The shoreline

November 2017

For four years I have grieved, I have cried; at times I have raged tantruming child! I have questioned, I have despaired. My heart has been broken.

But now, it seems, quite all of a sudden, I’ve run out of puff! The energy behind all those raging emotions is waning – the waves of frustration whipped up to enormous heights, surging in a violent storm, with all their force and fury, rising and falling, rising and falling…

And yet now, inevitably with time, this torrent of emotion is reaching a shoreline – succumbing, surrendering, fading; peacefully and gently with hushed resolve into the soft sand.


There is head and heart in matters like these, it seems and, could I have chosen, I would have willed myself to grieve quietly, sensibly, unobtrusively – the sheer force of my breaking heart was embarrassing to say the least.

And yet, try as I might, those enormous feelings persisted and bubbled over inconveniently. Insistently. Head could not win over heart in this matter.

Eventually, and reluctantly I suppose, I put my will to one side and let my feelings roam, pretty well as they wished, like hyperactive and stressed out children on a rainy day, finally let out to play.

Deciding to relinquish control, deciding to withhold judgment over those emotions, deciding to instead simply feel my feelings and let them be, was a confusing and painful and awkward experience, and yet perhaps it has been for the best. For now they have lost their force entirely and I feel better. At peace.

That might sound like I’ve given up hope. I haven’t. Nor have I completely accepted my lot. 

I retain hope, for God can give children as easily as withhold them. I do accept the situation as it stands and am overwhelmed with the gifts already given me. And yet my heart still longs, perhaps selfishly, perhaps greedily, for what it does not have. This I assume, will probably never change. Should there be no more children, I think my heart will always ache a little. And for that, I think I may need to allow myself a small amount of grace.

But the greater grace is being freed from the furious force of my initial grief. And, my, what a grace indeed! To no longer have that tumultuous sea of emotions wrecking constant havoc with my head and my heart. It is a good feeling to be free from that.

Thanks be to the God of heaven and earth who calms the sea of my soul, until, like a weaned child I can rest peacefully, without madly grasping for what my heart desires, for what it is yet longing.

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