The Ugly Beautiful

Today I'm feeling good.  I'm not sure if it was the first cup of coffee I've had in a month or the happy playdate we had with a dear friend's granddaughter this morning, but I'm feeling good.

The days since Jubilee's birthday have been a mish-mash of hard and easy and sweet and cumbersome. I have run from my heart, and I have embraced my aching heart. I've shared the truth with strangers, and I've hidden the truth from strangers.

"How many children do you have?"

One.  Three, one here keeping me busy and two waiting for me in Heaven.

...my answer depends on the day.

"Is he your only one?"

No. Yes. Kinda.

Each day is a mental whirl of heartache and longing and joy and celebration.  The poor momma at the park that only got half the truth because I saw her round belly swelling with life and didn't have the heart to share my story. Yes, he's my only one. Then there was the skype date with Kelle Hampton where I was feeling gutsy and dropped the Three bomb.  It was a go hard or go home day for the heart. Nobody ever really knows what to do with the three bomb, but nobody ever really knows what to do with any of the broken, do they?  What do you say to an aching mother?  What does she say to you? A broken heart is hard to tend, and harder to carry.

Up and down.  Back and forth.

Y'all. Grief is so ugly beautiful.

Ugly because its always looming in the corners of your mind and seizing your heart when you least expect it.  You can't think and you can't breathe and you can't return phone calls or email because your mind is broken along with your heart- all because there's baby stuff gathering dust in the basement. Ugly because it spurs tears that can't always be cried when you want to cry them.  And ugly because there is a grave and there is a baby and there is a momma's heart-wrenching, depth-of-the-gut ache and it was never meant to be that way.

Those are the days when the world only gets half of the story.  And most of the time, I feel like saying you'reverywelcome because to be honest, the ugly and the grieving momma is a scary thing that few know how to approach or speak to, and most of the peeps at the playground would probably prefer you stuff the baggage anyway, smile and nod, that yes, its an ugly day and he is my only one.  End of story. And if I'm being totally honest, I don't want to burden any unsuspecting, politely curious mothers at the playground with the three bomb. The three bomb is ugly.  And its rare that a stranger is up for a side of ugly with their picnic at the playground.

But praise God, grief doesn't stop at the ugly.

You can't forget the beautiful in the ugly beautiful.

Because if you forgot it, you wouldn't get out of bed in the morning, and you most certainly wouldn't chat it up with other mommas at the playground.

The beautiful is what redeems the ugly.

Grief is forever ugly beautiful.

Beautiful because it makes every blessing, every moment, every gift so captivating.  Because it rips away the lies of the temporary here and now and opens the door to truth, revealing  the hope of Heaven in such an overwhelming combination of all things lovely and beautiful and radiant that the soul staggers and the eyes sting with grateful tears for all that God is and was and is to come.  For His story and the part we play in it and the grace-filled truth that His Story never ends. Thank God for Jesus and His blood.  His death the deepest ugly, stinging the heart with the burn of injustice and the grave and the ultimate itswasnevermeanttobethisway, and thank God for His grace- the very core of the beauty in the beautiful.

Thank God for the grace.

The grace is what covers the ugly and opens the beautiful.

Today the ugly was overshadowed by the grace of those roly poly little thighs and those darling chubby cheeks.  The beautiful is found in the grace of the gifts sent from the Giver. Sometimes the grace-filled gift is the smile that plays at my cheeks standing at her grave, knowing where her little heart is, even though her little self lies still beneath the ground.  Sometimes the gift is the hope of Heaven.

Other times its the bright eyes and round cheeks of an eight-month old little darling.

She is a month older than Eden would have been.  I thought of it today, for the very first time, because in my grief, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about other people's stories and what might have been.  I don't see it as anything that will bring healing.  "Comparison is the thief of joy" and all that jazz.  There are some rules along this road that are easy to follow.  Not thinking about what might have been in terms of my girls' ages is one of them.

But today I took the plunge, ran over the rule with a tractor and considered that darling little girl and how she is a month older than my sweet girl would have been.  And there was grace there, in the math, and in those delectable little baby cheeks and how like my daughter she was in age.

Grace because I remembered my girl, and then I relished the little one sitting in front of me, balancing her tiny frame against her momma's shoulder. Those eyes and those cheeks, how precious! Grace because every good and perfect gift comes from the Father of Lights. Grace because the gifts I can see and hold and love now are glimpses of what is to come- of where my girls are and of God's goodness and glory.

Grace because God is so good in the giving, and because the beautiful is everywhere if we only have the eyes to find it.

I found it today.  In a cup of warm coffee with dear friends who made time to visit with me and Newbie  though their time together is short, seas stretching far between them and their precious granddaughter.

And I found it a week ago when my dear friends joined me for a visit to Jubilee's spot smashed between Mexican food for dinner and a 27th birthday cake for dessert.  They were there on her birthday, they know some of the ugly- the hurt and the pain and the missing.  But they have stood by my side, held my hand and my heart and been blessed to witness alongside me the beautiful.

I am so blessed to share the beautiful- the grace and the God-filled corners of my girl's story that radiate His glory bright enough to overshadow the ugly.  Because the story isn't the same without the beautiful.  Its just not the whole package.  The ugly is there, and its nasty and sobbing and sometimes keeps me up at night.  But the beautiful is where the magic's at.  The beautiful is where I can smile and rest and know that He is good. And I can stand on that very truth- the truth that He is good- at my daughter's grave on a rainy August evening, and honestly say with every fiber in my being that it is well with my soul. It is well because He is good.

(Thank God for girlfriends, no? =])

(Do you see the beauty I do?  One bleeding momma's heart, four pairs of rainboots.  Three pairs being the feet of Jesus tending to the broken.  Beauty.)

Around here, we're embrace the beautiful.  The ugly is loud, but the beauty is bigger, and I am always on the search.  Somedays its harder than others to tune out the ugly.  And somedays facing the ugly is what the heart needs to heal.  But there is never a day that passes that I'm not on the lookout for the beautiful.  On the busy days, its a whispered prayer of thanks for blond curls and blue eyes as I tuck Newbie into bed.  On the not-so-busy, eyes-peeled-open days, its thank you upon thank you for gift after gift...rain soaked grass, warm dinners, wrinkles around the eyes, sweet cards, tight hugs, tiny toes, gift, gift, gift, grace, grace, grace.

I call these our Jubilee days- the days when we are always on the search for the beautiful- the grace-filled moments- that stir the heart and cause us to shout for joy because God is good.  My girl taught us how to shout for joy- she helped me discover the beauty in the ugly beautiful, and every day since her story began has been a Jubilee day because God reached into my heart and rearranged my perspective. I'm changed.

And I'll never be the same.

Every day is a Jubilee day.

Which is why a pair of roly poly thighs holds more grace than I ever imagined. =)

Every good and perfect gift.

Here's to embracing these Jubilee days!

Lord, give us eyes to see the beautiful.