I’ve been trying to write this post for a month now…

And I’ve been staring at my computer for about 30 minutes so far on this current attempt. Every now and then I have to stop and wipe away the tears so I can clearly see the still blank screen. I’m not sure how to do this. So I think I’ll just start by sharing some words I’ve already written, as part of another project I’m working on…

How do you tell a story that leaves you without words? How do you describe the thing that has left your heart and thoughts in shattered pieces? How do you share your brokenness when you can’t even process it yourself?

More to the point, why would you want to? Why not bottle it, hold it, keep it to yourself in a respectable and socially approved of package? Why wade through the pain deep enough to tell it to someone else?

Because you don’t want this story to go untold.

This heartbreak to be only that and nothing more. So that this tragedy has purpose. Because even when you want to turn off the lights and close the door to the room that holds this broken dream, locking it tight and forever throwing away the key, you know that’s not the way. You know, in the truest part of you, that if you wade deep enough into this heartache, you’ll come out whole. And that maybe, just maybe, by telling the story along the way, you’ll bring someone else along with you.

So if you’re coming along with me into the deep and deciding you want to hear this story, than I owe you a confession right from the start. I don’t know how this story goes. I only know how it has begun and that I hope through sharing it with you I’ll find out the path it takes. I do know that although this story has so far seemed to shock and break every part of me, far down, shining up at me through the darkness, is a sparkling glimmer of hope. Hope that knows this story isn’t over. Hope that believes there is goodness to come. Hope that I’ll find it, and that as you come along with me, you will too.

So, here it is, to be courageously shared with you. The story of our Ezra…

At 10 and a half precious weeks of life, we lost our first child, our son Ezra. Some of you reading this know that his life was a long-awaited gift and a treasured promise. (If you aren’t familiar with our story, read this post and then this post). He was so loved, wanted, a part of us already in so many ways. His loss was a reeling shock that we still haven’t found our footing from.

And that’s partly why I’m forcing myself to write out these words – because I have to find my footing again. And because his life is still a gift and a part of the fulfillment of what has been promised to us. And because I know that this deep pain, this confusing shock, this love that goes beyond understanding, is felt in your own way, written in the unique words of your own story, by so many of you. Or maybe someone you know.

So here I am, hoping that with the use of words I can find a way to bring a balm to that wound. To allow Ezra’s short but perfect life to have as much significance as possible. To bring some purpose to the pain.

I’ll be writing more on this topic, sharing more of the story, bringing you along as much as I can in this journey toward hope and healing. This remains, after all, our hope grown life.