Joy comes in the morning


Recently my boys and I ran a few errands for our big church trunk or treat event and naturally were in two of my favorite stores: Hobby Lobby and Target. Apparently, I had the spirit of self-control on me because I was not compelled to walk out purchasing the entire contents of the beauty section or every notebook and planner. But who am I kidding? I can’t commit to a specific date for a playgroup much less an entire year of planning things.  I had actually gone into the store earlier that day got what I needed for the fair and left. But I couldn’t get this mug out f my mind. I remembered I had a gift card and made our way back in. Did I mention God granted Isaac the gift of sleeping for nearly two hours on this trip? Miracles people, miracles.
We walked around looking at all the neat Christmas decor and made our way back to that cup. Why is this cup so important that  I took a double stroller full of toddlers and paraphernalia back into a store full of breakables? Because it immediately spoke to where I am In life right now. It brought me back to the wailing over the loss Phoebe that night in the emergency room. I can never forget how hard I cried and how much I wailed. But while in the hospital  I remembered Psalm 30:5


For His anger is but for a moment, but His favor is for a lifetime … Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.

  I know it seems silly to feel like a single object can define an emotion, but it was not just the ‘cup’ it was God knocking on the door of my heart to begin the process of healing emotionally. I attempted to read a devotional on mourning and loss a week after Phoebe was born and it was too much for me to handle, and that’s ok. I was given as a gift the book I will carry you. It’s the story of Angie Smith and the process she went through losing her baby. It was no accident I managed to open right to the chapter where she experiences Audry’s birth then subsequent death. I presumed reading her story would make me think couldn’t handle re-living my own daughter’s death. But something unexpected happened. Her story was my story too. I was not reliving my own pain as much as sharing it with someone who went through the same thing I did.  I’m still reading the book and will be reading it for some time and I’m grateful for brave women like her. It’s odd to me that some have called me ‘brave’ and ‘strong’ for telling Phoebe’s story. I don’t feel it. But I serve a God who is my strength when I have none.

I don’t understand God’s timing or purposes at times like now. What I do know it that weeping and mourning will not last forever. Joy will come. My stomach still hurts when I walk past baby girl items in Target or have another nightmare over her birth, but joy will come. Even when I cannot see or feel it yet.



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