Pink

We found out that our new baby is a little girl a couple of weeks ago. I thought for sure that she was a boy, and that Littleman was going to have a little brother. I was convinced that she was a boy because having a girl frightens me to my core. The only experience that I’ve had carrying a girl ended with her passing away before she was born, and while I was pregnant with her, God’s mercy kept me from being able to imagine having her in our home. I was 27 weeks pregnant when she passed away, and I hadn’t bought her anything. I didn’t have her nursery planned, I hadn’t read any parenting books. Looking back, I see God’s hand in my mental block: because I couldn’t imagine her at home, her loss was easier to carry. Because my home wasn’t filled with items just for her, coming home with only two people instead of three didn’t have as many physical reminders of what we’d lost. The pain from her loss was still acute, but my depression and anxiety wasn’t as severe as I know it could have been if my very active mind had drempt more dreams for her life.

I didn’t purchase much for Littleman either, but that was because when we found out we were having a boy, friends and family showered us with more clothes and toys that I had imagine possible. One sweet friends in particular brought of boxes and boxes of little boy clothes that I had immense amounts of fun sorting through before he came. I picked out a little zip up sleeper that was my favorite: light heather grey with little blue space ships, flying saucers, and shooting stars printed on it. I hung that sleeper up and looked at it every day, as an act of hope. I purposefully left evidence that he was coming so that every day, I would actively hope that he would come. And if he didn’t come home, I knew that God would still be good, just like when we lost Cora.

For this little girl, it’s been harder to look at girl clothes. For more then three years, clothing for little girls has brought a tightness to my throat and tears to my eyes. But this week, I bought her a little pink dinosaur zip up sleeper to hang on the wall. Every day, I will look at that sleeper and pray for her. I will pray that God’s will will be done and that her life with honor Him. I will pray that Husbandman and I will parent her in such a way, whether or not she comes home, that God would be glorified.

pink-onesie

May you take small steps of faith, even if that step is to buy a terrifying pink sleeper and to lay it out as a reminder that God’s goodness does not depend on whether or not your heart is broken. He is trust worthy.

PS. Anyone have any girl clothes they’d like to hand down, a crib, dresser, or cloth diapers (we’re considering them)? I’m all about those hand-me-downs 🙂

Advertisements

Three

It doesn’t seem possible that it’s been a full three years since Cora was born still into the world. Those three years have passed in the blink of an eye and have taken an eternity all at the same time.

The further we get from Cora’s birth, the easier carrying losing her comes to be. We have been blessed beyond measure to have a little boy, and are expecting our third baby early this winter. Her little brother has filled out house with mess and noise and our hearts with joy that we didn’t think was possible, and has simultaneously reminded us of what we did not get to experience with her. We in no way “deserve” children because we experienced a loss. Our God is good whether or not we have children who live because of who He is, not because of whether or not He grants us what we desire. Most of all, we have seen God’s goodness in the land of the living because of His presence.

He has met my cries for relief with His presence, and tiny undeserved gifts. A three year old that I love spent the month of May reminding me that he would be “free” in June, proudly displaying three fingers to me to emphasize his monumental accomplishment. I couldn’t tell him that I would never, ever forget how old he is. Last fall, a now almost three year old that I love demanded that I put her hair in a pony tail, and then demanded that I do it again because my first attempt didn’t meet her standards. She has fine, white blond hair and blue eyes, just like I imagine Cora would have had if she had lived. I cried when she couldn’t see me anymore, because I didn’t want her to be sad about the gift she had unintentionally given me.

May you encounter the presence of God in the loss or grief that you are feeling. He is near to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Happy birthday to my first baby; my little Cora Lorraine. Every day I am grateful that you are in God’s presence.

My Rocking Chair

My rocking chair is a time machine.
I hold your nearly toddler self, hair matted from a day of play and learning, and catch a glimpse of the tiny baby boy with a furrowed brow that I brought home; you struggling to eat, me struggling to feed you and hold myself together. I could see your little neck then, now hidden under the layer of padding that God has given you to cushion your fearless falls and to fuel your exploration. Has it really been a year since you left my womb and filled our home with your presence?
My rocking chair is a metronome.
“Cree, cree”, it says over and over until we’re done. Forward and backward it rocks, on and on until you calm and are ready for sleep. It marks the slow and blinding passage of time, good days and bad days, confident and turbulent days. No matter the day, here is where it ends. Some days I ask the Lord to grant us another good day, and some days I thank the Lord that the day is finally over. My favorite tick of the metronome is when you turn, your mind full of sleep, and bury your nose in my chest. It is then that I try to slow time down by rocking more slowly and holding my breath. One day, this metronome will stop ticking and your daddy as I won’t hold you every night; you will be too independent.
My rocking chair is a battle field, stained with tears, blood, and milk.
We’ve fought so many nights on that tiny battle field. (Forward) go to sleep, (backward) now please, (forward) go to sleep, (backward) now please, (forward) go to sleep, (backward) for the love of all that is holy and sanctified now please. We’ve fought illness and pain together in that chair, fighting snotty noses and hurting gums, twice taking you to the Emergency Department for extra help; sometimes fighting invisible enemies that leave us both frustrated and in pain. We’ve fought my insecurities as a mother when you cried out for your daddy or when the way I wanted to feed you didn’t work and I took it personally. Those nights when we still fought to breast feed, your daddy slept on the floor in your room because I was so scared of my frustration but God saw us through.
My rocking chair is an altar of prayer.
Even before you were born, I rocked in the chair and prayed for you. I prayed that the Lord would be honored by your life, even if He took you before I knew you like He took your sister. After you were born, I prayed that you would grow strong and eat well, and that I would be a mother that would honor Him first. I prayed that God would use your big voice and love of music for His glory; that He would use your strength to love others, your hands to serve, your quick mind to help, your sensitive heart to love. I pray that you would know Him as your daddy and I do.
My rocking chair is a play ground.
Your chubby hands smack the arm rests as you fight sleep in my lap, making enough noise to amuse you. All your weight pushing on the front of my rocking chair makes the blanket draped over the back billow like a ships’ sail as you stand in front of it and pull on the bar in the middle to make it rock without me. The bars underneath become a jungle gym as you crawl around, under, and between them to retrieve lost toys and evade us when we’re chasing you. We read books and escape to distant lands, going on adventure after adventure while you delay bedtime.

If my rocking chair were a rocket ship, we’d have flown to the moon and back twice in your first year with all the rocking we’ve done to fuel it. One day, when you’re too big to rock, my little wooden rocking chair will be full of memories of those flights; full of memories of my tiny boy who’s all grown up. But for now, I’ll rock you for one more minute and kiss you goodnight an extra time to store up enough memories in my rocking chair so that when you’re too big to rock, I’ll have that many more minutes of rocking and kissing to look back on. I will remember when you were just a baby and I was just starting to learn how to be your mommy.

Happy first birthday, #littleman. I am so grateful that God has allowed me to be your mommy.

20180217_180328

After the Sparkle

On December 26th, I usually find myself sorting through new and old toys, cleaning up messes, squeezing one more bag of trash into the garbage can, and feeling a little let down that the holiday has passed. This year, I spent a what felt like forever but was only really an hour feeding my son Cheerios and a bottle in the back seat of the car while holding his hand to keep him from screaming all the way home from his Grandma’s house. My primary love language is giving and receiving gifts, so the flurries of giving and receiving that surround Christmas time fill up my emotional “tank”, but social events, travel, and busyness exhaust me at the same time.

I have always struggled with a post-Christmas feeling of disappointment; of buildup to a “glorious event” and then let down after it’s passed. That struggle is rooted in improper priorities when my heart focuses on gifts, expectations, parties, services, and time with family instead of on Christ and a reluctance to withdraw from festivities when I need an emotional break. Advent preparation resources have blessed me tremendously in the past few years but I still struggle. Shouldn’t my Christmas be sparkly and perfect and not let me down? All the songs and stories I read make me think that that’s what Christmas should be. The first Christmas seems like it should have been picture perfect when I don’t think about it carefully.

In reality, Mary and Joseph had been through so much leading up to the birth which the angel foretold: angelic visitations, unplanned and unwed pregnancy in a conservative society, suspicion of infidelity and plans for divorce, marriage and abstinence from physical intimacy, and after all of that, traveling out of town to a crowded city to be counted in a census at the end of a full term pregnancy.

When Mary actually delivered Jesus, the incarnate Son of God, she was far from home and her people. After Christ was born and the shepherds left, instead of the tranquil scenes we’re given in paintings and stories where even the cows held their breath in wonder, life kept going. Animals in the stable most likely were still there after Christ was born and continued to do what they normally do: make noise, eat, and make manure. Mary had to care for a newborn in overflow housing in a crowded city and eventually travel with him all the way home. She had to figure out how to feed him and care for her spent body after delivery; how to carve out a new rhythm as the mother of her people’s Messiah who was very much a helpless baby.

Praise God that He sent His Son into the thick of our mess and in the mire of our reality.

If you find yourself disappointed after the sparkle of Christmas passes, I pray that you would find relief in the fact that Christmas was just the beginning of the miraculous fulfillment of ancient prophesy to pay the price for the sin that separates us from a Holy God. This event was planned from the beginning of time, and it was far from the end of a story. You are in good company if you feel like gifts and decorations and parties fall short of expectation because they are not the point. Christmas marks the beginning of the life of Christ who lived an actual life after He was born. After the anticipation of delivering Jesus came to a halt all at once, the story had just begun to unfold.

I pray that we all approach the after Christmas period in light of the fact that Christmas happened; but was only the beginning of the fulfillment of God’s promise.

Fear/Hope

Fear used to be the thing that lived under my bed when I was a small child and threatened to grab my foot if I let it dangle over the edge of the bed too long. It would rear its head sometimes, but when I turned the lights on, found someone that I loved to be near to, and fear would retreat.

After losing my daughter last year, fear has taken on a new form. I hear bad news, from markets taking a downturn to illness spreading, and my heart begins to race. My mind whirls with “what if”s that steal my peace and my hope. And I worry that someone else that I love will be taken from me. I worry for all of those who will lose a loved one to senseless violence, illness, or accident. I worry that everything will fall apart again, and that this time, everything will be too broken for me too pick up the pieces and keep going.

Losing Cora was a trauma. It took me a a long time to recognize that. And I carry scars from that trauma, physical and mental. We’re working on the mental scars, and have been going to a therapist. (An aside: If you’re struggling, go see a professional. There is not shame in going to therapy.)

There are so many people suffering trauma now. It feels like the world is ripping itself apart. Fifty people were murdered and countless more injured last weekend.

And the truth is, I am not strong enough for this. We are not strong enough for this. I am not strong enough to pick up the pieces and keep going. But the basis of the faith that has come to mean more to me since Cora died is that God loved us all so much that He was willing to give up His only Son so that we could be saved from punishment for our sins by accepting Him. The point is not that I am supposed to be strong enough to keep going. The point is that I’m to turn to Him when I’m hurt, confused, and falling apart.

It is impossible to hope on my own after loss. To hope that God would allow me to get pregnant again and carry a baby who lives; to hope that it would be soon. To trust that although bad things happen as a result of sin, that God is still good. Hope is an easy task when you have not experienced loss or disappointment. When you know loss and disappointment, hope is an act of faith. Hope is a hard choice that becomes an act of worship and surrender to God, because you know the pain that loss can bring and know that God may choose to tell you “no”. Hope is believing that God is good  and will sustain you even when you are disappointed and hurt. Hope is trusting that God will hold you together when everything goes wrong.

Hope is knowing that even if everyone that I love is lost, even if I never carry a child who lives, even if my home remains empty of children or another sort of calamity visits my life, God is still good. I still choose to love Him because He first loved me. I deserve nothing, and yet Christ loves me.

God is still good. Even when it feels like the world is burning down around us, God is still good. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord.

If you follow Christ, live your life in the light of hope in Christ, not hope is material things or family members. Even in light of the murder that was committed just this past weekend, hope audaciously. Pray without ceasing. And then go do something. Show your love to another who is hurting. Weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn. May we all take our fear and pain to the foot of the cross, and then act as Christ would have acted. May we glorify God’s name by living our lives and choosing daily to trust in Him.

If you do not follow Christ, my words won’t make much sense. If God is good, why do people die? If God is good, why do people spew hate in His name? If God is good, why did my unborn child die or why did a man murder fifty people over the weekend? I cannot sum up the whole of my faith in a blog post. I would encourage you to read scripture. To examine the life of Christ and to see what He said about Himself and how He loved and lived, and how He died to pay the price for our sins. I also encourage you to ask questions. God does not require that we become perfect before we seek Him. He came to seek and save those who are hurting and those who are sick.

And when we see pain and sickness, suffering and death, and people who claim faith who wield it like a club with which to beat others, know that Christians are not perfect and that some who claim faith in God are misled. We are a poor reflection of the Christ that we serve. I pray that you would seek Him with your whole heart, because He is waiting for you to find Him.

Don’t want to talk

These past few weeks have been dark for me.

Since losing Cora, I have had many hard days. I have learned that sometimes grief pops out of nowhere and hits you over the head with heartache that you were just starting to feel like you had come to grips with. I have learned that sometimes I feel guilty for being happy, and I have daily wrestled with the quiet that is still in my home. No tiny person to keep me up at night; no toys and supplies betraying a little human who has taken residence.

And life has gone on. I still get up and go to work every day. I’m teaching again, and I’m planning and hoping. But these past few weeks, I have struggled. I have felt hopeful and hopeless, alone and surrounded. Life as I think that it should be doesn’t exist.

And I become bitter. I compare myself to those around me whose situations I envy and I want to give up. I try to figure out God’s will with my human reason, and I feel even more bitter and upset. I focus on myself.

And I cry, and I hide. And I tell God that I don’t feel like praying right now. I don’t feel like studying my Bible. Being obedient to God and pursuing Him isn’t like shaking a magic eight ball and being told “Yes! Definitely” when I present God with the desires of my heart. He gives me more of Himself, but not exactly what I want Him to give me. And I feel such guilt for telling God that I don’t want to talk to Him.

But, that is prayer in itself, isn’t it? God is not so small as to not be able to handle my emotions. He isn’t surprised when my worn out heart looks at Him and says “I can’t do this for another day. Take it away from me.” As a dear friend listened to me whine last night, she reminded me of another person who asked for His circumstances to be changed if God willed it. The night before Jesus was betrayed and arrested, He went to God, His Father, and said:

“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” (Luke 22:42)

He knew what needed to happen. He understood. He knew that on Good Friday, He would be put to death and that in that death, He would pay for my sins and yours so that we could be untied with God upon accepting Christ’s gift.

And I, a frail human, have no idea what will be required of me tomorrow or if today’s cup will pass from me.

But I know that Christ willingly subjected Himself to death and suffering for me. He suffered. He knows my suffering. And I know that on the third day, He rose again.

Easter is coming. Redemption is at hand.

2016-02-08 08.15.10

Trust

It is no small task to trust, although we usually take it for granted. You trust the chair that you’re sitting in right now. You trust the foundation of the building that you’re in or the dirt under your feet to not give way.

That trust is easy when it’s never been tested. If you sit on a chair and the chair collapses, the next time you go to sit down, you’re going to sit differently. Your heart will speed up a little as you go to sit. Your legs will be ready to catch you if you fall. You’re on high alert for a while, because something unexpected happened. Every time you go to sit down, you wonder if what you’re relying on will do what you expect it to do.

As a Christian, I believe that God has a plan for my life. I believe that He loves us so much that He uses everything in this world to draw us towards Him. I believe that He “works all things together for the good of those that love Him.” (Romans 8:28) My definition of “good” is warped, though. I see “good” through the lens of a consumer: a nice home, a family, a good job, security. But that isn’t the “good” that the Bible talks about. God wants to draw people to Himself; to make us into His image. When Christ came to the earth, He wasn’t given the best body, a rich family, or a stable political environment. He was born to a blue collar father and a teenage mother, wasn’t much to look at (Isaiah 53:2), and he was born into a tumultuous political environment that He and His family had to flee from because His political leadership wanted to kill him (Matthew 2).

Christ chose to endure all of this even though He knew the kind of pain and poverty that He would have to endure. Why? Because He loved us and loves us still and wants to see everyone turn to Him to be saved. When I became a Christian, I committed to that goal, too. I committed to adopt that goal as my own (Matthew 28:16-20). I accept the greatest gift ever given: being reconciled to God through Christ’s sacrifice by admitting that I am a sinner and that Jesus died for my sins.

A lot of people think that becoming a Christian means that things become easier. That in an instant your problems are gone and that you’re free from sin. I’m forgiven of my sin, but I struggle with it every day. My problems didn’t go away, but I don’t have to go through them alone anymore. I don’t have the same goals as God automatically and I struggle with wanting material things instead of pursuing the goals of my faith.

And when something bad happens, I struggle with trust. When Cora died, it was like the floor fell out from under my feet. The Bible says that “children are a gift from the Lord” (Psalm 127), so why was my gift taken from me?

And the truth of the matter is that I don’t know why. I can’t tell anyone that Cora died so that one specific person would come to faith. I can’t tell you that she died so that other people’s faith would grow. I don’t know why she died, and I’m not supposed to know why.

That’s where real trust comes into play. It’s not the trust of sitting in a chair, either. Chairs are made by people, and people fail. This trust is that God is good even when He lets me walk through fire. This trust is that God still works together all things for the good of those that love Him, even when what He allows to happen hurts.

You see, that verse in Romans 8 that I quoted before isn’t talking about having super powers because of our faith. In context, it’s talking about suffering.

18 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 27 And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. 28 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

It was one thing to trust God when I hadn’t known suffering. But I have suffered and I still suffer today. And I can tell you that I have to choose to trust God every day and He hasn’t let me down once. So, as you walk through your day, remember that God is good, but that His goodness doesn’t hinge on you getting your way. His goodness is the truth that we cling to when the floor falls out from under us, and His faithfulness is the very thing that sustains us when we suffer.

Five Things to do Instead of the #merrychristmasstarbucks “Protest”

As a Christian, I am called to love others. The Bible says in 1 John 4:10-11: “In this is love, not that we have loved God but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.” I am not perfect, and I don’t do this well all of the time. But, it’s what I’m called to do. There is a lot of debate about what “love” really is. Because I’m a Christian, and because I sincerely believe that choosing to have a relationship with Christ is the single most important decision you will make, I will share my faith with you. If I did not share my faith with you, I would be condemning you to an eternity of separation from God through my silence. I will speak about how my relationship with Christ has transformed my life out of love.  

When I wish you a Merry Christmas, I am wishing that you know the freedom and joy of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I am wishing you the peace and joy that comes from knowing Christ. The name of Christ is not meant to offend you. His name is not a curse. His name and the celebration of His birth are a blessing.

I know that many of you celebrate Christmas as a holiday not rooted in Christ or His birth. As a Christian, that causes my heart grief because I know the great joy that comes with knowing Christ. I know that many don’t celebrate Christmas because they believe in other faiths. I believe that Jesus “is the way, the truth, and the life and that no man comes to the Father but by [Him]” (John 14:6). It grieves my heart when you don’t know Jesus as your savior, and when you celebrate or don’t celebrate Christmas without knowing Christ.

The #MerryChristmasStarBucks “protest” truly grieves my heart. The name of Christ is not a prank; nor is it a club with which a Christian should beat a corporation into using “Christmas” during the holiday season. Starbucks has clearly indicated that it does not celebrate Christmas as the birthday of Christ. Furthermore, do reindeer and snowflakes on your coffee cup symbolize Christmas as a celebration of Christ’s birth?

2015 11.09 MERRYCHRISTMASSTARBUCKS

As Christians, instead of protesting a corporation’s choice to not decorate their cups with Rudolf (and ignoring the fact that they make a killing off of their Christmas blend coffee annually), let’s think about using our social leverage to accomplish these five things:

  1. Spend the five dollars that you would have spent on your Starbucks drink on food for the local food bank.
  2. Practice responsible consumerism. If you find that a corporation doesn’t act ethically, don’t do business with them. Did your clothing come from a sweatshop? Was your food produced in a manner that was harmful to the environment? Your energy might be well spent making informed decisions about the companies with whom you do business based more than just an image on a cardboard cup.
  3. When it’s the Christmas season (post Thanksgiving) cheerfully wish whomever you interact with a Merry Christmas if appropriate. Do not force them or trick them into wishing you a Merry Christmas. Jesus did not go around tricking people into saying that He was the Messiah.
  4. Understand that as a Christian, your social responsibility is not to force corporations and their employees to act like you want them to while ignoring widows and orphans. Your responsibility is to know and share Christ. A five dollar cup of coffee not decorated with meaningless symbols not representative of your faith is not cause for great alarm in the light of wars, famines, droughts, an overcrowded foster care system, corrupt corporate government systems, or global warming.
  5. Act like Christ would have acted. Love your neighbor as yourself, and correct your fellow Christian in love if you see them behaving out of line of the faith. (IE- If you see them acting foolishly over a cardboard cup of bean juice because it doesn’t have a picture of a mythical red-nosed quadruped on it around the time that you celebrate the birth of your savior.)

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. May true gratefulness for all that God has blessed us with full our hearts and lead us to acts of love that reflect His willingness to come to earth as a helpless infant to die on the cross to pay for our sins even though we don’t deserve it.

Say Her Name

In keeping with the theme yesterday, today I want to talk about another, very important word. This word is short, but so important to me, and to many of the women that I know that have lost children if they were able to name them. 

Please, say her name. Her name was Cora. She wasn’t just a fetus that didn’t make it. She wasn’t just “the baby” that was lost. Her name was Cora. She kicked hard when it stormed outside. She wiggled when she heard bluegrass music. She refused to be still for most of her ultrasounds.

When you speak with me, please say her name. It’s okay to talk about her. I want to talk about her, even if it makes me cry sometimes. The tears are healing, and it’s healing to talk about her.

Now, I won’t talk about her all the time. But, I will talk about her. Ask me if I’d like to. Ask those that you love if they’d like to talk about their loved one. Don’t get upset if they say “no”, but if they’d like to, let them talk. It is a precious gift to hear a bereaved person’s memories.

Throughout the month of October, I’m writing a series titled “Hopeful Grief” with a fabulous group of writers, doing the Write31Days challenge. To catch up, or see new posts, click here. Interested in last year’s Write31Days posts? Click here. Know someone that this series may touch? Share as you see fit. 

You can also sign up to receive notifications when I post something new, using the link to the right. If you’d like, you can sign up for extras too, such as exclusive newsletters and personal updates, by using the “Click Here” button to the right. Want even more? Connect with me on social media. 

Watch Your Words

Before I get into this post, I want to be very clear about my intentions. I am not mad at anyone, and I in no way want to shame someone who has said something that might have found me in a bad place to receive it. Please don’t comb through our past conversations to try and figure out if you said something offensive. If you hurt my feelings, I’ve said something to you and forgiven you. Grief is a difficult thing to go through, and it leaves those grieving in a hard place emotionally, struggling to have grace, and those brave enough to offer comfort groping for something appropriate to say. What I’m trying offer is a little insight into some commonly used phrases that hurt me unintentionally, and to offer some alternatives.

When someone that you love is going through a loss, please be careful about your “comforting phrases”, and your words in general. We have so many phrases in our language that are meant well, but that hurt. Someone who has gone through a loss is in a really tender place, and we don’t have a whole ton of patience, with ourselves or anyone else. (And please remember that all grief is unique. These phrases are those that I’ve found to be hard to deal with, but the person that you love that has been through loss may not be bothered by them.) 

  1. “You’ll get pregnant again.”- Although I know what you mean by this phrase, there are no guarantees. And if I get pregnant again, another baby will not replace the one I lost. I will mourn Cora’s loss until the day I’m reunited with her in heaven. When you say this, I feel like you’re telling me that another baby will replace my Cora. I know that you’re trying to tell me that there is hope that I will have a baby in my arms at the end of a future pregnancy, but it hurts right now. 
  2. “I just want you to be happy again.”- There is a time for sadness, and I need you to allow me to be sad. Encourage me to see positivity, but this phrase feels like you’re pressuring me to “feel happy”. That is very likely to make me feel a need to “act happy” around you, and to limit my ability to be real with you today. I will be happy some days, but other days, I won’t be. Please let me be real. 
  3. “Time heals all wounds.” Not true. Time makes infected wounds much, much worse. Time with Jesus heals all wounds. We’re still left with a scar even when a wound is healed.
  4. “Aren’t you over this already?” I don’t want to “get over” this. To me, getting over her would be forgetting her. I won’t forget her. My pain will lesson, and I will grow accustomed to living without her, but I will not forget.

Phrases that you could use instead:

  1. “You’re still a mother even though she’s not here. I know you loved her, and that nothing can take her place in her heart.”
  2. “It’s okay for you to tell me that you’re sad. I do plan on encouraging you to practice being positive sometimes when it seems like you’re in a very dark place. Is that okay?”
  3. “I’ll be here with you as you go through this.”
  4. “I know that grief lasts a long time.”

It’s okay if you’ve gone through loss and don’t agree with me.

It’s okay if you want to say something and don’t know what to say. But, please. Please, please, please say something. I would personally rather have someone say something that I take the wrong way than have someone be silent and not say anything. Silence makes it feel like we’re pretending that they didn’t exist. And that hurts the worst of all

If you don’t know what to say, you can say that. “There are no words” is so powerful when it’s spoken in honesty. Not much is going to make me feel better, and you’re not responsible for my comfort. God is. You are responsible for helping support me as part of my community, but my happiness and joy does not hinge on you. And if you hurt my feelings and I ask you to not say something, or if you’ve said something listed above, don’t carry hurt feelings or guilt for a long time. We’re all human. I’ve said some really, really stupid things, and I’ve carried regret for them for such a long time. Apologize, and then forgive yourself.

Do you disagree with me? Do you agree with me? I’m interested to hear your thoughts. 

May we all have grace with each other as we mourn and try to comfort those who mourn. 

Throughout the month of October, I’m writing a series titled “Hopeful Grief” with a fabulous group of writers, doing the Write31Days challenge. To catch up, or see new posts, click here. Interested in last year’s Write31Days posts? Click here. Know someone that this series may touch? Share as you see fit. 

You can also sign up to receive notifications when I post something new, using the link to the right. If you’d like, you can sign up for extras too, such as exclusive newsletters and personal updates, by using the “Click Here” button to the right. Want even more? Connect with me on social media.