Your Empty Arms

I was folding a load of laundry when the urge to write you rushed over my heart.  Words began flooding my mind that only our Father could have given me.  My hands felt the need to touch these keys in complete compassion and sisterly love for you.  I have felt overwhelmed, lately, and admit that my gratitude for this life's givings has recently been in short supply.  I can sometimes take for granted what you so profoundly desire.  I am so sorry.

I am hesitant to expect anything I say to have the power of healing, and nothing I transcribe here will offer the understanding your mind and heart beg for.  Ache for.  Your pain is immense; your tears are immeasurable; and your love can reach the heavens.  Please forgive me if my efforts fall short, but these words have been cautiously and tenderly chosen for you.  Whether your story has already been shared or you hold your grief tightly concealed, I pray the Lord meets you in this place.  I pray, if only for a moment, you tear down the walls built around your heart so that His peace and overflowing love for you penetrates your soul.  May you feel His presence in your empty arms.

There is nothing to describe the anguish you feel in your heart.  The tucked away self-guilt that cuts you deep to your core.  The sorrow and jealousy that are all-consuming.  I have heard your cries and shed tears alongside you.  Your sobbing is deafening, and too few of us know how to respond or even try.  You question your calling and the yearning that resides so deeply within you.  You second-guess your health, your habits, your purpose.  You carry your family's grief, even though the weight of your own is debilitating.  You blankly stare at a future of unanswered questions, having little strength to persevere.  You doubt God's goodness and sovereignty, standing alone with unfulfilled promises and empty arms.

Time refuses to erase the pain, but the pain is what connects you to what was and what could have been.  A name so lovingly chosen becomes a whispered prayer echoed in the depths of your heart.  Two dates every year bring with them unbridled emotion.  One signifies hope and your what-was joy, while the other signifies sorrow and all that was lost.  Outsiders underestimate the importance of these days and how they so greatly changed you.  Your loss changed the way you look at yourself as a woman and a mother.  It changed the way you look at other children around you or how you feel next to your husband.  Your loss changed the way you look at God and has even shaken your confidence in His divinity.

So many of us fail to meet you in the valley of your heartache and oftentimes overlook the relentless hurt you endure.  You are bombarded with pregnancy announcements on social media, yet you offer sincere congratulations.  Your mailbox overflows with baby shower invitations that you graciously accept.  You receive invasive questioning of your family planning and physical health, but you are hesitant to disclose your painful journey.  Nobody really considers the scars buried deep within your being.  The emptiness in your heart that is almost too heavy to withstand.  The never-ending longing that unsettles your soul.  The aching in your bones to touch and smell.

I grieve alongside you and utter your name in petition of settling peace.  I pray you see through the darkness to the One who loves you most.  Though your questions may remain unanswered and your pain will never wholly subside, I promise to listen.  To hear your story with empathy and compassion.  To share in the love of your angel.  To recognize that there was life, no matter how long.  Life breathed into that precious and perfect being by our sovereign Father.  Life celebrated and life mourned.

You carried an angel who took part of your heart to the heavens.  Your arms may be empty, but Jesus's are not.


"As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things."
Ecclesiastes 11:5 (NIV)

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