Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Tear Tea





Have a seat and relax.  I'd like to have a cup of tear tea with you. 

It's ingredients are simple, but can only be made from a heart that's been broken. 

It tastes bitter at first, but you'll find that it can be soothing and sweet if it has a little bit of the honey of fellowship.

Have you ever cried in exasperation for a child who has meltdown after meltdown? 

How about for the loneliness and isolation of the days when your husband has to work late and all your children are sick? 

What about tears of grief? There are some mommies (and I am one of them) who have cried buckets of tears for the loss of an infant child, either before or after birth. 

This is a reality that happens more than we are willing to admit. The admittance only brings on more tears, more pain. 

It is no longer for my own grief that the tears come fierce.  The tears come now for other moms, who are on that same path of sorrow that I was destined to take some nine years ago. 

And, so

here I am,

admitting. 

It is healing to admit, for with admittance is an invitation for consolation and for others to hope. 

There is a Light at the end of the tunnel.
 
There is Deliverance from this valley of the shadow of death.
 
Only the Light and the Deliverance don't necessarily mean the pain will end overnight.
 
Sometimes it hurts for a long, long time. 

But, hope means there is a Light shining in the darkness.  There is a Deliverer, and He is Christ.

When I had an early miscarriage, I cried out to the Lord in my pain. And, He showed up, with His perfect peace that "transcends all understanding." 

That same year I became pregnant again and was given the devastating news that the child growing inside my womb had Potter's Syndrome, a condition "incapable with life." That meant, when he was born, unless God decided to intervene, the baby would most certainly die.

Having an early miscarriage was hard, but this seemed unbearably harder.
 
Maybe because I had bonded with my baby. 

I felt his hiccups, his nudges, his wiggles. I had pressed my hand against my protruding belly as he pushed back with ten little toes. I saw the outline of his forehead, nose, and mouth in black and white on the ultrasound screen.
 
And, when he was born, he would die.

It was too much for me to bear. How could I endure it? I did not have the strength to do such a thing.
 
I was at my wit's end, crumpled and broken at the merciful feet of Almighty God.
 
And, my tears were at times, my only relief from the pain. 

My grief was so burdensome, so weighty, that there were few people who could have helped me carry it.

Thankfully, the Lord is so good. He gave me wonderful friends, who lifted me up in prayer and met my need for a listening ear and a piping hot dinner when I could barely get out of bed.

He knew my sorrow and provided for me.

Looking back, I couldn't have done it without Him and all the people He sent to help me.

I don't know how anyone could. 





On December 5, 2003, Luke, my fragile, but beautiful baby boy, was born and eight hours later passed on into the hands of God. 

The tears came swift and fierce for many days and then in waves, but with time, their ebb and flow became as gentle and  peaceful as the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

And, all those tears meant something, they mattered.  Because they all matter to Him, to the One who holds a well of our tears in the palm of His nail marked hand.

"You have kept count of my tossings,
put my tears in your bottle . Are they not written in your book? (Psalm 56: 8, ESV)"