Quiet in His Love

Tomorrow marks 13 years since my husband and I lost our second child (third in line) to miscarriage. I cannot begin to tell you how shocking it is to realize so much time has already passed since that day we were in our car headed to Minnesota for a wedding. After having lost a child in 2007, I hoped I'd never have to experience the devastating heartache of a miscarriage again. However, on September 19, 2009, as life would have it, I began to bleed and I knew deep down that our little one was gone. The despair and heart-wrenching sorrow were awful. Tony and I spent the week he had taken off for the trip to Minnesota, mostly at home, grieving. Grief has a way of ebbing and flowing, overwhelming and then settling to a quiet background murmur. It can smack you in the face or creep up in a moment of quiet reflection. Today, as I consider the loss of my son and the many other losses I have encountered in September, I realize that, though I am utterly without understanding of the reasons

One year. So much can happen in one year. A child can be conceived and born. A house can be built. A team can make it to the championship game and...lose. A family can grow through adoption. A family can pay off debt. A child can graduate high school and step out into the world of college. A president can come into office. A person can surrender their life to Christ. The list is almost limitless because a year can be both long and short. It can feel like a never-ending run or it can seem to have slipped away in the blink of an eye. One year has come and gone since the day I said goodbye to my dad. Four of us gathered around him, prayed over him, cried over him, pleaded with God, and hoped. We were with him when his heart stopped beating this side of heaven. We were with him when he strode into another place. He was walking in the presence of God while we were weeping at his side. That day, in some ways, seems like it couldn't possibly be one whole year ago, yet it is. Today, I have