the furious beating of wings.

"They wheeled in a wide arc
with beating wings and then
they put their wings to sleep
And glided downward in a drift
of pure abandonment
Until they touched the surface of the lake
composed their wings, and settled
on the rippling water
as though it were a nest. " -Anne Porter, "Wild Geese Alighting on a Lake"

We are furiously beating
our wings, always gasping
for breath as we seek
some imaginary destination
always further and further,
higher and higher.
So desperate are we
to make it upwards,
we do not see
the sky we fly in,
or feel the wind
the brushes our
radiant faces.
We never stop
to rest our weary wings
until they break and crack
and we plummet like Icarus
toward the hard earth,
despairing and weeping
that it was all for nothing.
What would it be to
unfurl our heavy limbs,
and let the invisible
carry us; to glide
and drift with abandon;
to open our mouths to
drink in the sweet air
and our eyes to see
the wide expanse of
sky and possibility?

The Dark Blossoming

This January, I experienced a miscarriage. It has been a season of grief, sorrow and pain like none I have known before. An unpredictable storm of emotions has accompanied this loss. There are moments of empty numbness and others of anguished weeping. There are flurries of shame and guilt and anger. This is a loss so deep and intimate that it can at moments feel debilitating and isolating. But what has surprised me even more than the depth of pain, has been the abundance of blessings of this time. Love, comfort, hope and healing glimmer like stars in the wide darkness of my grief.

People I hadn’t seen in years sent kind messages sharing their love and their own journeys of pregnancy loss. Countless friends offered their love, prayers and support through texts, messages, e-mails, phone calls and cards. Some brought meals or sent flowers. My tribe (some of whom I know well, and others who until now have been mere acquaintances) have held me with such tenderness. Even if they could not fully understand my grief, they were attentive to it. In the midst of the darkness of my pain and sorrow, I have felt seen, treasured and loved.  I have been reminded again and again that I do not walk alone. With each kind word and thoughtful gesture these dear ones have been acting as midwives, guiding me through this dark season of pain, to find rebirth. When I thought I would be washed away entirely by the ocean of tears, you held me and kept me from being swept away.

One of the ways that I seek solace and healing is through creative practice, and these last few weeks have been an outpouring of writing and making in my life. In the coming weeks and months I hope to share some of it with you here. But the first thing I want to share is this collage piece, made primarily of the many beautiful sympathy cards we received and a black and white photo from photographer Dave Heath (his amazing work is currently on display at the Nelson-Atkins Museum in KC). 

This is my valentine to all of you, representing the ways that through your love, hope blossomed in the midst of my darkest days.

This is for all of you who poured out your love. Every word typed or written was like bread sustaining me when I was starving. Every prayer, every kindness, every touch, was a seed planted in a barren place. Your tender care helped me not only survive the wilderness of grief, but to find deep rivers of resurrection and renewal within its landscape. Thank you, thank you, thank you: for walking beside me during this shadowy season; for loving even when you didn’t understand; for holding onto hope when I couldn’t carry it myself. You will never know the difference it has made. You will never know the way your love grew blossoms in the darkness. You will never know the beauty you helped me find even in the breaking.