There were only a few of us.
It was cold, in the 40s, raining, dark.
Some would not make eye contact. Their loss was far too fresh and raw.
Some reached out as I reached in.
I had been asked to speak and I felt utterly inadequate as I stared at the small crowd huddled around the donut holes and cider. And then, like only He can do, I felt complete calm as he took what I offered and made my
inadequate His
adequate.
It was simple and unrehearsed. It was "I know where you are at and I know you can hardly put one foot in
front of the other right now"
It was "I know it might even sting a little to see what is an obviously pregnant belly up here - but that is what I want to impart this morning. Hope.
Joy.
Fresh, new, beautiful life that will flow into yours as you go through the steps of grieving."
It was a simple telling of The One who picked me up when I was at my lowest point.
It was hugging tight the mother who tried to tell me about her loss 8 years ago and could barely get through the first sentence.
It was the foul taste in my mouth when I talked of
death,
dying,
loss,
emptiness,
finality.
Some even seemed lifeless and desolate.
But then it was remembering.
It was hope - if only but a flicker.
Bringing color into the dark.
It was scattering petals into the river and closing our eyes to remember.
For some it finally brought the torrent of emotions to the surface.
They were able to grieve and let go of a little bit of bitterness.
And oh did I know how they felt. My heart constantly said prayers for the faces in the crowd, the empty eyes, the moist eyes, the hopeful eyes. In my memories, I was each one.
We were all on a wet and slippery path, walking silently. Some were on that same path within themselves. Hurting and just trying to walk the path to survive. I longed to show them the beauty and light just around the corner.
And the color that would again splash across their lives.
What a morning. What an opportunity. What an experience to humble me and to grow me - and even to continue to heal the loss in my own heart.
There were only a few of us.
It was cold, in the 40s, raining, dark.
Some would not make eye contact. Their loss was far too fresh and raw.
Some reached out as I reached in.
I had been asked to speak and I felt utterly inadequate as I stared at the small crowd huddled around the donut holes and cider. And then, like only He can do, I felt complete calm as he took what I offered and made my inadequate His adequate.
It was simple and unrehearsed. It was "I know where you are at and I know you can hardly put one foot in front of the other right now"
It was "I know it might even sting a little to see what is an obviously pregnant belly up here - but that is what I want to impart this morning. Hope.
Joy.
Fresh, new, beautiful life that will flow into yours as you go through the steps of grieving."
It was a simple telling of The One who picked me up when I was at my lowest point.
It was hugging tight the mother who tried to tell me about her loss 8 years ago and could barely get through the first sentence.
It was the foul taste in my mouth when I talked of death,
dying,
loss,
emptiness,
finality.
Some even seemed lifeless and desolate.
But then it was remembering.
It was hope - if only but a flicker.
Bringing color into the dark.
It was scattering petals into the river and closing our eyes to remember.
For some it finally brought the torrent of emotions to the surface. They were able to grieve and let go of a little bit of bitterness.
And oh did I know how they felt. My heart constantly said prayers for the faces in the crowd, the empty eyes, the moist eyes, the hopeful eyes. In my memories, I was each one.
We were all on a wet and slippery path, walking silently. Some were on that same path within themselves. Hurting and just trying to walk the path to survive. I longed to show them the beauty and light just around the corner.
And the color that would again splash across their lives.
What a morning. What an opportunity. What an experience to humble me and to grow me - and even to continue to heal the loss in my own heart.
14 comments:
what a beautiful post. i am positive God used you as a sincere blessing to many.
Thank you for sharing this message of hope. My husband and I lost our baby girl, Alethia Joy, at 39 weeks exactly 8 months ago. We are just learning to cling to the Lord and the strength and hope that He gives us each day.
Wow! Wende, you always seem to post what I need to get me through another minute. I know I didn't lose an infant but I did lose a loved one that was close to me. Thank you for the encouragement on this post. Love you.
O Wendi You are such a blessing to so many...you spoke the Truth...you spoke for God.
Stirring words, I'm sure they were stirring memories too.
Those are some beautiful, touching pictures as well my friend.
Wendi, thank you so much for your post...after reading through this, I went through your site and read more of your story with JD & K.
Bawled my eyes out as I read and held my 'sicker' twin, thanking the Lord for his graciousness to me when I was so flippant with Him, and realizing how big and real God is to you that through everything that you went through (and I still cannot fathom) you can speak of hope and healing.
He is so good.
I'm gonna link up to you tonight.
So beautiful Wendi, to see the way God is using you in other people's lives.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
that is such a beautiful post- I have tears in my eyes right now...
This post left me speechless, Wendi. And that's a good thing. Praying for the women you encountered today, and for you.
Amazing! Your photos, your words. I will follow. Nice to meet you.
Oh Wendi...beautiful post..brought me to tears.
Wow! I just can't imagine. I know those people appreciated your sharing their pain. You are an amazingly resilient family. I admire you guys!
Oh, my friend. God was just all over this, wasn't He? He has gifted you with such a compassion, and I know you were the PERFECT person to speak to this group. Even though I haven't walked this path myself, your words are still so applicable to any situation, and so I am sitting here drinking them in.
Thank you, Wendi. Can't tell you how precious this is.
al
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