There are 6 kids in my home at the moment and I am fixing them cookie monsters. It's glorious chaos. They are here and alive and talkative and moving in 6 different directions but I love children and I love to feed them even more.
I put my hand in my pocket and feel a soft tissue. And I am reminded of the visit I had to make an hour earlier. Someone's world has been turned upside down and I wanted to go and let her know she is not alone.
That this news came on Becky's 35th birthday can't be coincidental.
I sat with a mourning mother for an hour or so. Too long? Not long enough? Who knows. When your baby has been ripped from your hands there are no words, no end to the depth of grief you feel and no foreseeable end to the pain.
She held his blanket, his onesies and burp rags. The tears falling amongst occasional smiles over a grandpa playing playdo with his granddaughters feet away.
Silence. Pictures. Hushed questions. No answers. None. No words. The spin going so fast you want to throw up. You beg off but it won't stop. Wave upon wave of grief.
In circumstances I defer to experience. 3 years before I sat relinquishing all hope of a miracle for Becky's baby to be healed. We gave her body to the Lord in a sweet offering. We know her spirit is alive and well waiting on us till we're reunited. All because of the blood of Jesus Christ and our faith in him.
4 babies have gone ahead this year. 4. Odd for this day in age. In 15 years of ministry we haven't buried more than 5 babies - this year 4!
It's time to tell a story. Our story. The details of friendship, faith, providence, petitions and pain. And the hope that while things are never the same after your world begins to spin out of control we are given promises. And we can lean on those when the waves of sorrow come rolling in.
to be continued......