facing the brokenness of truth photo: Flickr CC Luca Vanzella
Remembering a truth.
My heels sank into the soil at the cemetery
We’re here to say goodbye to her teen-aged son. Our nephew.
A car accident. A foolish unnecessary accident.
And now the forever of this farewell clings to our fractured family, becoming part of our truth.
The crazy emotions of shock and disbelief fall like rain and I run for shelter.
I’m wrapped in the pain of a personal truth. I feel selfish for wondering if there is a difference between present and future loss? Can they be compared? Can I miss what I never had?
She cries out her son’s name
One last time. Expectant. She hoped for an answer.
And none came…
We’re living the truth of this mother’s nightmare…
It shouldn’t be – but it is.
I grab his hand.
I’d had my fill of truth.
And today I’m pretending.
I’m pretending this tragedy is the only reason for my tears.
No one knows about our dream and I haven’t told them about the call.
Today she changed her mind.
We were so close to becoming parents.
But hopes for this adoption haven’t danced over the wall of our dreams into reality.
And parenting the sweet wisp of a son, is not our truth. Not this time.
A common thread of hurt connects my love and I
…. and there is no need – for words.
United in grief and hope…today we cry and face the brokenness of truth.
A note:
Thank you for reading. I wrote the piece as if it were my present. And it isn’t. Praise God I’ve healed from this really difficult time. The piece is fragmented memories of the truth of a time in my life. I wanted to speak to the complexities of different types of loss and how those difficult places can collide.
beautifully exceeding my expectations – roomies Zohary and Debi
I went to Allume with few expectations. I scored a last-minute ticket and prepared myself for a few days away. Alone. No lovelies. 12 years of nonstop full-time parenting had me running out the door and desperate for a little reprieve. Beyond a promised mini-vacation from dishes and laundry, the allure of free head space – where I could exist without interruption, was all I really wanted. Or so I thought.
When I returned to NYC I was exhausted and felt like I needed to come down from a spiritual high. You know, that “after church” feeling where you feel good and centered and ready for life. Confident and secure in the now…you’re ready for more. You can’t wait to step into the future. Well that’s how I felt. And it was enough at first.
Then I listened to the whispers. And compared my experience to what it might have been. Maybe I didn’t have a good time after all. Was this a blogging conference failure? Wasn’t I supposed to come home with skills and techniques and loads of actionable steps to make my move as a blogging super star? I couldn’t identify my expectations. They were hidden. But somewhere in my head, blogging and conference equaled business. When people asked, I shared my airy and light story of Allume and how God met me there. The way He always does. But they seemed a little disappointed and I was confused.
It took awhile to process what happened at Allume. I needed time to take an honest look at what transpired in Greenville. Time afforded the opportunity to reflect. My airy, light “nothing” was “everything.” Everything ordinary. Everything unusual. The everyday and atypical came together to shape my beautiful adventure.
We all have expectations – identified or not. I learned this ..
Don’t let expectations, not even hidden ones, ruin your joy.
This is what really happened. Stay with me. I’ll tell it in two parts.
So it all began with Five Minute Friday. Lisa Jo Baker hosts a weekly writers gathering on her blog. We all write on one word in five minutes. No editing. Just your words/thoughts in 5 minutes. I’ve participated for a few months now and it’s beyond inspiring to read so many unique revelations on one word. But it’s the 5 minute part that gets me. I usually clock in at 20 minutes and then, go searching for photos. Once I’ve found the perfect picture I can’t resist a little rewrite and editing. The more time I spend searching for a photo, the more time I have to think and write in my head, the more likely I’ll revisit my posts draft for a little rearranging. The temptation is strong and I succumb. Every time. By the time I link up at least two hours have passed.
Five Minute Friday live? Ha! This should be good. I gather in the (In)courage lounge with a boat load of women , laptops and iPads ready. I was nervous. Because, well, this was a Five Minute Friday with Lisa Jo in the room and I’d had spotty service since arriving in Greenvillie. Not knowing if my internet connection would last was the last thing I wanted to worry about. But I’m here. I’m committed and focused. I join the other women and just as the prompt is read, bury my face in the glow of my computer.
“Together.” “Go”. Frozen by the chill of doubt, my fingers barely moved. In a twinkling I’d lost every ounce of confidence and could only say what I didn’t want to write about – infertility. I wanted to be edgy and fresh. I wanted to be deep and profound. Exceed their expectations. But my fingers typed the first word and I knew where this was headed. Because God showed himself, the deepest meaning of together, in the building of my family. It’s a story I know well.
Sigh. But it isn’t the only one. If I came to Allume with any questions it was this “Lord, I started a blog about infertility. Now what? I want to meet your expectations. How do I write about more than infertility, can I write about infertility forever?” More on that later.
And time. “Stop”. It went way too fast. The internal dialogue on what to write took the first two minutes. But I did it. I’d written my first official Five Minute Friday post. No editing. No proof reading. It wasn’t perfect. But I did it. In 5 minutes.
with Andi, Resealia and Lisa Jo
I was one of the women who read that night. Walking to the mike, I shared a little of my Five Minute Friday drama. And the women, who moments ago hunched over their screens, looked at me. And they understood and laughed forgiveness and cheered me on. I stood before them and used the voice He’s given me (for now)…letting my 5 minutes of perfect imperfection free. Who knew 5 minutes could feel so good.
obedience = responding to His call photo: Flickr CC – neeme
an offering for the Sunday Community :
Be generous with the different things God gave you, passing them around so all get in on it: if words, let it be God’s words; if help, let it be God’s hearty help. That way, God’s bright presence will be evident in everything through Jesus, and he’ll get all the credit as the One mighty in everything—encores to the end of time. Oh, yes! (1 Peter 4:7-11 MSG)
I went to Allume in the middle of doing a #31days series on infertility. I didn’t think I could talk about infertility for an entire month. But there I was, in Greenville, South Carolina on day 23. God was definitely up to something but I had to dig deep to find the obedience to see it through. Honestly, every time someone asked what I was writing about I whispered an infertility apology. I’m sure my eyes lowered and everything about my body language said “sorry”. Who wants to talk about infertility everyday? And if so, perhaps they’d appreciate humor or some other kind of sparkle I don’t have. Perhaps a little more story…a lot less word? But God told me to do it and so, I did. I struggled and wanted to bail – every step of the way.
On Thursday night I pressed publish on my last post in the series. I was relieved. I was also overcome with a sweet sense of peace. The peace that comes from obedience.
For a long time I didn’t share my story. I worried. I worried it wasn’t mine to share. It was easier to file away as private, locking it up for myself. But blogging has pushed the authenticity button in my life and I’m compelled to go with truth. I have to be authentic. I can’t tell my story without him. I see my journey as a gift and I have to pay it forward.
I still struggle with finding my tribe and speaking to a specific readership. I can be cool and hip and New York. But I’m also crunchy, Christian and heaven. I’m reconciling who I am and what I want to be. At this moment..it feels right.
So there you have it. If I share words they have to be his, and at his bidding. I have to be generous with the gift of my experience. I pray his brilliance shines through its beautifully broken parts. My story points directly to his grace and love. My story is His.
I shared the words. His words. Blessed obedience. Amen.
Did you write for #31days? Did you resist His call? I’d love to hear about your experience.
He’s 3. All charming, willful, semi-obnoxious boy and he didn’t say a word.
I’d been gone 3 days and as many nights. In 12 years of parenting…I hadn’t missed one. Not one goodnight, not one performance, not one appointment. Because I’m always there. I’m that mama.
You don’t get to choose the way you parent. I didn’t know I’d co-sleep, attempt adoptive nursing, attachment parent or home educate. Those were things I found out about myself when I became a mother. Sure,you can choose many things, but the way I mother came so naturally, so instinctual…I don’t think there was any other way for me to be….their mother.
So I arrive home after 3 days in South Carolina, full and happily marinated in the word but feeling a little guilty. Guilty because…he’s the baby and I left and I hadn’t done that with the others……
And my 3-year-old, after the cries and calls for Mama from the older kids, climbs into my lap and sits. He sits. And nestles into my chest. Burrowing deep into the nest of his long-lost home. He cuddles into my neck and rubs my arms. Loving me with his hands, he calls it. But he doesn’t say a word. And I know, in that moment, I’m breathing the grace of motherhood. And he didn’t have to say a word.
Grace is like that. Grace speaks when we have no words.
