Friday, August 2, 2013

THREE and Me

Of the 74 days since May 20, some have shocked me by how good they were, while others have been anything but good.  Today is one of the not so good.

I hadn't been able to pin point the catalyst all morning, but I simply could not make the continuous flow of tears stop. They poured and poured, and then poured some more. I prayed and asked God what was happening in my heart, why I was so down. I had anticipated this to be such an exciting day. I didn't hear much. What I have heard is probably not from Him, as all it has done is tear my spirit down further.

Maybe it's that today our youngest child is three, and I am grieving not celebrating in a more normal situation, I guess. I thought he'd blow out a giant 3 candle at our kitchen table and we'd open presents in front of the fire place. (Please know that there simply are no words to rightly express the intense gratitude I have that we get to celebrate another birthday for him...anywhere.)

Still...it does hurt, though, if I'm perfectly honest. Everyone got to have a birthday there except Caleb and me. I don't mind that I didn't; it's that Caleb didn't get to. I know this probably sounds weird, too. It's so hard to pair words with feelings in our grieving process.

Loss, in whatever form, takes you through definite stages, and it's true that you will indeed feel them all at one time or another. They may be in a different order than someone else's, but the recipe of grief holds the same staple ingredients. And you never know which will bleed through for the day.






This does make me smile.

I'll tell you what else has made me smile. I was in the middle of this excruciating lamentation I call a blog post when my phone rang. I stopped typing and decided to answer it because this girl is serious, guys. She is a new friend, but a very rich one, and I was really hoping by pressing "Answer" I would receive an immense blessing from her voice.

And I did.

I love that God cares that deeply for us. I sat, listening to each of Satan's lies (that by the way, if you remember correctly, I was just encouraging YOU to ignore just last week!) and believing each one a little more by the minute, by the hour.

Satan wants me to believe that it's not acceptable for me to have a day where I grieve what our family has lost because that would mean my faith is weak. He wants me to believe that I am the worst mom because I bought a ticket to a women's event on my son's birthday. He wants me to believe that no one truly cares what I'm going through, and he certainly wants me to believe that Romans 8:28 is a lie. That God cannot dig diamonds from the rough or adorn me with robes when all I came in were rags.

I needed that today. Maybe you did, too.

He cares.
He loves.
He knows.





Peace of Christ to you,

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