We began this journey forty days ago with the idea “Decrease is only holy when its destination is love” (Alicia Britt Chole).
The aim of Lent or any other period of fasting or self-denial is not to thin our waists but to thin our self-reliance and our self-importance to make room for the power and sustaining grace of Jesus-to open our hearts and our souls to His love.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Christ in Me, The Hope of Glory
The calendar is relentless. There’s no respect for seasons of mourning or grief anniversaries or weeks of sickness or unexpected early births of grandchildren.
The sun rises, the sun sets and another day is crossed off into history.
So somehow-without my permission-I find I’ve woken to mark the eleventh anniversary (do you call such a horrible thing an anniversary?) of Dominic’s death.
It’s humbling to realize I (and my family!) are not only still standing but flourishing. It’s horrifying to comprehend I’ve continued to live and breathe for 4018 days since Dominic left us.
Most days are pretty good.
Today is hard.❤ Melanie
When the numbness wore off (maybe around six months) I remember vaguely wondering what years down the road would feel like.
I tried to project the “me” of that moment into the future and imagine how I might deal with life changes, new circumstances, an empty nest, grandchildren (if there were any) and growing older alongside the heartache of burying a child.
But just as it’s impossible to comprehend how the addition of a child utterly transforms a family, it’s impossible to understand how the subtraction of one changes everything just as much.
We are all so very different than we would have been if Dominic were still here.
Life most likely wouldn’t be any more perfect because we would each grow and change, find common ground and find points of conflict, make new memories and drag up old hurts.
Still, none of us would carry the deep wound and traumatic injury of sudden and out-of-order death.
THAT is impossible to ignore. Even eleven years later it’s a red flag, a sticky note, an addendum to every family gathering and holiday.
So we carry on.
Like generations before us who have walked this world dragging loss behind them, we keep going. It shapes us but doesn’t limit us. It informs our views but isn’t the only thing that molds our opinions and frames our choices.
My faith in God’s larger and perfect plan helps me hold onto hope even as I continue to miss my son.
But today is a hard day and I don’t think that’s going to change as long as I live.
I’m getting better at remembering Dominic’s birthday in ways that honor who he is and the man he might have become. I can’t say I’ve figured out any good way to walk through the yearly unavoidable and unwelcome reminder of the day he left us.
I’m learning to allow the grief waves to simply wash over me without resisting them.
Eventually the hours tick away, the day is over and I find I’ve survived yet again.
Trying to ignore or stuff our questions because they are uncomfortable or too hard to think about isn’t helpful. They just rattle around in our minds and burrow deeper into our hearts causing confusion and raising doubt.
One of the questions many bereaved parents desperately want to answer: Did God take my child?These are my thoughts-ones I believe are backed by Scripture and align with what I know personally about God’s character.
They are the result of many months of wrestling. I offer them in hopes they will help another heart.
❤ Melanie
This is a question that comes up all the time in bereaved parents’ groups: Did God take my child?
Trust me, I’ve asked it myself.
How you answer this question can mean the difference between giving up or going on, between turning away or trusting.
So this is MY answer. The one I’ve worked out through study, prayer and many, many tears. You may disagree. That’s just fine. I only offer it because it might be helpful to some struggling and sorrowful soul.
Read the rest here: Did God Take My Child?
What, exactly, is the value of believers in Jesus plastering an “Everything is fine” mask across our faces?
Are we afraid that if we allow someone to see our pain we are letting God down?
And how could that be?
Did not Christ Himself beg the Father in the Garden to take the cup from Him?
Yet we smile and wave and chat our way through encounters with people around us, pretending, pretending, pretending that life is easy when it most certainly is not.
Denying the dark and refusing to acknowledge the depth of our pain diminishes the value of the comfort of Christ.
When David wrote that, “yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me” he understood both the desperate need for and the great assurance of Christ’s Presence.
When we allow others to see our broken hearts, we bear testimony to the sustaining grace of Jesus.
And we extend an invitation for them to meet this Savior that gives strength and comfort even in the darkest hours and hardest journeys.
The sun rises behind bare branches and they look beautiful.
In just the right light and at the perfect angle, anything can be lovely.
It’s true that every living thing needs rest. Every working part must be oiled.
And while winter can be hard and heartless and cold and cruel, it is also space and time for re-creation.
If I only look harder I can already see tiny buds of springtime promise on the tips of branches overhead.
Death is winter.
Cold, hard, gray. Every lovely thing fallen and dry underfoot.
A season of rest-not chosen, unwelcome, resisted.
But rest just the same.
Yet the sun still shines and spreads warmth and light on even these bare branches.
After such a long time can the sap still rise?
Is there life left here?
Will spring come again and flowers bloom?
I’m counting on it.
It will all happen so fast, in a blink, a mere flutter of the eye. The last trumpet will call, and the dead will be raised from their graves with a body that does not, cannot decay. All of us will be changed! We’ll step out of our mortal clothes and slide into immortal bodies, replacing everything that is subject to death with eternal life. And, when we are all redressed with bodies that do not, cannot decay, when we put immortality over our mortal frames, then it will be as Scripture says:
Life everlasting has victoriously swallowed death.
Hey, Death! What happened to your big win?
Hey, Death! What happened to your sting?Sin came into this world, and death’s sting followed. Then sin took aim at the law and gained power over those who follow the law. Thank God, then, for our Lord Jesus, the Anointed, the Liberating King, who brought us victory over the grave.
My dear brothers and sisters, stay firmly planted—be unshakable—do many good works in the name of God, and know that all your labor is not for nothing when it is for God.
I Corinthians 15:52-58 VOICE
There’s an old adage: Misery loves company.
I’m not sure that’s really true.
What I think misery longs for is compassionate companionship.
I think broken hearts need to know they are not alone, that they are not an aberration and that deep sorrow is an appropriate response to profound loss.
What I think folks sitting in darkness need is someone to light a candle and remind them that the night won’t last forever.
That’s why I founded Heartache and Hope, the ministry.
If you visit the website, you’ll see one of my very favorite quotes:
People who have come to know the joy of God do not deny the darkness, but they choose not to live in it. They claim that the light that shines in the darkness can be trusted more than the darkness itself and that a little bit of light can dispel a lot of darkness. They point each other to flashes of light here and there, and remind each other that they reveal the hidden but real presence of God.
― Henri J.M. Nouwen, quote from The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming
And that is why I am offering four retreats for bereaved moms in 2025.
These are small, intimate gatherings of six to eight moms at my family’s property in the panhandle of Florida offered free of charge to those who come.
Bereaved moms can join me in a quiet, rural setting for a weekend of rest, renewal and restoration through fellowship, study of God’s Word and unfettered sharing of our hearts, our stories and our children.
The theme is “Broken Into Beautiful: Inviting Hope to Heal Our Hearts”.
I’ve had a decade to think about and design the kind of gathering I would have benefited from early on in this journey. We begin on Thursday evening (instead of the traditional Friday evening) to give us additional space and time to get to know one another, to develop relationship and to grow toward trust which promotes profound and breakthrough sharing which leads to healing growth.
I have no illusions.
One weekend is not going to put the pieces back together but one weekend can provide the inspiration and confidence that the pieces can be put back together.
We will never be unblemished or unbroken but we can be beautiful again.
Our stories are part of THE story-the story that God is writing not only for us but for all eternity.
Jesus is our Shepherd King who longs to bind up our wounds.
Mercy and goodness don’t just follow us-they chase us down, overtake us and weave the broken bits into a beautiful testimony of love and faithfulness-if we let them.
Are you ready to bring your heart to the table of grace where hope can begin to heal it?
Then join me for one of these retreats.
I’m praying already for the moms God will invite and for the work Holy Spirit will do.
Be brave.
Available dates are: February 6-9, 2025; May 1-4, 2025; August 7-10, 2025; October 9-12, 2025.
Details here: https://www.heartacheandhope.org/
Oh, dear one who opened your eyes to the morning light carrying wounds so deep no one can see!
I am so, so sorry.
When things have gone terribly wrong it’s hard to get up and make merry.
I know.
Read the rest here: Christmas Morning Prayer for Hurting Hearts
I don’t know about you but I’ve never thought of hopelessness as something I wanted on my resume.
Hopelessness is typically tossed into the pile of “negative” feelings we all acknowledge but don’t want to experience and if we do, we try to minimize, rationalize or disguise them.
If I admit to it at all, I tend to look downward, whisper quickly and pray that no one takes much notice because it feels shameful.
But maybe hopelessness is the first step to truly celebrating Christmas.
Read the rest here: Qualified by Hopelessness: An Empty Heart Can Be Filled
The world is waiting breathless for salvation from the prison of hopelessness.
We long for an end to the tyranny of fear, physical destruction and the power of an enemy that is stalking, harming and killing those we love.
Rumors of imminent help pass from lips to lips but rescue is still a distant hope.
Israel was waiting too.
Read the rest here: Advent: Hope Of All Hopes
Hearts full to overflowing with pride, self-reliance, love of power and money can’t find room for a message that suggests they might need saving.
Empty hearts, hopeless hearts, worn, weary and desperate hearts are hungry to hear that help is on the way.
Maybe that’s why God sent a most spectacular birth announcement to shepherds who were considered the lowest of the low.
Read the rest here: Advent: Unlikely Messengers
thelifeididntchoose 