I’ve kept a little notebook by my rocking chair for decades.
It’s where I jot down bits from whatever I may be reading that touch my heart.
When I was younger and focused on raising children the pages were filled with inspirational and aspirational quotes, Bible verses and poems.
Now the pages are full of laments, reminders of life’s brevity and blessings.
Here is one I really love. ❤
Sometimes I run across a poem that is absolutely perfect.
This is one of those.
Blessing for the Brokenhearted by Jan Richardson
Read the rest here: Blessing For The Brokenhearted
I think there ought to be a t-shirt, pin or banner that gives some kind of warning for those of us walking around with broken hearts and broken lives.
But there isn’t.
Except for the first shell-shocked days immediately following Dominic’s death, I look pretty much the same as I always have.
Most of us do.
Read the rest here: Broken Legs, Broken Hearts, Broken Lives
There is no shame in being hopeless and broken.
God loves the broken. Christ came for the broken. It’s the broken and breathless who long for the Spirit to blow life across their wounded hearts.
It’s the hopeless and fearful that run faster to the safety of their Shepherd.
It’s the worried and weary who are thankful for a Burden-bearer.
Christmas is the story of Hope entering the world, of Light shining forth in darkness, of Love overcoming death.
A heart has to be looking to find it.
A heart has to be desperate to believe it.
A heart has to be hungry to come to the table of everlasting bread.
Read the rest here: Qualified by Hopelessness: An Empty Heart Can Be Filled
I totally get why some folks feel the need to pull back when a friend’s life gets hard.
They may be struggling themselves and the idea of even hanging around the edges of another disaster is utterly overwhelming.
But the truest friends bring their broken to our mutual table where we can talk, cry and work on it together.
Read the rest here: Truest Friends
I wrote this six years ago but most of it could have been written yesterday.
I was adding up all the things that have happened since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven and each autumn there has been some new and difficult circumstance to mar the beauty of falling leaves.
There have been lovely things too, though-precious moments of quiet rejoicing and memory making. I treasure them in my heart because loss has taught me their value.
Thanksgiving is still my favorite holiday because I am still so very, very thankful. ❤
Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.
My birthday sometimes falls on the day itself, and I have often been able to celebrate with extended family and friends-a full table of food and a full house of fellowship.
I love the colors of fall, the scents of cinnamon and pumpkin, the freedom from gift-giving pressures that lets me focus on the people in my life.
Read the rest here: Thankful But Broken
I think the most helpful post I’ve ever shared is this one.
So as a follow-up to yesterday’s thoughts about the holidays I’m sharing it again.
I hope that you feel confident sharing it with your family and friends as an invitation to conversation and as a bulwark against unrealistic expectations.
Holidays are hard no matter how long it’s been. ❤ Melanie
I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.
I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE. But they aren’t.
I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.
Read the rest here: Grief and Holidays: What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family
I write a lot about what bereaved parents (me!) wish others knew or understood about child loss and this Valley we are walking. And I am thankful for every person outside the child loss community who chooses to read and heed what I write.
But I want to take a minute to tell those of you who are not part of this awful “club” that I get it-I really do get it–when you need to put distance between yourself and me or other people walking a broken road.
Read the rest here: I Get It-I Really DO Get It.
Life after child loss is full of seeming contradictions.
I am broken yet God is redeeming those fragments and reassembling a life of beauty and meaning.
The cracks are visible but they haven’t disqualified me as a vessel that can hold His love, His grace, His mercy and pour all that out on others.
I’m often scared, but am able to walk into each day brave in the knowledge I don’t walk alone.
Read the rest here: Scared and Brave: Reaching For Jesus in the Midst of Sorrow
There is SO much pressure on grievers to pretend they are “OK” once the socially acceptable amount of time has passed since their loss.
And that is more than unfortunate because not only does it place an undue burden on broken hearts, it inhibits the very necessary work grief requires.
Sharing honestly and openly with safe people, giving voice to our feelings, letting the tears and words flow freely is the only way forward on this treacherous journey. ❤
It’s OK to not be OK.
If you are grieving, you are not responsible for making others feel better about YOUR pain.
You have suffered a great wound and you carry a heavy load.
You are allowed to express sorrow and longing. It’s what people do.
Read the rest here: You Don’t Have to Pretend
I think Dominic’s death has made me brave in this one tiny place: I say things I might not have said before. I risk pain in relationships where I might not have been willing to risk before. I assume that if I don’t speak important truths RIGHT NOW I might not get another chance.
I long to be a burden bearer for my friends and family because I know what it is to bear a burden.
So I ask and don’t assume.
If someone wants to be left alone, then they are free to tell me.
But I will not stay silent or keep away simply for my own comfort.
Read the rest here: Ask Me, Please.