It has been 6 months...

It has been 6 months since Orion passed away. We have been torn about what to say as we continue to process pain, and the truth of who God is. We have felt the need to have an update on some of the more practical things happening in our lives, especially since every one of you have invested so deeply into us and our ministry. But to be honest, it seems like the most practical thing right now is to choose each day as a way to continue to move, to continue to trust God with His healing and His timing, to not be scared of the grieving and also to be aware of how God is nudging us forward. Part of that process has been writing letters to Orion. At times I am afraid that if I don’t record it, I will forget how I am feeling or what I’m thinking, and with that some how part of Orion will be forgotten. And part of it is that despite the fact that our son isn’t physically here, that desire to share with him is no less.

I don’t share this as a way to manipulate sympathy, but as an invitation. It’s an invitation to anyone who has been walking with us to lament and speak to God with honesty. We know He is steadfast and He is faithful, and because of that we are given the space to wrestle with what is hard and unknowable. And I share this as an invitation to anyone walking through their own valley. Suppressing, and glossing over our pain doesn’t validate our faith. It’s when we can address and press into these hard spots, that what we have put our trust in rises to the surface.

“Long days driving across the country gives me a lot of time to think....and sometimes it only takes one connection, sometimes 3 or 4, but my thoughts always come back to you, Orion

I’ve thought about everything I had looked forward to during the pregnancy. How I planned on showing you your constellation, that is always so bright in a winter, mid-western sky. Have your dad explain exactly which stars belong to that Orion in the sky.

How you were going to get to see your first snowfall. I craved quiet walks in the crisp air with you snuggled into my chest...just me and you, experiencing God’s goodness in nature.

I anticipated the grand introduction between you and your cousin, babies only a month apart, taking in all the family members ooing and awing over you both. I knew that if we could just make it to September that joy would break through the mourning...

But the car rides have been long. Me and your dad steal glances up at Orion in the sky, as we drive, or when we stop, experiencing peace and grief wrapped up into one.

The only one experiencing their first snowfall is Zelda, granted, she is hilarious running around in it. And that spot up against my chest feels forever void, like not only does my heart know, but my body knows something is missing as well.

In the wake of your absence other things seem to be standing out. Songs have deeper meaning. Words of Bono and Bruce that I’ve heard a dozen times seem to all of a sudden encompass what I’m feeling. Emotions put into poetry.

As I’m working through Mathew’s gospel for the second time this year the depth of love, the reality of sacrifice, and the beauty found in suffering has pierced my heart differently, leaving me in tears on more then one occasion.

Son, as I continue through each day, the thread that weaves everything together is the radical impact you are having on our lives. We experience life through different lenses. Our love is more pure, our breathe is deeper, taking the day slower seems like wisdom, not laziness, our relationship with our Creator has been rooted in truths and not emotions. You Orion, are the most beautiful thing that has entered my world, and the way you have altered it leaves me speechless.”

12-27-20