But her birth, 15 autumns ago, was an intense symbol of beauty rising out of sadness.
The previous fall had been soaked in tears, more intense than any I’d experienced before or since. That was the year I learned that a mother can never find a sufficient way to say goodbye to a child she has never met.
That fall, 16 years ago, I remember walking down the concrete walk on a busy city street.
The metropolis mayhem I was surrounded by that day seems so foreign to me now, since the nearest traffic light to my new rural home is 11 miles away. And instead of looking up at 10-story-tall office buildings while sirens careen by, today I admire lazy reflections in handblown windows of a centuries-old church while I sit idly alone at “the corners,” the only intersection my town knows.
Again you will… go out to dance with the joyful.
Then young women will dance and be glad,
young men and old as well.
I will turn their mourning into gladness;
I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.
This was not the blog I intended to write. I thought I was simply going to offer a brief description of the beauty my family has been overwhelmed with and enveloped in, in our new home by the lake, where it empties into the river, in rural New England. But this was the blog that poured out of me. It has not been easy to pen, but I’m certain it’s what I was supposed to write all along. I just found out, right before publishing this, that today is “Remembering Our Babies Day,” so indeed it is what I was supposed to write.
v v v v v v v v v v v v v v v vv v v v v v v v v v v v vv v v v v v v v v v v
Do you follow along on SoulyRested.com? Just click “FollowThisBlog” in the right-hand column. Then you won’t miss one of my crazy caring-for-chicken tidbits, you’ll enjoy my occasional musings about our centurys’ old farmhouse, and maybe you’ll even gain a little insight from this momma who’s been failing at the effort for almost 2 decades. Or not. But in some small way I hope I help you Keep it Simple while being Souly Rested on Christ.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^