15 In Ramah a voice is heard, crying and weeping loudly. Rachel mourns for her children and refuses to be comforted, because they are dead.16 But I, the Lord, say to dry your tears. Someday your children will come home from the enemy’s land. Then all you have done for them will be greatly rewarded.17 So don’t lose hope. I, the Lord, have spoken.
Today, in my bible study, we talked about our plans for our lives 10 (or 5 years ago in my case, since 10 years ago puts me as a senior in high school) years ago. What did we think we'd be doing today? I've blogged before about how I thought our family would be complete well before I turned 30. While that could still happen, E and I have come to the conclusion that we will probably be over 30 before we are finished having children. (well, he should be for sure, since he turns 30 on I's 1st birthday!)
After we discussed our plans, one of the mentor women asked how we were changed from our experiences that led us down different life paths. I, for one, talked a little about being able to be a testimony and a compassionate ear for people going through what I went through, (for even those who only go through it once).
How my perspective would be different had we not lost our children. Would I have the same compassion? Would I cry out in prayer for those who have lost such precious life?
My personal answer is: probably not. There's a sense of compassion that only experience can give us.
Almost exactly one year ago, (tomorrow, actually) I found out I was pregnant with baby number 8. We were hopeful that *this* baby would be the one to make it since we were under constant medical care and were trying new things (lovenox). but, almost one year ago next week, we lost that baby. A year seems like an eternity ago when I think of the pit of grief I was in, yet in some ways it seems like only yesterday.
When I talk and think about my miscarriages, it seems I miss my babies no less today then I did 12 mths ago. I think of them less often, but the grief of losing our children is still on the surface, ready to be prodded, ready to be shared with another who is hurting and feeling so alone.
If I can only make a difference in one hurting woman's life, then use me Lord. Let me be a tool to help dry the tears.