That means learning to let go of past mistakes, missed opportunities, woulda/coulda/shoulda.
Because the truth is no one lives backwards.
It’s helpful to reflect on how past actions might have influenced present conditions but it is crippling to hold those thoughts and feelings so close that there’s no room for new ones.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections : Letting Go of Regret to Make Space For Growth
Letting go to make space for love is the only true fast.
I have observed Lent off and on for decades.
It’s an opportunity to set aside time and dedicate effort to thinking deeply about the current state of my spiritual life as well as refocus my heart’s affections on my Shepherd Savior King.
Faith, in general, is less about the sacrifice of stuff and more about the surrender of our souls. Lent, in kind, is less about well-mannered denials and more about thinning our lives in order to thicken our communion with God.
Alicia Britt Chole
Today’s fast: LENT AS PROJECT
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Letting Go To Make Space For Love
It took me a long time before I wanted to gather in a room with other bereaved parents.
My son’s death had undone me and I had no capacity for other people’s raw grief where I might not have an escape.
I wish I hadn’t been so reluctant and waited so long because what I found when I finally walked into the in-person community of other moms and dads who shared my loss, it was life giving, uplifting and utterly amazing.
So I want to extend an invitation to fellow broken hearts who hope for hope:
WHO? Bereaved parent & grandparents, and anyone who wants to better know how to comfort a grieving friend
WHAT? Our Hearts Are Home Spring Conference
WHEN? April 12-13, 2024
WHERE? Online or In Person (Free option available.)
(If you can’t come on those days, you’ll receive all of the session recordings that remain available for two weeks following the conference.)
Read the session details and register at: ourheartsarehome.org/conference
I’ll be sharing in a couple of the main sessions and leading a breakout session on bereaved siblings. AND there will be many opportunities to chat informally around meals and other unstructured times.
This is NOT your typical “Christian Conference” where what’s shared is memorized and rehashed in city after city. This is a unique opportunity to interact with parents who are walking the same broken road as you and are willing to reveal the ups and downs, ins and outs of navigating child loss. (My husband will be there too, bereaved dads!)
The cost is minimal although I know travel expenses may make attending in person out of the question for some of y’all. (Online option available!)
I would LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to meet (in the flesh!) anyone who has joined me here online.
You have no idea how often your words of encouragement have helped me hold onto hope.
So if you can, join us.
You may be nervous up to the very minute you show up or log on but I PROMISE you will not regret it.
See you there!
Although I have observed Lent off and on for many, many years, it’s different for me now in a profound way.
Some of you know but may have forgotten that Dominic was killed the Saturday before Palm Sunday and buried the Monday after Resurrection Sunday, 2014.
Each year since then I’ve felt like I had to endure two sets of “anniversaries” because his death date and burial date are not only days of the month but also marked by moveable church celebrations.
It has been very, very hard.
Read the rest here: I Must Decrease-Making Room For Jesus. Lent As Invitation, Not Obligation.
I think I will post this link as long as I maintain the blog because I will always be a voice for those whose lives look more like Ash Wednesday than Mardi Gras.
I will continue to speak out for space in our congregations and fellowships that acknowledge life is often hard, often unfair and often more like a broken hallelujah than a high note.
I am not a member of the Church of the Perpetually Cheerful.
I am a member of the Broken Body of Christ, limping through this world, holding on to hope with both hands.
Read the rest here: Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday: A Study in Contrasts
In the last post I shared the difference between mourning and grief. While the outward ceremonies have long passed, the inward struggle to embrace and understand the pain and sorrow of losing my son continues.
If you love someone who has lost a child, perhaps these thoughts might help you understand a bit of their pain and how completely it changes the way bereaved parents encounter the world.
Please be patient. Please don’t try to “fix” us. Please be present and compassionate. And if you don’t know what to say, feel free to say nothing-a hug, a smile, an understanding look-they mean so very much.
❤ Melanie
A bereaved parent’s grief doesn’t fit an easy-to-understand narrative. And it flies in the face of the American “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality.
You can’t beat it–it’s not a football game-there is no winning team.
You can’t lose it–it’s not the extra 10 pounds you’ve been carrying since last Christmas.
You can’t get over it–it’s not a teenage love affair that will pale in comparison when the real thing comes along.
You can only survive it. You can heal from it, but it will take a lifetime and require very special care.
Read the rest here: Loving Well: Understanding the Grieving Heart
A funeral or memorial service seems like a final chapter. We close the coffin, close the doors and everyone goes home.
But for bereaved parents and their surviving children, it’s not an end, it is a beginning.
Much like a wedding or birth serves as the threshold to a new way of life, a new commitment, a new understanding of who you are, burying a child does the same.
Read the rest here: Loving Well: Transitioning From “Good-bye” to Grief
If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them.
James O’Barr
I grieve because I love.
My tears are a gift to the son I miss. My sorrow honors his memory. My broken heart gives evidence to the ones walking with me that my love is fierce and timeless.
Read the rest here: Love: The Reason I Grieve
It’s nearly impossible for anyone who has not lost the earthly companionship of a child to know how desperately I long to hear Dominic’s name spoken aloud.
There are days I walk around my home and think silently and even whisper quietly, “You existed! You exist!” just to remind my heart he is real.
You may hesitate to bring him up because you fear my tears. But any tears his name might evoke will be tears of gratitude as well as those of longing.
Please say his name!
❤ Melanie
I know you are afraid.
You think that speaking his name or sharing a memory or sending me a photo will add to my sorrow.
I understand.
But even when it costs me a split second of sharp pain, it is truly a gift to know that Dominic lives on in the hearts and minds of others.
Read the rest here: Loving Well: Just Say His Name
Before I lost Dominic, I know that I, like others who had never experienced the death of a child, undoubtedly said and did things that were hurtful instead of helpful.
Loss will enter everyone’s life at some point–there is no escape.
We educate ourselves (as we should) on so many issues–work hard not to offend, to understand, to reach out. Bereaved parents don’t want pity, they would like to be better understood.
We did not choose this journey, it was thrust upon us.
Read the rest here: Loving Well: Some Things Hurt
thelifeididntchoose 