4 years ago today I birthed our second born.⠀⠀I didn’t get to leave the hospital with him.⠀⠀I didn’t get to feel his warmth or give him his first bath.⠀⠀I didn’t get to watch him grow or learn to walk or talk or ride a bike.⠀⠀I didn’t even get to whisper goodbye to a listening ear.⠀⠀I walked out empty handed and broken-hearted.⠀⠀Some parents don’t get to parent their second born.⠀⠀They are left to navigate the waters of parenting after loss, of loving and grieving, breathing and dying all at the same time.⠀⠀We don’t get to choose our paths.⠀⠀And to be honest,...
My father in law passed away the day we landed in Cuba, exactly two weeks ago.
There were no warning signs, no goodbyes. One day he was here; and the next day he was gone.
I’ve become numb to loss. So much so that my mind wouldn’t let me process another loss. My heart has already been broken into so many pieces, I didn’t think there were any pieces left to break. Until I read his obituary.
I’m caught in a dance. The dance between life and death, hope and despair. Stuck somewhere between belief and disbelief. Some days I keep it together. I’m strong and full of hope, laughter falling from my lips. Other days I fall apart on the inside. My emotions escape me, my impatience surprises me. And I’m ridden with guilt. The cloud of grief quietly consumes me, but I don’t even know it. I’m a peacemaker. A nine to the tee on the enneagram. I avoid conflict, I run from my inner turmoil. If I’m being honest, I don’t really want to...
What has been one of the most painful seasons of my life has also been one of the most joy filled. It’s a bittersweet dichotomy. The beauty alongside the pain. They go hand in hand.
I wouldn’t have Eliyanah without the loss. I wouldn’t have Ezekiel without the shameful journey of pregnancy before marriage. The pain, the shame, the guilt, the questions, I’d do it all over again. A million times over.
I didn’t grow up in the church.
I walked into the church as a broken 20 year old.
Surrounded by “perfect” Christians I quickly felt out of place.
We tend to hide our imperfections. We say there’s room for grace, we speak it out loud, but don’t confess our own need for it.
We put sin on a scale. And I felt like the prostitute weeping at Jesus’ feet with no one around me saying “me too”.
There’s room for grace. You need it. But me, I’m good.