(I'm quietly slipping back in for a moment to share my heart...)
There she was.
I peeked over my shoulder several times during worship, trying to take in her expression. I saw the tiny blanket she clutched to her chest, her eyes quiet and empty.
When the time to turn and greet each other arrived, I made my way towards her. Rubbing her arm, I looked into those eyes and whispered feebly, "We've been praying for you." She nodded and smiled gently. I wanted to tell her that I understood, but I couldn't, because I still don't. No matter what I've been through in losing three little ones to miscarriage, I cannot know the depth of her pain.
I visited with her for a few moments, and then the call came to find our seats again. I tore myself away, forcing my hands to stay at their sides, for she pulled back the longer we spoke, still clutching his blanket. Through a blur of tears, I found my seat again, and scooped Eliana into my arms as Kevin walked to the pulpit.
Rocking back and forth, I prayed silently for her. I winced as our friends with a baby the same age as her little boy would have been took their seats directly in front of her. I sang the words to "Count Your Blessings" with reservation- as if I were Alice in Wonderland, coldly singing songs to a troubled heart.
How do we bear such pain? How do we take another breath?
Separated from my babies by death, but never separated from Him, nor His love. In that I find great comfort.There she was.
I peeked over my shoulder several times during worship, trying to take in her expression. I saw the tiny blanket she clutched to her chest, her eyes quiet and empty.
When the time to turn and greet each other arrived, I made my way towards her. Rubbing her arm, I looked into those eyes and whispered feebly, "We've been praying for you." She nodded and smiled gently. I wanted to tell her that I understood, but I couldn't, because I still don't. No matter what I've been through in losing three little ones to miscarriage, I cannot know the depth of her pain.
I visited with her for a few moments, and then the call came to find our seats again. I tore myself away, forcing my hands to stay at their sides, for she pulled back the longer we spoke, still clutching his blanket. Through a blur of tears, I found my seat again, and scooped Eliana into my arms as Kevin walked to the pulpit.
Rocking back and forth, I prayed silently for her. I winced as our friends with a baby the same age as her little boy would have been took their seats directly in front of her. I sang the words to "Count Your Blessings" with reservation- as if I were Alice in Wonderland, coldly singing songs to a troubled heart.
How do we bear such pain? How do we take another breath?
...I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.(Romans 8:38-39)
O, bring her your comfort as well, Father. I hold my other little ones, not an empty blanket. Bring light to her eyes, joy to her heart. Infuse her life with You.
(Playing in the sidebar "Glory Baby"- it speaks to my heart, and I know it will to yours as well, dear friends of little ones flown to Jesus.)
