It’s been a long time since I’ve written, truly written. And even now the words rattle around the thousands of to-dos and lists filling my brain. They get shoved to the back too often, buried in the all-consuming swirl of exhaustive details. Have I forgotten how it feels to gather, shape and allow them the space to process?
I sat tonight to work on my September goals, and one refrain kept crashing into my brain over and over again. September. How is it September again? How has another year passed without you? Seven years since I last held you.
This little one kicking away in my belly, stretching and growing, she is so anticipated. Set to arrive just a few days after you. So celebrated. And yet, forever, there is always the bittersweet tinge of missing you. Missing who you could have been.
Through the deep, gaping holes of loss shines the brightest rays of joys. For without the darkest depths we cannot appreciate the breath-taking heights. When the longest sobs subside, we can look at the sunrise with new eyes. So come, September, with your grief and pain and sobs and hope and joy and cries of new life.
I would not be me if it were not for you. And for that, you will forever be the source of my greatest sorrow and yet my greatest joy. We love you Job Whitcomb, until the day….
And I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
“Praise You In This Storm” Casting Crowns