buds of life

Yesterday, on the first day of February, the sun rose visibly for the first time in several weeks. Ellie, my 7 year-old was the first one of our family up. Full of Christmas-morning-like excitement, she ushered us all in to the baby's East-facing room to view the majesty. She burst into praise to God for the warm rays exploding the sky with vibrant color. She tried to capture the beauty on my husband's phone, but was perplexed when it didn't quite get the colors right. Joy was so palpable in that small moment. I'm thankful for the bright blue sky and warm rays that continued to brighten our countenances today, because this is a hard month for our family.

It holds an anniversary that, until a few years ago, I wasn't aware people marked, except on tombstones. We don't even have a tidy name for it in English: Death Anniversary. 

In this past, this month holds more pain than any other. The weight of the day has pulled February down for me, and the weeks before have been full of dread. It has felt like my daughter's death is actually happening again and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I relive it again. 

So, in an exercise of obedience to God, I'm going to attempt to speak to myself in this post about the beautiful things I've experienced despite and in grief and trauma these last few years. In no way do I seek to minimize the pain I've experienced, whitewash it, or cover it with platitudes. Nor do I think God couldn't have done these things in another way.

But gifts from God have sprung up unexpectedly...like a bud bursting forth with life after an impossibly bitter winter, the ground still heavy with snow. I pray it would be that these gifts are just beginning to bloom. 

One of the sweetest things I have experienced the last few years in the deepest pain of grief, has been the comfort of God. My prayers and time reading the Word, specifically Psalms, has been my life-line and it has deepened my trust in Him so much. Its as if I have been in a dark hole - a lonely hole that no one can quite even see how far I am down. But God has known where I am - He has been besides me all the while. The closeness to which I walk with Him is so different now. He has been a close friend to me. 

Another beautiful gift I've received from knowing Noelle, and loving her as my daughter despite her "terminal" diagnosis, has drawn me to seek to love others much more deeply. I have a long way to go, and am learning daily what love looks like. Some days I am overwhelmed at my failures in this capacity, yet I am flattened by the forgiveness God offers through Jesus. He is so gentle and patient with me as I grow.

Through the pain of grief, God has also opened my eyes to other people's hurt in a new way. I listen a little longer, I try and ask better questions (again I still have a long way to go as I learn). So many people have done that for me on this journey, they have been the love of God to me. I also have been amazed to see how Jesus does this - he has such compassion the desperate, hurting people. 

The pain of Noelle's death and the resulting permanence of grief for me on this earth has also drawn me to seek for the resolution of all things - when Jesus will return to make all things new. I hesitate to say "heaven" because He says He will make all things new - a new heavens and new earth - and new bodies. Romans 8 has been such a rock to me as I study what that means for here and now as well. 

While each of these things could be a blog post in itself, I hope it has been a blessing for you as it has been for  me to remember and reflect on the ways God might bring rays of sunshine in your darkness, even through the death of a child. 

What ways has God used the dark places in your life? I'd love to hear from you. Drop a comment below or email me.