When You Were Inside of Me...

When You Were Inside of Me...

How can it be that yesterday

The budding flower of you

Lay nestled and protected

Beneath my beating heart,

But today, you are no more?

Was it only a dream I had of you

Or was it really true?

Hidden inside of me,

Where no-one else could see.

Was it true you called me Mama

And I called you My Pet?

No bigger than a pencil point,

A tiny little miracle,

You began your life in me,

Not a blob of tissue, not some cells I could ignore,

How could I explain to others that you were so much more?

I loved you in the beginning, in the middle and in the end,

I stroked your cheek to keep you calm,

I counted your toes, I tickled your chin,

And cradled you in my arms,

When you were inside of me.

I read you stories and sang you songs

And bounced you on my knee.

I whispered your name in my sleep,

Your little face filled my dreams,

When you were inside of me.

Don't ask me to wake up this morning

How I hate this day,

Your screams and cries are all I hear.

There is no life within me.

They have stolen you away.

No, I will never be the same

No matter what they say,

You cannot be replaced.

You will never be forgotten.

For when they took you from me

They took away my heart.

Will you know me when I get to heaven

Will I know you, My Pet?

Does the sun rise in the morning

In the evening, does it set?

You, my darling baby,

I never will forget.

Do you search for me sometimes

Wondering where am I?

Does God our Father comfort you,

When you begin to cry?

Does your guardian angel read you stories

And bounce you on his knee?

Does he tell you how I loved you

When you were inside of me?

Will he hold you to the window

to watch and wait for me?

Will he tell you when I'm coming

Will he let you run to me?

Do you remember how I loved you

When you were inside of me...

Note:  This poem is an original work written by me and lovingly dedicated to the many women who have lost their babies through abortion and miscarriage and who will never be the same.  Also dedicated to my own little one, lost in the fifth month of pregnancy.

May God comfort and heal the many mothers (and grandmothers) who lost their babies before they ever got to hold them in their arms.  

Out of the Pit...

I knew a little girl once, growing up in poverty. She didn't live in China or Africa. She lived in the United States of America. I know they say poverty doesn't exist in America. But I know it does. I've seen it with my own eyes. Maybe you have too. Maybe, this little girl lived right down the street from you...

You might have seen her on her way to school. She had big holes in her shoes. She made cardboard cutouts to fit inside the shoes to keep the cold and water out. She really didn't even have her own shoes. Her family couldn't afford them, so she wore the shoes her sister had outgrown. You could tell they weren't hers. They were two sizes too big for her. Her hands and face were always a bright cherry red in the dead of winter. She didn't own a scarf or gloves.

She always went to school hungry. There was nothing to eat for breakfast before school most days. Many nights, her mother fixed bread and butter sandwiches with a bit of sugar on top for dinner. That kept the wolves at bay. Her mother didn't "work". Unless you count the eight children she was struggling to raise. She wasn't a single mom. She had a husband. It just didn't make much difference. He was a young veteran who had fought in the war and then returned to a country that had no job for him. He sank below the poverty line and took his family with him.

Most nights you would find him trying to bury his fears at the corner tavern down the street. She was often told to "Go get daddy." Mommy needed him. It was a frightening place for a child of eight to enter. It was so dark. So noisy. So many men talking funny and looking at her in strange ways. Like any child, frightened by a world she didn't understand, she searched for the safety of her father. She didn't care that he seemed not to recognize her when she found him. She didn't mind that he walked funny and leaned on her when they were walking home. She was just happy she had found him and he was coming home.

When he did come home, though, he carried his fears with him, along with his anger. Rage really. Sheer rage. All the hopelessness and despair of not knowing what to do to care for his family erupted in an out-of-control rage that threatened to crush the life of this family. Life is overwhelming in these kind of circumstances. Especially, for a child.

You may have guessed by now. Yes, I was that child. It was a difficult and, sometimes, terrifying way to grow up. I don't share this with you to evoke your sympathy. But, to simply say that, into the midst of this despairing and angry world came Jesus. He walked right into the darkness and fear and plucked that little girl right out of the enemy's hands and claimed her for His own. Another time, I'll have to tell you how that happened. But, for now, I just want you to know. He came after me and sought me when no-one else knew or cared how lost I was. If He did it for me, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt, He will do it for you.

There is no place too dark, too dirty, too poor, too ugly, too anything, that He will not go to find you. He loves you. No matter what...

Scripture Reference: Psalm 40: 2

"He brought me up out of a terrible pit,
Out of the miry clay,
And set my feet upon a rock,
And established my steps."

Christian Hymn: "He Hideth My Soul" by Fannie Crosby

"He hideth my soul, in the cleft of the Rock
that shadows a dry, thirsty land;

He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand..."

Barbie...

My two little granddaughters were visiting this weekend. They love to curl up on my bed in the morning and settle in for tickles and giggles and stories to tell. I don't know who likes it more - me or them! This past time, I watched as my seven year old played with one of her latest Barbie dolls - a birthday present from her grandfather. Her sister, at age eleven, is beginning to question the impossible standard that she sees embodied in Barbie. With a clear and honest observation of the contradiction between these dolls and what she sees all around her, she tells me flatly, "I don't get it. Nobody looks like that!" This little girl is growing up! I imagine to myself, what would Barbie say, if she could climb out of her plastic body, move her plastic lips and tell us what she thinks of her world. It might go something like this.

Would you stop looking at me, already? I hate the way people are constantly gawking at me. Little girls want to grow up to be just like me. Little boys hope they get to marry their own 'Barbie Doll' some day. Let me tell you, it is no picnic being Barbie! For over 50 years now, I haven't had a decent meal, EVER! If I gain an ounce, I've been told - I'm out of a job. And I cannot afford to be out of a job. Do you realize how much money it takes to dress like this? I set the standard, they say. Everyone wants to look like me. For my entire life, I haven't been able to age a day. That's right. No fat, no wrinkles, no laugh lines, no grey hair...No life. I wonder what it's like to laugh so hard your belly hurts. To smile so often, your face gets lines? To cry when it hurts instead of pretending it never does? To know that even when you are old and grey, you are loved by your Creator? To know that it's OK to admit you're not perfect. You don't have to be. God loves you just the way you are. I can't imagine that kind of freedom. Don't ever trade it for a cheap imitation.

You know what I wish? I wish I could trade places with YOU. I would do it in a minute. Just for the chance to be real...


Scripture Reference: Psalm 139: 14 "I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made..."