It’s that time of year again. The leaves are crunching under my feet, the mums are blooming, and the skeletons are coming out. I can feel the edges of grief tugging at me. Memories of desperate prayers, resignation, loss, and failure are creeping in with the ghosts being hung in store windows. This excerpt from Our Broken Hallelujahs recounts a […]
We had come together, like so many times before, to mourn tragic and senseless loss. I stood there singing words I desperately wanted to be true. I wanted to believe that God loves us so.
This is Kristi’s post. This is why I write; this is why my home and my world have been turned inside out for months upon months as we planned for a church; just this:
As I prepare to celebrate the blessing of my own amazing mother and the gift of her loving example, a piece of me is touched by grief. I am in awe of the vibrant and lovely lives of my children who have given me the honorable and tiresome title of mother, but I also understand the pain of the celebration. I have felt it sharply, and I have watched you, my dear friends, as you feel it too.
I share so much of my life with you all in this blog. I decided it was time for you to meet my husband and hear our story.
I had almost missed her soft whisper as I left her room: “Cover me, Mama.” The words gripped me as I pulled the blankets up to her chin. She gave me the words I have been trying to find to express the emotions stirring within me the past couple of weeks.
November is the month in between.
First it was the month that came before; then, it was the month that came after.
Yet, November is the month of thanks.
How do I say thank you for the blessing of broken? I am learning.
There is blessing in waiting for an ultra sound to indicate another child is lost; there is blessing in the graveyard spattered with names I love; and there is blessing in the moments of failure. These are blessings I have known in seasons very different from today. They are the blessings that have convinced me life is full of beauty.