Sunday, March 10, 2013
Click on the link below, to read my story, and find out more information on how you can be a part of this beautiful project.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
If you would like to make a picture representing loss, feel free, and e-mail them to the following; firstname.lastname@example.org
I titled this picture:
My picture represents a broken heart... shattered to pieces... but brought back together, by God.
If you begin at the left side, you will see tear drops, colored blue and pink. These tear drops represent the sons and daughters that are loss... each drop, holding the mother's and father's hopes and dreams...
The tear drops are caught by the hand of God... He catches each and every one...
Below His hand, you will find a sea of tears, colored in blue and pink...
It is shaded black throughout the left, signifying grief and anger...
As you move to the middle, you will find the "O", this represents the child no longer living, but remembered with a lit candle... because we will NEVER forget... they once lived...
On your right, you will notice the picture capturing the colors of the rainbow... bringing about hope, love and peace...
The "O" in the middle has the dark and light colors meet, because though we strive to keep going, and living a life for those gone to soon... we have moments when the darkness pulls us in...
BUT... God is bigger... and better... He continually holds us... our children...
... and carries us back into the light, where we find hope...
~Jennifer Ross, 2013~
Monday, February 11, 2013
"For the final WWY post in this segment, we will share our experiences with longing for another baby to fill our empty arms. Some experienced a subsequent pregnancy after loss. Some may be fearful of embarking on that journey again. Some may not be able to have another child, whether due to infertility or other reasons. Some may have found that having another baby, however precious a gift, was not the key to healing the grief. Can you experience hope and healing…even if there is no rainbow after the storm? Lori will be guest posting on this blog and I will share some thoughts as well. We hope many of you will also join in, linking your own posts."
After having my dreams ripped from my heart... from my arms... I refused to not allow God to bless us with another child. My husband and I had not used any form of birth control, but instead, consistently prayed for God to knit a precious child within my womb. I don't even think that I asked... I begged.
Why did I want to experience pregnancy so soon after burying my child? To be honest, the loss falls into a separate category, than having your dreams of mothering a child fresh from the surroundings of your womb, into your arms.
When Isaiah died...
I couldn't bring him back, no matter how many tears I continually cried, or how much I pleaded with the Lord. He was gone.
I had been robbed of many joys...
Rubbing my cheek along his soft delicate baby cheeks...
Feeding and changing him every two hours, for nights that would have seemed endless...
Introducing my handsome bundle to my family and friends... In a way, it was like he never existed.
I walked around with a swollen belly, that appeared to be with child... though it was empty.
Having another child did not heal my pain. It filled that spot in me that was silently screaming within... empty... but slowly being filled with hope. I knew that there was no guarantee that we would conceive another child, BUT... God graced us with another precious boy.
Oh, how my heart leaped, when my eyes witnessed that pastel pink line travel along the pregnancy window. I remember feeling like I was walking atop the clouds. I felt like I had redeemed my motherhood...
I had been given this blessing, six months after loosing Isaiah. I had an emotional roller coaster ride ahead of me. Many ups and downs, but God saw me through each one.
The twist to my pregnancy after the loss of Isaiah... My body began to react with the same conditions within my uterus, as I had with Isaiah. I was told that there was a blood clot forming around the amniotic sac... and that no heartbeat was to be found...
You will have to read the following post that I had written on Ezekiel's first birthday, to fully grasp the story of our miracle baby.
Here is the post:
When I reflect on the past year, I can't help, but be taken back to the nine months of my pregnancy with you. I'll never forget seeing the pink positive line on my pregnancy test. With excitement and fear entangled as one, I called everyone I knew. We were having another baby!
Ezekiel, until you're older, you may not realize what a true miracle you are. At five weeks pregnant, my body started to fight what God had knit in my belly. I started to bleed and have the same problems that had taken place with your brother, Isaiah. To say that I was terrified, would be an understatement.
I went in for an ultrasound, and there was no heartbeat to be found. My heart sunk. My soul was crushed. Why?.....
The next day, because of the amount of bleeding, daddy took me to the E.R. They told me that I was miscarrying.
On the drive home, I could feel life inside of me. I could feel that you were still hanging on. I would NOT give up on you! I refused. I prayed with power from the depths of my being, a prayer of a mother that just can't say goodbye to another child.
People throughout the world began to pray. On their knees. In the morning. Throughout the day. At bedtime. Spreading the word.
You began to grow. Kick. Suck your thumb.
The blood clots began to go away.
We found out that we were having another little boy. How wonderful!
Each week, I got to watch my belly grow.
On the morning of October 16, 2009, we were preparing for your birth. I had this weight on my shoulders, full of fear. Fear of death. Is my child going to be born alive? Is my body going to be able to handle another birth? Another surgery. I pray unceasingly.
At 9:21 a.m., you take your first breath of life...... I exhale the cloud of death that consumed my thoughts, and took my first breath of hope.
You are our sweet angel.
You have brought this family so much joy. Happiness. Laughs.
You are not a replacement for the loss of your brother. You are a beautiful addition to our family.
God took my broken heart. My broken dreams........ and filled my arms.
Thank you God.
You ARE good!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY :o) Ezekiel Isaiah Ross :o)
I love you.
(End of Post.)
Ezekiel's middle name had been chosen in honor of his big brother... Isaiah. The two of them will meet someday in heaven, but until then...
My Isaiah rests in the arms of God... and Ezekiel carries on the smiles, hugs, kisses and love of a mother's dreams that were shattered, but slowly being brought together, one day at a time.
Until we meet again.
Monday, February 4, 2013
This weeks talk on Walking With You: "Mothers often fall into the trap of comparing ourselves to one another. This is a trap many women fall into. We compare our families, mothering styles, fashion sense, careers or lack thereof, bodies, etc. Even mothers with babies in heaven compare the way we grieve our children. I know…sad…but we do it, if we’re honest enough to admit it. So, how can we find freedom from this? Sharing is a start…telling the truth…admitting the struggle. I think, then, we will see that we all love our children, regardless of how we choose to remember and honor their lives…whether publicly or quietly…with big parties or simple moments of remembrance. Be real on this week’s post, and let’s free ourselves from the trap of comparing!"
I often struggle on feeling as though my image needs to be equal or above that of other mother's/women, but quickly realize that we are all created in His image... so technically, we are all the same. When it comes down to the way I compare myself to another bereaved mother, and how she chooses to remember her child(ren), well the answer is simple, I don't. I have always felt completely comfortable in reading on how a mother was extravagant, or simple in the way in which she chose to honor the life of her child(ren). My problem stretches among the judgemental people, who turn their noses up... point their finger at how I choose to honor my son.
When it comes to keeping the memory of my son alive, I become a fierce mother... just as I am to the four precious boys that I endlessly take care of and give a tender motherly love to, on a daily basis...
In the beginning of my loss, I would mother Isaiah in secret. I had a feeling of shame as I thought on little things that I wanted to do for him. Just because of his absence in my physical life, did not mean that I did not have a mother's natural instinct to show my love to and for my child. I carried him within my womb for 19 weeks and 3 days. As each day passed, I grew more aware of his personality... I bonded with my son. I fell in love with the daydreams I had of holding him... loving him... bringing him home from the hospital... raising him.
I was his mama.
The duty of being a mother, does not get erased just because your child died. I know that can be a scary word, especially when speaking of a tiny innocent baby dying, but it happens. Instead of the weird looks or thoughts of others, I think that there could be a little more compassion for the parents who want to memorialize the life of their child. The world kept spinning, as our hearts became shattered. Some women, including myself, become frantic, trying to search for each piece, so that we can bring the pieces back together. It may be days, weeks, months, and some years... we have taken on a new shape, but that one very special piece cannot be found... Our child(ren) are gone, but somehow, still remain here with us. We medicate that empty hole, that missing piece, by doing unique things... whether it be that empty spot at the table, in the car, under the Christmas tree, on the blanket watching fireworks, etc. Our hearts become marinated in the love that we are able to give.
Have you ever thought what love really is, or what is the best way to show love?
Wikipedia states: "Love is an emotion of a strong affection and personal attachment."
I would have to agree to the above definition. I loved that little boy more than my fingers can type in an expression to describe... Personal attachment? I would have to fill my lungs with every ounce of oxygen that I could inhale, and shout out "Yes!"
God had to forsake Jesus at the cross... He never asked me to do the same to my son.
No more feeling shameful.
No more hiding.
No more whispering.
No more giving excuses.
He was my little boy.
Until my dying day, I will mother my son, Isaiah Christopher Ross.
It may be by placing his baby chick on his grave at Easter, a pumpkin in the fall, a wreath during the Christmas season, having his birth date/name/footprints engraved in my back, etc. It may be as simple as baking and decorating a cake in honor of his life... of my deep undying love for my child...
This was Isaiah's 2nd. birthday cake. I bought the star candles to give it a little bit of heaven, and the two candles in the middle were for his birthday. While we were singing "Happy Birthday," the two middle candles went out, just as if he were there with us in that very moment, silently participating... whispering, "I am here mama... I love you"......
“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening,
And live like it's heaven on earth.”
― William W. Purkey
Monday, January 28, 2013
This weeks talk on Walking With You: "One area so many mothers struggle with is guilt, especially those who experience the loss of a baby/child. We want to address this struggle in this post. It will help mothers quietly battling guilt for living life and experiencing joy to know they are not alone. Other moms silently battle this as well. Whether it is the startling first time you really laugh after losing your child, or whether you have experienced the healing balm of joy for years, share your thoughts on this week’s post."
I have thought on this subject for a handful of days, and how I was to answer these somewhat "simple" questions. Just compile a list of painful memories, and how I have carried around the guilt of the death of my son. Simple. The answer became more complex, as I searched over the broken pieces that have been swimming around in my heart, throughout the last four years.
Sunday morning, I was standing in the bathroom with my eight year old son, Parker, fixing his hair for church. As he was standing there, watching me in the mirror, he asked, "Mom, how did Isaiah die?" I stood there, kept combing his hair, my heart began to beat faster and faster, and I honestly was at a loss for words. How do I answer this question. A person may answer, "Tell the truth." It's really not that easy. Well Parker... "Your brother's life was taken, so that I could have a fighting chance at living. Yes, that's right, kind of like murder." Really? I don't want to lie to my children. They need to know the truth, but are too young to completely swallow the entire "real life" story. They know that I almost died, but I don't think their minds can imagine a little boy, their brother, laying in my arms, fighting for his life... Heart slowly beating... oxygen depleting... death overtaking life... gone.
Forever... in this life.
I think he could read the pain in my eyes, and accepted my quick answer, "Parker, there are a lot of things about the loss of Isaiah that you just can't understand right now at your age. When you get older, you'll be able to understand the story completely," as I continued combing over the same patch of hair, a dozen times. He gave a quick/cheerful "Okay," and ran off to go play with his brothers.
I feel like I have to conceal the way Isaiah died, like I'm going to be judged on what a selfish, wretched mother I must be, allowing death to come upon my little boy. On rare occasions, my mother will have to comfort me, whispering the same sentence, "Jenny, you were going to die, the doctor did all she could do to try and change your health, and there was no other option." With a crack in my voice, I conclude, "I know, I just wish..."
Last summer (2012), I went to the hospital to get copies of my medical records. Only a couple of people knew that I did this. I ordered from the night of August 2, 2008 - August 5, 2008. The woman told me that I couldn't get them for a few days, and that I could have them mailed or that I could pick them up. "Pick up please," I quickly stated. I opened the door, walked down the shadowed hallway, past the cream walls, and to the elevator. My legs felt heavy, the same as my heart did. I pushed the button to the main floor, all the while, my thoughts were consuming every inch that had healed over the last three and a half years. Did I just open a door, that I'm going to regret? Am I going to read the doctors notes, and find reason to believe, that she was wrong in the decisions that were made in regards to my health?
Three long days passed. I got a call from the woman in the medical records department, letting me know that my papers were finished, and could be picked up at any time. "Thank you," I exhaled heavily.
After picking up the envelope, I quietly sat in my car, still debating if I should read them, or shred them. I started the ignition, laid the envelope on my lap, and slowly drove home. You sure do look at life differently, when your eyes, heart and soul, search for good among the bad.
I walked through the front door, and sat on my couch. Opened the seal of the envelope... the seal of "life." Slowly pulling out the packet of papers, I flipped through papers upon papers of blood transfusions. My past was alive again, as I continued searching.
There it was... My doctors medical notes (quotes from her notes):
*"The patient was adamant she wanted to try and save the pregnancy."
*"The decision in light of the chronic placenta abruption underlying an acute further abruption now leading towards DIC."
*"The decision was made to proceed with induction for life saving measuring."
*The infant was then swaddled and wrapped in a warm blanket and placed on mother's abdomen..."
I'm going to cut in here real quick... Isaiah was delivered into the mighty hands of God at this point in the notes...
*"Estimated blood loss during delivery is 525 ml."
I'm now in the O.R.:
*"She was placed under anesthesia by Dr. O"
*"Attempt at using the large curet to scrape free the tissue, but was very difficult."
*"The placenta came out in multiple small fragments with pieces of membrane and small pieces of cord and very attached to the uterine wall."
*"I had a very difficult time getting any kind of uterine wall texture."
*"She was taken immediately to ICU."
*"Estimated Blood Loss: 300-350 mL of active blood in the operating room."
*"Fluid Replacement: 2300 mL in the operating room."
These were just little pieces of the 48 pages of copied notes, from my medical records. I investigated every single letter and number in that booklet that held my life... my sons life. I had to see with my own two eyes, read each word...
I placed that packet back into the white envelope that it was given to me in, and sat silently on my couch. Tears filled my eyes, as I whispered...
I believe that in that very moment, I was allowed a different kind of healing.
I had held myself captive in the first three years following his death. I would emotionally and mentally keep my heart in the very place where his stopped...
Swallowing the truth of his death, was not going to be an option... Until now...
No more imprisoning myself with an unreasonable guilt. God's will is not for me to travel as if I were lost, but awake to a new day, finding the good, the love in life.
On one of my recent posts, I wrote this; "I have concluded that there will be no forgiving myself. How do you forgive yourself, when there was nothing you could do? It's not possible, nor necessary. I have come to accept that fact. Trust and faith in God, will be my greatest recipe for my healing."
I made a decision to look at life deeper, for him... for me. I learned how to carry him in my heart, not keeping it on that blood-ridden bed, where the lasts of his heartbeats were heard.
I remember in the first few months after his death, I would conceal my smile around people, other than my family. I thought if they witnessed a smile, they would assume that I was "fixed." All better. Now we can have her back... the way she used to be. There is one problem with that... I will never be the same.
Honestly, I don't think that I can get through two hours, without thinking about him. I carry him around in my heart, mind and soul. He is a part of me. His little body was carved with special pieces of my husband and myself. The Lord knit him with the very best pieces of his daddy and me. Maybe, that is why he couldn't stay here on this earth... he was far too perfect...
Sunday, January 20, 2013
This weeks talk on Walking With You: "Share about your first steps back into life. What helped you survive in the world outside as you took those first tender steps? Are there still tender areas for you today, living in a world that doesn't embrace or understand the loss of a baby/child? How do you cope with those struggles? What advice would you offer those new to this walk to encourage and bring hope? How has this changed for you from the beginning? If you are in early grief, what do you fear/struggle with as you try to navigate a new normal….life without your baby?"
My first steps back into life... looking at my feet that were covered in hospital slippers, walking down that cold darkened hallway, away from my life... that little boy that lay peacefully "asleep" in a beautiful wicker basket, nestled in baby blankets. Giving a final kiss upon that tiny precious head. Whispering a final "I love you," in his ear. Those were my first steps... into a world that never appeared the same, as it had before arriving at the hospital.
People surrounded me with lots of love. Phone calls, dinners, the most beautiful sympathy cards, etc. I knew that I was loved, and that others hurt for me, but just didn't "get it," by no fault of their own. They slowly trickled off into their own lives, leaving me with many thoughts and aches to carry on my own. I felt abandoned. As they "left," I locked the door. To the deepest depths of my heart. My pain. They were to be excluded. I suppose it was my way to survive. I wanted to be alone. Alone.
Sound. Taste. Sight. Touch. My entire being of who I was, had converted into a new person. A new woman. A new mother. All that I looked upon, was different. I noticed the way a raindrop rolls off of a leaf, maybe, because I had so many tears roll off of my cheeks in much the same way. I noticed the way the ants would carry loads of dirt upon their shoulders, just as I had begun carrying a weight upon mine, building the new foundations of my life.
I was to never be the same, but I knew deep down, I wanted to be better. I wanted to be a better wife. Mother. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Friend. Neighbor. I wanted to reflect the beauty that I knew God had for me. There was no right or wrong in grieving. Only making sure that I continued to walk on the path that was straight and narrow. I knew that if I didn't wander off on my own path, that God would always meet me right where I was. Sometimes, I would follow Him, having enough strength to continue. Other times I had to pitch a tent, and camp out right where I was. I didn't want to go further. I needed more time feeling, breathing, crying... taking it all in. Being the gentleman that He is, I would be carried through the mud and muck. Then I would allow Him to continue paving the way... and I would follow. My attire would be covered in stains, torn with holes, wrinkled with doubt, but my tears would cleanse the stains, straighten the wrinkles, and His hands would mend the holes.
I'm miles away from the beginning, but never forgetting how I got this far. I need no reminders. I live, surrounded by them every day.
I see his smile when I sit and laugh with my boys. I see him run, while watching my boys play gleefully with one another. I feel his love, as my husband holds me. I see his eyes, when I look in the mirror. He is all around me. He consumes my thoughts. My heart. My soul.
He is, and will always be, my precious son. The little boy I continue to hike miles upon miles, through mud and muck... until that day, we meet again...
Sunday, January 13, 2013
~This weeks talk on Walking With You: "If you are not new to loss, talk a bit about early grief. What was it like, clinging for hope in the pits of despair? What did you cling to for hope? How did you survive the early days? What helped? What do you wish you could share with someone new to this walk, clinging in the pit? If you’re in the pit, currently, share your struggles. What can others do to encourage you?"~
I'm not "new" to this loss. The loss of my child. My son. As of today, January 13, 2013, the "helpful" Lilypie button on my blog tells me that I have lived 4 years, 5 months, 1 week & 3 days without him. My child. My son.
As I was preparing for this post, I took about an hour in reviewing my blog from the very beginning, up through 2010. I came upon many sad reminders of where I was, and across many hardships that I still face with the loss today.
In the very beginning, I can't say that I was clinging to "anything" in the pit. I made myself comfortable in that cold dark hole of despair. I needed to take it all in. I wanted to consume my loss. By inhaling and exhaling the pain, touching the emptiness and tasting the tears of despair. Why?
I needed to experience ever drop. I needed to allow God to carry me through....when I was ready. It took a very long time for me to be ready. Try two years ready. Just to want to begin to heal. I carried a lot of weight on my shoulders. Guilt. I had to "forgive" myself, before I could start to heal. Throughout just this past year, I have concluded that there will be no forgiving myself. How do you forgive yourself, when there was nothing you could do? It's not possible, nor necessary. I have come to accept that fact. Trust and faith in God, will be my greatest recipe for my healing.
I am going to end this post with an older post that I had written on January 21, 2011. I named it "Praying.Healing.Where I Am.....Serious Post." Visiting Isaiah's grave was one choice that I chose to do often. No, he is not "really" there....just, well, you know.... I went to his grave so often, my sister ended up calling my doctor, because she was so worried about me. I was "okay," but it was just something that I needed to do for me.
His spirit entered eternal love and peace with God, the very moment his heart stopped, but that little body grew in me. I felt it kick, roll and dance within me. Not just as a mother, but as his - Isaiah's mother - I needed to spend A LOT of time at his grave. I had to be there through the "process." The following post that I am sharing from 1-21-11 is not *sweet talk.*
January 21, 2001 (Keep in mind that this was written nearly two years ago.):
"When I post my words on this blog, they have been straight from my heart. I have kept truth in every word I type. There have been many times that I wanted to dig deeper, share more pain, but I didn't want to hurt anyone or make them fall deeper in their own grief, for reading the words that I chose to write. After two years of blogging, I have chosen to do it. It's not anything crazy and so far out there, but it's a subject that I have only read about one time, out of two years surfing other blogs. I have other things weighing on my heart too.....
"About my latest post, I sure don't mean to sound negative or like a broken record about my "problems." I truly want healing, and I just really don't know what to do. I pray, and pray, and pray, and I still feel so so bad. I usually numb the hurt for awhile, then it slowly trickles out. I pray that God is still using it for His glory, even though I'm still hanging onto it."
One of the struggles that I come across when writing, is not wanting to represent anything but Christ. I have no greater love, than that of my Lord. He can heal. He will heal. He DOES heal.
I don't want to write out my struggles and leave the post without any hope at the end. I really do walk around with a numb covering, just so I can get through the day. I do laugh. I do have fun. I do all of this, with an opened wound on my heart. It hasn't gotten better for me. This doesn't mean that God can't and won't heal the hurt or the loss. After writing Kelly about how I pray, and pray, and pray, I realized that in my prayers, I never asked God to heal me from the guilt. I prayed that He would give me the strength to live with the guilt. Talk about being deceived!
I have also been reading through the book of Job, and have come across some verses that really tear at my soul. These verses are the part that I really don't think that anyone wants to think about, or care to read. I respect that, but I feel like I need to cross the "boundary" for those who want someone to do it, because they just can't do it. There is definitely a silent "no no," about speaking about the grave. I am deeply burden by thoughts of my sons grave and I really hope and pray that my respect that I have tried to "earn" on my blog is not lost. I am so so sorry if I "crossed" your boundary in grief.
Two verses that I read out of the book of Job:
*Job 19:26 And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.
*Job 21:26 They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the worms shall cover them.
To be completely honest, I don't go through one day without thinking about it. I know that my sons soul went to be with the Lord. Our Creator is holding that sweet soul that He made with His own hands. He holds my son.
* 2 Corinthians 5:8 We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.
I believe every single word that is written in the Holy Bible.
I struggle very deeply with the knowledge of knowing the natural part of death. I don't like knowing what is happing to my son. A mother has a built in protection system for her children. It doesn't matter if your child is a newborn, teenager or an adult. Each child leaves their DNA in their mother's blood. I have all of this protection that I have in me, for each of my children. I'm telling you, I am a very, very, very PROTECTIVE mother! It troubles my mind to think of Isaiah and what has happened to his body.
Every time I go outside in the cold, I think about it. Every time it rains, I think about it. Every time it's been 80 degrees outside, I've thought about it. With each passing season, I feel as though I am slowly loosing his tiny little body that I nurtured with my own. I feel as though little pieces of my strength pass with him.
While I'm lying in bed at night, waiting for sleep to fall upon me, I wonder how he felt as his heartbeat slowly came to his last.
Did it hurt him?
Did he feel the oxygen being taken from his lungs?
Could he hear his mommy whispering in his little ear, " I love you Isaiah Christopher."
Were the nurses 100% sure that he had passed, before being taken from my arms and placed by himself on the nursery bed?
Should I have had the nurses try to save his life, even though they told me that there was no way that he was going to make it? I could have had greater faith, and at the same time, I didn't want him to suffer for a handful of moments that he would have lived, in pain. I didn't want to loose the warmth and life that I held for fifteen minutes. One answer was right, and only God knows if the other was the one that I should have chosen. Was I supposed to be this women with faith beyond words, than that of the words that were spoken or knowledge learned through college, by nurses? Or, was I supposed to hold onto a faith, for the hope that I had held for my innocent little one?
There is so much pain, I simply can't handle it sometimes. That's when you will come along a post on my blog that holds so much pain. Although I may appear to sound like a broken record at times, I am so thankful for the support that God has graced me with, on my blog. I am so thankful for the women who come along and just write a simple, " I'm praying for you." There is nothing stronger than prayer. God is within it all. He uses all of us, the broken hearted, to bring Him glory..... if we let Him. Just continue asking, begging if you need to. Cry to Him.
* Psalm 34:15 The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry.
* Psalm 34:17 The righteous cry, and the LORD heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.
* Psalm 34:19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the LORD delivereth him out of them all.
I'm going to end with the comment that Kelly had replied to, regarding my comment written in the beginning of this post:
"Your latest post was just honesty from your heart about a difficult battle you struggle with...and I'm glad you shared it, so that we can pray and show love to you. We can't help how we feel. My friend, Lynette (in real life friend) says that God's part is always bigger than our part. That means that we don't have to strive to do it all right or have it all figured out. He will work in our lives and hearts in His time to heal, restore, grow, mend...whatever it is that needs dealt with. And, our part is small. It's not about us getting it right. He can work in and through us. Our part is just to keep clinging to Him. So, just keep clinging....He'll do the rest."
That's what I'm going to continue doing. Clinging to the Lord.
This post covers where I am.
Wow! After writing that sentence, I noticed the last two words.
It looks as though I've been covered by Him all along! Thank you Father!
* Exodus 3:14 God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM."
God is so awesome! Looks like He just used my pain and got the glory. I just love when He shows me special answers along the way. In times like this, it makes the pain worth it all. There is something gained and not lost.
I will praise Him forever......."
I hope that I have not crossed the boundary of any of you, but this post represents the early stages of *my* grief.There were a lot of deep comments on that post, that reflect the heart of women that were right "there" with me. They silently suffered with those morbid thoughts too. If you are interested in what they had to say, click here.