There is just something about milestones.
And I can be the queen of the reminiscing on milestones:
Anniversaries of times so special, so impactful. The joyful + the painful.
And milestones that have pictures around to help tell the story? Having the gift of a bit of tangible to focus attention can sometimes be cherished, beyond the invisible thoughts alone.
I read an article a handful of years back that I really wish I could recall, to give credit to the author.
But the thought has stuck with me:
That a photograph captures just a second-moment in time.
Where the past is part of the context of the image,
but the image shows strictly the present.
And, the future of what is to come next is completely unknown during that tiny moment of time.
There is an innocence of the future... A blissful unawareness of what is around the corner, even seconds away.
But, looking back on a past image, a larger story can be told and understood.
We can look back on photos and sense the naivety and maybe childlikeness of the scene. The unknown of the future.
And that is how I am feeling as I'm reflecting on today.
Today is a milestone, in my own heart at least.
One year ago was when I received the surprise of surprises news that I was pregnant. With #5.
And the news initially did not settle in sweetly.
And, those who know our story knows that my pregnancy did not end as anyone would have hoped or imagined.
So when I have been reflecting on how last 365 days have felt to me: the panic, the disbelief, the dizzying roller coaster of processing the news...
I try to remember what it was like BEFORE.
Before the news, before this entire knot of a year to follow.
And below is the most recent picture taken before that August 30th date.
The lack of any awareness of what this girl was about to face in coming days/months/forever.
I like this girl. Imperfectly unaware. And I like that she's smiling so big. Who knew? Gather up strength, dear one.
And then the following picture.
Of my view AFTER. After the pregnancy test showed those lines.
This image will always be imprinted in my mind when I recall "that day."
And I had sat in this soft tan chair for, honestly, a few hours. Without getting out. I just sat.
And my precious friend came up and knocked on the bedroom door and joined me. In the chair. Squashed in. And she gave me the absolutely needed gift of reassurance and calm, even through my bouts of tears and commentary on how this shook my world.
"One thing at a time..."
"You just grow that life..."
"You have a village..."
"Blessing in this..."
"God will provide..."
"It will work out..."
And I stayed in that chair, long after she left and in the sharing with my husband.
When circumstances sometimes just freeze you.
And then, when I finally stood up from the comfort of hiding away in the chair,
it was Bob Ross "No Mistakes" shirt time. 100% on purpose.
And when I looked at what was next at my camera roll, I quietly smile inside, that God could focus my view this way.
And the morning of the big, halfway-there ultrasound day, this was the picture.
God was continually holding my hand.
And then this image:
The hour before the ultrasound that would show us whether #5 baby was a girl or boy. Gathering my thoughts in the comfort of a coffee shop + journal.
Who knew then that such a shock of loss was about to be revealed, right? Innocence.
"Photographs: see people before their future weighed them down,
before they knew their endings."
before they knew their endings."
(Kate Morton, The House at Riverton)
And then the next image to follow on my camera?
I am thankful, again. That what came were words that comforted.
This picture above is another one of those photos:
One that reminds me of a time of innocence, years back.
Before a BOOM fell on our lives.
These smiles were seasoned with some of life's hardships, but didn't know what was going to come next.
And sometimes I look back on this image, and wish I could jump back through the years and not have experienced the heartaches to come, back from this era over a decade ago.
Or even more current, back to the time pre-last year's surprise and loss.
Yet. (One of my favorite words)
Yet, as much as loss hurts and aches and ages and burns...
=Richness and depth and beauty and compassion.
=Unbelievable hope can arise.
For the future that none of us see yet.
As hard as this last year has been, a loss of a baby and the difficult time I've had recollecting the pieces of ME that have struggled to be gathered back securely...
I have changed.
Yet.
God has not.
His future for me has not.
And the same for you, with your milestones and your heartwrenching memories and circumstances...
A friend shared this song that immediately helped my perspective, once again.
"I know if You wanted to You could wave Your hand
Spare me this heartache and change Your plan
And I know when he said that You could take my pain away
But even if you don't I pray
Help me want the Healer more than the healing
Help me want the Savior more than the saving
Help me want the giver more than the giving
Oh help me want You Jesus more than anything"
Natalie Grant "More Than Anything"
Elizabeth
(And some simple-needed advice to pass on that my Grandma Virginia Hurd shared with me, 9 years ago, for going through difficult times:
"Just try your best to be happy TODAY. Then do the same thing tomorrow. And the next day.")
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