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Two Months

I have been out of sorts this week.  We just got back from a long trip, the boys have been acting up, I miss our families, there has been a lot going on at work that needs attention— these are just some of the reasons I have voiced over the last week to justify to others (and myself) why I was feeling off.  But honestly the sadness was deeper than any of that.  Then tonight I figured it out.  As I was putting Levi to bed, sitting in the darkness looking at his sweet little face in the dim light, it dawned on me… this week marks two months from our miscarriage.

Two months.

That week, two months ago, was one of the saddest weeks of my life. I cried more in that week than I have in years.  I doubted more in that week than perhaps my entire life. I felt more alone in that week than I ever have before.

But the thing is that I wasn’t alone… not at all.  And that is the motivation behind this post—gratitude, appreciation, love.

The last two months have been full.  Not just full as every Christmas season is full— full of celebrations and chaos.  That has been there as well, but the last two months have been full of little moments of grace— and that grace has begun healing me.

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Rain

I respond by listening quietly and being in awe of what is taking place in the midst of these heartbreaking tragedies.  God is there.

downpour

I love the sound of rain. It is calming, rhythmic but spontaneous at the same time.  The sound just makes me sit still and listen.  That wasn’t always the case.  Growing up in Arizona the saying “when it rains it pours” was quite literal there.  Rain came during monsoon season and it wasn’t a soft rain, it was a down pour with thunder cracking and lightning lighting up the sky. I wasn’t calmed by this, I was terrified.  The last few weeks here in Miles City my family has experienced a the spectrum of responses to rain.  A light rain has led to dancing in the rain with the boys, splashing in the puddles, being carefree and reminded of the blessings of the simple things.  The storms at night still cause me to pause and just listen, enjoying the multitude of sounds of raindrops hitting the roof, the windows, the leaves; the wind rustling the branches; the thunder echoing in the distance.  My boys don’t seem to appreciate the thunder as much.  As it cracks you see their eyes widen and take in our reaction “are we safe?” “should we run?”.

This last week I have experienced the saying “when it rains it pours” in a non literal way and have seen the same spectrum of responses in my own life.  From a distance I have walked along side friends who welcome their baby into the world and then 56 hours later had to say good-bye.  The couple were seminary colleagues of ours.  They shared a few months back the joy of becoming pregnant with their second baby and the anticipation and wonder of preparing to add another child to their family.  Then when she was 20 weeks they discovered that their son had a heart condition that would prevent him from living a long life.  He thrived in the womb, but soon after birth he would die.  Their grief began then as did all of ours who were invited in.  This beautiful mother carried her precious little man to full term, cherishing every moment of pregnancy.  She gave birth last week.  She, her husband, their five year old son, and extended family showered Silas with love and affection, reveling in every minute of the 56 hours they got to spend with him.  Then they said good bye, heart broken but grateful.

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