If there ever was an upside to losing a child, it would be the immense amount of support that people offer immediately following. There's something magical that always draws my attention to stories of communities rallying around a family in their time of suffering. I never imagined that my family would be the one in the midst of that beautiful chaos...but we were.
Friends, family, aquaintences, and strangers alike all sent words of encouragement, brought meals, made gifts, bought my kids toys...the list goes on. But beyond all of the "stuff" that helped ease our heartache, the friendships that were born out of our tragedy were the greatest treasure we could have acquired....or so I thought.
I think it's important to point out a subject that is never addressed. It seems that every grieving soul I have encountered have all felt the warm embrace and then suddenly, without warning, all of that vital support vanishes. One minute we're being suffocated in flowers and texts and the next we're so desparate for a listening ear, we scope out the friendliest looking cashier to strike up a convo with. We wonder if we did something wrong. We hope we sent out thank yous to everyone. We feel a little angry.
"Don't they know that our pain is just now starting to surface? I thought they said they weren't going away, that I could count on them? I thought they were my friend, now they barely glance in my direction? Were they only my friend because my baby died?"
These, and many more thoughts start to consume us, and instead of reaching out, we retreat. Luckily, inside my shell, I have a Bible. It's important to know that if you are feeling isolated, DON'T TAKE IT PERSONAL. I'm no longer angry or hurt or bitter. I'm thankful. I'm thankful for the words that acted as life rafts and carried me through the days I can hardly remember. I'm thankful for the memorabilia scattered throughout my home, always reminding me that Isaiah is only a breath away. I'm thankful for the love that my kids were shown. I'm thankful that if just for a little while, I was able to witness what it means to be a light when the darkness closes in, and I pray I can carry that light on to another hurting heart one day. I'm even thankful for the days of silence and isolation. Without these quiet moments I wouldn't have been able to read over half of the Bible....and then I wouldn't have found my favorite verse ever, which happens to go along with this post quite well.
We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. Romans 5:3&4
So I smile. My endurance is growing stronger by the day. The cheering crowd is a faint whisper in the distance. Embrace the silence. I have found more comfort in His Word than the thousands of audible words spoken by friends.
Friends, family, aquaintences, and strangers alike all sent words of encouragement, brought meals, made gifts, bought my kids toys...the list goes on. But beyond all of the "stuff" that helped ease our heartache, the friendships that were born out of our tragedy were the greatest treasure we could have acquired....or so I thought.
I think it's important to point out a subject that is never addressed. It seems that every grieving soul I have encountered have all felt the warm embrace and then suddenly, without warning, all of that vital support vanishes. One minute we're being suffocated in flowers and texts and the next we're so desparate for a listening ear, we scope out the friendliest looking cashier to strike up a convo with. We wonder if we did something wrong. We hope we sent out thank yous to everyone. We feel a little angry.
"Don't they know that our pain is just now starting to surface? I thought they said they weren't going away, that I could count on them? I thought they were my friend, now they barely glance in my direction? Were they only my friend because my baby died?"
These, and many more thoughts start to consume us, and instead of reaching out, we retreat. Luckily, inside my shell, I have a Bible. It's important to know that if you are feeling isolated, DON'T TAKE IT PERSONAL. I'm no longer angry or hurt or bitter. I'm thankful. I'm thankful for the words that acted as life rafts and carried me through the days I can hardly remember. I'm thankful for the memorabilia scattered throughout my home, always reminding me that Isaiah is only a breath away. I'm thankful for the love that my kids were shown. I'm thankful that if just for a little while, I was able to witness what it means to be a light when the darkness closes in, and I pray I can carry that light on to another hurting heart one day. I'm even thankful for the days of silence and isolation. Without these quiet moments I wouldn't have been able to read over half of the Bible....and then I wouldn't have found my favorite verse ever, which happens to go along with this post quite well.
We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. Romans 5:3&4
So I smile. My endurance is growing stronger by the day. The cheering crowd is a faint whisper in the distance. Embrace the silence. I have found more comfort in His Word than the thousands of audible words spoken by friends.
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