If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.
It's advice that's served me well for the most part, encouragement to tame my tongue before my tongue tames me
But I find myself quiet here in this space when I'm drowning in weeks that have dumped heaviness, weariness on my back or I find myself striving to glimpse the bigger picture amid the suckfest that's unfolded right before my eyes.
It's a way of thinking, taking all thoughts captive, remembering the bigger picture, and that's served me well.
The hurt, the pains, the hardships -- the not so nice parts of life need voice, too.
And I find myself struggling for balance.
Struggling to be real about being real.
Because the reality of this week is that it's been hard.
Yes, I see hope wound tightly, wrapped beautifully in the Bigger Picture. And, yes, I hold fierce tight to the gift of Eternal Summer He's given so graciously.
But the truth of the matter is that I cried wet tears, almost choking on grief last night while thinking about the sweet babies to whom our friends have said untimely goodbyes.
Thinking about the tiny lives nestled deep in my womb to whom we've bid farewell too soon.
And thinking about how much I hate that death ever sauntered into the scene disguised as knowledge and life.
The not-so-nice stuff.
But as real as it gets
and it gets its five minutes today.