When my own words cut

I do not want to write. I want to back away.

Stay sad.

Down.

I read my own words and they cut.

"A little seed was planted in my heart"

When I wrote that post about "Becoming Beautiful" there really was a seed planted inside of me. When I found out that we were expecting another little miracle from God, I was so thankful!

One of the things that made this news so special to me is that this little baby was due so close to Ryan's Grandma's birthday. She is dear to me. A kindred spirit. Youthful. Full of life. She laughs. I really like her. I felt so honored to be expecting a baby the day before her birthday.

And there were more reasons for the joy that I felt. Things that made me bubble with gratitude. We only knew for a short time, yet I had already embraced and treasured this in my heart. But it was not to be. Not how I thought.

"crushing the seed's shell will only bring more hope. Hope of redemption! Hope of new life!"

I thought this little life would be mine to hold. Born into my arms, smiled at, held. But this one was not to be here in that way. Not to cry or crawl or walk. Not to dance. Not here. Not now. Those words are hard to read.

"The force that cracks the seed open is called suffering"

I do not know why. I only know that this preciousness has passed into the hands of God. I didn't know this pain. I didn't know this empty feeling. Until now.

"Many things remind us that we do not live in that Eden place"

There are a lot of questions that spin. A lot of doubts and a lot of sadness. But in the end, there are just some things we cannot control. We cannot know.

"But when it happens, when we are crushed yet we still have joy, we have found the face of mercy once again. As we gaze into the eyes of mercy, we discover that it is only the outer shell which was crushed. The inner seed is preserved in a protective place called God's love. This is beauty."

Me? I do not feel very beautiful right now. I feel sad. And down. It was tempting not to write about this. Not to go there. But something compels me. Something urges me to draw close to this place of togetherness with God.

Held.
Close.
And near.

When I write I can feel him drawing close to me. Or maybe it is just me drawing closer to him. He was always there.

He will always be there.

The voice of hope calls to me. To stay. To trust. Even when I do not understand.