June 10, 2014

Trusting in the Validator of Your Grief

In much needed solitude I walked into the middle of the field. With the giant hood of the wind breaker I had borrowed from my husband's closet up and over my head and eyes, I lay there on my back in the sun. I lay there with my arms wide, not caring if I looked silly. It was a cool day in late Spring but the wind made my bones ache a little. I felt the Lord's warmth along with the sun though as I lay there, and the absolute sturdiness of the ground beneath me. And I sang.

Three months after our Jane died in my womb I sat alone on retreat, away from husband and daughters, at Pilgrimage. I ached for little puckered lips and boo-boos I wasn't at home to kiss and for the strong arms that hold me cherished every night. But even still, I could see Jesus and His providence all over that place set-apart, and knew it was where I was supposed to be. For such a time as this.

Someone at my table asked me how I felt when our baby died. I struggled for words and resented being asked. I knew it was because these people, that were just strangers two days beforehand, cared for me now and I for them. They wanted to know where my heart was now. But when the session ended for a break before anyone was able to respond to me, I realized how rock hard I was craving validation. Craving "man" to somehow know, understand, and approve everything I was feeling about the death of my child, and even validate that her little unborn life was worth grieving even though I never got to hold her. A craving unmet brought my attention to His still, small voice.

So I went and laid my shaky soul down flat on my back in the field there. And I sang. I sang to THE Validator of my being. I brought to His feet sacrificial praise, hard eucharisteo, and He lifted me from His feet and held me like a little girl in His lap. I lay there in the field and He held me, face against chest, and told me He knew, that He understands, and He absolutely approves of me.

I know He's got Jane. And Caleb, who went before. Almost eight years now. Like every other child that has gone before, by miscarriage, abortion, born still, as an infant, as a child. He's got them all, all those lives pure, not accountable yet. Creation returns to the Creator and He's marvelous at it beyond our feeble comprehension.

I chose something that day laying in the field. I chose to rest in His validation of my grief. And day by day it's been easier to trust it and not go seeking for something not withstanding.

When I remember Jane, my heart and womb ache for her person, and the life and experience this side of heaven that would have been. But we are here. And there is necessity to find balance in our souls. To always remember and honor and cherish missed life, and to desire to be fully present, completely here. Experiencing the obvious, and seeking out the hidden, joys. Joys and thanksgiving in the everyday. To keep speaking of them does not mean you're still wrent with fresh grief. Saying their names brings more healing. Our parent hearts, both mother and father, are never the same after losing a child. But it WILL get better.

"When death comes in your home like an uninvited guest and sits in your favorite chair...it's gonna be okay."
-a speaker at Pilgrimage who has more than enough experience to say this and carry weight to it. May it sink down in our soul, deep unto deep.

"I waited patiently on the Lord; He inclined unto me, and He heard my cry." -Psalm 40:1 >


{I leave with a modified excerpt from the "Meet Me In the Meadow" daybrightener, by Roy Lessin.}

Lord, make me strong in Your hands. May my goals (and passions) be shaped by Your will; may my resolve be based in Your Truth; may my resources (and words) be used for Your glory and the good of others. Cover me with grace, shield me with mercy, and motivate me with Love.
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1 comment:

  1. Oh my soul. Thank you for baring yours. It makes it easier for me to bare my own and gifts me with greater understanding. Thank you.

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