Blessed are the ones that mourn...

It's so good, that I feel there are almost no words to describe what it is like in light of my loss, to hold my daughter, Hazel. She is a part of the healing, so much so that only my heart can know, and the words fall silent to tell of how blessed we are that she is here. And when I do hold her, she is no snuggler. From the time she figured out that arms and legs were her's to control, she has been using them to wiggle, climb and push me while I juggle her. If she's in a good mood she sort of uses her little behavior to exhibit her already budding independent personality but if she is upset or tired it becomes this wearing struggle. I do my best to pat her and shush her. Sometimes we lay down and she sort of crawls around me, pushing me and pulling on my clothes. No matter how much she pushes on me, I pat her gently with my hands telling her she is cute and special and that I love her so much! If I do put her down (because that seems like what she wants) she gets fussy and is happy when I pick her back up so that she can continue to push and climb me. It's as if she were saying.."I want you here, to hold me, I just don't want to rest easy in your arms." When its time for her to sleep we go through this routine and almost always she falls asleep while I'm patting or holding her. It's very precious, and I spend a few moments each time with my face close to hers, a few kisses, and her smell, appreciating the calm, and her, in her sleep allowing me to be close to her.

I tell you this because it personifies my current relationship with God, he has given me this to know him, and what ways he is loving me. For there to be at least, a something in the quagmire of feelings.

Even before Hazel was born, I imagined myself, a child in these big huge arms. Sweating, tired, hurt, crying, and mad as hell. The arms were nice and gentle, they loved me, and encompassed me but I didn't want to release, give up my grief and rest. My imagination gave me permission to be that way in the day to day, to be confused and innocent, to know that the things I was experiencing, the way I felt, didn't change the way I loved God or he loved me, just that it was a time, a season. I have dealt with incredible guilt and trying to forgive myself. I have struggled to understand church words, I have been frustrated beyond my mind with people who are self destructive, as I have felt my tragedy was dumped in my lap. I could not believe that a God who claimed to be good, and loved me, and the world I live in, could let there be such heartache. Basically, I have been pitching a spiritual fit.

This week we will mark the 3rd memorial of little Ezra's short life and tragic death and everything his memory and spirit means to our family. It seems appropriate to honor what I hold of him in my heart, to mention him here, with people I love, people who love me and our family,to thank you for your continuing thoughtfulness and prayers, and to share that I sense that I am ready to relinquish my grief and pass into a new season of life, to rest easy. In my heart I feel spiritually a new budding, and the hope of a renewal. A season where Ezra is still my son, whom I miss desperately, the places he would fit into our story but also the ways I go well from here, thoughtfully and considering all things God has for me as his daughter and also as a mother.

(For the first time I shared my "testimony" or my spiritual place with my church on Sunday. The time felt necessary and appropriate and it went well)

It's light hearted to think, but Hazel will be walking soon, and if I put her down she is content to scoot around for just a little bit before she is ready for me to juggle her again. It seems simple and cliche but also reassuring as I watch her, that God is giving me permission to follow her lead.