A fresh start or, the #meaningoflife is #42

It has been a truly horrible autumn. R and I have unexpectedly and at great speed lost an immediate member of R’s family. Separately I have had to face the fact that instead of fully living the life i have, I’ve been desperately clinging to the hope that I might still have a child.
The grief of both these things has floored us. But in spite of all the darkness, Christ’s goodness has shone though. Our church has been deeply compassionate towards us, demonstrating what it really means to be God’s people, in their love for us.

I have handled a lot of all our circumstances really badly and I am grateful for a forgiving husband and a forgiving God. But now it’s time to start again, to set out  on the road once more. We will both journey with grief a good while longer, but I know that the Father has our back.

The broken pieces of our lives will be mended with the gold of Christ’s compassion and we will be called beautiful because of it.

I turn 42 on Thursday and as anyone aquainted with the hitch hikers guide to the galaxy will know, 42 is the answer to  the meaning of life…
I intend to make 42 a year of entering into  the life I have and celebrating all that God has given R and I by living in the hope that Christ has set before me. 

That, in him I can be a force for good. That through him, I can create joy, love and worship for his glory.

May the meaning of 42 be as my dad taught me years ago:

Ours the task

Others the benefit

To God the glory.

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A sudden spike of grief

Garden close upsI have known for a very long time that there would be no children. These days, for ninety- nine percent of the time, I am genuinely at peace with it, but then every now and then a little spike of grief comes along.

It has prompted me to repost a poem I wrote nearly ten years ago. I have changed a word or two, but the sentiment remains.

I know two other women who will very much know what I mean, and to them and any others who read this and say, yes, I’m with you… my love to you, stay strong.

It’s called “Lime green baby grow“:

There is no way to explain

The terrible void
And lonely path,
This burning desire.
How can I say
About the everyday dull ache,
The sudden breathless pain
Caused by a baby grow in a shop.
What words to use
For the wrenching grief
The earth shifting sense of loss
For the children I have never had.
And who is there to tell?
How could my friends
With their child filled lives
Ever understand?
And even those who
have suffered
The Good Friday
of childlessness
Now have their
parental Easter day.
And what can I say to a church
That helps people understand
Gods love
Through the feelings they have
for their children?
Who is there then,
That knows this pain
Or who would at least
cry with me,
Rather than giving
fluffy platitudes
Of oh there’s time yet
Or so and so has adopted…
These words
They comfort only the giver.
They leave me bereft,
Still childless.