The world can make a heart panic, scrambling to pile up extra lest “the worst” befalls us and suddenly there’s not enough.
That’s what happened a couple years ago when, for some unknown reason, toilet paper became the currency of security.
But no matter how deep or full the pantry, stuff can’t keep us truly safe.
Ask me how I know.
Read the rest here: Thanks And Giving
When I first began writing in this space, “lament” had only just come into vogue.
Now, it’s everywhere.
If the past few years have taught hearts a single thing, I hope it is there’s no use pretending life doesn’t hurt sometimes. We were not created to carry that kind of pain alone.
And thankfully, we don’t have to.
God, in Christ, invites me to speak it, to sing it, to release it as an exhale so His grace and strength can rush in to fill that empty space.
You’re invited too.
❤ Melanie
Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday.
I loved everything about it,
Read the rest here: The Power of Lament to Make Room for Thanksgiving
Tomorrow I will be sixty-two years old.
When I celebrated my fiftieth, I had so many dreams and plans! I couldn’t have imagined that the next ten years would be filled with the heartache of child loss, along with all the hope and joy of an expanding family.
But here I am.
Definitely older and, I would like to think, a little wiser.
Wiser to the truth that no one escapes pain in this life. Wiser to the fact that joy and sorrow can coexist. Wise enough to know by experience that sometimes the very best thing you can do is shut your mouth and open your arms to a hurting heart. Wise enough to realize that birthdays for bereaved parents are often complicated.
I wrote this post several years ago but share it annually because unless you’ve sent a child ahead to Heaven, you might not realize how very tricky birthdays can be for the parents left behind.
❤ Melanie
Tomorrow is my birthday.
And while I am truly grateful for another trip around the sun, since Dominic left us it’s not a simple celebration of life lived and the hope of years to come.
The last birthday I had with an unbroken family circle was a lovely surprise party for my fiftieth held in Dom’s apartment.
Eleven years later and it seems a lifetime ago.
Read the rest here: Birthdays Are…Complicated
I was asked awhile back to be part of a project shepherded by fellow parents-in-loss, Laura and Gary House (https://ourheartsarehome.org/).
They wanted to gather and publish stories from other child loss survivors in hopes of encouraging hearts and strengthening the faith of parents facing the unimaginable.
I don’t mind saying that in spite of all I’ve written in this space for the past ten (!) years, it was challenging to distill my thoughts about that night, the days that followed and my own faith journey since into a single chapter.
But I, and a dozen other parents, did just that.
In our own words we tell our stories. We share our struggles and our triumphs.
Read the rest here: Until Then-Stories of Loss and Hope
My son’s death is a point in time for people outside my immediate grief circle. It’s a date on a calendar. There is a period after his name.
But it is an ongoing experience for me and my family.
We don’t only remember on birthdays, holidays and anniversary days, we can never forget.
Yet often others do.
Read the rest here: I’m Sorry
I’ve thought often of what good, if any, can come from child loss.
I do not think for one minute that God “took” my son to teach me a lesson or to mold me in some way.
But I do believe with my whole heart that God can USE this circumstance to conform me more closely to the image of Christ Jesus.
Read the rest here: Hidden Manna
Rocking babies I never dreamed that one day my life would look like this.
I never imagined that one of those tiny bodies I held close to my mama heart would not outlive me.
Now I sit in the same rocking chair in the dark, thinking about how so many things I wouldn’t have written into my story are now part of it.
And if I’m honest, it can easily overwhelm my heart. It can carry me to a place of despair and desperation where there’s no room for thanksgiving-not the holiday OR the feeling.
Here we are-the eleventh year of holidays without Dominic-and I’m no better at it than I was at first.
Read the rest here: Thanksgiving As Sacrifice
Every autumn I hear the geese overhead and I think about how all that honking serves only a single purpose: to remind the stragglers they are headed in the right direction.
It speaks courage to my own heart as I remember that not only does the leader call out to those behind, but that each bird takes a turn at the head of the line so that the others can rest a bit.
What beautiful picture of how life SHOULD be.
Read the rest here: Of Flying Geese and Calling Courage!
The past several weeks (almost two months!) have taught me once again the grace and mercy in not knowing what the future holds.
My father’s stroke in September changed everything.
He isn’t able to make the connection between my own grief over the death of Dominic with his grief over the life he lost the morning the clot stopped blood flow to part of his brain.
I can, though.
And so much of what I have learned in this grief journey is applicable to his. He was able to fully enjoy every minute up to the very second the stroke occurred.
How awful to be robbed of today’s joy with tomorrow’s sorrows.
Many years ago my grandparents had a lovely Fiftieth Anniversary Celebration with family and friends.
My dad videotaped it and the tape was full of fun moments where my grandmother was smiling, laughing and having a wonderful day.
It was a short time afterward that she began to show signs of dementia and not very long after that she left us.
We watched the videotape a year or two after her leaving and I thought, “What a mercy she didn’t know what was coming!”
Those moments were full of unadulterated joy because a sorrowful future was hidden from her heart.
Read the rest here: I Don’t Want to Know The Future
One of the rituals I observe when the time changes and night closes in so very early is to light a candle each evening in the dark.
I’ve done it for years but now as I do it, I think of Dominic.
It is my small way of declaring the truth that darkness will not win.
It’s my protest against despair and hopelessness that threatens to undo me–threatens to undo ALL of us at one time or another.
Read the rest here: Light Bearers and Candle Snuffers
thelifeididntchoose 