Little Lion

In that cave, That dark and cavernous empty space, A small light flickers A warm glow piercing the cold shadows. A little girl is crying, Sitting on a rock and crying That little girl is me. The sorrow wraps around her Swallows the air around her I'm afraid it will never leave. In that dark cave, That lonely, damp cave My Jesus sits beside me. He's sitting in the darkness with me And the darkness is not scary for him He's not afraid of the dark like I am. I was talking to a friend who has recently lost a loved one and I got this picture of  a little girl sitting in a lonely, dark cave. I could almost feel the dampness seeping through the stone that she was sitting on. The darkness was heavy, a weight I could physically feel. But as I looked through the telescopic lens of my removed perspective to the girl sitting on the stone and weeping, I could see Jesus sitting next to her. He was holding her as she cried and there was a warmth emanating from...

Anyone who has lost, knows the trepidatious prayer. The one barely spoken, Whispered in the dark surrounded by fear and doubt and the fragrance of despair. I walked foward, one foot in front of the other, wincing from the pain of my poorly thought out shoe choice, my fingers lightly pinching the underside of my father's be-suited arm. "When I wrap my arms around you Every mistake we made crumbles When I wrap my arms around you Everything echoes a new song." - Sondre Lerche 'To Be Surprised' It's the song playing through my tunnel vision. I'm so very focused. And so very happy. You're looking at me and your face is twitching with a million unshed tears. I can't stop smiling. My feet are really killing me now. I let go of my father's arm and take your hands instead. I want to swallow your eyes with mine so you can see my heart. Because it all makes sense now. Each tear I had c...

It all adds up to a day like today. Sitting in an extremely uncomfortable office chair, hunching over a laptop, eating Hot Tamales, and reading things that make me cry. It's as if I'm addicted to the tears, and yet somehow immune to them. They surface and slide down my cheeks and splash on the desk in front of me, but their meaning gets lost somewhere along the way. The intent behind the sorrow loses it's poignancy and I'm somehow left void of any sense of their purpose. There are days like today where I wonder what I'm waiting for. What's holding me back, keeping me down, telling me to stop? Sometimes I think the Lord does that, and sometimes I think I do that. I go back to the familiar because it's familiar, but it's a cold comfort and even a little evil in it's familiarity. I'm trying to be happy for those who are seeing their dreams come to life, because it's good to be happy for those things. But I also feel sad for myself. Yes people....

(This is not a pretty entry, but I felt it was time to finally share it. For a long time after my Edy died, I felt ashamed of the relief I felt. I felt ashamed that I didn't want to kiss her head because she was no longer alive. I felt like a complete failure as a mother, that I didn't deserve her and losing her was my punishment for being such a failure. God has walked Dustin and I through so much healing since then, He has amazed me with His faithfulness to restore, encourage, and heal all that has felt so very, very broken since losing our baby girl. There is still not a day that goes by that I don't think about her or miss her, but the grief no longer haunts me. I see how, in the hands of our very loving Father, the shadows of grief are dispelled and grief no longer becomes a fearful thing. Not quite friend, but no longer an enemy. Only God can turn our sorrow into joy, and that joy is so deep it becomes a cornerstone. It is no fleeting feeling, but a river of str...

I almost took a nosedive out of my office chair, so surprised by the sun was I. After days of deluge and dark skies, the sun is peeking at me with an impish grin from behind my office curtains and without realizing it, my heart feels tickled by the warmth of it. It reminds me to have hope. Today started off with a visit to my doctor. One of my many doctors. You see, for the past two years Dustin and I have been travelling down Infertility Highway, and every mile along the way has a mandatory road side stop, each one representing one more invasive test, one more blood draw, one more change to diet or medication or opinion. I'm not complaining, I'm thankful for my doctors, I'm thankful that they have hope...., because there are days that I'm so tired of fighting for this, it's good to have someone to have hope for me. But "this" represents a baby. Ours. Isn't that worth fighting for? Yes. Yes it is. Things have been getting better for me...

Here's a funny story, I recently took a mental hike and stepped in something pretty stinky. When I looked down to see what that something stinky might be, I found myself ankle deep in a........ Steaming Pile of the Uglies. My own, in fact. I think I must have suffered an implosion of sorts, and everything that was "in" decided to come "out". Out came the angry witch lady who yells at her dog for being alive. Out came the petulant toddler screaming at her husband....., who dared to say words. Out came the lazy sloth....., who decided that living in a pig sty could actually be cozy. Out came the sullen teenager, who decided that silence is the best sort of communication. Out came the despairing and wilted lily, who decided that life was Just-So-Totally-Over. Oh boy did it steam and did it stink. I must have been saving it all up for months. It's funny how emotions can build up like that. Like a giant 2 liter bottle of soda shaken up and re...