until we meet again

To my friend who is hurting,

I love you.  

It is not enough today, I know. But, I love you.

There is a desperate angst after a miscarriage… or two or three. It hurts where you cannot reach, where you cannot see, where friends cannot go.

Losing a baby after already having a successful pregnancy carries a different weight on the heart, I think. You have lost not only the idea of a child… no. Now, you know what is gone. You lost a child, a sibling, an “I absolutely want to do this.” Your child. It is different and it is exponential.

So, grieve. Grieve as though your heart would break the sky in two and the deserts would overflow with water. Grieve for that moment, that chance, that maybe. Grieve. You give it its due. That child is blessed and whole and singing now, and we long to see it again.

Do not lose heart, Friend. Though outwardly you are wasting away, inwardly you are being renewed day by day. Your light and momentary troubles are achieving for you an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So fix your eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (Paul to the Corinthian church, A.D. 57)

You are not lost.

Hope can find you. 

Dearest, would that I could heal you.

But hear me when I say you are not broken.

You are the very image of God, your Creator, weeping for His son.

You are Mary, unable to save her child.

You are Abraham, commanded to sacrifice.

You are Lazarus, dying to rise again.

You are…

you are in good company. 

Make no mistake- it is a broken, fallen world. But you? You are whole. You are complete. You are loved. You are salt and light. You are life, through Him. Stand up. Dust off your weary bones. Raise your hands high in surrender and thanksgiving. Renew your steadfast spirit. He has given you a clean heart today.

Turn around and see us- your family, your friends, your faith. We are behind you, we are beside you, we are leading you by the hand.  We will do any or all of those things for as long as you need.  We love you.  And, we know.

He knows. 

Your family’s pew in heaven is filled with gorgeous children who never knew hurt, and for that… if only that… we are grateful. They are saving your seat and singing so loud.  For now, we will grieve and we will walk and we will pray.

love and tears and everything in between,

every day,




About texasnorth

TexasNorth is a little farm in Western Michigan. It's home to 5 chickens, 25 longhorn cattle, a coonhound (Banjo), 1 barn cat, a husband, and 3 ridiculously funny children. The mom of this zoo has been known to mow the lawn in a skirt and roast marshmallows after dark. View all posts by texasnorth

7 responses to “until we meet again

  • Missy

    This was an astoundingly raw and beautiful love letter to a hurting friend. May I offer up a meager prayer full of love and hope for this friend, too?

  • mamagray

    That was beautiful, TexasNorth. Your friend is lucky to have you.

  • Miss Laura

    Well said. Spot on. Amen and amen. Prayers for your friend today…may she have full permission to grieve whatever way she needs, whether that be seeking support in others or keeping this experience her own. Sometimes you just need to keep it your own. Healing does come, often not when or how you’re expecting.

  • Mandi Watts

    What a beautiful post! I have been in this particular place of grief twice and would have found these words comforting. Just the permission to embrace the grief is powerful in a culture and society that doesn’t readily accept that particular sadness as truly valid. You are so gifted with words! Thank you for sharing this.

  • amy

    i am so very sorry for your friend. this post is so good. thank you Katie. praying for your hurting friend today.

  • fridaynightgirl

    I think you completely captured it. I didn’t think I would survive miscarrying Riley. I held my breath throughout my pregnancy with Emory, fearful it would happen again. Even though I’ll never know to whom your beautiful letter is written, I am praying for her.

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