Day 10: Those Damn Tears

6 months from now even, I'm going to regret the title of this post.  I'm going to want to think, "Good grief, Shelly.  Couldn't you have called them 'sweet' tears or something else!?!"  But because I'm being real and raw here I need to actually remember how I feel today.  My title will make me giggle some day, like it has already made some of you giggle!!  But I will automatically remember the way I truly felt today!  I'm pretty ticked off right now, actually, about life not being fair and stuff!  And I if I'm going to cry or cuss under my breath, it's usually going to happen when I'm mad.

I had all but resolved to not write a single word on Pearl's due date today...  Really, honestly, today mostly felt just like any other day.  The hardest part was the days leading up to today, but I didn't have any words on those days either.  And honestly, sweet and sentimental is just not where I'm at today like I might wish!

My babies usually come a couple of days before the due date.  When I initially found out our baby was due on July 6th, I loved that because I imagined myself holding a baby in the hospital on Independence Day, a favorite holiday amongst the people in this house!  Might not get to see fireworks this time, I thought, but the birthday parties would be so much fun!!

My friend Megan and I chatted a lot last week.  7 years ago she lost a baby during this holiday.  7 years ago... and yet she still found herself crying on the phone with me about it.  I was feeling pretty strong on the day that she needed to cry, but it wouldn't have mattered if I was feeling strong that day or not, actually.  The time is always perfect when you know that you are able to pick up the phone and talk to someone who understands what you are going through.  Yes, life after miscarriage eventually gets easier, but there are difficult moments and memories and the tears still find the way to sneak out when we least expect them!  Megan was recalling on the phone with me that in the midst of her very devastating loss that year, she had to play hostess to visitors from out of town.  I'm not sure how to process how a woman can be going through a miscarriage...  something she did NOT plan or hope for...  and yet no one could change their traveling plans for her.  It's not fair.  It's no wonder it is still painfully difficult to remember 7 years later!  She sobbed all over the newborn baby in her house that wasn't hers.  There were the moments that at least she and her husband were able to have some privacy and share in the depth of that loss.  He was strength for her despite the insensitivities of others.  He stepped up to the tasks and took care of things that she would normally have done, even though he was grieving too and had valid concerns for the physical toll the miscarriage was taking on his wife's body.  Other people don't usually mean to be insensitive, but sometimes a lack of experience coupled with no real desire to understand can make the strongest person crumble underneath the lack of willingness to try and identify.  It's tearfully frustrating!  (This story is shared with Megan's permission. I hope to be writing about ways others can help a friend who is going through such loss in future posts.)

At about midnight this week on July 3rd, I got out of bed and sat on the couch and reached for my Bible.  I couldn't sleep.  I thumbed through a few passages, but it didn't really matter what I was thumbing through because my view was blurry.  My husband surprised me by coming in the living room to sit on the couch with me.  He put his arm around me and I just let the tears go.  Somehow I just knew I should be going to the hospital to have a baby that night and the fact that I was crying on the couch instead made me feel so lost and confused.  I am so thankful for my husband who didn't let me feel lonely.  No words were needed.

On the 4th, my doctor and his family were out of town.  The kids and I took care of their cats and plants while they were gone and they let us use their pool.  I started out the morning by checking on things at their house.  There was a card there for me from Theresa which had words in it that mean more than I can write about.  I'm so thankful for her friendship.  We did enjoy the parade that day with Englert cousins and Whitley got to hold and see baby Jared for the first time, which he had really been looking forward to doing.  That evening we made ourselves right at home at the Rakovs' pool and watched the fireworks show.  Timothy used his new favorite word a lot which is "amazing."  ...  Cutest word ever now, I think!  He pronounces it [amasing].  "Wow!  Amasssing fireworks!!" he said repeatedly in a very quiet, awe-struck voice.

Sunday morning, the 5th, at one point I thought about leaving Sunday school early to go to the prayer room.  I resisted though because I knew what would happen if I went in there.  I'd get to praying about the solo I was about to sing and then I'd also have to think about Pearl and knew that was probably a bad idea.  I'm not normally someone that cries easily, so this whole "crying at the drop of a hat" thing is unchartered territory for me!  Our choir gathers up in the choir room right before the service, so I went in there all about "business" hoping to head the crying off at the pass, so to speak.   I sat in my chair for a bit until I couldn't anymore and ended up stepping into David's office to cry there anyway despite my attempts at not doing so.  I reminded myself over and over to breathe and that I needed to stop.  But telling myself to stop just made it worse.  I looked over the words to my solo, "Heal Our Land."  I asked God to please help me sing the song and mean it and to help me forget my "petty problem" long enough to not just put on a show... but to actually pray the prayer in the song no matter what subject matter I'm dealing with on a personal level.  I reached for David's Bible on his shelf and felt compelled to turn to Romans 12.  We had read some of that in Sunday school, but not the part I was actually thinking about at this moment.  "I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect."

I don't have anything else to say, really.  Worship is sacrifice.  It's singing a song on a Sunday morning with the hope to honor Him even when it isn't what feels "natural" in the moment.  Worship isn't singing the kind of music we like, in case you wondered if I've changed my mind on that position.  Worship is falling on our faces and still getting up to live in a way that is holy and acceptable, even when it hurts.  Life isn't fair.  God did not "will" my baby's death no matter how many people want to lovingly tell me that.  I won't accept that.  But I'll accept that Jesus works all things together for good and that He has a purpose for me.  (Romans 8:28)  I'll accept a transformation and renewal of my mind so that I may know what His perfect will is.

I'll accept the tears, randomly as they may come, with a side of hope for tomorrow, please!