On How He Holds You in the Silence, Mothers
I penned this while grieving the loss of my friend Ashley’s son, Macklin August, who went home to his heavenly Father on Mother’s Day after thirty-two weeks in the womb. My deepest hope is that those of you who have experienced the loss of a pregnancy or infant will find room to breathe while reading this. I pray you are blessed by this word offering and that you may find encouragement in knowing you can be certain your babies are being held by their heavenly Father.
It seems that since I am here as a supporter of the grieving, I should have words to say. But today is more about silence.
Silence of the perfect newborn baby who should be crying.
Silence of the mother who should be nursing.
Silence of the celebration of a new life with a future.
The silence is hard. It’s what takes the breath away and makes the tears flow. Not because it’s quiet, but because the silence is so loud.
We hear the quiet even though there’s no sound. Because what was supposed to be is not. A mother’s heart mourns the sounds that are missing, the most deafening noise of all.
It’s ironic how similar silence and clamor can be.
Even surrounded by the loving chatter of friends and family coming together to share our pain, there is a silent, constant heartbeat of grief. We chatter, we plan, we organize, we attempt to fill the silence, but our hearts remain in the silence of our loss.
[Tweet “Like the sisters of Lazarus, who was raised from the dead, we too ache to witness a miracle.”]
But the silence is all we have.
We wonder at the why, and we struggle to trust in the knowing of who holds him.
The silence speaks. The silence steals. The silence tortures.
The church rallies and friends gather. Meals are delivered. Hugs are given. Tears flow freely as words of comfort are uttered. Prayers for mercy are laid at the throne of grace.
Rest, dear friends, upon the strength beneath the silence.
When the due date comes and your sorrow threatens to overtake you, rest upon Him.
When in the dark night your mind and body are tortured as your breast longs to nurse your babe, rest upon Him.
When the should-have-beens come and threaten to strangle your soul, rest upon Him.
When the silence suffocates because you long to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet, rest upon Him.
When for no reason at all, grief tears at your soul and your knees buckle, rest upon Him.
He holds you.
You are held.
Your baby is held.
Both by the same Father.
Chelsia Checkal is an unashamed dreamer living on grace. A recovering legalist erring on the side of love. A coffee indulger who’d delight in meeting you at a quaint cafe to talk real-life. A messy mom, wife, and free-spirited Jesus girl whose life sings a story of redemption, freedom and hope. Chelsia blogs at movewithhim.blogspot.com.
Photograph by Merja.
Oh, this is so lovely and real. Trusting with you that it will comfort the hearts of the grieving and create a space for them to acknowledge their pain and feel heard.
Chelsia, thank you for writing this. As many other woman have agreed in an unspoken way here, there really isn’t much to say after such soul penetrating paragraphs.