I'm going back through some of my "drafts" (all 62 of them!) and pulling out some ones that I feel are worth sharing. This one was written early in the fall of 2013.
"But my baby died," its the line that always pops into my head. Fall is here and there is a lot of "newness" going on. New groups to join, new venues to go to, new things to experience. And at times I've had that sinking feeling of being alone in a crowded room, misunderstood in a group of like-minded people, basically an outsider. Because what my number one job is on a daily basis is to relate to people. I'm a woman. I stay at home. I'm with other women a lot. My vocation as wife and mother is relational, and I love that. But my baby died and that isn't relational.
Lately I've wanted to add that line, "but my baby died," onto the end of every story I hear, every testimony given, every happy song sung. And its not so much about bitterness or jealousy but more out of a feeling of isolation. I'm a mother to a live baby, but my dead child seems to dominate my motherhood. That makes me feel different, always. And then I just don't know what to do with that feeling. I don't know where to put it or where to store it. So I just sit with it.
I sat with it for a while in prayer tonight and then it turned into "But God, my baby died. I didn't do anything, I didn't fail at anything, I didn't break any rules or commandments, I just went to bed! I didn't do anything to deserve this.My baby died and my world is still shattered and I didn't do anything to cause it!" And as I sat there I felt God say, "I didn't do anything either." Hot tears started coming.
That's right I thought, I'm not alone. You didn't do anything either, and they killed you. You did everything right and your world still fell apart. And it's times like tonight that I realize having a dead son is and will always be a part of my sanctification. Because the more I navigate through this world without my son, the more I find myself being molded to our Lord. Every time that I want to add the line "but my baby died," just to prove that I've had it worse, that I've lived through hell, I don't. Instead I ask for grace and understanding to meet others where they are at without having to one up them. Because in the end-Jesus story beats all of ours. It's the worst thing that could ever happen. And at times when I feel alone or isolated or misunderstood I have to remember that God is in this with me. In fact, He gets it more than most people ever will.
"But my baby died," yes, he sure did. But God knows, God sees, God hears, and God is with me. And that is enough.