Thursday, August 1, 2013

A Chip

Not the chocolate kind.  Or the crispy, crunchy potato kind that you guiltfully dunk into a bowl of savory, tangy, french-onion goodness.  No, not that kind either.  

I'm talking about a chip on your shoulder.  The kind that exudes an attitude of, my life has been marked by some sort of hardship, I demand special treatment and consideration!  That kind of chip.

I don't want to live that way.

I don't want my experience with Evie to define me.  I don't want to view others' hardships in comparison to mine.  I don't want to give friends the impression that they can't talk to me because they can't imagine that I would want to shoulder their burden as well.  I don't want to use Evie as an excuse to not continue to grow or learn or stretch myself in ways that will better me.  Or worse, make me feel entitled to demand things from the Lord - Lord, I've suffered x,y, and z ... can't I catch a break already!?!

It's sort of complicated though.  Because losing Evie has changed my entire view on life.  And truly, the journey I walked with her was, and still is, an incredibly emotional one that cuts right down to the depths of my soul.  Not a single part of me remains untouched by her, and I know I will never be the same.

So I'm trying to learn what it means to bridge those two thoughts together - to always keep my love for Evie and the lessons I've learned because of her in the very forefront of my heart, but be brave enough, strong enough to move on and embrace this world and however many more trials it will bring me.  

Truthfully though, I haven't felt this "normal" in a really long time (click here to read what my early days of grief looked like).  Pain certainly still remains, like my longing to know who my baby girl would have been, and my longing for another little life to love. But the Lord is helping me carry those things better.  

And I think I have taken a step in the right direction.  I have taken up some new responsibilities at church, which I am equally as excited about as I am nervous!  But it's good.  And I know those were leadings from the Lord, so also, good.

Step by step I'm learning to really live life with this pain in my heart.  As Jennifer Rothschild has said, allow your painful experiences to refine, not define you.  

Lord, let it be. 


  1. You captured it so well Sarah! This is something I have wrestled with and thought about for a long time... how to honor and cherish Faith's memory without letting grief define who I am. What a great way of thinking about it - to refine not define. Thanks for this encouragement today!

    1. It's so hard ... because their memories are attached to the grief. One more thing to trust the Lord with for balance and correct thinking ...

  2. Great post! I worried about the same thing when my son was born-- that I would become bitter or that I would let my fear and disappointment consume me. I think you are a lovely example of working through grief with honesty while remaining true to yourself and to God. I actually wrote a blog post a few weeks ago about friends not wanting to tell me their burdens because they seem to think all of mine are "worse." It's so important that both people can share in a friendship if you want it to last-- sometimes we just have to remind our friends :)

    1. Thank you Mary Evelyn. I'll have to read that post!

  3. Welcome to "this normal." You're a gem.