Blessed are they that mourn...

...for they shall be comforted.

I started this post a long while back. But only now do I feel like I can share it. Two nights ago I was reading the Sermon on the Mount and going thru the Beatitudes. When I got to v.4 I had the calming, strengthening, peaceful realization that I have been blessed. I have been comforted. It has come from my Savior, my Heavenly Father, my husband, my family, my friends. I have felt it thru prayer, in silence, thru service, thru laughter. It has been continual. I have been blessed.

In February Jamey and I had our hearts broken. We were 16 weeks along with our baby boy when we found out at my routine checkup that his tiny heart no longer beat. We were completely blindsided - there had been zero signs of miscarriage. We were devastated. We didn't know how to wrap our minds around it. We still hadn't told many people we were expecting and really didn't know how to share what we had lost.

The love was instant. People sent cards, emails, and texts full of love and support. Daily phone calls and check-ins to say whatever we were feeling was just right. We received beautiful flowers and delicious meals. No one tried to make it better. No one tried to tell us how to make it thru. They were just there. We felt their prayers and their love. It was very humbling. Too often I shy away from service because it seems like my small offering is in no way enough to help. But now I know it does - it means the world. Of course nothing could make up for the loss of a wanted child, but it is incredible how strengthening it is to know we were not alone. Far from family but not from love.

I remember a time when my brother and I were little. It was early on a weekend morning. Mom and Dad were asleep and we were playing quietly in the front room. My mom used to make beautiful porcelain dolls and I was playing with one with long brown hair that sat in a rocking chair. I loved her and I was being so careful, but I got distracted and she broke. I was scared and sad. Thomas tried to help me put her back together, but she was cracked. When Mom got up (I think something triggered when the "playing quietly" turned to "utter silence") she came out and I cried and showed her. I knew she was upset and maybe a little mad, but she said "It's ok" to my tears and got the glue out and I watched as she carefully pieced her back together. I see myself a lot like that doll now. My heart was broken, it was in pieces. But love glued it back together and now it is whole. Just like you can still see the faint crack lines on the doll, I know I still have scars on my heart. They have healed but they will never disappear. But I am whole again.

I have been comforted.