Inside Out

"No one ever told me that grief felt like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing." C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I have been trying to be a mom for 5 years, 2 months, and 3ish days. I have been a mom for 4 months, 3 weeks, and 2 days. And my baby is 6 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days old. Not a single day has gone by that I have not been grateful, told my son I love him, and been so blessed by the miracle of life that's grown our family through adoption. That doesn't mean the grief has gone away, though.   I still quietly excuse myself from the conversation when talk of pregnancy cravings or breast feeding fiascos comes up.  And a little corner of my heart still breaks when someone exclaims, "Oh, but he looks so much like you!"  In fact, just a few weeks ago, I happened to be there when my friend's sister shared the exciting news with her family that she was going to have a baby. I am so excited for her, yet those butterflies and restlessness C.S. Lewis talked about snuck in on me, even as I was holding my precious baby, mourning because that is a moment I will never get to have with my family.  But, as the movie Inside Out so eloquently reminds us, the most important parts of who we are, our core memories, are made up of complex emotions--holding both Joy and Sadness together even when it feels like Fear.

God has been challenging me during this season of transitioning from waiting for so long to be a mom to joining the ranks of motherhood to hold both joy and sadness simultaneously. To find ways to talk about how good it is to experience both over the same moment.  And how painfully difficult.  I'm finding richness in holding them together, allowing for the complexity of laughing at a picture of my sister's mini-me through my tears of not having a mini-me to compare with my own baby pictures.  Or grieving at the miraculous birth of a child that's not mine. It is deepening my processing of infertility and motherhood, creating spaces for me to learn how to be quick to offer grace when offhanded comments about how I look so good after just having a baby slice me like a knife. It reminds me to not stop the tears or true smiles that spring up when someone asks how I'm really doing in any given moment. Joy and Sadness are two sides of the same coin, meant to be held together and all the messiness that entails; the groaning of childbirth longing for a new creation that has already come in Jesus. Moments turn Joyful because of Sadness. And Sadness gets turned to Joy in the morning. What I am learning is how to hold both mourning and celebration together, never minimizing one for the other.

We must never stop mourning brokenness. It is right to mourn.

We must never cease to celebrate life and beauty. It is right to dance.

I think my heart right now can be summed up by this quote, “A child born to another woman calls me mommy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me.” Jody Landers

In this space where I (and maybe you) feel all the feels in a very Inside Out way, may our souls remember the God whose steadfast love never ceases, even in our tragedy and grief; the God whose mercies renew every morning, even in our inability to trust; and the God who is faithful, even in our messiness. “ 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him.' ” Lamentations 3:24