How Two two and a half year old see the world, No, OK, their mom.

Sometimes you wonder how your children see you.
I got a taste of it yesterday, just a tiny bit, but enough to cast some light on the topic.

We were shopping in Target, and I decided to try on some clothes. Since the girls are not at a sensible age to be left alone outside of the fitting room, and there was no leash around, I did what a responsible and wise mother will do, I shepherd take the two toddlers to the fitting room with me.
In the fitting room, the girls were happy to find a big mirror in there, and they were fascinated by the door knob and lock. But as soon as I started to undressing, all eyes were on me. As I was slipping out of my jeans, my two and a half year old firstborn was first very confused, then concerned, then almost in a panic voice, she squealed,"Mommy!!! Don't go pee-pee here!!!!!" I'm not sure what the people in other booths thought I was doing as they heard that exclamation, but I nearly laughed my head off. I quickly told her,"No, mommy is not going to pee-pee, silly! I am just trying on some clothes!" She then in a somewhat disappointed and much calmer voice said,"Oh."
I thought I had explained the subject clear enough.

Apparently not.

And as it always happen when you have twins, you have to say the same thing, twice.
As I continued to take off my shirt, so I could try on the dress, my two and a half year old second-born looked more and more alarmed, then almost horrified, she screamed,"Mommy!! Don't take off your shirt and pants!!!!"
If you are wondering why she would say such thing, it is because she has a tendency to pull up her shirt to show off her belly button (or more), to invite a tickle; but we have been trying to teach her the importance of being proper and modest in public, as in not showing off her body parts that should be covered. She was horrified that her mother would go against her own teaching and would commit such shameful act, nonetheless in the public.
I then again calmly explained to her that I was trying on some clothes, and it was OK.
They both then said in a somewhat disappointed voice,"Oh." Then they instantly looked bored and promptly turned their attention back to the mirror and the door lock. I was relieved that I was not engaged in their conversation anymore (believe me, you can only talk and answer a two and a half year old so much, not to say, two. And many of their questions, or, demand of attention dialogue/protest/statements are repeated, and repeated, and repeated, even after you acknowledge them.) But soon they were banging on the mirrors and the doors, and attempting in opening the door. (*Gasp!!* Do NOT open the door, girls!)

Dear Target, may I suggest a special fitting room for moms with toddlers? Please provide special seats with chains seat belts. Maybe a roll of duct tapes too. Thank you.

In short, I believe this is how my two and a half year old children see me.
My firstborn: Mad woman. My ma, she is a complete mad woman.
My second-born: My ma? She is a disgrace, always doing silly and weird things in public.
And they cannot, do not believe it and will be disappointed if I do not do anything crazy.
Funny, because I believe I was pretty much a very sane woman before they came along. But alas, such statement will be met with loud protest and arguments from both girls, (as they tend to do with everything you say these days) with very loud and firm "No!","NO!" and "NO!" or extreme ear piercing wailing, or the art of body throwing on the floor, or contemptuous looks, or evil eyes, or words muttering beneath their breath (as every two and a half year old will and might do to show their objection and their strong will in regard to what you say, which is pretty much everything).
In this case, I will choose not to fight the battle. Mad and weird woman? Meh, I have no problem with that. God knows in order to raise these two girls, I have to be a mad and weird woman to survive.

Those who search

The world does not understand. We do not seek out the sadness. The sadness searches for us.
It searches for us, day and night. It searches for us relentlessly. It neither slumber nor rest. It has no mercy.
And when it found us, there is no way to run, there is no way to hide.
When it found us, it found us.
What can a brokenhearted do? We only do what can a brokenhearted does.

The world does not understand.
We do not sit around and think about it all day. If it is possible, oh God, remind me not of my sorrow or brokenness.
Let me be lighthearted. Let me laugh. Let me feel the sunshine on me. Let me hear the bird's singing in the crisp Spring air. Let me heal, let me heal, let me stay here, do not let the sadness find me.
And the Lord is full of mercies. Most of the time I live like there is no difference. I cook. I sit with my children and we play. I watch their silly dance and I laugh. I hold hand with my husband and we go on long walk in the park. I eat dinner with my family and I tell jokes and they laugh.
I do not sit around and mope in my misery. I do not keep hanging on to the fact that I have lost this child. I do not want to mourn all day.
In fact, if it is possible, please, do not let the misery come at all. I can laugh all day, Father, do not let the tears come.
If only it was that simple.
The world tell us to let go. The world said, don't think about it. The world said, for your children's sake, don't be sad, be strong.
The world acts if we are the one who seek out for sadness.
But who wants sadness? Who?
Yes it is well with my soul that my child now is with my heavenly Father. Yes, I am not angry or bitter at my God. But it does not mean that, sorrow will not come. It does not mean that my tears have cease to flow. It does not mean that I do not long for this baby.
It does not mean that, sadness will not find me. It does not mean that, there will not be pain.
For even if we lost a limb, and the wound healed, doesn't the broken body still throb in pain for the losing of the part of it?
How can you not think about the lost limb when the broken part of your body keep throbbing in pain along with your heartbeat, reminding you that you have lost part of your body?
Nay, we wish we do not have to think about it.
We wish it is something as easy as "not think about it" and the great mount of sorrow will be lifted, and we shall see sunshine and weep no more.
we wish it is something as easy as "letting it go" and the sadness will not find us and spear my heart through and through.
How can I tell the world, there is a time for everything, and this is the time to weep for us, and this is the time for us to mourn?
Even though the Lord is merciful and we can still laugh and dance while we weep and mourn, but this season, my love, this season is for us to weep and mourn.
As much as I want the Spring to come, as much as I want this season to pass as soon as possible, as much as I want it to be a time to be born; not a time to die, for my child, my child has died physically, and I have no choice but entered in the season to weep and mourn.

The sadness never cease seek out for us, my love. Neither does pain. Neither does sorrow.
They never stop looking for us. Even if they do not come this time for you, they will come for you next time.
They will come. Eventually.
Has not God himself said,"In the world you will have tribulations"?
Yet He did not stop there, you see. He did not say "in the world you will have tribulation" and left us there alone to battle with them. He said,"In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world."
He has overcome the world.
He has overcome death.
Even though I have to go through the death of the body on this earth, even though I have to be pained with the separation of love ones, for now, but only for now, only for a little while.
For He has given me a hope of heaven. Salvation of my soul. Eternal life. With no more tears nor sorrow.

Do you have this hope?
Does sadness searches for you day and night too? Does it often time find you in the dark, like me? Does it often time find you alongside with pain and sorrow?
Fear not, my love, for it is not the only one who searches.
My heavenly Father search too. He search for you. Day and night.

"...for the LORD searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts. If you seek him, he will be found by you..." 1 Chronicles 28:9

"I the LORD search the heart
and examine the mind..." Jeremiah 17:10

"For thus says the Lord God: “Indeed I Myself will search for My sheep and seek them out."Ezekiel 34:11

"I will seek what was lost and bring back what was driven away, bind up the broken and strengthen what was sick."Ezekiel 34:16

My Father, the mighty comforter, search for you too, day and night.

And so, even if sadness often find me in the dark, with pain and sorrow, I am always not alone. Not alone with sadness, pain and sorrow. But with Him, always with Him I am. 

And although sadness will not rest, my Father will neither sleep nor slumber as well. (Psalm 121:4)

He is always there, for me. And though I still have to bear with the sadness, the pain, the sorrow, I am comforted that my Father is there for me. He listens, He cares, He understands, and I wonder sometime He cries with me.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18

The world does not understand. They thought I search for sadness.

I do not search for sadness. I search for my Father. 

I search my Father day and night. For I know without Him I then will be utterly despaired, crushed, hopeless. 

When sadness search for you tonight, whom will you search in turn?

Will you search for the Mighty Comforter? Will you search for Him?

For He has been searching and searching for you, and He is there waiting, waiting for you to come.

Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your heart.

Go to Him, go to Him and you shall see. You shall be comforted. 

You shall have hope.

Then Unto the Eternal Fountain She Turned

“如果我们能把死去的人召唤回来，那是多么邪恶的一件事！她不是对着我，却对着那牧师说，我在神里得以平安。她微微一笑，却不是对着我，然后转身归回那永生的泉源。How wicked it woule be, if we could, to call the dead back! She said not to me but to the chaplain,"I am at peace with God." She smiled, but not at me. Poi si tornò all' eterna fontana."
《唧唧如晤》C.S.路易斯著
 A Grief Observed, C.S Lewis.

If I could, would I not rather call this child back? This little baby of mine.
Come back, my sweet baby. Come back.
Let me feel the warmth of your skin. Let me stroke your tender face. Let me cradle you in my arms. Let me see the sparkle in your eyes when you smile.
Let me.
Let me be a mother.
That is my will.
But your Father, and also my Father, He has a different will.

His will for you, is to be loved, by a greater love I cannot possibly have the capacity to have given you.
His will for you, is not to have to walk and toil in this broken world.
His will for you, is not to have to be broken and tainted by sin.
His will for you, is not to have to not know Him for a single day.
His will for you, is to know no sin, no sorrow, no pain, no struggling, no darkness, no fear.
His will for you, is to be perfect, from the beginning to the end.

His will for you, is perfect, my child. Perfect.
My will is only out of my fleshly desire and selfishness.
Though I know His arms are a much much better place for you to be, oh, how foolish am I to even try to compare, yet I know my heart's desire is for you to be in my arms.
Yet may His will be done. May His will be done. Even if it means brokenness in this body. But what isn't broken, in this world, my love?
Thus even though I mourn the fact that, you are a child that has never seen light in this world, yet I rejoice that, you, my child, is with the eternal Light.
It is well with my soul.

Lamentation of A Lost Unborn Child

Two weeks ago I was thinking to write up some silly poems about morning sickness, that how something my brain wants badly doesn't necessary agreed by my nose. Something my nose says OK doesn't necessary make it through my mouth or my tongue. And even if I ignored all those three super-picky-and-just-being-a-pain body parts, and pushed whatever edible through my mouth, if my stomach didn't agree, it would still come out and go straight into the toilet.
I don't know how two weeks later I am writing about grieve. I don't know how I get here.
I don't know how two weeks ago I was still planning for this new life, and two weeks later I am planning how to say good bye to the life which is already gone. (and I had not the chance to tell him/her I love him/her).
I don't know how I went from throwing up because of the morning sickness but encouraging myself it should pass and I would have a baby to hold and kiss in my arms, to throwing up because of morning sickness but I can only tell myself it will not last long because the baby is now dead, and my body will realize it sooner or later.
I don't know how I went from expecting to feel the life moving in me to now I am expecting cramps and pain.
I don't know how I went from knowing there would be contraction and pain waiting but with it would come a baby crying and kicking his/her legs, but now the contraction and pain my waiting will only bring forth a dead child that is not completely formed yet.
I do not know how we went from trying to name a child, with hope; and now we are trying to name a child, with sorrow.
I don't know how I get here. This is not where I want to be, Lord.
Have I not cried those words to Him again and again the past week?
This is not where I want to be. This road of brokenness is paved with my sorrow and tears. This is not the road I want to travel on, my Father.
But it is as clear as it can be that this is where He wants me to be. This is the road He wants me to trudge on. Yet it is not only paved with my brokenness, my sorrow and tears, but His brokenness, His sorrow and tears as well. This much I know.
Has he not been merciful to me to take the pain away from me?
It was the longest week in my life. Of waiting. Of weeping. Of hoping yet being fearful of hoping at the same time. The night prior to Monday was the longest night. Will the daybreak ever come, Father? Will the sun ever come out again? Will rest eventually come to my weary soul? Are you here, my Father? Will you give me peace and strength and rest? He lifted His protection over my pain that night. The tears that I thought I had finished shedding came pouring out. Pain of losing my child. Pain of losing part of me, my flesh and blood. I should have known He was preparing me, for what was coming Monday. Oh would Monday ever come? Came it still. I tried to stay in bed as long as possible that morning. I did not know how I would make it to the 2.30 appointment. I felt like someone who was waiting for her announcement of fate. Would it be life? Or would it be death? I watched the clock. It kept ticking. I had never felt the passing of time with such intensity. I heard every second ticking away, tick tock, tick tock; I willed it to go faster, I could not bear it no more. I felt like I was suspending in the air, not knowing I was going to crash downward, or being lifted upward. With every breathe I breathed, I cried to God silently, strength, Father, peace, Father.
Strength, Father.
Peace, Father.
I don't know how many times I have prayed for them. I had never prayed for them so desperately.
I knew there would be tears, either it would be tears of overjoyed, or tears of sorrow.
And those tears did come. They came silently this time. Like a gentle creek, tickling down my cheeks. Tears of sorrow.
The same ultrasound technician uttered the same words at the doctor's office.
I am sorry, still no heartbeat.
I don't remember the doctor said he is sorry this time. He came in and he was all business. He still called my name wrong. He still "encouraged" me to do a D&C. He actually laughed when I told him I needed prescription to help cope with my morning sickness which seemed to have gotten worse.
He actually laughed.
I was shocked to the core.
Though I was not weeping, but my heart was bleeding, over the loss of my child. Yet this man had the gut of laughing at my misery.
He said he could not understand why I would want to wait for my body to take the action while I am so miserable with my morning sickness. He doubted that I would last long, waiting. I told him coldly, we shall see.
He did not care to look at the rash I had on my thigh since I saw him last week that had turned into blisters and becoming painful.
When he laughed, I got all the answers I had last week, about whether he understands or cares.
He does not understand. And he simply does not care.
How can this man doing what he is doing, taking care of women's bodies while they are pregnant with lives, and helping the birth of a new life not care about lives?
How can a man's heart became so callous with coldness, and maybe just gain?
How can he looked me in the eyes and said in the end, we will go through this together, again, when he does not really care?
It is not the same with me, you see. It is not the same with me anymore, losing this child.
I wish it was as easy as you think. I wish I could get over this quick. I wish I do not have to lay in my bed, dark at night, and cried my heart out to my God.
I wish I don't have to feel like I am drowning in my own sorrow.
I wish my sorrow would not come when I least expecting it. Sometime while I was eating, not even thinking about the baby, yet a sob came out, and it all came tumbling out. The tears. The sorrow.
I wish I would not lose it when my children only doing what a 2 and a half year old toddler will do, pushing their own limits and their mothers' limit, yet this mother lost it over morning cereal thrown deliberately all over the floor for laughter. This mother lost it and cried and screamed at the child's face and punished her. This mother beat her chest and bang the table and wanted to hurt herself. This mother wanted to run away. This mother screamed at the top of her lungs at her fearful children, do you know how hard is this? Do you know I am having a hard time? Do you know I can't do this? This mother was actually screaming at God. This mother did and said the things that she told herself she would not do them to her children. And the pain and fear in her children's eyes hurt her more and broke her heart more. This mother was shocked and ashamed.
Where did it all come from? The sorrow and bitterness came, you see. They came without notice. They came without being wanted. They came and they stayed.
I wish it was easy as I always thought. I wish I could be stronger. I wish I could tell you I will be fine soon. But there is no woman that I have talked to, that said this will not hurt. None. Zero. It hurts us women, when we lose an unborn child. It hurts, it brings sorrow.
I wish I didn't have to write this. I wish I didn't have to, I really do.
I thought of keeping this journal of pain, of sorrow, of depression, to myself. Away from public eyes. Where there will not be any judgment. Where I will be protected and not felt exposed. Not raw. Not naked.
Yet when I think of many that do not understand what I am, or other women are going through, my heart hurts. When I think of those who find themselves unexpectedly, travelling down on the same path I am trudging on, with fear and tears and confusion (how can this hurt so much), I know I have to write this. I have to write this for myself, I have to write this for those who wants to know how I am feeling, I have to write this for those who can't believe what they are experiencing and they are not sure is it normal or they are simply going out of their mind.
I want to tell them, yes, there will be pain, but He will take it away. He has taken my pain away. I no longer feel it. That part of my emotion is numbed. He has given me mercy.
Yes, there will be sorrow. I still have the sorrow. I do not know how long it will last. But I believe He will heal my sorrow too. I believe out of my sorrow, out of this broken heart, He will resurrect something beautiful out of it. I don't know what it is yet. I am still waiting. I can only hang on tight to Him at this time and wait.
Yes, there will be emptiness. There is this big big hole in my heart gaping at me. All the time. I can feel it. But I believe He will, and only He can fill that hole up.
Right now, I can only pray, and wait for Him.
With sorrow.
With emptiness.
With tears.
But not without hope.
Not without hope, my love. Not without hope.
As long as I am with Him, I know I have hope.
Hope that is beyond life and death. and with that hope I wait on.

A Road of Brokenness, and more.

 I am trudging down this really hard path, a path I suddenly found myself on, alone, and I have no where else to go except keep trudging it. I do not know where it is leading to, I do not know how I will get there and I do now know what I will find there. For if there is brokenness, it already found me. It found me the moment I was set on this strange path. Can I be more broken?

How could it be, Lord? How could it be that I walked into the doctor's office with a smile on my face, and left with nothing but brokenness and pain? How could it be that one moment we were waiting excitedly to see this new life in me, all giddy with hope; and the next moment we were being told this new life had died, and there was only eerie silence, and the ultrasound technician's sympathetic look on me.
This is what I am afraid of, she had said, no heartbeat. I can't find any heartbeat on this baby.
Her words came without any preparation, I was still focusing hard on the screen, trying to get a good view of this little life in me; her words came as fuzzy as the image of the baby on the screen. I turned to her, puzzled, and asked,"What?"
The baby has no heartbeat. She looked at me sympathetically, I am sorry. So sorry, she said.
Oh how the tears came. At a surprising speed and force. Why the tears? I did not understand. Can this be pain? Can this be pain that I am tasting now?
The doctor was next. He came into the room where I sat and sobbed. He came in and lay a hand on my shoulder, I am very sorry, Chan. I am very sorry for your loss, Chan.
And all I wanted to do was to scream at him, are you talking to me? If you are trying to talk to me, please get my name right first!
He went on to explain how common this is, little precious babies' hearts stop beating. There was nothing you did that contributed to it, he assured. We have lost the baby, he said, then suggested to abort it right away and told me the options.
I chose to wait, a week.  My head was heavy and clouded, my heart was hurting, I did not understand why this was happening to me, I did not come in for this, I need time to clear my head and do some thinking.
That is OK, he said. Before we left he said, we will get through this together, Chan, don't worry. I looked at him hard and long. Does this man know what he is talking about? Is he married? Does he have any children? I see no wedding band and no family pictures in his room. Does he have little ones who tug and pull his heart at every direction with everything they do? Just a smile and that twinkle in their eyes are enough to give you a lifetime's joyous memories? Does he lay in bed at night with sleep eludes him worrying about his children? Does he know? Does he really know? Because before he came into the room, where I sat and sobbed, I could hear him out in the corridor talking loudly to the others, this is the second one today! His tone light and casual, as if he was talking about nothing but the weather, and though when he came in he talked seriously and sympathetically, I wonder, does he really know? Or am I just a number, a statistic? One he talks casually about to his dinner companion. After all, maybe he has seen too many of me, too many mothers who lost their unborn children. And oh why they are so heartbroken, you know, it is only but an unborn child. I could almost hear him saying. Does he know? Does he really care?
Does he know this child had been loved? Does he know we had hope and dreams for this child? Does he know two little girls have been expecting this baby? Every time I threw up because of my morning sickness, they pushed me aside and eagerly checked the toilet to see the baby had came out. The older one, she told me, when the baby is out she wants to hold the baby in her arms, her face a mixture of excitement and also tenderness. Such tenderness. It had made my heart fluttered. I had started to sort through the baby clothes. We had talked about buying a new carseat. I had tried to imagine his or her tender and soft face. We had prayed for him or her. And my mother, my aging mother had said, she would be here for me, for this baby, this time. Though we have never said it, there is this regret standing stark between us. A regret that she had never got the chance to see my girls when they were first born. No chance to hold them and kiss them. No chance to care for them and feed them a bottle. No chance to care for me and cook for me. No chance to learn how to tell them apart from early days. No chance to know them when they grew from infancy to toddlers. No chance for them to call her grandma for the first time until they were about 1 1/2 year old. And I saw the regret on her face, I can hear it in her voice when we talk. She had made it firm and clear, no matter how long would the flight will be, no matter how hard it would be for her, no matter what, she would come. She would come for this baby. I was equally ecstatic. I had long to see it, my mother holding my child, flesh and blood of me, and part flesh and blood of her as well. A missing picture that stands out whenever I look back at my girls' birth and growth. And oh how that hurts.

And now the hope dies. And it hurts more than anything. I cannot bring myself to tell my mother, our hope had died, and break her heart, and break my own heart all over again. The world does not understand. I do not think anyone can understand unless they have traveled the path themselves. I do not think men can understand unless they had carried a child, a precious life in their wombs. I believe that when God put that life in me, He does more than putting a life in me. Something very profound happen to us women, when a life is given inside us, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I cannot even name the change, but oh how carrying lives in me and giving birth to them and caring for them has changed me.  I love as I have never loved before, there is a part of tenderness in my heart that I had not known before, and I have since then see God in a very different light. I catch glimpses of Him every now and then throughout the pregnancy, the birth and raising the children.
Tell me, how can this not hurt then? How can I not grieve then? How can I not feel the pain then? No, I believe it is not my doctor who will get through this together with me. It will be my God carrying me, it will be my very supportive and loving husband, who is hurting as well alongside with me. It will be his family, who wept with me and held me tight and told me God is good and pray vigilantly for us. It will be my children, one who came to me out of the blue, even though I wasn't crying, she looked me in my eyes and said, Mommy, don't cry. Shiloh loves you. Another one who has not yet that emotionally developed and matured, yet she came when I held on to her sister and cried, she came and she looked at us with a confused look, just a fleeting moment, then her expression cleared up and she was back to her usual happy self that has no worries at all. She pretended to poke me with her plastic play fork that she had been playing with, while saying,"poke!" then she threw her head back and laughed. Her laughter like a cluster of bells ringing pleasantly, with no worries in the world, so innocent, so pure, and so full of light. That made her mother laughed in the midst of her tears, that brought such comfort to her mother's broken heart. Not the doctor, for sure. But all of these people. And those who reach out to me and share their own brokenness. Those who wrote to me even though they barely know me or we are strangers to each others. Those who are my sisters and brothers in Christ's blood who pray and mourn with me. Those whom are not believers yet they pray still, and one even went to a church, on behalf of my anguish and prayed to my God. My siblings who wrote to me and said, we will go through this together, we will always be at your side, no matter what happens. They do not know, just a short few sentences, but they gave such strength and comfort to me.
I will go through this, though this road is paved with sorrow and tears, yet I will go through this, hang on tight to Him and all of these people.

Small, but Mighty

I have always thought, even though S & K are two very young children, very small indeed, but everyday, they live fully.
Everyday, they live as two torches that burn with all their might, no reserving, no doubting, no worrying, no fear for tomorrow. They burn all they have, they live to the fullest. They live in the moment, they laugh and cry to their hearts' content. They offer love without hesitation, they enjoy everything fully, the joy in their eyes and faces are constant, and there is no holding back.
I watch them, and you know what, I want to live like that.
I want to live my life to the fullest. I want to be be burning. I want no holding back. I want no reservation, no worries and no fear. I want to love with no hesitation.
For why haven't I done so already? Has not Christ given me the second chance I need to really live? Has he not said do not worry about tomorrow? Should I not be burning my life for Him?
Funny how God had to give me twins to teach me something. Simple things that are too simple, I fail to see them. Such as I had been asking many many days, what should I be doing for the Lord when I am raising my children? What should I be doing? What can I do?
One day the answer came while I was preparing breakfast for the little ones, it was so simple I almost laughed, but at the same time I was disturbed that it took me that long to figure out the answer. It is very simple. This is a very busy season of my life, but it is also the perfect season for me to, learn His words. Is it not? I have never gone through any Bible foundation class ever since I became a believer, and I keep telling myself, I will study all the Lord's words one day. But when is that one day? Is now not the perfect time? Do I not have time to myself? If I do not know His word, do I really know Him? If I do not know Him, how can I tell the others about Him? How can I tell someone about how to build a house if I build my house on the sand? Most importantly, how can I teach my children about Him if I myself do not know anything about the Word? It is all too simple, yet it took me long time to see the answer. I am amazed at His patience with me.
I have learned many lessons through my little ones since I became a mother. I think I have matured more and quicker in motherhood compared to before.
One day I was praying before lunch, quite weary of the children's quarrels and misbehaving, I prayed on behalf of the children,"Dear Jesus, please help us to be loving and gentle to each others. Please help us to be nice, and NO SCREAMING." While I was praying I selfishly emphasized the last part as a reminder to the children who were listening. I was quite proud of myself using prayer time as teaching time as well, but the good feeling did not last long. As soon as I finished praying, conviction came swiftly and fiercely,"How about you? how about yourself? Are you being loving and gentle to your children? Are you being nice? Are you not screaming?" It hit me right on my head, I could feel my pulse quickened and cheek getting red. Is it not true? I had not been loving, I had not been gentle, and I certainly had been screaming too much at them. The Holy Spirit is sharper than a two-edge sword. I immediately started praying again,"Dear Jesus, please help me to be loving and gentle to my children, and help me to not be screaming!"
Small, but mighty, are the lessons God teach me through my children. And I am most grateful, for the things He has taught me since I became a mother. He is faithful, and he is very very patient and full of mercies. Through my children He pour out His sweet sweet grace, small dosage, but mighty. I believe He has many many lessons prepared for me, and I can only say, yes Lord, teach me and show me. Be patient with my stubbornness and slow understanding, but teach nonetheless. Teach me through these little ones. Teach me to live like them, teach me to burn like them, teach me to love like them. Teach me.

Grieving For the Griever

What do you say to someone who has lost their loved one?  One lost so suddenly, so tragically? One who had to endure so much suffering and pain before his departing from this world?
What can you say?  Words will not come.
What do I say to the one who has been left behind?  With so much sorrow, so much regrets, so much anger, so many questions?
One who is blaming himself for not being able to grant his dying father's last wish?
"But I have so much dreams, dreams involving him, I work really hard, but what do I get?  Is this what I got from working so hard?"
I have no words.  No words for the one who does not share my hope.  One who does not see, cannot see what I see.  I cannot give him false hope.  I cannot simply say,"he is at a better place now."
I can only grief with him.  I can only said,"We are praying for you."
I see him being absolutely lonely in this mass of grievance that is tossing him back and forth, but I cannot reach out to him.  It is not within my power.  I grief that he does not know the mighty Comforter, I grief that it is broken, everything is broken and he does not see why.
I can only pray.  I pray that Jesus will reveal Himself to him at this time, I pray that He will embrace him close.  I pray that over time his heart will be open a little bit more, and we can talk, and he will open it wider to let the Lord go in, to put the soothing balm over his wounds.
I can only tread the water gently, very gently.  Never pushing, but letting him know, we are here.  We are here, and He is here.
I pray that he will know that one day.
Death comes quick, my friends.  What regrets we will have if it claims us or one of our love ones tomorrow?
Leave no regret.  Love to the greatest extend.
I have fear for my family who does not know and have the hope.  It is my greatest fear.  It is one that steals my peace.  But tonight I shall cast it on Him, tonight I shall sleep.  My fear He shall carry it for me, just as He has done it for so many nights faithfully, letting me know He is faithful, and just.
Tonight He dwells in the deepest part of my heart, and I shall be comforted.