I used to do their hair at work, the girls in my class after school. I would try to be gentle, but sometimes I’d pull a little too hard and cause a wince or a flinch and one time even tears.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I would say. “Sometimes we girls have to go through a little pain to make ourselves beautiful.”

And in the end she would bounce off with a braid or a ponytail or an intricate hair design, to look in the mirror and compare hers with her friend’s.

Every now and then the pulling would be too much, and one of the girls would ask me to stop and would walk away unfinished, or with nothing at all to show for it. Sometimes the pain just didn’t seem to be worth the promise of beauty.

I am that girl today. I want to walk away– no, I want to run away, as fast as I can, away from the pain and the fire and the refining that is supposed to make me beautiful and more like Him. I hate it. I hate it so much.

I cannot walk away from this. I cannot say “stop now please, I think I’d rather just be plain old ugly Erin today.” But to sit here, under these hands that promise my good, and have it hurt so deep and so much, it just seems unbearable. I break. I fall. I cry out for mercy. Oh Lord, for mercy.

Sometime about three weeks ago, the little person beneath my heart died.

This little one, so loved already, so cherished and hoped for, just gone– gone.

I have walked this road before. I do not understand why I must walk it again.


I have prayed in recent days that God would keep my hands open, so that the blessings He pours into them may overflow into the lives of others. Now He asks me to open my hand and give up this dream that was a child, a baby to be born in August, a little brother or sister to be a friend to my little girl, a precious new person to cuddle and love and hold and rock. I would rather open my hands and share blessings, I tell Him. He requires this blessing to be given back to Him, far too early.

I do not understand.


I know that He is good. I know He loves me. I know He is faithful and that He walks with me through this valley.

I hate this valley. I don’t care if it makes me more like Him. I don’t care if it is a fire to bring me forth as gold. I don’t want to be gold today. I am weak. I am so weak. I cannot rejoice in this tribulation.

You will forgive me for my weakness, my brokenness, won’t you?

My mind knows He is good and He loves me. But my heart breaks under this grief. I am too weak for this, too weak.

I can’t do it, Father. I am supposed to be filling now, my belly swelling with brave new life, and you empty me in every way. I can’t do it.

He is a good Father, with me in the fire, with me, carrying me, lifting me up and bearing the worst of the body of this death.

He is a good Father.

Oh Lord. Be near.


19 thoughts on “

  1. Oh, Erin. I don’t have words to say how much my heart hurts for you, grieves with you. I am so, so sorry. And I’m lifting you up in prayer, asking God to speak peace to your heart and your wounded spirit, knowing that God is near to the brokenhearted.

    I love you, friend.

  2. Grieve… it’s okay to grieve. He’s there. He knows. He okay with it, with you. I won’t tell you that you are stronger than you think, because I’ve not been where you are. I will tell you that I am here for you. That I’m thinking of you and being strong for you when you can’t be. Your whole family is in my heart… HIS heart. I love you.

  3. Erin, I am so, so sorry. All I can do is offer you a cyber shoulder to lean on and a cyber heart that is truly grieving with you and your family. (((hugs)))

  4. Erin – you are in my heart and prayers. God will unite the assurance in your head with the sorrow in your heart. Until then shelter yourself under the shadow of the almighty while you grieve for your little one. May He give you peaceful sleep.

  5. i don’t know why either… and i feel the urge to rail and shout about fairness.

    my eyes are crying tears for you, for your family… as if you don’t have enough already. and my heart aches for you… having just recently read the post you wrote before. cry, kick, scream… keep clinging to Him for the strength, even though you’d rather sink. xoxo

  6. Hi Erin. I’m so sorry to read this. My heart aches for you. I just don’t want to say anything painful or stupid so I’ll stop, I just wanted to share a blog with you that I actually found today. I think you two have much in common. Praying for you and your precious family…

  7. Oh, Erin, I am so, so sorry. My heart is breaking for you, and I am crying for you and praying for you today. I am so sorry that I haven’t been online & seen this yet, please know that you and your family are in my prayers.

  8. As someone who has also walked this road, I want to tell you how sorry I am. I remember being so angry, wondering why God would give you something you want for such a short amount of time, and then just take it away. God can take our anger and our pain. He will also give you peace and comfort. My prayer is that you will feel His love and know that when your heart breaks, so does His.

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