Photo from http://www.andol.info/life/1222.htm
I shoved my gloved hands deeper into my jacket pockets. It wasn’t a frigid winter day, but it was windy and damp, having rained on and off. Staff meeting was over and I headed back to our apartment to finish up a report for our team leader. We had a team dinner in three hours, so I had just enough time to make the final edits and revisions. I was glad to have words to wrestle with for the afternoon because near the end of our staff meeting sorrow had wrapped itself around me like a warm blanket on this chilly day. I didn’t expect the sorrow, so when I realized what I felt, I was surprised. I needed the comfort of mindful editing so I could ignore the unexpected sorrow.
This was a unique day. Because three of our teammates are leaving the city, moving out, we had a day of farewells with fond memories and an encouraging send off. But walking away from that, I didn’t feel happy.
It felt like everyone else on the team was moving on to something new: new ministry locations, new teams, new adventures. And the one other couple remaining in the City had a baby just a few days ago. It seemed like everyone had new chapters of life to explore. But I felt the weight of empty arms and was reminded again of the baby we lost. If I hadn’t had a miscarriage, I’d be 5-6 months pregnant by now and we would’ve had our new chapter to look forward to, too.
Oh Lord, how do I move forward in this sadness, this sorrow, this emptiness? May my wounded heart learn how to rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn. Fill my heart with healing, with hope.