Initially I wasn't going to post about this because it seems so deeply personal, but then I re-read my last post and thought, if I'm willing to share the hurt and the dark I would like to think I'm able to share the healing and the light, too.

The morning after I wrote that last post I woke up tired with the wound still very fresh, I had hardly slept and when I did it was dreams about them telling us she's pregnant over and over again. I trudged out to make some tea and turn on my computer and when I sat down at the table I happened to glance outside. My breath caught in my throat. That morning we had the most beautiful hoar frost I have ever seen. The branches of every tree were covered in it, even the railing on our back stairs was covered. And I felt a pull, an imperative, to get outside and just be with God for a bit. So I put my tea in my travel mug, grabbed my Bible and headed to the nearest park where I could sit and read or walk around.

I got to the park, parked the car, got out and started walking. Even with all the beauty around me I couldn't focus on it, I just felt the throbbing wound in my heart, the anger of feeling betrayed. I realized I kept looking down at the path in front of me, the trampled snow with bits and pieces of dirt, instead of up at the trees. I had to keep reminding myself to look at the trees, not down at my feet. I was still so hurt and angry at them, I wanted God to tell me they were wrong. I wanted to hear that what they did was deplorable and they would pay for it. I wanted God to tell me he was on my side. But I know that's not how God works. It's none of my business what goes on between them and God. So I trudged on, head down, snow crunching underfoot, and all I could think about was her.

Staring at the ground, holding on to my hurt, I suddenly heard God say, "Don't look at that! Look at me!" Shocked, I looked up and saw the trees again. The wind hadn't come up yet, the sky was still foggy and the frost still clung to each and every tiny branch. "Don't look at that," I heard again, "look at me." I kept looking up at the trees and just then I walked through a spot where they bowed down low over the path and I was surrounded by lacy ice, like God was reaching down even closer to me.

And then the tears came and I poured out my hurt and let God have it all.

I kept walking, admiring the trees, looking at the pine branches so painstakingly covered in frost, each and every needle, and letting God hold me so gently and so comfortingly. It felt good to see God and hold him in my view, and just let the other stuff fade into the periphery. It felt good to feel empty of all the hurt and anger and to let God slowly fill that space again. I found a bench a little off to the side and sat for a while, looking at the trees across the river. "Wasn't he beautiful?" God spoke again. And the tears came again because he was so beautiful, our baby. Thank you thank you thank you, my heart breathed as tears ran down my face. Thank you for giving him to us. Thank you for letting us love him.

A gentle wind came up but it was enough to start dislodging the frost and it fell, almost like a snowfall, from the tree in front of me directly to where I was sitting. I let it fall on me, basking in God's blessing, as I sat and let the tears fall. Remembering Emmanuel. How it felt to feel him move inside me, how it felt to hold him in our hands.

By the time I left the frost was falling from the trees and it looked almost like a snowstorm in the park. Thank you thank you thank you, my heart still breathed.

On the way home I remembered this song. A few years ago my sister, Kim, wrote some beautiful music and needed words to go with it so asked me what I could come up with. I'd been meditating a lot on Psalm 73 and the words seemed to fit perfectly with the music. As I listened to it on my drive home it seemed like it had been written for that very moment.



So thank you, all of you out there who read and pray and care about our journey. Thank you for sharing in the darkness and in the light.