I know the fact that I dare to possibly love and miss my babies still, even all these years later, makes people thoroughly uncomfortable. I know some people think I'm "stuck" on something I shouldn't be.
I rehearse the words recently spoken that cut so deeply while also rehearsing and tossing over and over in my mind what I could write to help people understand. Maybe there is a time for that, for speaking on behalf of the invisible+bereaved+longing-to-be mothers. But right now, I'm done with trying to get them to see what is. I'm done trying to explain the unexplainable-unless-you've-been-there. There is freedom in letting go and knowing He who sees all things has compassion on me.
Rachel Joy Welcher wrote in one of her lovely poems:
"Love isn't something we bury with dirt or time."
She also wrote:
"It's ok to look forward to the future
with a broken heart and a limp.
Is there any other way to
travel toward God
this side of heaven?"
I will continue to look forward to the future - my future here on earth where I'm trusting God that I will see and taste His goodness in the land of the living - and my future with Him where He will wipe away every tear I've ever shed.
I'm limping from loss, but I'm dancing because of this mother love that cannot be buried. A love that only my Father could birth in me as a mother. A love that never ceases and has taught me more about His heart for me than anything in this life yet.
And I'm trusting that even in the messy-complicated-sometimes-immature-and-twisted-by-pain that publicly sharing my story has meant over the past decade... that God will even use all that.
Dear one, if you feel like the compassion of others had run dry in your unanswered questions, in your longings, griefs and burdens... find comfort in this:
"There are pains in our stories that no person has an adequate storehouse of compassion for. God's compassion for your recurring, long-standing pains never ever reaches a limit." -K.J. Ramsey
