Where I tell you (again) about grace.

July 5, 2017

Wonderful, merciful Savior.

June marked what would have been the 11th birthday of our first babe and the 38th birthday of my best friend. Both were heaven bound within three months of each other, eleven and half long years past.

For all of 2006, I was overwhelmed with grief, for what was lost, and for what would never be. There were three songs, lyrics that I listened to on repeat whose words are looped into my soul ad infinitum as a reminder of God’s great grace towards me.

This is one such song.

Precious Redeemer and friend.

We sang it Sunday in church and it is a reminder again from the Namer and Counter of Stars, who loves me, that He is good, gracious, and merciful. He is balm for my wounded heart.

There is weight to my memory, of my wee babe and my best friend. 

Gravity to the inexplicable marriage of grief and joy co-mingled in the beginning that was the end of two precious lives.

I bear the weight of the living, yes, and oh I am grateful this day, and all the others, to be the momma of my wild tribe.

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But weightier on some days more than others is the knowledge of what I lost to gain.

Counselor, comforter, keeper.

We are shepherding four souls now, birthed in the last eleven years. We took them on vacation last week. Wee Man learned to ride his bike with no training wheels. Second Son got a “guitar” (ukulele) for his birthday and wondered around the hotel room strumming and singing ballads of princesses and dinosaurs. My oldest girl-child ran around Busch Gardens with an old friend from TN. My littles are growing big.

I have spent my time on this blog telling you about the trenches of motherhood, and oh they are deep and muddy most days, filled with poop (of multiple species), dirty dishes, tears and toys.

Last week, I had a glimpse of what the next days are like, the moments after the last decade of pregnancy, breastfeeding and diapers. And my heart is swelling again to incorporate the new pictures of motherhood I cherish and yearn for. Also, that I am equal parts terrified to navigate.

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Spirit we long to embrace.

We took our first whole family bike rides. And these three, threaded along the sidewalk, stitched by their DNA and carried by my overwhelming love for them, they tell my story in ways I could never imagine. And too, they are stepping into the beginning of theirs, written over a foundation of grief and grace that echoes the truth of a wonderful, merciful Saviour.

You are the One that we praise
You are the One we adore
You give the healing and grace
Our hearts always hunger for
Oh, our hearts always hunger for.

There is weight to my memory, there is gratitude in my grief, and always, always, there is grace in my joy.

~M.

More about Molly Huggins

I am an unrepentant extrovert with an ongoing, passionate affair with coffee, ellipses, and the written word. I write because it’s how I’m made to worship. I am a story teller, because redemption has a story to tell. And always, I want to be a story collector. So have a virtual seat at my beat-up kitchen table. Read my story. Tell me yours. Stay awhile. And P.S. ... for more about me, click on my mug in the sidebar;)

2 Comments
    1. Your words bless me so. Fear not, those upcoming parenting years. They are wild and wooly at times, but oh, so wonderful as you see them maturing in thought and Spirit and making their faith their own.

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