Sunday, July 21, 2013

How long, O Lord?

It's only been five short months after finding out we lost our baby but it feels like it's been five years sometimes. These past couple of months have been filled with lots of tears, lots of love, lots of prayers, lots of trusting God. 

I know I'm nowhere near the end of this season, I'm just able to function more normal now. 
I think this may be a good thing to know about mamas who have lost their babies. The sadness still lingers as life continues to move forward. 

The season after losing a baby is long. Longer than you would ever think. I don't know why I would expect it to be short, but something in me thought maybe the broken pieces of my heart would be sewn back together by now. I will say that by the grace of God my heart is mending, piece by piece. The healing words and prayers from family and friends, quiet times in the morning where it's just me and God, and just when people ask how I am. Those things. Those things are so very restorative for my soul. 

But then there are moments that feel like everything that's been sewn together gets ripped apart again. Mamas who have gone before me have prepped me for these moments. It's those times where out of the blue you are reminded of what isn't there, of what got ripped away from you so suddenly. These moments blindside you and make you feel like time has stopped and all you can think about is how unfair it all is. 

Like the moment on the subway train on my way to work when intoxicated parents plopped their baby next to me only to make a scene that caught the whole train car's attention. I wanted to take that sweet baby and hold him for those five minutes and let him know without saying anything that in that moment he would be safe and okay and away from harm. After they got off the train I sobbed. In front of everyone. Thank you to the sweet girl next to me that handed me tissues and to the middle-aged woman that looked in my eyes and told me one day I was going to make a great mom. 

I know the truth about the big picture of it all and that God has a plan but I just need this moment of humanness for a second to ask why not now? Why can't I know what it's like to be a good mom now? I know we won't be perfect parents, but we were ready to love this baby with all we had and provide him with a home filled with prayers and laughter and hugs and kisses and knowing we are human, but then showing him the beauty in the Gospel and Jesus and forgiveness in it all. 

I trust we will get a chance to do so and I look forward to those days. 
As of now, my heart feels weak. It feels angry. I feel like we got teased. Like the carpet got ripped out from underneath us and I'm still trying to gather my bearings and just when I do, I slip and fall again. 
I can't help but think of David in the psalms. His lament speaks straight to my heart today:

David and I might have different reasons for this lament offered up to the Lord. One thing that is true is that he makes me feel normal. That I'm not the only one that feels a little forgotten. Like the sparkle that once was there has been hidden for a while. 
Yet, through all these feelings, there is the truth of who the Lord is. His love is unfailing. He is the one who can be trusted. He is good. 
Through all this He is so good. 
He is here. With me. With you.
With my broken, confused, yet grateful, fragile, human heart. 
With your broken, confused, yet grateful, fragile, human heart. 
This is where He meets us. 
The sweet intersection where our tired hearts meet His loving presence. 
Lord, help me to trust you as you hold my heart and write my story.


  1. Today the pieces of pink and white polka dot tape that hold you name look more like bandages, and I weep with you. I don't know if you know who Rich Mullins was since you were little when he died, but this song was on a demo cassette found in the car. I thought it might bring you some comfort.

    1. This. song. is. perfect. Thank for for your words and understanding and just being in it alongside me. Thank you sharing this song. Seriously perfect. xo

  2. Oh friend. I've been there. In this valley. I always felt like I was living my life in black and white after Christian died. Little by little God restored me, filled me with hope and redeemed our heartbreaking loss. May you start living "in color" soon. Only through Him is it possible. What a promise that you'll be holding that sweet babe one day. Prayers for you all the time. :)

    1. Erin,
      Yes, that is the perfect way to put it. You wonder where the color went all of a sudden. This was so encouraging for me to read...that yes indeed there is hope and there will be color again. It's hard to see it in the valley sometimes! Thank you for praying and sharing your heart with me. This was so needed. :)

  3. hoing Erin .... Grief makes everything bleed from black and white to a thousand shades of gray. There are days when you think you might start to see hints of colors but the gray lingers for quite sometime. God is good. He does meet us -- in our doubts and in our sadness and in our longings. I pray he continues to heal your heart. If you ever need an ear or a shoulder ... <

    1. Hitting it home Hy. It's like every once in a while you think...oooh oooh, a hint of color, a little shade of yellow or bright blue (which is hopeful to know they are coming!), but this season, oh this season of gray is taking its sweet ol time. Thankful for the Lord who holds us and heals us! Thankful for you, my friend. Your words, your prayers, your blog. My oh my your blog has been used in my life like crazy. Thank you for being here with me in it. Love.

  4. Thanks so much for your blogpost. You're exactly right how about it hits you out of nowhere. And the further down the road it happens, the more lonely it feels (for me) because I feel like I'm the only one who ever thinks about it. I had a moment like that last night where something in the conversation I was having with friends made me think about Baby A and it just hit me out of nowhere and I suddenly felt all alone in my own little world and filled with grief. Sigh. But God is good. And you ARE a good mama. Now and always. To the babies you don't get to hold and the ones you one day will. <3

  5. I'm new to your blog (and your Instagram feed - I'm the one who left the Williamson comment yesterday!), and this post is one I can relate to so deeply. Having been through the valley of pregnancy loss, I know that each woman's journey, each couple's experience, the processing and the pain, are all unique -- but once in a while someone else's experience mirrors your own and you are reminded that you are not alone, even years later. I will be praying for continued healing of your heart throughout this journey and God's peace to sustain you. Warmly, Melissa

    1. Melissa,
      Thank you so much for this post and I am so glad we got connected because of our love for Williamson! God is good to give me you, new friend, who gets it and who walks alongside in prayer and online. xo