This Sunday, the sweet women of our small little church, will be throwing a celebration for the arrival of our twins, in what will hopefully be a couple of months. And while thankful, humbled and indebted, I am admittedly a bit fearful.
I am of the tribe of women who are expecting children after a loss. Though I had experienced a miscarriage before, and it is always painful, it has been the sting of our second miscarriage in the second trimester that still lingers.
What if something happens? Will people be disappointed that we celebrated if these little lives never come to be? Is it too early to celebrate?
The fear of unknown paralyzes many of us. Every so often, one of our kids will want to watch our wedding video. While the celebration was beautiful, my stomach churns when I think about the painful journey ahead for that young couple smiling, crying with joy, and laughing in that video. Occasionally, when I look back at a few of my children’s baby pictures, I often remember the fear of nearly losing our first born at birth. The pain of isolation. The depths of postpartum depression.
I also remember, in the midst of fear and pain, there is always something to be celebrated. Always.
As as I think about the demographics of the women in our church, they are predominantly older. Beautiful, strong women of one, even two generations before me. These women have been through some of the deepest pain imaginable. Many of these precious women are widows, some have buried children, some have dealt with infertility. Some are dealing with difficult situations with their children, some have been single moms, and some have had cancer or nursed others through the horrific disease. Some have lived through the “Great Depression” and some of these beautiful women live quietly, with pain so deep, many will never know. But they show up. Always. Remarkably, most of these women are the first to make a meal for a funeral or an illness. They are also the first in line to celebrate the joys in life. They are wise enough to know there most certainly will be both pain and joy. And they show up for both. Having lived though so many difficult and beautiful seasons, they know….
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance….
I pray that I am able to embrace the example of these wonderful women, even when find myself hiding, like a little girl, afraid of the joy. For everything there is a season. Reminding myself that its ok to embrace the celebration.
Even if you sometimes fear it.
I’m thankful for a reason to celebrate.