Mother’s Day this past Sunday marked the 4 week anniversary of my miscarriage. I admit. I avoided church. Didn’t send cards to the women in my life who model motherhood. Barely called/texted the incredible Mama and Mother-in-Law that continually light up my life.
I ignored the holiday.
Four weeks ago (now nearly five), I told my Sweet Pea that I loved her, but that she could go to her Heavenly Father’s arms. Unbelievably (and despite the time table given to me by my nurse), hours later I started bleeding. Even at five weeks pregnant, I was a mother, and my baby listened and heard. Even more importantly, my Heavenly Father did as well. He knew my heart couldn’t take much more, and so He allowed the miscarriage to happen quickly. Without medical intervention. Several weeks of intense cramps followed.
All leading up to another funeral. For my grandfather. He’s joined the ranks of Heavenly saints cheering us on and worshiping the King. He’s whole and healed.
So is my baby. Whole and healed and happy.
Colorado made a grandiose leap from winter snow storms directly into the heat of summer. Spring passed by in a blur of several rainstorms and muddy days. Now flowers appear. Bees buzz. As Song of Solomon says, “It is the season of song…”
I question the flowers, and I question my heart. How can fields of dandelions go unnoticed and simply grow there, smiling always for their King without any tending and with no acclaim? How can they shed their yellow petals for seeds of fuzz, releasing all their dreams into the wind?
If I was a dandelion, could I praise my King despite the seemingly insignificant role my life played? Could I be brave enough to let children and pets, wind and rain blow my seeds hither and thither, never knowing whether or not another flower would spring forth from my efforts?
As I grieve, I want to bottle the dandelions. Put their dreams in a jar and save them for a magic day when I make a wish and it comes true. I want their courage. Their hope. Their joyful surrender to their King.
That is my prayer today. Surrender with joy. Courage in the face of grief. May that be your prayer as well. For those enduring tragedy. For those rejoicing in splendor. Let this be our prayer in this season of song.
The song of the dandelions’ dreams.
*Please note that the first dandelion image in the jar was downloaded from http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7173/6720464541_d96e49abb4_z.jpg and may or may not be copyrighted. This image is not the property of acupofbliss.
I’m so sorry for your losses. There are no words.
I always returned to this passage in one of my favorite books,
“He has brought me here
when I did not want to come
for His own purpose.
I, too, will look up into his face and say,
Behold me! I am thy little handmaiden,
~ Hannah Hurnard, Hind’s Feet on High Places
Every time, it seems to get harder to get to that place of ‘acceptance with joy,’ but still I strive for it, even if I never understand it. It’s the surrendering, not the understanding that matters, I think.
Oh, that has been one of my favorite books since I was little! I’ve been thinking about that little flower for a while now. I want to accept with joy…
Thank you for your encouragement! I love reading about your continued good news 🙂 blessings!