It’s the middle of the night. I’m awake and can’t get back to sleep.
Neither can my son apparently.
Instead of agonizing about not sleeping (since I’d already done this for about an hour) I got up to write. Tonight triggered me into deeper thinking on topics I have resisted recently. Topics that aren’t really pleasant to think about, feel, or share — sorrow, grief, loss.
I actually ran across a saved draft of a post that I never finished. Since I wrote the text below almost 3 years ago, hopefully it’s safe to share at this odd hour.
This was what I wrote to an email-group of parents dealing with grief that I was moderating at the time (another story). These parents shared in a common grief, and to be a part of their sharing together was awkward at first, but I found it most humbling and educating to be invited into their pain and their search for light in dark places. In the year of 2009, I had my own very dark places to trod. Remembering my previous experience with others’ grief helped me tremendously. I’ll share what this group inspired me to pen almost 3 years ago as I tried to encourage them in their own grief journeys. (more…)
know pretty well the order of things he will do — his stretches, his scrunched up face, his movement, his looking around, his recognition of hunger. And as he starts to show patterns in his lifestyle, I begin to know the pattern of his breathing changing into the breathing that means he’s finally in deep sleep — at one point he lets out a sigh and his whole body goes calm and limp.
More than ever I have felt the power of things greater than me. I wonder if I have really robed myself in the armor; have I ever REALLY let God be in control? The battle drains my strength and weakens my knees. I wonder if I have been prepared for the true power of the pursuit — ravenous wolves who desire to take hold of the dear blessed place of gifts and salvation that my Hero has brought me. Stealing my promised land from me before I enter it (thank you, Beth Moore).
