October 1, 2014

Sunrise {capture your grief}

I rose early to watch the sun rise to shine its light and warmth on my side of the world. At first I was sorely disappointed when it was so foggy that I could barely see into the neighbor's yard much less the hope of brilliant colors up over the horizon and the trees over yonder. I sighed looking out the kitchen window over last night's dirty dishes and with it the remembrance of the romance I find in fog. There's a hope in it that I've never found "gloomy." A hope beyond what is visible, the faith that at different, almost intended moments, more is revealed. I found a foggy sunrise rather fitting on this first day of "capturing grief," of chronicling "what heals my heart" on this journey and dance between grief and joy.

I stood outside by myself in the quiet of the morning. Even in my favorite hoodie, the brisk early Autumn air sent chills down my arms, and I remembered. I remembered the two lives that are mine but not with me, and while my heart ached, it swelled with love more. Some days it still aches more, and that's fine, but fewer and fewer knock me flat. I will always ache for their presence but I will heal.  I am, healing.

I remembered too the so many who have lost long before me and were made to grieve in silence. I remembered those who even today believe the lie past down that their children were not such and their grief not valid.

I walked and remembered and sipped from my warm cup the reminder of Truth written on its side.

"God is my refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble." -Psalm 46:1

I walked through the fog and gazed over this ground we've been cultivating at our new home. Too late for planting for this season, but will be right on time come Spring. Much like the life currently claiming the sacred space in my womb. I look at the garden and I touch my barely swollen belly, my tiny person bump, and I pray again to hold this one. "Let this person live, Lord." Being filled with the faith that our cultivated crops next year will yield its fruit never takes away the realization of the previous crop, whether abundant or fallen short. But there is faith in the Lord for the crop to come nonetheless. We place our trust in His hands, cultivate with the time we're given, and praise Him, always.

1 comment:

  1. This is so beautiful and helps me see more into the woman you have become. Your voice is important for families and it certainly blesses me.


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