a little baby to offer salvation to the world… I will one day stand in heaven with all my babies in my arms.
Until that day comes, I remember that I was chosen to carry them.
I remember that they have made me who I am.
And I will remember that I have been given the greatest gift of all. Salvation.
--------------------------------------
As I walk into this Christmas season with my heart aching for little ones no longer with us, I can rejoice and celebrate knowing that hope is a fact and I will one day hold them again.
Greatest blessings and prayers to you all this Christmas season. May you have hope and peace in your heart.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The Unseen
This post is inspired by a post I read from Small Bird Studios.
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In between this world and the next there are many things that go unseen.
Thoughts.
Wonders.
Frustrations.
Questions.
Silence.
Miracles.
Hopes.
Dreams.
A realization that He never, ever left my side.
Ever.
The sadness, anger, what-have-you, just has a way of smushing joy out.
In between my world and yours, sweet baby boys,
what others don’t see,
what I don’t allow them to see most of the time...
My lack of patience for Heaven.
The tears that fall late, late at night.
My fears.
The longing in my heart for my baby boys...
I’ve lost you, and big chunks of myself.
I can’t lose much more.
It doesn’t steal the joy of the moment.
But what goes unseen to the rest of the world, is seen by me.
and just simply put CANNOT see the holes in this life that I see everywhere I go…
I am certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the tears that fall for you here are kept.
They matter to the One that holds you tonight.
--------------------------------------
In between this world and the next there are many things that go unseen.
Tears.
Thoughts.
Wonders.
Frustrations.
Questions.
Silence.
Miracles.
Hopes.
Dreams.
A realization that He never, ever left my side.
Ever.
The sadness, anger, what-have-you, just has a way of smushing joy out.
In between my world and yours, sweet baby boys,
what others don’t see,
what I don’t allow them to see most of the time...
My lack of patience for Heaven.
The tears that fall late, late at night.
My fears.
The longing in my heart for my baby boys...
I’ve lost you, and big chunks of myself.
I can’t lose much more.
In moments of pure happiness, I miss my boys that should be in that moment celebrating with us too.
It doesn’t steal the joy of the moment.
But what goes unseen to the rest of the world, is seen by me.
And while the rest of the world does not,
and just simply put CANNOT see the holes in this life that I see everywhere I go…
I am certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the tears that fall for you here are kept.
They matter to the One that holds you tonight.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
The tunnel
I've decided that this isn't a roller coaster ride that I am on. Although a roller coaster ride if often filled with twists and turns (which I am facing), there's far too much excitement connected to roller coaster rides. And, there's nothing exciting about what I am going through.
What I am going through feels much more like a long and narrow, black tunnel. An underground tunnel that has covered me with dirt and despair. It feels suffocating. There's so much darkness on this journey that sometimes, I just don't know which way is up or out.
I keep crawling and climbing, searching for the light, but many days it feels it doesn't matter how hard I push through. It doesn't matter how much I pursue the light. It just feels like I simply can't get there. I see glimses of the light, glimses of happiness, but at the end of the day, I feel covered in the darkness once again. I am suffocating.
The fire within me has been dampened by tears and sorrow.
I so badly want to be free from this deep pain, but it's not something that I can shake off or just choose to go away. I wish I could.
--------------------------------
Closure?
Closure, our culture tells us, will bring about a tidy ending, a sense of completion. I would like to neatly seal away all of this pain. I would like to close all of the sad, confused, desperate, angry feelings out of my life. I would like to put all of this pain behind me.
Closure.
What an odd concept really, as if we could truly close the door on pain... just turn the lock and throw away the key. The truth is far more complex, of course. Closure is for business deals. Closure is for real estate transactions. Closure is not for feeling or for people we love.
--------------------------------
I am not searching or hoping for closure, instead I am hoping for--- longing for--- praying for--- healing and restoration.
What I am going through feels much more like a long and narrow, black tunnel. An underground tunnel that has covered me with dirt and despair. It feels suffocating. There's so much darkness on this journey that sometimes, I just don't know which way is up or out.
I keep crawling and climbing, searching for the light, but many days it feels it doesn't matter how hard I push through. It doesn't matter how much I pursue the light. It just feels like I simply can't get there. I see glimses of the light, glimses of happiness, but at the end of the day, I feel covered in the darkness once again. I am suffocating.
The fire within me has been dampened by tears and sorrow.
I so badly want to be free from this deep pain, but it's not something that I can shake off or just choose to go away. I wish I could.
--------------------------------
Closure?
Closure, our culture tells us, will bring about a tidy ending, a sense of completion. I would like to neatly seal away all of this pain. I would like to close all of the sad, confused, desperate, angry feelings out of my life. I would like to put all of this pain behind me.
Closure.
What an odd concept really, as if we could truly close the door on pain... just turn the lock and throw away the key. The truth is far more complex, of course. Closure is for business deals. Closure is for real estate transactions. Closure is not for feeling or for people we love.
--------------------------------
I am not searching or hoping for closure, instead I am hoping for--- longing for--- praying for--- healing and restoration.
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