6 Months

 3 am tomorrow morning, April 2nd, will mark 6 months since Maggie and Ellen began making their way into this world and then on to paradise. 

6 months. 

I've survived.

To be honest, that's surprising to me. Before losing children I looked at others who have had to walk this road and thought "no way I'd ever survive that." 

But here I am. 

Breathing. 

Walking. 

Waking up every day.

 Choosing to live. 

Wanting to live well. 

To live fully.

I've learned a lot about myself, life, and grief in the past 6 months.

 I've never thought of myself as someone whose priorities were out of whack, but they were. 

The stress church life can bring, the stress of crazy situations, the stress of other people's stress . . . 

I don't want it and I've discovered I don't have to have it in my life. 

We don't have to step into everyone's stressful moments. 

We're not meant to be saviors or superheroes.

What I allow to consume my days, moments, thoughts, and memories begin to define who I am.

    I want to live a life consumed by what is true, noble, right, good, excellent and praiseworthy.

Those things don't happen unless I live in the present moment. 

"Present moment, only moment;"

my family's motto for the year. 

Stress. Drama. Anxiety.

I don't have time for you. 

I've learned that life is short. 

I don't want to waste my moments on matters that don't matter.

Grief is like an untamed animal. Some days are good. Some days aren't. 

Some moments are joyous. Some moments bring what we learned about in Colorado, 

STUG (Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief).

The more the days pass I think about Maggie and Ellen like I knew them.

Their voices, their laughs, their personalities.

We think Ellen had a tender heart, a mind for science, and a mild disposition.

We think Maggie would have kept us on our toes with her passion, energy, and extroversion.

Accurate or totally incorrect, it's been healing to imagine. 

I've learned that great grief requires patience and grace for yourself and others.

Well-meaning religion has taught me some really unfortunate theology.

It's difficult to admit, but I haven't prayed much in the last six months.

Like really prayed.

Prayer is like a language I've suddenly forgotten how to speak. 

What's prayer for? Why is prayer needed?

Aside from shaping my character into the character of God (a big aside, I know)

 does prayer even do anything?

All questions I've been wrestling with.

I realized a few months ago that my issues are more with religion than God.

No matter what, I believe that God has not abandoned us and God is a God of love.

Apart from that, I've learned I don't know much of anything.

I don't have a firm understanding of how God is involved in the world.

I can't explain the mystery of prayer. 

I won't get on-board with the belief that God "just needed a few extra angels."

 But amazingly, graciously, and in very God-like manner, God has still spoken to me (and I to God), sans typical prayer. 

We were incredibly lucky that the day of Maggie and Ellen's funeral my sister's friend was in town. 

This friend graciously agreed to come and lead worship.

He recently released a new album and it's been through his soul-moving music that God has spoken. God sings to me; I sing back. 

A mutual recognition that we are both still here and we haven't given up on one another. 

We are just mourning, and I'm a bit wounded, 

and we need to learn a new language through which to speak to each other again. 

I've relearned that God is gracious, slow to be frustrated by my questions, and abounding in steadfast love. God never hurries me down the road of grief. God knows this road well and isn't intimated by it.

I wondered and worried if there would ever come a day that thoughts of Maggie and Ellen would bring more joy and excitement than heartbreak and sorrow. 

I'm not totally sure that's a realistic hope, but I see glimmers of that possibility.

One of great things about having the hope of paradise, is believing their souls are alive and well and trusting we will be together again one day. 

I now crave eternity more than I ever knew I would. 

I know my ache to be reunited with Maggie and Ellen pales in comparison to the ache God has to be reunited with all God's children.  

As this day, this marker of six months, approached I have felt a deep desire to share Maggie and Ellen with our small corner of the world. 

Their little faces bring me more joy and pride now than tears and sadness. 

I think they are beautiful and precious and I'm so proud of them.

 As the months have passed I have found myself increasingly grateful that the first time they opened their eyes they saw the face of God.

God is and always will be with us. 

Emmanuel. 

Ellen Olivia and Maggie Jane Miller