Know that this is not what I would have chosen. Child loss happened TO me. It is out of my control. And the calendar pages keep turning.  Every holiday season means another year gone without the companionship of the child I miss. I want to continue to embrace life, to enjoy my loved ones, to make new memories. But I need your help to make it happen.

I will confess: I’m no better at this than the first set of holidays after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. Every. Single. Year. has brought changes and challenges on top of the empty chair round the family table.

Every time I tell the story of Dominic, it helps to keep him real.  Dom was always ready to create a funny and memorable photo! It reminds my heart that he lived, that he mattered, that he matters still. And in the telling, I am giving away a little bit of him for another heart to carry.  His light is passed to another soul that can pass it to another and another.

Because child loss is so devastating and painful, it’s easy to believe the only logical reason for this agony is that it’s punishment. It took me awhile to allow the Holy Spirit to lead me into the truth that it is not. All the punishment for sin was borne by Jesus.

One of the gifts grief has given me is that I just do not have the energy to keep my mask on straight. So I’ve decided to take it off. And I find that when I do, people aren’t horrified, they are relieved. Because that means they can take theirs off too.

One of the greatest challenges I faced this side of child loss was finding a space where I could speak honestly and openly about my feelings toward God and about my faith. So many times I was shut down at the point of transparency by someone shooting off a Bible verse or hymn chorus or just a chipper, “God’s in control!” They had NO IDEA how believing that (and I do!) God is in control was both comforting and utterly devastating at the very same time.

I can go from tearful to joyful in a heartbeat too.  I am even more grateful for the children that walk the earth with me.  I try harder to be present, to listen, to lean in and love more fully. The broken me is a more compassionate woman who knows the value of a minute spent with someone you love.   I’ve learned to shift the weight of grief to one hip and make room for other things.   It’s hard.   It’s going to stay hard.  But with God’s help, I’m strong enoug

I no longer feel betrayed.   I still don’t like this life. I would never have chosen this life.   But I will trust the One Who made me to carry me through it.

It was a long time before I wanted to believe that I received any gifts worth keeping from this life I didn’t choose. I knew I had tears, pain, agonizing sorrow, loss, heartache, dashed hopes, empty arms. If I could give those back and regain my son, I would do it in less than a heartbeat. I can’t, so I’m left here to ponder what else I’ve received from burying a child.

It IS frustrating AND exhausting.   But I am learning (slowly, very slowly!) that it is oh, so much better! Instead of energy spent on being wounded and trying to hide it, I’m learning to speak up, own the wounds and suggest ways to prevent them in the future.  

We enter this world when we leave our mother’s womb. That is the beginning. But our lives never end.  We are eternal beings, created in the image of God, destined to spend forever with Him-IF we receive the gift of redemption made possible by the blood of Christ Jesus.

Feeling a little nostalgic for what WAS is perfectly normal.  Most of us humans aren’t that fond of change. But children are ours for a season, not forever.   They are given to us as gifts, not possessions. For some mamas, like me, it really IS over.

I’ve discovered that self-control is not a limitless commodity.   Now before my Bible believing friends remind me that it is part of the fruit of the Spirit, I want to say this:  it sure is!  And because the Spirit of Jesus lives inside me I can promise you I am more self-controlled than I would otherwise be. BUT… When every single word, action, thought and feeling has to be reined in every waking moment, there is not enough self-control this side of heaven to do THA

One of the most devastating questions I had to face after Dominic ran ahead to heaven was, “What difference does prayer make?”   I had prayed-diligently prayed-for every one of my children since before they were born. Even Dominic’s name, which means “belonging to God” was chosen carefully to reflect my heart’s desire that this child follow hard after Jesus. So why didn’t prayer “work”?  Why did my son die in an accident when others live?

One thing burying my child is teaching me is this:  Every single person I meet is carrying a burden I know nothing about. And most are doing the very best they can to bear that load and still do life.

I've seen physical, mental and spiritual healing at every retreat.   Some moms have said they haven't slept this well since their child went to Heaven. One mom told me she never made the connection between her faith and grief until this weekend. Every mom has come away strengthened for the lifelong journey ahead of her and better equipped to share the light, love and life of Christ as a broken but beautiful vessel for the Lord.

We are rapidly approaching the one year mark of launching the official ministry of Heartache and Hope-a formal recognition of work I'd been doing among the bereaved and those who love them for nearly a decade and I wanted to give a brief update on how things are going.

The first time I shared this I was trying to distill years of walking the broken road of child loss into a relatively few, easy to think about, “lessons”. Since then I could add a dozen more but today I’ll only add one: Being a bereaved parent is not my IDENTITY but it impacts who I am in ways I’m still figuring out. Just as being married or being female or being from the southern United States informs how I walk in the world and interact with others so, too, does having bu

While I certainly had no real idea in the first hours or even weeks what losing a child entailed, I understood plainly that it meant I would not have Dominic to see, hold or talk to. I wouldn’t be able to hug his neck or telephone him.   He wouldn’t be sitting at my table any more. But the death of a child or other loved one has a ripple effect.  It impacts parts of life you might not expect.  As time went on, I was introduced to a whole list of losses commonly calle

“Yay You!” to every heart that chooses to persevere even when it’s hard or uncomfortable