This week. Mother’s had their babies blown from their arms, the storm too strong. Other’s clung tight as their infants breathed their last in my best friend’s back seat, blood transfusions and machine-oxygen not enough to revive.
I hold the hearts in my thoughts and I pray harder. I lock eyes with this one momma, baby growing cold in her lap and I whisper, “I know.” And I murmur a prayer over her but there really aren’t words so we just cry and we hold each other all the way home. I remember too well what it feels like to go home without your baby. To wake up the next morning fuzzy and not want to be this woman because things like this only happen in movies and on new stations, not to me. Please, God, not to me?
And no, it won’t be ok, but it will be glorious one day when you lock arms in Heaven. And it only hurts this deep because you loved so deep and that memory, that love is what you live on some days.
So we bow down and we pray for you mothers. We snuggle close the babes still here. And while the head spins, “where is God in this mess,” the heart knows the answer, “right here.”
God is right here with us. And He knows.
This pain, this is what He did for us. Willing. He knows this hurt because He chose it to save us.
And that love is what we live on every day.