The wind is squealing outside, ripping violently through the trees and houses. Winter is upon us. Today was so cold, the wind eating through your clothes and skin, gnawing down to your very bones. Yesterday was beautiful, but by evening the winds had started to pick up and soon they were whipping. It kept it up all night and continued all today.
I’ll be honest, I am finding it hard to come here each night. My days are mostly good, but by the evenings, I am exhausted and tired and sore, and that’s usually when the sadness sets in. I don’t wish to bore you with this grief, but it consumes these silent hours and it is in these solitary moments that I must remind myself through the sadness of my great joy.
Last night I whispered to Tim, “It’s been three weeks,” somehow thinking that by saying this I would remind myself that nearly the same amount of time has passed since the loss of our baby as the amount of time we had known our baby existed. That somehow, that should temper my grief and sadness. But this evening though tears, I realized, “It’s only been three weeks.” I can’t expect the void to be filled. I can’t expect this grief to be gone. I can’t expect to be back to normal. After all, it’s only been three weeks.
Tim has a passage that he leaves posted on our fridge- 2 Corinthians 4:17-18 “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all, so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
Thankfully in Christ, there may be profound sadness, but there is never despair. This may hurt every fiber of my soul, but it does not overwhelm my ability to see His goodness and His constant working in my life. If anything, I think it amplifies it. So in these somber moments, when my heart aches and I feel discouraged, I’m fixing my eyes on Him. There can be no better focus.