I grew up singing hymns.
I was introduced to praise choruses in my mid-twenties.
I love both.
I used to hear or sing along to them and feel them feed my spirit.
My family sang in choirs, served on worship teams and was rarely absent from church for over twenty years. Music was part of everyday life with a special bonus on Sundays.
Now I find it hard to hear and even harder to sing some hymns I used to love.
Read the rest here: How I Sing The Hymns That Hurt My Heart
You know what breaks my heart all over again?
The fact that so many bereaved parents tell me they don’t feel they can share their experience on their own FaceBook or other social media pages.
That’s just WRONG!
They have been shushed to silent suffering because when they break open the vault of emotions and let others see what’s inside, most people turn away-or worse, they condemn that wounded heart for sharing.
Read the rest here: Bereaved Parents Month: Courage is a Heart Word
Child loss rips through a life like a tornado-wild, unpredictable, viciously destructive.
It drops from the sky like a meteorite-no warning, no defense, just crushing weight.
It wrecks havoc in absolutely every corner of a bereaved parents’ heart and life.
Read the rest here: Child Loss: Friends and Family Can Anchor a Heart
I originally shared this post a couple of years ago when I was delightfully surprised by a row of beautiful sunflowers one morning just when I needed them most.
It was the beginning of a long, hot and very stressful summer.
Many of us are feeling the same way about this one.
When I ran across this reflection, I decided to share it again. I hope it makes your heart smile.
❤ Melanie
I love, love, love sunflowers!
Always have.
I love their bright aspect that brings a smile to my face no matter what mood I’m in or what trial I’m facing. Their happy, heavy heads declare that today is a day to shine!
Read the rest here: Sunflowers Sing Praise
I remember the early days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven when people were still checking in often on our family.
Some days there were a dozen or more messages that really, really needed an answer.
But I just couldn’t.
“How are you?” is often a more difficult question than you might think when your world is falling apart.
I wanted to tell the truth about how hard the days were and harder still the long dark nights but it felt too personal, too frightening and too likely to be misunderstood by a heart with no frame of reference.
So most of my responses looked something like this:
Eventually I found out who the safe people were and began to share more openly.
The others-the ones who weren’t safe or who were only asking out of a sense of curiosity or obligation-simply stopped asking when they didn’t get the answers they were looking for.
I’ve learned to give hurting hearts space.
I give them permission NOT to answer.
I want them to know I care but I don’t ask penetrating questions that might require answers they aren’t prepared to give.
Because I remember how that felt. ❤
There is so much going on right now in our country and our world that hurts my heart.
I could get on my soapbox and pontificate about what policies should be or what politicians should do but my tiny voice wouldn’t make a difference on the grander stage.
My world is pretty small in comparison to social influencers and the ones who want to be.
Even still, what I do and what I say each day matters.
It matters to my family and my neighbors.
It matters to the folks with whom I share social media space, the road and the grocery aisle.
So I make it a habit to extend and receive grace.
I extend it when someone else’s experience informs an opinion different than my own. I extend it when someone posts a meme or article with which I disagree. I extend it when I scroll past what I consider offensive-just ignore it and go on-instead of “taking them to task”.
I receive it when my friends do the same.
![Nifty Interweb Treasures: Just keep scrolling – [insertniftyphrase]](https://i.imgur.com/cUDArfW.png)
It’s not my job to police everyone else on the planet.
It IS my job to live according to my profession of faith in Jesus Christ.
Grace-unmerited favor-poured out abundantly on me and available for me to pour out on others.
I can do that. ❤
I wrote this three years ago but it still speaks my heart.
❤
I will not get used to the fact that my son is beyond my reach. I have come to a certain acceptance of it as fact, and acknowledgement of the truth that I cannot change that fact.
The pain hasn’t become less painful, only more familiar. It doesn’t surprise me as often when it pricks my heart anew.
The world goes on.
Read the rest here: True Truth
In the waiting, in the searching
In the healing and the hurting
Like a blessing buried in the broken pieces
Every minute, every moment
Where I’ve been and where I’m going
Even when I didn’t know it or couldn’t see it
There was Jesus
Jonathan Smith/ Casey Beathard/ Zach Williams -“There Was Jesus”
Songs reach places in my heart that words alone can never touch.
There is so much truth in this one.
When I couldn’t see Him, couldn’t feel Him, had no evidence of His Presence-Jesus was there.
His strength sustained me, His love protected my heart from bitterness, His grace was enough-is enough-for each day.
In the waiting, in the searching.
There was Jesus.
In the healing and the hurting.
There was Jesus.
There is a blessing buried in the broken pieces.
He is Jesus.
Our family’s experience was a bit unusual though hardly unique.
In the two months after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven we had Easter, two graduations, a wedding, Mother’s Day and his birthday.
So we were thrust right into the uncomfortable whirlwind of celebration and mourning from the start.
I remember having to dig deep to let the happy come out through the muck and mire of sorrow.
But even then, it was there.
Six years later and it’s much easier to let laughter loose and produce a genuine smile for those Kodak camera moments.
Six years later there are a heap of things to be happy about not the least of which is the addition of this little fella to the family circle.
From frightening beginnings to a first birthday full of love, laughter, food and fun my grandson has come a long, long way.
A couple of days ago was the one year anniversary of his coming home from NICU-what a glorious day when he made that trip safely and slept the first night in his crib next to his parents’ bed!
I am still in awe of how this story (that could have had a much different ending) has a beautiful one.
Last night his dad FaceTimed us and we got to see our little Captain cutting up, laughing, taking a few tentative steps, reacting to our voices and generally having a great time.
It’s balm to my soul.
It doesn’t fill the space where Dominic should be but it has enlarged my heart once again.
If you are wondering if you will ever feel joy or gladness again, hang on.
Celebrate the good things even when it’s hard.
It’s not treason to let love and laughter back in.
❤
It’s what you do, it’s what you say.
“Please”and “thank you” are how we live in community with others.
Even when our world is crumbling and our hearts are breaking, we don’t toss these courtesies away.
You begin to realize that everyone has a tragedy, and that if he doesn’t, he will. You recognize how much is hidden beneath the small courtesies and civilities of everyday existence. Deep sorrow and traces of great loss run through everyone’s lives, and yet they let others step into the elevator first, wave them ahead in a line of traffic, smile and greet their children and inquire about their lives, and never let on for a second that they, too, have lain awake at night in longing and regret, that they, too, have cried until it seemed impossible that one person could hold so many tears, that they, too, keep a picture of someone locked in their heart and bring it out in quiet, solitary moments to caress and remember.
Roseanne Cash, Composed: A Memoir by Roseanne Cash
I remember walking down the grocery store aisle wondering if the face I smiled into was faking it like I was. I wondered if they were hiding behind pleasantries because they form a good shield.
I imagine, on some level, most were. Because nearly everyone has a secret wound.
And, like Cash said, if they haven’t yet, they will be.
thelifeididntchoose 