I certainly thought at the dawn of the new year that I'd either be holding you in my arms this week or anticipating your pending arrival. When you slipped into eternity after 12 weeks nestled in the depths of my womb, I was broken hearted and just plain broken.
I simply couldn't believe we'd lost you; I thought you'd call these arms, this family, this place here on Earth home for longer than your short life here. When I birthed you and held your tiny body, I marveled at your small but perfect form. We named you Selah because in the Psalms, the Psalmists often put a break in their Psalms with the word Selah -- a pregnant pause of sorts, a praise to God. But there really isn't an accurate direct translation ... Your name is fitting.
Because you, beautiful soul, have been just that for me -- a pregnant pause. A long, drawn-out pause amid the hectic nature of life, calling my attention to beauty and miracles and overflow.
For days turned weeks turned months, I longed for you; the empty inside of me screamed and the space where you once fit ached, the heaviest empty I've known in years.
Truth be told, that empty wasn't yours to fill, and you know that because where you dwell there is no empty. There's only overflow.
But your life -- it made me pause, long and slow and steady. It pushed me to the Filler of the Empty, asking, aching to be filled. It pushed me to consider the faith I've long clung to; it pushed me to claim the promise that whenever we seek, we find Him waiting, ready to take that ocean of empty I thought I could fill bucket full at a time, with His very self. Your life showed me that beauty and miracles and overflow are often born of pain and grief and empty.
You are a praise to God from my lips.
You are not the baby we lost. We know you are; you dwell in very depths of goodness and in my heart.
And because of your life and because of His goodness, you'll always live in the overflow there inside my chest instead of in the empty.
I love you,