Monday, June 2, 2014
A quiet miracle in my heart
Today I was driving home, in a still wet bathing suit, covered in (yesterday's) clothes.
And this thought hits me.
(And not the one I should have had, like "I really should have changed clothes before leaving today.)
Instead it was this . . .
"I like life right now."
It was such a simple thought. But it was so profound for me to think that.
You see, two years ago, I didn't want life to go on. How could it? My daughter Olivia was dead.
The bright days weren't so bright. The holidays lost their cheer. Everything seemed dull and dark. My heart was in such constant ache that at times, it lost the ability to feel.
And then more grief unloaded. More loss. More death. More miscarriages. More brokenness.
And each blow to my life was like just another shovel full of dirt thrown on top of me, until I was 6 feet under, knowing I needed to live still, but had no way out to the land of the living.
It was there, calling to me. YOU were calling to me.
Each of you, patient, hopeful and sometimes hurting, as you watched me wade through the murky mire of recurrent loss, praying that somehow I would make it up to the other side.
And today, I realized . . . I have.
It's not as though I will never cry again, or hurt for my babies. I'm not so healed that the broken will not always be a part of me.
But today as I drove with two worn out, sleeping kids in the back seat . . . As I listened to the quiet of my heart . . . As I reflected on the gifts I am abundantly blessed with . . . I realized that I really, really like where I am.
And that truly is nothing short of a miracle of God.
P.S. I promise, I took a shower when I got home. And put on new clothes too. ;)