Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them.
It’s that time of year again. I wait with anticipation for Caleb’s birthday, pregnant with longing and an ache my body feels to the marrow, never quite sure of how I should feel or what I should be doing. It will be his 7th birthday this week. And, as our family grows, our schedule changes. Caleb’s birthday must change, too.
We are stepping further and further away from our first born the more we step into the world with his living, thriving, growing brothers. Abraham attending full day kindergarten means we will not be going to the beach as many days as we normally have. I am venturing into the world–for my living boys’ sakes–on days I have, up until this point, hidden. Life moves me forward.
Samuel’s teacher approached me about celebrating him in class during March, due to the fact that his real birthday is in August. Of course, the day that worked is right in the middle of Caleb’s week. Our God is so good that He plants blessings right in the midst of my grief. I am now busy making cake pops for my miracle son, while my heart grieves Caleb. And do you know that the alternate meaning of Caleb’s name in Hebrew [is] כָּל (kal) “whole, all of” and לֵב (lev) “heart”? Thanks, cousin Kelsie, for that!
So we will be celebrating St. Patrick’s day, green shirts donned and leprechauns leaving jellybean trails, and we will celebrate our Samuel‘s half birthday, thirty homemade “banilla” cake pops and all. Because we are crying, and we are laughing, and we are praising a God who weaves all of us together.
The more I live this twisted, blissful life, the more I understand there is no way I should do this. I’m not white knuckling or stuffing down these tidal waves of tears. I am throwing seeds as I walk through this grief, as many as I can. I’m planting ahead for the times of joy to come, the times of trial when I can look back and see how My Provider harvests righteousness from these seasons of pain. I’m birthing the joy of the Lord this March, as the tulips bloom and we visit our son’s grave, because I’ve learned now that this pain will yield. The tide will turn, friend. And His joy comes in the morning.
God bless your tears, that they might yield.
Thanks to my Aunt Keely, who pointed this verse out during one of her “Living in the Unforced Rhythms of Grace” talks. I can still see you crying and throwing seed during your talk!