Dear friend,

 

I had my appointment at the infertility clinic today. 

 

That feels strange to say. I have three living children, all of whom were conceived without “trying”. What is this path I'm on? I have never been down this road before. I've heard about it in direct messages on Instagram, prayed over it in the lives of others, done my best to empathize with the loss and long wait of women other than myself. But it was my name signed on the paperwork, and I am the one sitting in the blue room with a box of Kleenexes at my elbow.

 

My wait has been nothing compared to so many of you. My miscarriages pale in comparison to the ten a friend experienced and the stillbirth of another. But we don't compare grief, do we? We feel it in our own way. And we can't determine when grief will rise in our throats and our hearts; when it will crush us or simply pass us by. It swells like a wave, crests in tears, then whisks away like foam on a beach; the lace edge of loss.

 

In the midst of feeling (and not feeling) the weight of losing our second baby this year I've sought solace in quiet places. I have felt entitled to peace, to rest, to a break. I've been sad and angry and desperate. Desperate for an end to the pain. But that end has not come. If anything, our life has been burdened with more and harder. From Maple's near-death to Lymes' disease last week to a frightening, violating experience my children faced last Thursday, my heart is worn down and weary. This is painful. 

 

A few years ago my family watched as my uncle passed away from pancreatic cancer. I saw my aunt continue to faithfully seek Jesus in the face of excruciating, sudden loss. In honor of his life, I wrote They Say Grief is Love. Here is the last stanza:

 

The third line is a nod to the famous hymn O Love, That Wilt Not Let Me Go. As I was meditating on this poem, I looked up the lyrics to this old hymn (my favorite version is by Indelible Grace). The third stanza stopped me:

 

 

How can joy seek you through pain? Isn't joy the absence of pain? Isn't joy what you feel when pain ends? Not according to Scripture:

 

We have sorrow now, but Christ brings joy – not in spite of the sorrow, or after the sorrow, but THROUGH the sorrow. We rejoice in hope WHILE we are patient in tribulation, not after it's all over. We count it all joy IN the trial, not when it's done. 

 

I do not rejoice that my children were endangered last week. I do not rejoice that our truck repairs cost an astronomical amount, that our dog nearly died and that my baby actually did. God is not asking the impossible, improbable, or outright offensive of us.

 

God is asking us to “trace the rainbow through the rain”: to look for His hand in the midst of the storm. Oh, what a struggle this is! I want to focus on the pain; the way it throbs beneath the movements of my day. And –  I have made time for mourning. But when I lift my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my Help (Psalm 121), I see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13) and know He has not left me in the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23). 

 

Everything looks normal, they say, so we will do more testing. I walk out the door and the sun gleams across my shoulders, warm and soft. 

 

I take my kids to the beach and watch them scream with happiness in the waves.

I smell the wild roses on a walk with my friend. She brings me a lavender latte, my favorite.

I make maple scones for breakfast, rolling out the dough, baking for eight minutes.

I hang another load of laundry on the line, the white linen waving in a western breeze.

I rip the weeds out of my garden beds, late. Farmer Bob stops by to tell me how late I am, which means he loves me – it's how he shows it.

The goats are in the pasture, bleating hello when I pass the fence, rolling in the thistle.

Maple greets me when I get home. She runs and leaps and smiles her golden retriever smile, evidence she is alive. 

And so am I.

 

The joy seeks me through pain, if I'll open my eyes and hands to receive it. 

 

 

 

One last reminder that… Verity Conference presale tickets are almost sold out! This year's theme is “unto all the world”, a focus on evangelism and discipleship – the call of every Christian!

 

 

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; June's will be Friday the 28th) for Verity Local hosts this summer to teach you:

If you're interested in one of the calls, enter your info in this form. 

 

Rejoicing in Lament: My friend Chantelle sent this book by a man who walked through a cancer diagnosis. Much of it is relevant to whatever type of grief you're carrying.

 

Suffering is Never for Nothing: My friend Lisa gave me this book 5 years ago when I broke my leg. I pulled it back out to read portions in this new season. 

 

Grieving the Child I Never Knew: This came today and did not include a card, so thank you to whoever sent it. The fourth chapter deeply met me already. I would recommend this to anyone walking through child or infant loss.

 

Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy: My friend Steve sent this after our first loss.

 

Cloud of Witnesses: This prayer book utilizing prayers from different eras of church history is one of my favorite resources from Crossway. I have used it regularly the past month.