I hung the laundry out this morning. It was supposed to rain. Instead the sun peeked over the horizon and swept the goat pasture in gold. Clip by clip I hung the dresses and shirts, row upon row, in the quiet of the dawn.
I made my coffee this morning. Ivan was already downstairs, standing on his tiptoes in an oversized tee shirt, looking for blueberries in the fridge. I lit the morning candle and it flickered, gold again, and I opened my Bible as if all was unchanged.
It is not unchanged. Everything has changed. I deleted the What to Expect app off my phone yesterday. I told my daughters we lost the baby. One took it pragmatically: “Are you seeing a doctor? Why does this keep happening?” The other took it emotionally: “Don't cry mama, I am sad with you.” Both held the pain as best their little hearts could.
We went to a favorite restaurant last night. Shelby came last minute, a gift to us and the children — so we could sit in the hardwood chairs and look at the storming waves of Lake Charlevoix. “I have to remind myself not to be fatalistic,” I say to Josh. “That just because it happened before doesn't mean it will happen again.”
“Don't give up yet,” He says back, green eyes raised to mine.
There's an old hymn I learned in high school called Farther Along. It's often sung in a country style, harmonies intertwining in the tight, twangy chords of its bluegrass roots. It's been covered by Brad Paisley, Randy Travis, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, the Gaithers and even Elvis. My favorite version, though, is by Willie Nelson. (If you've never heard it, here are the lyrics.)
It starts like this:
Tempted and tried we’re oft made to wonder, Why it should be thus all the day long; While there are others living about us, Never molested though in the wrong.
In its simple way, this song expresses a question I've heard beneath the words of Ask Anything Monday, emails in my inbox, and in the cracking voice of the person across my coffee table. Why should it be thus all the day long?
Why should I be struggling financially again?
Why didn't the cancer get healed?
Why did I lose another baby?
And like the song expresses, we are quick to compare our losses to what we perceive as the perfect lives of others. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of what lies before us, we try to compare, contrast, and control our circumstances to gain back some semblance of order.
But we simply don't know why we face grief. We don't know all the reasons why we lose those we love when we do. We don't know why the cancer returns, the wars continue, the money runs out, the miscarriage happens again. Other than the brokenness of this world, we do not get a full explanation of our pain this side of heaven. That's why I love the chorus of this hymn:
Farther along we’ll know all about it, Farther along we’ll understand why; Cheer up, don't worry, live in the sunshine, We’ll understand it all by and by.
I don't know why, in the span of two weeks, we experienced a deep betrayal, a false accusation, a serious parenting challenge, our beloved family dog becoming seriously ill, and a second miscarriage. It feels like too much because it is. And we cannot bear it apart from the strength of Christ. We can't face the darkness without the Light of His Word leading our steps. Yes, I wish I knew all the answers to my “why's” – and I know this is not from the Lord, because He does not cause evil and suffering.
Farther along, I'll understand why.
For now, I hang clothes in the sunshine and light a candle to bring the golden gleam inside. For now, I turn my face upward and look to His grace, His favor, His kindness. For now, I live with my heart turned to the light of the Son.
Farther along, I'll know all about it. For now – I only know that God is still good.
this feels unholy.
bleeding out in state park bathroom,
dirty tile and mayflies an audience
to my loss. begging God to stay
the flow, to take this cup,
but He does not.
and I walk back in the darkness
to my waiting husband, who looks up
hopeful
and hears: It’s over.
how will I tell my six year old
who brought me a handful of buttercups
“because you’re pregnant!”,
or my toddler son, who kissed me
just this morning —
for the baby?
how do I tell them what once existed
no longer lives, that I am empty,
and in the place where once a heart
was beating the only sound
is the cracking of mine?
he holds my hair as I weep.
not too loud, don’t want to wake the children. the living ones, anyway.
one will never wake
and so I sob
beside a lake we sought for comfort
that instead became a place of grief.
it laps and glimmers in the purple night,
the day ends as usual,
as if no one died.
…
this feels unholy
because death is unholy, un-sacred,
a blighting disease on a world meant
for life. we begged God to stay
the hand, to take this cup —
so He did.
He drank up the darkness
before a waiting world, and we looked up
hopeful
and heard: It is finished.
in the unholy I was held
by the God who robbed Death of death;
a bathroom grave for the unseen unborn
is somehow sanctified,
and the day ends in redemption
because Someone died.
As If No One Died
@phyliciamasonheimer
Verity Conference Pre-Sale Tickets Ending
I know October feels so far away and we don't even want to THINK about fall… but we need to remind you that Verity Conference presale tickets are almost sold out!
If you can't make it to Petoskey, consider becoming a Verity Local host! You can do this through your church or as a small home-based group. You'll receive streaming access to host the conference in YOUR city! I will be doing four private, online trainings (one a month) for Verity Local hosts this summer to teach you:
How to host the conference remotely in a sustainable way
How to disciple your attendees effectively after the event
How to pick and grow leaders out of Verity attendees so they can become disciple makers too!
How to navigate questions and take sessions deeper
In this season the Church - followers of Christ around the world - has carried us with love, prayer, and kindness. I have kept track of the things they've done so I can remember them when others are grieving. Perhaps you have someone in your life is grieving and you need an idea for what to do; here's what has blessed us.
Flowers sent to the campground – I didn't know you could do this, but Door Dash brought them straight to the camp site where we experienced our loss.
Flowers in the mail and dropped off – I never tire of flowers and I have been blessed with multiple bouquets via mail or left on our doorstep.
Snack sent via Instacart – My friend Kit sent us a delivery of all my favorite snacks when we arrived home. It was such a blessing.
Stopping by check on us – I have always felt uncomfortable doing this for other people since I assume they want to be alone, but this was a blessing to us and to our kids, especially since we didn't make it to church on Sunday. Sometimes we assume people need something in grief but we don't know the reality until we walk that road.
Texting songs, check-ins and prayers – even something as small as a text matters and counts. It's still kind. There is no “better than” way of showing up for people.
Offering to go out and do something – doing normal things has been the most helpful to us this week. Sitting in silence for too long has a way of making things harder.
Sending verses, dreams or prompts from the Holy Spirit – I will always listen to a godly, trustworthy friend when they believe the Lord gave them a specific Scripture or word for me.
Sending $$ for a meal or date – our date this week was sent by my friend Taylor. Our family ate pizza thanks to Michelle. This was especially meaningful because Maple's vet bill was so expensive.
Sending a gift – my friend Pricelis sent us a framed photo of the name Josiah after our first loss. My friend Lisa sent a mug that said “He will sustain you” after our second. Both are tangible reminders of God's presence through their love.
When you're ready, here are four ways I can help you….
