This post is sponsored by Pink Blush, but as always, all thoughts and opinions are honest and my own.
For the past few months, I’ve been on the hunt for the perfect flowy black top. I wanted it to be long enough for me to comfortably wear with leggings, but breathable so that I wouldn’t spontaneously combust in this Georgia heat.
I didn’t think it was a tall order, but I wasn’t finding anything I liked! I finally decided to try Pink Blush and voila! I found exactly what I was looking for!
Empathy:Theability to identifywith or understandtheperspective,experiences, or motivations of anotherindividualand to comprehendandshareanotherindividual’semotionalstate.
Grief has been my leading emotion this week, but for more than just personal reasons. I grieve for the state of this nation and our world. And I grieve for my community and those around me.
I grieve the loss of human decency and the lack of empathy that freely and flippantly flows out of the mouths and actions of so many. I grieve when excuses are constantly made for poor behavior, and when people are hurting, truly hurting, the silence is deafening because you’ve determined it doesn’t pertain to you.
This type of grief often leaves me feeling helpless, heartbroken and alone. It’s exhausting and infuriating when incidents like Charlottesville occur and I know I must guard my heart deeply. Not only for the tragic nature of the event itself, but also for the insensitivity and hate that is sure to follow.
I will never forget the exact moment when the process started. I was back-to-school shopping with my girls, looking for clothes for my up and coming kindergartner. In the midst of this milestone of an occasion, my heart started beating rapidly and I could no longer think straight. One quick trip to the bathroom and I was gripped with fear.
We finished shopping and made it out of the store in record timing. Once we were home I immediately locked myself in the bathroom and began to cry. That night was the worst. The cries turned into deep weeping and agonizing pain, as I begged and pleaded for an alternative explanation before the Lord. I knew that I had just experienced loss in January, but 5 years ago I had a similar scare and that child was heading to school in a matter of days.
The praise and worship music blasted in our bedroom and the tears continued to pour out of my eyes. I tried to allow my faith to be bigger than my fear. I was determined to walk by faith and not by sight even though it seemed an impossible task as the bleeding continued.
Over and over I said these words:
I declare that my baby is fine. I declare that my baby is fine. I declare that my baby is fine.
In Jesus’ Name.
I held onto hope as much as I possibly could. I wavered and crumbled and picked myself up time and time again. Those 5 days were the longest. Finally it stopped. I felt a sense of relief but it didn’t last. So what did this mean? I needed confirmation.
Two negative tests and an ultrasound later, I think I heard my heart actually breaking.
It happened again. I miscarried again. And I’m so angry about it.