The Heart Hopes
Years ago, when we lost our first child, (you can read that story here and here) my husband and I attended a grief workshop for almost a year. It was instrumental in my healing, as was my faith in God. I took such strength and courage from the other women there, as well as the few husbands that attended. It was a safe place to cry, to get angry, to bare our deep hurts and fears to one another. I even kept attending when I got pregnant with our second child, because the fear and anxiety were always there, and the slightest cramp or feeling "not pregnant anymore" brought those feelings right to the surface.
But where there was anger and pain and uncertainty, there was also hope. There was a woman at the group, who had lost her daughter a couple of years before, and she attended the group to offer comfort to those whose lives had just been shattered by loss. Losing a baby at any stage, whether it is 6 weeks or 40 weeks, is so hard, and the feelings are raw. And this woman, who had lost her precious daughter full-term, reached out to anyone who came to the group, as well any woman she met who had suffered loss. We got to know each other and she would send me cards and poems she had written, especially on the anniversary of our baby's death. Those actions validated my feelings and kept me from thinking I was crazy. And then, she sent the heart. She called it a Hope Heart, and she sent them to all the women she had met who had suffered a pre-term loss. It was a reminder that there is always hope, no matter what the future held. Hope for healing and for joy. Hope for peace and contentment. Maybe there would be no more babies, or maybe just more loss, or maybe just one child, or 7. But hope always remained.
She has sent out close to a thousand of these hearts, and lost count after 500 babies born subsequently. But babies or no, her hearts symbolized not only hope, but that someone cared and was praying, that God knew each circumstance and that this hope is a wonderful gift from Him.
I still keep in touch with my friend, and the heart hangs on my Christmas tree every year. Every year, I unwrap that heart, and I think of my baby, my friend, and all the hearts she lovingly and prayerfully made and sent to women. I think of how God used a hurting, grieving woman, and gave her a huge heart; so big, that she had to share it with any other woman walking a similar road. I recall how I would look at that heart while still childless, and knew that there was always hope.
Hope hanging from a tree...
For Gail, who gave hope and comfort to many. May God bless you my friend.
But where there was anger and pain and uncertainty, there was also hope. There was a woman at the group, who had lost her daughter a couple of years before, and she attended the group to offer comfort to those whose lives had just been shattered by loss. Losing a baby at any stage, whether it is 6 weeks or 40 weeks, is so hard, and the feelings are raw. And this woman, who had lost her precious daughter full-term, reached out to anyone who came to the group, as well any woman she met who had suffered loss. We got to know each other and she would send me cards and poems she had written, especially on the anniversary of our baby's death. Those actions validated my feelings and kept me from thinking I was crazy. And then, she sent the heart. She called it a Hope Heart, and she sent them to all the women she had met who had suffered a pre-term loss. It was a reminder that there is always hope, no matter what the future held. Hope for healing and for joy. Hope for peace and contentment. Maybe there would be no more babies, or maybe just more loss, or maybe just one child, or 7. But hope always remained.
She has sent out close to a thousand of these hearts, and lost count after 500 babies born subsequently. But babies or no, her hearts symbolized not only hope, but that someone cared and was praying, that God knew each circumstance and that this hope is a wonderful gift from Him.
I still keep in touch with my friend, and the heart hangs on my Christmas tree every year. Every year, I unwrap that heart, and I think of my baby, my friend, and all the hearts she lovingly and prayerfully made and sent to women. I think of how God used a hurting, grieving woman, and gave her a huge heart; so big, that she had to share it with any other woman walking a similar road. I recall how I would look at that heart while still childless, and knew that there was always hope.
Hope hanging from a tree...
For Gail, who gave hope and comfort to many. May God bless you my friend.
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