Hurty Thirty

I dreamt about Josiah last night.  It's my own fault.  I shouldn't have blogged about him before going to bed.

He was taller, longer, his round face thinned a bit, curly soft hair and the same chocolate eyes I know so well.  His hair was shaved a little on the sides, like someone had cared enough about him to make sure he looked well groomed.  He looked too thick and heavy to pick up, but I did anyway.  I put my hands under his arms and felt the tug in my legs and lower back as I settled his weight awkwardly on my hip.  


"Do you know who this is?"  I heard someone ask him as he looked at my face, puzzled.  


"She looks like someone I knew once,"  he said.  "She looks a little like my mama, but I think she had shorter hair."


"I can cut it again." I spoke swiftly and softly.  "I was going to cut it again anyway.  Maybe you'll recognize me then.  I would do anything for you, Josiah." 


And then I woke up.  Welcome to thirty, Megan.

There's something about every birthday, every milestone, every holiday that reminds me that the house is emptier, quieter, more peaceful than it was last year.  Every time there is a special day, a little voice likes to say, "This time last year, he was here.  Remember how happy you were when he was here?"  I hate that voice.  There is too much truth to it to dismiss it quickly, and just enough lie to let me wrestle with it and let it spoil what should be a happy day.  

I tell myself that I wouldn't be able to give my girls as much energy and attention if he was here.  I try to remember what it felt like to have to pack him up for visitation every week and watch him cry as he drove away without me.  I think about the knots in my stomach watching Justin have to deal with talking to Josiah's grandfather, and how much I hated going to court, praying that the outcome would end in our favor, talking with law guardians, nurses, and case workers trying to advocate for the well-being of my son.  I try to focus on how good my life is right this moment..."Hasn't your life been easier without him?" I argue with my previous thoughts,  "Can you imagine how hard it would be having three right now?"

None if it matters.  I miss him.  I miss him.  I miss him.  And this time last year, he was here.  Eating my birthday cake, squishing it through his fingers, and licking it off the back of his hands.  

When I drove to work today,  I prayed for Josiah...that he is happy and healthy and knows how loved he is.  My thoughts drifted to how many times I took this drive and cried out to God to please move mountains for this little boy.  I remember how often I was comforted when I would see a single sparrow cross the road in front of me.

"My eye is on the sparrow,"  He would speak to my heart. "Josiah is worth more than many sparrows."

Today as I prayed, I told God how happy I should be, how grieving this loss should hurt less by now, and how much He has blessed me.  Shouldn't the good outweigh the bad, at some point?  Shouldn't I feel so overwhelmingly thankful that there is no room for hurt anymore?

Just as I rounded a corner, on my way through a cornfield, I saw the most amazing display of a flock of blackbirds that I have ever seen in my life.  Swarming in perfect synchronization, like schools of fish, thick black billowing clouds, thousands- I mean THOUSANDS- of blackbirds.  Whirling, swirling, fluttering wings.  "Look at me! Look at me!" they demanded my attention.  I think I must have slowed down to 15 miles and hour, and still they descended. Different flocks from every direction.  Coming, coming, coming, like they all had something to say.

"Do you think Josiah is beyond the scope of my care?" He spoke.  "If you only knew how much I love him.  He is worth more than many, many sparrows."    

I don't know how to explain how this road to healing can be both filled with grief and joy at the same time.  I only know that when I question His faithfulness, He is the lifter of my head.

It was a hard day, but I think I'm going to like thirty.

Hello, Thirty!

I've been told that this is supposed to be the hardest birthday.  This is my attempt to assure myself that it won't be.

Perhaps if I haven't loved so much, laughed so much, lived so much, and learned so much in my twenties, THIRTY may seem like a daunting age.  I'm not going to lie- it is a little bit.  I think there is a preconceived notion that someone in their thirties should have a certain amount of wisdom and experience and maturity.  I'm not so sure if I have the wisdom and maturity, but experiences- I've had a slew, and I'm so thankful for them.  

And today, on my last day of my twenties, I want to remember some them, because I am thankful for what they have taught me and how they have shaped me.    

• When I was twenty, I went to Honduras and painted murals in an orphanage.  
• I met friends at college that to this day are so precious to me.  
• When I was twenty-one, my best friend asked me to marry him.
• I watched my older sister get married to a wonderful Christian man who adores her.  
• I rode a gondola through the streets of Venice.  
• I climbed to the top of St. Peter's Basilica.  
• I stood under Michealangelo's Sistine Chapel.  
• I dipped my toes in the Mediterranean Sea.  
• At twenty-two, I graduated cum laude with an art degree from Houghton college.  (I survived 4 years in sub-arctic temperatures and became a pro at scraping snow off my car.)
• I made it through four years of a long-distance relationship (210 miles apart!)...and that's before skype and texting, people.  
• I toured Neuchwanstein Castle with my little sister.  
• I ate Bavarian chocolate in Bavaria.  
• I rode a cable car to the top of the Alps and saw a little old man in lederhosen play one of these: 

• I married my best friend.  
• I dipped my toes in the Caribbean Sea.
• We bought our first condo.  
• I got my first real job. 
• At age twenty-three, I quit my first job.  
• We got a dog and named him Lito.  
• At twenty-four, we sold our condo for a profit, and bought my dream house- in my dream town.  
• I got my dream job teaching art in a Christian school.  
• I earned my teaching certificate through New Jersey's alternate route program.  
• At twenty-five, my husband came to that Christian school to teach, and we coached basketball together.   
• We got another dog and named him Duncan. 
• I watched my little sister get married to her best friend.  
• At twenty-six I had two babies born straight to heaven.  
• I dipped my toes in the Pacific Ocean.  
• At twenty-seven I had two more babies born straight to heaven.  
• I was blessed to become Josiah's mommy.  
• I was blessed to carry a baby to full-term and became Molly's mommy.  
• At twenty-eight I was challenged to trust God with my children's future.     
• At twenty-nine, I put Josiah in God's hands and watched him find a forever home away from us.  
• I started my own small business as a portrait artist.
• I was blessed to become a mommy to another daughter, Sadie Joy.  

My heart is so full with thankfulness for everything God has enabled me to do in my twenties.  In these next ten years, I hope it will be less about what I experience, and more about the experiences I can bless my family with.  I'm excited how I will watch my love grow- for God, for my husband, for my children, for my family, and for others around me.  

Hello, 30!  Nice to meet you.  

Psalm Thirty-three: Hurt, Harm, and Hope

"From Heaven the LORD looks down and sees all mankind; from his dwelling place he watches all who live on the earth- he who forms the hearts of all, who considers all they do."  v 13-15


"The eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine."  v 18-19


"We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield.  In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.  May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you."  v 20-22

The shield is an image the invokes the idea that the one who holds it is in the midst of a battle.  It is the thin piece of metal that protects one from getting harmed.  It is not something we hide behind, yet it is there so that when we do face times of great peril and danger, we do not have to fear what the enemy may bring.  

I've been meddling over this thought a lot these past few weeks, even more so when a pastor friend of ours was talking about the difference between hurt and harm.  Hurt implies pain. From loss, death, betrayal, loneliness, fear, depression, etc.... Harm on the other hand, is when we allow the darkness from this pain to permeate our hearts and cause irrevocable damage that affects our testimony, personhood, and the way we love others and allow them to love us.  It is easy to confuse the two.  It is even easier to think that God we serve somehow causes harm to beset us.  

The more pain I face, the more I see the opposite it true. The Bible promises that we will experience pain.  It is our choice if we will allow this pain to merely hurt us or forever harm us.  

From the abyss of emptiness from pain and hollowness that hurt brings, a still small voice can be heard.  It is so faint at first when I first experienced it, I fought it, wishing, hoping, praying, then taking it upon myself to try to flee from it.  It starts as a whisper. 

 At first it says, "Trust Me."

And I say, "I wish you chose a different plan for me that didn't hurt so much."

 And then it speaks, "I love you." 

And I say, "I know that, but I don't feel like You do."  

 And then still louder it says, "I know how you feel and I hurt for you too." 

And I say, "I trust your plan, but can you make the pain go away?"

 Then the voice says, "I gave my life so you could know how it feels to be completely loved and completely at peace forever."

And I from the deep cavernous pit that sorrow has brought, I can feel my answer ringing, singing, louder and louder.  It is sweet surrender.  The conclusion drawn.  The answer found.  It is HOPE.... 

And finally I say, "I was not made for here.  You can have all this world.  Give me Jesus!"

It is only pain that brings us to our knees.  It makes us long for a world that only our heart can recognize because at its very core it knows that we were made to be different than we are now- whole, at peace, perfect, and in a world that only knows how to love the way He loves us.  

Until I am there, I know that He will protect me from letting hurt question His faithfulness and love for me.  I know that He will not let harm beset me from famine.  But I pray that He will keep me ever so slightly hungry that I don't forget that He is the only One who will satisfy me fully.

"The eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine. We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield.  In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.  May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you."  v 18-22