Honest Ramblings

I love it when I have plans to be all spiritual and mature and then WHAM! God decides it's time for me to stop faking it and get real for a minute. By now, most people know I am anything but proper, reserved, or got it all together. It's easy to be a mess in front of others when I am staring at a screen and don't need to see the faces.
So here I am.
I had this whole blog planned. I actually have it written out. Besides some grammatical issues and a final thought to add, it's done. And yet here I sit, having this internal battle to push publish. Why?
Well, it's just not authentic.
I've been told my best writing is when I am raw and honest. And even though what I was writing about was really on my heart all week, I find my mind and heart drifting further and further from that topic and resting on the now.
Grief at Christmas. 
I'm a lot of things, but a worrier isn't really one of them. I mean, I tend to believe things will work out. I don't even worry much about what people think about me anymore. When I hit my thirties I realized I have a good man, great kids, and a God who loves me unconditionally. So if someone doesn't like how I do things, that's OK. Can't win 'em all!
But I am seriously self conscious about one area in my life and the opinions of others when it comes to my grief.
I don't even know why I care. But I waste countless hours worrying that people think I grieve too much, too little, too often, not enough. I cry all the time... or I never cry and must be cold.
I'm stuck in the past or I moved too quick into the future.
Honestly, it's brought me close to the point of nervous break down. Ha. You think I am kidding. Welcome to the circus in my head.
But occasionally, depending on the amount of sleep I have gotten, where I am at in my cycle, (it's a real thing, people), and how far away my last meal was, I have this moment of clarity and I remember the answer is just yes.
Yes, I grieve too much.
Yes, I grieve too little.
Yes, I cry like all the time.
Yes, I never cry and I often feel cold.
I'm stuck in the past and have moved too fast into the future.
This. Is. Grief.
There is literally no straight line. No right or wrong. No predicting where it will take me.
Holidays bring on the amplified version. My tears are wetter, my cries louder. My quiet times are much too silent and I just don't want to talk to a soul.
This is where I am at. And I would be doing myself a disservice if I sat here with a happy post about Mary, the mother of Jesus, ignoring the big heavy baggage that is literally blocking my view.

This year is year two without Molly for Christmas. I think the second year is the hardest. The first year, we were so very numb. It was survival mode. It was us, pinching ourselves to see if we were actually still alive. It was smiling because we didn't even know what we felt, so "happy" seemed safe.
But now, I have a better grip on things.
It plain sucks. Yes, I know. That's an icky word. But I don't have a better one.
It started with our Christmas card and just went downhill from there. How to incorporate Molly in our family photo and keep her presence in our family alive in a photo, because God truly knows, she is in our family everyday, every conversation, and every thought.
The social obligations are so tricky. The girls need them. And if I was honest with myself, a part of me does too, but it's so tiring.
There are so many days that I just don't understand why it had to be Molly. Why any child. I'll be the first to raise my hand in heaven and ask that question.
But I don't get answers right now.
I get photos, memories, videos, and stories, for which I am forever grateful, but some days it's just not enough. 

So there you have it. Very uplifting for this Christmas season.(Insert sarcasm font!)
If anything, perhaps it will help those who have little to be upset about, little pain this Christmas season, little regret or sadness to be thankful for what they do have.
I know I am thankful for my girls. I am thankful that I have them with me this year. Peter doesn't. And those who lost their only child don't and nothing could break my heart more than for them.
Honestly though, my most important source of gratitude comes from the gift of Jesus. I would be lost without Him. I may be sad, numb, weary, and alone, but I am not unloved or lost. I am loved and found.