As a kid our family made a yearly pilgrimage to the Gulf Coast-back when the beaches were wide open vistas, the water see-through green and the days long and unhurried.

We didn’t spend money on the “attractions” or tourist trap souvenir shops-we got up early to watch the sun rise and spent the remainder of the day back and forth between the beach and the water.

I loved to find a spot that was about waist deep and feel the waves move across my body-up and down, up and down-floating in rhythm to the world’s heartbeat.

But every so often a wave would surprise me, crash over my head unannounced and break the cycle of gentle rocking with a sputter-inducing plunge beneath the salty sea.

As long as the giant waves were few and far between, I could recover, regather my sense of well-being and continue to enjoy the water.

But when the first wave marked a change in the tide or an incoming storm and was followed by more and more of the same, I knew it was time to move toward shore.

I could withstand one or two of these but if there was no chance to catch my breath in between I was going under.

This past week has been a deluge of waves.

Waves of grief,

waves of regret,

waves of disappointment,

waves of discouagement.

No storm clouds on the horizon.  No major life events or grief anniversaries-just a turning of the tide.

And so I find myself retreating a bit.

Backtracking from progress I thought I had made. Retracing steps and repeating cycles I though I had left behind.

I suspect that most of us have weeks like this.

You don’t have to bury a child to beg Jesus to make things whole again-to bring hope to your heart again-to ask Him to calm the storm and save you from destruction.

Ebb and flow.  Waves and calm.  Storms and sunshine.  Life is made up of all of these.

I am confident that Jesus is the Peace-speaker.  He can calm the wind and the waves.

I want to have faith.  I want to learn to call out in trust and not doubt.

I’m working on that and waiting for His Spirit to work on it in me.

But as I wait, I’m going to have to sit on shore for awhile.




Author: Melanie

I am a shepherd, wife and mother of four amazing children, three that walk the earth with me and one who lives with Jesus. This is a record of my grief journey and a look into the life I didn't choose. If you are interested in joining a community of bereaved parents leaning on the promises of God in Christ, please like the public Facebook page, "Heartache and Hope: Life After Losing a Child" and join the conversation.

7 thoughts on “Retreat”

  1. I wish this wasnt true. I hate to read it. I desperately want my heart to mend but how can that ever truly happen when the loss is real and present?
    I am learning I will always be in a grief mode of some sort. Adjusting is difficult. Even as a born again believer, even as I know what awaits us… the tears still roll, the void is brutal.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My heart HAS mended to some degree. I’m not as fragile as I once was. It’s easier for me to hold onto hope than it used to be. Sorrow is not all I feel and Dominic’s absence is not all I see. I do have to retreat and give my heart space from time to time-that will not change. But I recover faster (most of the time) than I did early on. I pray that this is your experience as well. God is faithful. ❤


  2. ❤️ I send you love and comforting embrace … I am so grateful for your words and that you share your 💔 Journey with us – Hope is sprinkled on my heart with every tear 😢

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m so sorry to hear that you’re having an especially difficult time at the moment. As another of my blogging friends rightly said ‘Whenever life is hard, we grieve even harder.’ Sending you much love. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Yes. I think the ebb and flow of waves is the new normal for all of us. It reminds me of those who live with chronic physical pain. At times, the pain is controllable then at times nothing controls the pain. We learn the triggers and avoid them when possible but there are always those times that the pain becomes unbearable without any triggers. Grief is life long. We do what we can knowing that one day we will go home and the pain will be ended.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: