Category: writing my wrestling

the chasm…

Today is Paxton’s 14th birthday.  Or should I say today would be Paxton’s 14th birthday?  Child loss makes the simplest things extremely complicated.  It’s the 14th year since his birth, but he’s forever frozen at the age of 10.  

As a believer, I know that Paxton is in eternity.  Each day that passes brings me one day closer to seeing him again, but I’m also one day further away from the boy I knew.  I celebrate his birthday because I’m so glad he was born.  But I hate having to celebrate with…

balloons and banners but no birthday boy

cake and candles but no cheeky smile

sweet and silly memories but no one to sing to

past pictures but no present photos

This is the fourth birthday we face without him.  He would be so different and I can only imagine how he would have changed.  This is what I wrote April 29, 2023…

I’ve been trying to compose this journal entry all week.  However, I find myself struggling to even get out of bed.  It’s like a fog has settled over me the past few days…dark and thick…silent but heavy and oppressive.  

How do you celebrate the birthday of someone so young, who left too soon?  How do you find joy on a day that should be filled with Dairy Queen, friends, gifts and laughter, but instead will be filled with only memories?  How do you say Happy 11th Birthday to someone who is forever 10?  Today, instead of making new memories, we are desperately clinging to the old, trying to honor the boy he was while grieving the man he will never become.

But, if there is anyone worth celebrating, it is my sweet Pax.  He taught me so much in his 10 short years.  He taught me to love life…he could find joy in the simplest of things.  He taught me to love others…Paxton thrived when he was spending time with people.  He taught me to love adventure…when I say Paxton was afraid of nothing, I mean that literally!  He taught me to love laughter…he was always ready with a joke or silly face to make you laugh.  He taught me to be strong…there was never a challenge he didn’t face head on.

So, today I will try to picture Paxton having his best birthday ever, while I mourn the empty seat next to me.  I will try to find some of the joy he is immersed in while I grieve the absence of his smile.  I will commit to laugh a little louder, love a little deeper and live a little brighter.

Happy Birthday baby boy.  Counting the days until we can celebrate together again.

The distance between 10 year old Paxton and 14 year old Paxton is a chasm that feels vast and endless.  I would give anything to cross it, even for a moment, just to see him and hear his voice one more time.  A chasm is a profound, unbridgeable division and it feels like it gets bigger every day.  Death is a chasm that can’t be crossed…a division that can’t be spanned in our humanness.

So, I’m thankful that there is a Cross tie…that spans the chasm of grief and joy.  One that closes the chasm of death and life.  I’m thankful that the Cross is a chasm conqueror.  Because of the sacrifice Jesus made for me, for Paxton, and for you, one day the chasm will be closed and every day will be a glorious celebration that will last for eternity.

every day

the chasm grows

between the person you would be

and the boy I used to know

I’m holding on

to memories made

I refuse to let them fade

I won’t let people forget your name

your beaming smile

and freckled face

made the world a brighter place

I’m longing for

just one more day

one more moment

one more time

to hear your voice

to hug you

to look into your eyes

I realize that dream

will never come true

this side of heaven

there will never be another first

there will never be a new photo of you

but there is a cross

that closes the divide

and because of Jesus’ sacrifice

one day

I’ll see you on the other side

Neverland is real!

Since Paxton died, I have looked at and felt Easter in a different way. I now understand the pain that Mary went through as she watched her son die and I now understand that I am living in the silence of Saturday. I’ve linked my two previous Easter posts below.

https://thegodkiss.com/2023/04/07/lament/

https://thegodkiss.com/2025/04/19/the-silence-of-saturday/

This year I have another new perspective of Easter and it revolves around the word never. Throughout the Good Friday and Easter services, I could barely sing. They are services that Paxton would have attended with us, and it’s another thing that he’ll never do again. As tears of sorrow poured from my eyes, I had an image of Paxton in heaven. The tears of sorrow didn’t stop flowing, but they became mixed with tears of joy because…

Paxton NEVER again has to feel the horror and heaviness of Good Friday…

he NEVER again has to sit in the suffering and silence of Saturday…

and he will NEVER again anticipate and await Easter Sunday because ever day is Easter for Paxton!

I cannot describe how comforting that is to me. When I think back on Paxton’s life, accident, hospital stay and death, there are a few questions that can absolutely bring me to my knees.

Did Paxton know how much I loved him?

Was he scared?

Did he wonder where I was?

Was he in pain?

Did I fail him?

My mind knows the answers to those questions, but my heart aches at the thought of him feeling alone, unloved, or scared, and knowing he was in pain kills me. Then God gently comforts me and reminds me that Paxton now lives in Neverland. His home in heaven is free of all of those things. He will never again be sick, afraid, hurt or lonely. He will never again face a hard day or a dark night. Neverland is real friends…and it’s name is Heaven.

it kills me that

I wasn’t there

were you scared?

I can’t bear the thought

I let you down

I don’t know how

to forgive myself

I wish I could tell you

how sorry I am

then I’m reminded

Neverland is real

Heaven is it’s name

a place where there will never be

sickness

fear

or pain

a place where we will never face

loss or death again

no hospitals with waiting rooms

full of broken hearts

no funeral homes

or cemeteries

no more time apart

I’m thankful you’re in neverland

I’ll join you there one day

Until then, I’ll hold on

to the God of Heaven

who will never fail or fade

the Refuge…THE Refuge…

Safe in his father’s arms

Chad and I spent last weekend at The Refuge in Hot Springs.  It’s the main location for While We’re Waiting, a ministry that offers support groups and free retreats for grieving parents (www.whilewerewaiting.org).  The Refuge is a sacred place where our childrens’ stories are honored, their names are spoken and our grief is gently shared.  But, while the Refuge in Hot Springs is a beautiful, safe place for parents with hurting hearts, it’s heartbreaking that we need a place like that at all. 

Sunrise over the Refuge
memorial walk at the Refuge
Paxton’s memorial paver

A refuge is only needed when there is danger or distress.  We have to choose to seek refuge.  But taking refuge in a storm does not take the storm away.  Sometimes, we still get wet.  Sometimes we still suffer damage.  And sometimes, while our lives are spared, the landscape never looks the same.

The only true shelter in a storm isn’t a what…it’s a who.  God is THE Refuge.  He doesn’t take the storms away but He promises to hold us, walk with us and comfort us in their midst. In order to take refuge I have to choose to seek Him.

I can feel a storm approaching and the waters are starting to stir.  One month from today is Paxton’s 14th birthday.  It will be the 4th time there will be no presents to open, no one to sing to and a birthday cake that will never have more than 10 candles.  May 3 is Bereaved Mother’s Day and May 10th is Mother’s Day…two more days that celebrate the beauty and the agony of being a mama to children on Earth and children in heaven.

The reality is, there is always a storm on my horizon.  I have to choose to take refuge in THE Refuge every day…sometimes every hour…sometimes every breath.  And while there are still storms, THE Refuge promises to hold me, walk with me and comfort me.  He promises me that one day I will be in the safest place of all.  One day, the damage will be restored and I will see Paxton again.  One day, the Refuge will no longer be needed because THE Refuge will make all things new.

I’m battered by

the wind and rain

grief

and pain

I’m hanging on

tossed by the sea

in danger of

crashing on the rocks

and sinking

seeking harbor

in the waves

from the hurt

from the hard

seeking refuge

for my broken mama heart

the storms still rage

I struggle every day

help me seek You

THE Refuge

the only place

I’m truly safe

is it well with my soul?

If you’ve been around church at some point in your life, you have most likely heard the song “It is Well with My Soul”.  I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know the words to this song.  It’s a great song to sing in four part harmony, (I love hearing my dad sing bass) and it’s a song full of truth. But, since Paxton left, I have had to ask myself is it really well with my soul?

The story behind the song is heartbreaking.  Horatio Spafford was a successful attorney and real estate investor.  In 1871, he lost his fortune in the great Chicago fire and his four year old son died of scarlet fever.  In 1873, he sent his wife and four daughters on a trip to England thinking it would do them good to get away.  He planned to join them after he wrapped up some business.  Tragically, the ship his family was on sank after colliding with another vessel, and all four of his daughters were killed. 

The story I’ve always heard is as he traveled to England to be with his wife, the captain showed him the spot where his daughters’ ship went down and he immediately wrote the lyrics to the song.  As I researched further, I learned he reportedly said “it is well, the will of God be done” at that time, but didn’t write the actual song until three years later.  That makes so much more sense to me.  I was wondering how he was able to write those words in the immediate aftermath of such a staggering loss. 

I believe the words of this song are true, but it doesn’t always feel that way.  When I view this song through the lens of eternity, it is well with my soul.  When I take my eyes off Jesus and view this song through the lens of my humanity, it is not well with my soul.

~Paxton is with Jesus – it is well with my soul

~I spent the weekend packing up Paxton’s room trying to decide what to keep and what to let go of – it is not well with my soul

~Owen and Jenna are amazing kids and bring me joy every day – it is well with my soul

~No 18 or 16 year old should ever have to see their little brother in a casket – it is not well with my soul.

~One day death will be no more – it is well with my soul

~Until then, there is pain and suffering – it is not well with my soul

~Paxton is fully healed – it is well with my soul

~My heart will ache the rest of my life for just one more of his hugs – it is not well with my soul

I’m sure Horatio Spafford knew and believed the words he would write three years after the loss of his daughters.  I understand the weight it carries when people hear that he wrote it so soon after their deaths.  I think it’s so much more profound that it took him three years to be able to write and sing the truth.  He didn’t lose his faith in God, but his grief shaped him and took him on a journey…one of loss, pain, wrestling and trust.  Because of Jesus’s sacrifice and the hope of eternity, he knew that it was well with his soul, even when things were hard.

I sat down to write this today fully prepared to talk about this song from a different angle.  When I read that he actually wrote it three years after losing his daughters, it took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes, an unexpected God Kiss.  I am three years into my journey…one of loss, pain, wrestling and trust.  It is still hard to sing sometimes.  I am still wrestling, but I have a new understanding of the song and Horatio Spafford.  This life is hard.  Living without Paxton is unbearable at times.  Sometimes I lose sight of eternity and wonder how it could ever be well with my soul. I may not always feel the words are true, but because of Jesus’s sacrifice and the hope of eternity, I can say it is well with my soul, even when things are hard.

how can it be well with my soul?

because of the cross

I have hope

You’ll never let me go

I know one day

things of the earth

will pass away

so I tell myself

it is well

to remind my heart

of who You are

when things are hard

when heaven seems so far

if fix my eyes on Christ

and the promises He made

it is well

even on the toughest days

when peace is my friend

or when grief threatens

to swallow me whole

because of Jesus’s sacrifice

and the hope of eternity

I can and will say

it is well

it is well

with my soul

I died too…

I wrote the title to this post on October 1. As I’ve been thinking through it the past few days, I started questioning myself, wondering if “I died too” was too blunt…too harsh. I’ve never been one to sugarcoat things though and the reality is walking the road of child loss can be unpleasantly rough or jarring to the senses which are the definitions of harsh. It can also be brutal, heavy, tough, painful and excruciating which are all synonyms of harsh, so I chose to leave it as is.

It has been three years since my baby left this earth…THREE YEARS. It’s been 1,095 days since I held my sweet boy as he met Jesus. Three years of quiet, heartache, wrestling and learning to hold joy in one hand and sorrow in the other. Three years of figuring out how to face the next day…how to take the next breath.

Paxton wasn’t the only one that died January 25, 2023…the person I was died too. Learning to live life as a bereaved mom has changed me.

~I didn’t have much of a filter before, but it’s completely gone now. Life is too short and too important to not say what I mean, even if it’s hard to say or hard to hear.

~I find it hard to smile in pictures now…especially ones with the kids. I am so proud of Owen and Jenna. They have brought me so much joy but it’s a constant battle between wanting nothing more than to authentically smile in pictures with them and knowing there will be no more pictures with Paxton.

~I see things through a different lens…I know things I wish no one ever had to know or experience. I know what a real “last” is. 

~My relationship with Jesus has changed. I have known Him as my savior and friend. I now know Him as the Son of Suffering…the One who meets me in the trenches, who embraces me as I wrestle and who gently and graciously makes room for my grief.

~My focus is more eternal. I have never longed for heaven more. I was supposed to live the rest of my life with Paxton. It’s a small comfort that he lived the rest of his life with me. What brings me hope, and keeps me going, is knowing I will have eternity with him. I wonder if Jesus will be the first to embrace me and will then reunite me with my son or if Paxton will be the first to embrace me and excitedly introduce me to the Son. Either way, I long for that moment more every day.

There has been beauty raised from the ashes in this journey. There has been good that we have seen, peace that we have felt and joy we have experienced. But the ashes aren’t gone, this is still hard, and I will never be the same. The new me is still being formed. What hasn’t changed is holding on to the promise of Revelation 21:3-4 (NLT)

   3 I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, “Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people.  God himself will be with them. 4 He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”

Come Lord Jesus…

I ceased to exist 

the night you left

a new me is forming

through the fire

and blinding rain

I’m forever changed

my heart covered in scars

longing to be where you are

living for the day

when sorrow and tears

are taken away

I may be different

but one thing remains 

my God is still the same

He loves me

He has already conquered death and

He will redeem my pain

the best of times…the worst of times…


Thursday was our 26th anniversary. A lot of life has happened the last 26 years…

2 cities

2 apartments 

6 houses

numerous jobs

5 pregnancies

1 birth

1 international adoption 

9 foster placements 

1 domestic adoption 

more mistakes than I can count

more blessings than I deserve

The past three years of our marriage are in a category of their own. We never expected our marriage to be perfect or easy…and we’ve had our share of flawed and hard. We’ve also had our share of sweet and beautiful. We’ve seen each other at our best and worst. We’ve been selfless and selfish. We have seen victories and failures. We’ve lived with peace and chaos. We have agreed and disagreed.  We have grieved our son in some of the same ways, but we have also grieved in very different ways.

A lot of people will say (or have been told) that the divorce rate after child loss is 80%. That’s actually not based on any study. The reality is, if a marriage was struggling before losing a child, it will most likely not survive long term.

Since Paxton died, it has been the best of times and it has been the worst of times. January 25, 2023 was the beginning of the worst three years of my life. It was also the beginning of the best three years of our marriage and it has been the best three years of Paxton’s life. I am so grateful for the best God has given us and, at the same time, I still want my boy back.

Despite everything, we have never once given up on each other. I am so thankful for the husband God blessed me with. I’m thankful for his steadfastness and strength. I’m thankful for his love and leadership. I’m thankful for his gentleness and grace. I’m thankful he’s an amazing father and so, so thankful he’s my forever.

thankful you’re beside me

to walk this painful road

and help carry this heavy load

holding me when I fall apart

gently cradling my shattered heart

this is so hard

you are constant

the most important 

person in my life

showing me the love of Christ

grieving together

closer than ever

I never dreamed 

this would be our journey

but I’m so grateful you’re with me

through the best

and the worst

hopeful for eternity 

Mary, did you know? I didn’t…

This was our third Christmas without Paxton. When I woke up Thursday morning, I felt a heaviness, which is not abnormal…but this year my mind went immediately to Mary.

I was thinking about the song “Mary, Did You Know?”. If you’re not familiar with it, the song is asking Mary if she knew all of the things Jesus would do and miracles He would perform. When the angel, Gabriel, appeared to Mary to tell her she would bear a son, he said:

“…Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.  And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus.  He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (Luke 1:30-33 ESV)

Just the appearance of the angel and his announcement that she would bear a son told Mary her baby boy would be special. While she may not have known Jesus would walk on water or heal the blind, she did know that the baby she carried was the fulfillment of God’s promises to save His people. What I’ve been “pondering in my heart” the past few days is this…did she know he would die?

I don’t think she did…especially as she held him in her arms after he was first born.  She may have known he would suffer, but I don’t think his death ever crossed her mind.  A dear friend explains things this way.  We all expect to bury our parents.  We also say “until death do us part” when we get married, knowing one of us will have to bury the other.  What we never do is gaze into our children’s eyes and picture them dying before us. I know I never did.  That is the crushing weight of child loss.  In fact, I remember talking about child loss years ago and stating I don’t think I could survive it.  That same dear friend, who has been missing her sweet Connor for almost 17 years now, also says “you don’t know what you don’t know”.

Oh how I wish I didn’t know the things I do.  I would give anything to be able to kiss Paxton’s face one more time…to have him climb in bed with me in the middle of the night, grab my head and press his cheek to mine.  Never once did I think I’d be walking this journey.  Just like Mary, I didn’t know.  

What I do know is because Mary held Jesus, I will get to hold Paxton again.  Because Mary said “I am the Lord’s servant…may your word to me be fulfilled” (Luke 1:38 NIV), I will get to worship with Paxton in heaven.  And because Mary watched her son die, my son gets to live and I’ll spend eternity with him.

Mary, did you know

how much it would hurt

to see your baby suffer

Mary, did you know

the pain you would feel

as a grieving mother

did you know 

that your baby boy

would hang upon a cross

did you know

that he would give his life

did you understand the cost

God, I didn’t know 

that my baby boy

would walk through so much suffering

God, I didn’t know

that my baby boy

would see heaven before me

what I know

is that You are good

and Your promises are true

and I know a day is coming 

when all will be made new

my eyes can’t see

they’re blind with tears

my heart’s broken in two

I’m on my knees

Jesus be near

please help me trust You

God, I didn’t know

that my story

would be written this way

God, I didn’t know

when I left that night

it would be his last day

what I know

is You’re still good

when I don’t understand

though my aching arms are empty

my baby boy

is with the Great I am

the horizon…

When I was 19 weeks pregnant with our oldest son, Chad and I went on a cruise. After we boarded, we were told we’d be leaving later than scheduled due to weather. We toured the ship, completed our muster drill and had dinner. When we went to bed, we were still in the Gulf of Mexico enjoying smooth waters.

When we woke up the next morning, we were in the Atlantic and our smooth sailing was over. We were going “around” Hurricane Rita, but even 250 miles away she was causing some crazy waves. We made our way to the dining area, but I was so sick I could barely make it to the closest bathroom. My only thought was to head back to our room, get in bed and sleep until the cruise was over, but I had no idea how that would happen. Then someone told me to focus on the horizon…they said even when the waves are rough and the ship is rolling, the horizon never moves. Surprisingly, it worked. Focusing on the horizon did not calm the ocean or make the ship stop rocking, but it brought me peace and settled me in the middle of the hard.

I’ve often used waves and the ocean as a way to describe my grief. I think the memory of that cruise is a perfect way to describe the journey we’ve been on the past three years.

When Paxton died, it was like we had just boarded the ship. The seas seemed calm (manageable) as we completed the initial “tour and drills” of child loss…meeting with the funeral director, choosing a casket and planning Paxton’s visitation and memorial service.

However, the day after all of that was over, I woke up to the roughest seas I’ve ever faced. We weren’t close to a hurricane, we were right in the middle of it. I was being tossed about. I was sick (both physically and emotionally) and all I could think about was getting back in bed and sleeping until it was over, but I had no idea how that would happen.

Unfortunately, this journey will never be over. But, like the cruise, if I focus on Jesus, I can find peace, joy and comfort during the pain. There are still rough waters…some days are more turbulent than others. Focusing on the horizon doesn’t take the grief or pain away. It does remind me that the one who created the horizon also created the waves and promised to hold me through them.

When Paxton was in the hospital, I would stay with him during the day and Chad would stay with him at night. Every morning on my way there, I would listen to worship music. One morning, the song that resonated with me was “Oceans” by Hillsong. Especially the part that says:

And I will call upon Your Name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

Hours later, a tech came in to perform an EKG. Paxton was asleep and lights were low so we didn’t talk much. Before he started putting the leads on Paxton, he turned some music on his phone. As he laid his phone down “Oceans” started playing. What a God kiss to know that it was no coincidence that a tech I had never seen before would feel led to not only play worship music, but would also choose that song.

I love being by the ocean. I marvel at its vastness and the sound of the waves brings peace. But, I can see the storm coming. It’s been almost three years since we began this fight. It’s been 1,041 days since I last kissed my sweet boy’s face. The hurricane is just as strong as it was that first day. I miss Paxton more every day and the pain has not gone away.

Just as I learned to focus on the horizon to keep myself steady on that cruise, I’m begging for help from the horizon maker to help me focus on Him and keep me from going under whenever the waves come. I’m pleading for Him to hold my head above water because I can’t do it in my own strength. The waves are still there. The ship still rocks. And sometimes I take my eyes off the only one who can get me through. But the most beautiful and comforting thing of all is He never moves, no matter where I look or what I do.

the sea is churning

a storm is near

I hear the thunder

I feel the waves

the weight of grief

through holidays

and heaviness 

of coming dates

the pain of missing you

never fades

everything around me shakes

I cast my gaze

And fix my eyes

on my horizon

Jesus Christ

even in the the darkest nights

through the deepest water

and fiercest fight

He never moves

He’s by my side

“hollow”een

Tonight, a lot of moms I know will be spending time with their kids as they trick or treat or attend Halloween parties.  I’ll be alone.

Tonight, a lot of moms I know will be handing out candy, delighted by cute kids and crazy costumes.  My front porch light will be off.

For a lot of people, tonight will be one of enjoyment, sugar overload and memory making. For me, tonight will be another night of grief, sadness overload and memories missed.

Chad is out of town and has been worried that tonight will be hard for me.  He was right. This is a hard night for me.  But sometimes, having a hard night can be a good thing.

Sometimes, I need to sit in the sorrow.

Sometimes, I need to hurt in the hard.

Sometimes, I need to pause in the pain.

Sometimes, I need to taste the tears.

And sometimes, I need to give in to the gravity of the loss of my precious boy.

My grief is no longer overwhelming on a daily basis.  I find myself able to catch my breath and find joy between the waves. But I am not better…I am different. I am not over it…I am learning how to carry it. 

I wish the biggest hurdle I faced tonight was keeping Paxton from eating too much candy. Instead, I’m facing another Holloween  without him. It’s hollow because when Paxton was here, he brought the hype and hilarity to every Halloween. Now it’s just another slow, silent day.

I wrote “I only miss you” the first Halloween without Paxton. It seemed perfect to share again because I am missing him like crazy. Enjoy your kids tonight…no matter how big they are. And maybe let them have an extra piece of candy in honor of Pax. 

I only miss you

when the sun rises

when I open my eyes

when there are tears to dry

when I cannot cry

I only miss you

when the seasons change

when the sunlight fades

on a cloudy day

when it rains

I only  miss you

when they sky is blue

when the moon is full, crescent or new

when the grass is wet with dew

any time I think of you

I only miss you

in my dreams

when I can’ t sleep

when I’m happy

when the pain is deep

I only miss you

when I breathe

I only miss you

when my heart beats

I speak a new language…

I took two years of Spanish in high school. I also took one semester of Spanish in college. I can speak and understand some Spanish, but only un poco. I have never been bilingual…until now.

Since Paxton left, I have become fluent in a new language. Unfortunately, it’s not one of the Romance languages. It’s also not a language I chose to learn and one I never wanted to speak. It’s the language of lament.

The dictionary defines lament as a verb meaning to mourn aloud: wail.

Mark Vroegop, author of Dark Clouds Deep Mercy, defines lament as “a prayer in pain that leads to trust”.

My definition of lament is:

a LAnguage MEaNT for suffering.

There is no other language that describes the angst that comes from having your child’s birth certificate and death certificate in the same place.

There is no other language that describes the ache of not only missing what was, but missing what should be.

There is no other language that describes the anguish of never being able to hug your child or hear their voice the rest of your life.

There is no other language that describes the agony of holding your child in your arms as his heart stops beating.

Often, the language of lament is not expressed through words. This picture of Paxton is a perfect example. You can see and feel the lament on his face. He broke his teeth doing a back flip at the pool. He wasn’t in pain…he was lamenting the fact his teeth were broken, but he was really lamenting because I told him he couldn’t get gold teeth. 😁

Wailing, screaming, wrestling, raging and sobbing are some ways that lament is spoken without words.  Lament is needed. Lament is necessary. Lament is Biblical. 

Biblical lament is trusting that God is good while acknowledging some things are not. Biblical lament is taking your complaints, your sorrows, your anger…whatever emotion you are experiencing…to Jesus without making it look or sound pretty.  Biblical lament is wrestling with God in your suffering knowing some things will never be made right this side of heaven. 

One of the best ways to support someone that is grieving, is to learn the language of and lean into lament. After my fourth miscarriage, a good friend said “if it’s any comfort, I’m mad at God for you too”. There is nothing more freeing than understanding lament is not sin. There is nothing more comforting than knowing Jesus identifies with us in our suffering. There is nothing more hopeful than knowing the Holy Spirit intercedes for us when all we can mutter are groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:26). 

I wish I didn’t know this language. I wish I didn’t have to lean into lament. It’s a language I was forced to learn, and I’ll speak it the rest of my life.

groanings

too deep for words

I need the ache to be heard

this hurts

I search for a way

to describe the pain

wailing

sobbing

screaming

why?!

I speak a new language

of sorrow

of tears

Jesus be near me

I bring my cries to the cross

He understands the cost

He knows the pain of loss

I speak a new language

of waiting

of grief

Jesus please hold me

I bring my suffering to my Savior

He understands the hard

He meets you where you are

I speak a new language

of love left unspoken

my mama heart is broken

but I know Who to put my hope in