A Waiting Heart at Christmas

 

Dear waiting heart,

It’s hard to be in a waiting season during Christmas, isn’t it? I know.

You enjoy the festivities of the season and the beauty of the day, but there’s a shadow, hovering over your heart. There’s a hole, like something is missing.

While you rejoice in the wonder of Christmas, at the same time there’s a part of you that wants to hide in a corner and sob.

And you fear… what if next year is no different?

I understand.

I’ve been there, as a single woman until 28 years old. Every Christmas since I was about 16, I would ask God, please let me have my husband here with me by next Christmas. Twelve years I waited. Twelve years I wondered what was wrong with me, why no man was there to share the Christmas joy with me, why God wasn’t answering my pleas. I watched my younger sister spend 4 Christmases with her love, before the Lord finally gave me mine. Though it was certainly worth it, the wait was painful.

I’m there again this year, with a hole in my heart, the size of a baby I should be 7 months pregnant with. But my baby is gone, and my arms and heart ache to be a mommy. I don’t know when that will happen, but I’m waiting for it, and while I celebrate Christ’s birth with people I love, that longing hovers, a little heavier on Christmas.

So how do you deal with it — with the pain of waiting during this joyous holiday?

Well, if you’re like me, you stay busy with baking cookies, washing dishes, watching Christmas movies, and trying not to think about what’s missing. But maybe that’s not the best advice.

Maybe you and I both, wherever we are, should steal away for a few minutes alone, and talk to God about our hearts. About what’s missing. About the wait. About how stinkin’ hard it is.

He gets it. And I promise… He cares.

Remember when Jesus wept over Jerusalem? It was in the middle of a great, victorious celebration — the Triumphal Entry. It was nearly the Passover, an important Jewish holiday, and to top it off, Jesus had just been praised and recognized as the King who comes in the Name of the Lord. All around Him, people were shouting and rejoicing. It was a wonderful day.

And yet…

Jesus steps aside from all of that, and, with tears streaming down His face, cries out for the burden of His heart — His beloved Holy City that will soon reject Him.

So, dear waiting heart, today in the midst of the celebration, if you need to take a moment to yourself to cry out to God for the burden of your heart…. do it. Let a few tears fall. Or a lot of tears, if that’s what it takes. Just know that God catches every one of them. Not one goes unnoticed by Him. He sees your waiting, and no matter how long it takes, He is working. Don’t lose hope. He came this Christmas Day for your hope.

Merry Christmas, waiting heart.

A Prayer for a Busy Day

 Dear God,

Today is so busy. I have a long list, a lot of distractions, and a feeling of being overwhelmed.

Yet as I snatch a few minutes to pray and commit the day to You, I don’t want it to be just a box that I check off. In the midst of all the busyness, I want to truly commit myself, my life, my day, and my to-do list to Your capable hands.

May my heart be in the right place today.

May I not be frantic, but simply trust You that everything will be taken care of.

May I have joy and peace.

May my spirit be in continual worship of and communion with You.

May I view the day through your lens of eternity.

May You be glorified through the way I live this day.

Amen.

When Church Hurts Because I Don't Have Babies

You – mama with a baby in your heart, but not in your arms – I’m guessing you know what it’s like.

You want to be part of a church. You love the corporate worship; you long for sweet fellowship with other believers. You know it’s important to be a participant in the Body of Christ.

But at church there are so many families – moms and dads with tiny babies. Little ones running around, playing and laughing. Tired parents trying to socialize while also keeping an eye on their rowdy kiddos. And you’re reminded of what you want and don’t have.

And the women – those girls you love, who are your friends, whom you worship God alongside – it sometimes seems like all they talk about is pregnancy and babies. Of course, that’s their life, so why shouldn’t they talk about it?

You don’t blame or begrudge any of them. But it hurts. It hurts so much that you don’t even want to go to church.

I understand. I’m there.

The church my husband and I attend is full of young families; there are almost more kids than adults in the congregation. I love that we’ve found a church full of people in our age group and demographic, people we can hang out with and have over for dinner. Yet, every Sunday, I find myself having to focus really hard on not feeling sad, bitter, or jealous, as I’m literally surrounded by mamas with their little ones.

It’s not that Jesus hasn’t worked healing in my heart after our miscarriage. He certainly has. It’s not that He isn’t walking with me through the struggle to grow our family. He certainly is. Our loss is not

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something I dwell on every day throughout the week. But there’s something about being at church and women’s gatherings, surrounded by the blessings and fulfillment of other women, that just really hurts sometimes.

Every week at our church, someone prays aloud a blessing over all the children before they scurry off to their Sunday school classes. A few weeks ago, the person praying said, “God, thank You that You have opened the wombs of this church!” 

Umm… Ouch.

That prayer was like a slap in the face that still stings now, weeks later. Yes, God has blessed many of the women in that church with the babies they were hoping and praying for; yes, that’s so good of Him. But there are also those of us in the room (or maybe I’m the only one?) who ache to hold the baby they lost…

whose hearts wonder, in the quiet moments, what that child would have been like…

who ask themselves the scary question, will I ever be able to have a baby?

Yes, church hurts sometimes – whether because of the insensitivity of those who don’t understand, or because it’s hard to see others’ blessings without the discontent stirring of your own longings.

The truth I am telling myself, and telling you in the process, is that being part of the Body of Christ is worth it. You and I need the encouragement and accountability that comes with worshiping with the Body. We need to hear the Word, and I think, sometimes, we even need these uncomfortable situations that will help us continue to embrace His comfort and healing.

And, if we’re honest, we know it’s God’s design that we allow other believers to comfort us and help bear our burdens. But that takes being vulnerable.

That takes sharing with other women what we have lost, and letting them know that it’s tough. And then allowing them to encourage us, hug us, ask us how we’re doing. That might be awkward, but it’s healthy, and it can be healing.

I don’t know about you, but I want to pursue a healthier mindset and healthy friendships… because I want to be a healthy functioning part of the Body of Christ. The loss of a baby hurts. Infertility hurts. But let’s not allow grief and bitterness to ruin our opportunity to love and be loved by the church.