Messy Christmas...

Can I be honest?  2014 has been horrible.  Actually, it's been worse than horrible, but I feel that the appropriate vulgarities to describe this year would offend...

On second thought, not all of this year has been awful.  There was a small part of it that was wonderful.  This spring, Sammy and I were absolutely thrilled to learn that I was pregnant.  For a very short time, our third child brought my family more joy than I can put into words.

Then, on May 7th, at a routine doctor's appointment, it became clear that our baby's life had abruptly ended not long after it had begun.

I cannot communicate the devastation that has followed. 
Even now, I cannot understand why...

Since that horrific day, along with our grief we've had one hard circumstance after another...  The death of our dog of almost 12 years....  A totaled car...  Fraudulent charges on our bank account... I could go on...

I've cried more this year than I thought possible.  I'm tired.  Grief is an incredibly lonely place.  Shockingly lonely.

I wonder how many of you are suffering this Christmas, too?

Friend, I want to tell you, it's okay to be sad this Christmas.  And, it's okay to be honest about your sorrow...

I think back to a young, first-time mom in a crisis of her own some 2000 years ago.  A very pregnant Mary rode to Bethlehem... On a donkey.   I feel certain that the preceding months had been almost as miserable as that donkey ride.  A virgin explaining to her betrothed and family that she had been visited by an angel...  That the baby within her was the Son of God.  The Messiah.

Mary welcomed the Christ-child in a stable.  Next to a goat.  She didn't even have a blanket.  Welcome to our mess, Son...

But isn't that His way?

Jesus isn't the one who expects Christmas to be picture perfect.  Only smiles and made from scratch hot chocolate as you celebrate My birth, please.  

No, I feel certain that Jesus is very aware of the true state of my heart this year and that He is happy to enter into my mess just like He entered into Mary's.

Jesus, this Christmas, I invite You to enter my messy, painful, sorrow-filled life.  Please come and rebuild these ruins.

Praying that God is nearer to you and your family than ever before this Christmas and in the year that follows...

The Worst Day of my Life

 I was ten weeks pregnant.

The doctor had a handheld ultrasound machine and was checking the baby...  No heartbeat.

She asked who was there with me.

No one.

She sent me to ultrasound.

I was surrounded by happy couples, excitedly waiting to see their babies.

I tried to hide my tears with my sweater.

I knew.

I drove home weeping.

I told my husband. He wept. We told our children. They wept.

Over a month later, grief continues to wash over me like an overwhelming, unexpected, uncontrollable wave, taking me under, leaving me gasping for air.

I hate this. 

I miss my baby. My very prayed for, hoped for, very loved baby. The baby I won't hold until heaven. 

It's okay to grieve. I know it probably makes you feel uncomfortable. That's okay, too. 

To anyone who's lost a child, I'm so sincerely sorry.  My heart is broken for you...

For anyone who's been through this more than once... I literally have no words, only tears. 

As a child, I was taught to hide my pain.  When my parent's marriage was disintegrating, we were to tell NO ONE for the first year. I became very good at pulling myself together even when everything was falling apart. 

This "habit" has carried on into adulthood. Though I do try to live an authentic life, it doesn't come naturally to me, especially when life is painful. 

Now, my grief and pain are so deep I can't hide it.  It's difficult, awkward, and frankly, terrifying for me to live in such constant rawness and vulnerability. 

You don't have to keep your good news from me...  I can be happy for you and sad for me at the exact same time. But please continue to acknowledge my pain. I'm not willing or even capable of pretending that it's not there.

This is the only picture I'll ever have of my third child. It's now framed and in my living room. We love you, Little One...