A Post in May

I've been thinking lately. Wow, what a big surprise!

I think I spend my life thinking deep thoughts that nobody understands but me and God.

That's okay. I'm a contemplative person. It's how God made me. I was born that way.

I used to annoy myself, and try to be someone else, because who wanted to be friends with someone who spent their time thinking about deep stuff? I used to be so uncomfortable because often I would never have anything to say in a gathering of lots of people, or I would chastise myself or beat myself up for being too wordy or tell myself that I talked too much about weird, silly things.

I think I'm over all that now and I've come to accept who I am.

I've felt a post brewing in my heart for some time now. May is the perfect time for me to write it. I'll tell you why.

We had a stillborn baby.

It will be four years on May 13th since she was born. And I still carry that deep pain around with me. I've realized, over the past few weeks, that it hurts. It still hurts. The pain is part of who I am now.

And I've been contemplating that, because that's what I do. I store things like that in a place in my heart and then I study them. Usually out loud. I look at it from all angles, every facet, every different meaning and color.

I think I added the pain of my two miscarriages to the pain of losing our 6th baby. And sometimes that compounded pain takes my breath away.

So, in an effort to be free, to live joyously and out loud, I will be doing a post on May 13th about our baby girl who does not live here on earth with us. Maybe I'll do more than one. It's my way of healing. Writing about those days and weeks is therapy for me.

I've been remembering. I've been taking out the memories from the dusty reaches of my being and seeing things I didn't see before. I want to tell her story, and I want to tell it to all of you.

I want to tell her story because I want you all to know that you are not alone. If you have that kind of silent pain sitting inside your heart, you are not the only one. I want to tell a story of hope, of loss, and I want my story to point steadily to the One Who has been steady for me all these years.

I pray that my story can be a story of healing. I believe one of the reasons I've been allowed to experience pain like that is so that I can be closer to the Lord, and hopefully I can lead other women there as well.

I pray that as I write her story, the Holy Spirit will be very present. If I can be a conduit for His ministrations, I say, Lord bring on the memories and the pain and the loss, for I want your words to flow out of my mouth.