Tag: hope

Posted in eternity

What’s Right With This Picture?

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Over the past month, there’s been a particular word I can’t seem to get away from. It’s been in my devotions, in my Griefshare videos, in my conversations… it’s almost become comical. That word is perspective.

Perspective: a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view.

I’m sure you’ve heard countless times how powerful perspective can be. While this truth is not specific to grief alone, I would dare to say it is a truth that grievers must be hyperaware of. Here’s what I mean…

When we suffer an unexpected loss, confusion and anger can be natural responses. We search for answers. We wonder all of the why’s. We pinpoint what we should have done differently. And if we aren’t extremely careful, we spiral…

We start to believe God loves us less. We convince ourselves that there’s no hope or happiness left in this world. We’re consumed with our sorrow. It affects how we think, interact with others, plan (or don’t plan) for the future… everything. We watch the calendar for any “milestone” days (holidays, anniversaries, etc.) and fill ourselves with dread, wishing all of that precious time away. We live in a permanent and inescapable state of pessimism.

Why? Because our perspective shifts. It becomes painfully distorted as we repeat the lies of grief and begin to shape our entire life around them. The worst part? We usually don’t even realize what’s happening until we’re too far deep in the hole of despair.

If I’m being honest, I’ve found myself in this hole more times than I can count. It seems to happen when I become too fixated on my grief – when all I can see is my loss. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Of course my perspective is going to be warped if all I can think about is death and disappointment.

So… what do we do about it?

I’m going to share a short devotion with you that I find myself going back to often. The title is “Eternal Perspective” and is found in through a season of grief by Bill Dunn and Kathy Leonard.

When you begin to see heaven as your true home, you can develop eternal perspective that sees all sorrows as passing.

“It is possible to trust God in all things,” says Dr. Joseph Stowell. “You may have a hard time getting there, but you won’t get there unless you believe in the world to come. If this is all you have, if it’s just this world, then bitterness is your only option.

But if you believe that there is a God who is higher than you are and wiser than you are, and He has a world prepared for you where all Christians will be together again and be with Him in absolute joy and bliss, then that brings strength to your sorrow.”

Place your trust in God and in His preparations and plans for you.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:1-3).

Lord and Savior, I trust that You will someday bring me home to live in heaven with You. For now, I need to try and look at my sorrows in light of eternity. The things of this world are much clearer when I have a higher perspective. Amen.

I know what you’re probably thinking. “That’s a lot easier said than done.” You’re absolutely right, it is. So, let me offer you a simple exercise to try whenever you catch your perspective doing the dreaded spiral.

Ask yourself – “What’s right with this picture?”

For me, I think about how right it is that my mama was spared from this world. No more pain. No more tears. No more burdens. Just pure heavenly joy. I think about how right it is that she made sure we were taken care of. I think about how right it is that I’ll get to meet my sweet Parker as soon as I enter heaven’s gates. I get to meet my child, y’all! Also, how right is it that my mama gets to worship at the feet of Jesus beside one of her grandkids?! I love to imagine that beautiful, holy sight.

If you can’t think of anything right with your picture yet, ask yourself again. Ask however many times it takes. Because I guarantee you God is not letting your pain go to waste. Even in the worst circumstances, there is something right with this picture.

**Dana, if you somehow come across my blog – THANK YOU for sharing this exercise in Griefshare. It was truly one of those pivital moments for me.**

Posted in Parker

Everyone I Love Dies.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

I’ve dreaded sharing this part of my story. Partly because I’m often still numb to the loss. But mostly because I just can’t make sense of it… why babies have to die.

*This post will discuss miscarriage. If you’re not comfortable with details – consider stopping now.*

Are you experiencing any bleeding or abdominal pain? It’s the routine question asked at every prenatal appointment.

I answered with little concern. Bleeding seemed to be my new normal since my pregnancy with Sadie. Having a 10 cm subchorionic hematoma means you see a lot of blood. You almost get used to it. You have to. Because of that, my answer didn’t scare me like it should have.

“Yes, I have been bleeding a little bit.”

For a couple weeks now, I had convinced myself I was pregnant. I was having all of the beginning symptoms that I had experienced with both Ellie and Sadie. I was just waiting for the test to turn positive. It finally did Sunday morning (Aug 11, 2024). This baby wasn’t planned, but I was already over the moon with joy. Three under three was going to be pure chaos. But it would be the most exciting, fulfilling chaos. I couldn’t wait.

After Mom died, I pretty much swore off the idea of ever having another baby. In my mind, I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world that she would never know about. I also couldn’t bear the thought of anymore loss. I told myself that as long as I didn’t get pregnant again, my heart would be spared from any possible pain of losing a baby. I was letting grief dictate how I lived my life and how I grew my family. I hated myself for it. But I was convinced it was the only way to survive.

So you can imagine my surprise when I started experiencing pregnancy symptoms. I was terrified at first. I started running through all of the worst case scenarios. But I quickly pushed them away with confidence that surely this was meant to be my healing baby. This child was going to be what pulled me out of my grief rut. In no world would the Lord deem it necessary for me to experience more death and loss and pain. Surely.

We immediately started thinking of names. Some people would think that’s crazy at 4 weeks. But it was par for the course with us. With each pregnancy, I wanted to be settled on a name right away. Having a name always made it more real for me. More meaningful. I loved being able to rub my belly and call them by name throughout the entire pregnancy. It reaffirmed the reality that God was entrusting me with a precious little life.

I called my midwife’s office the Monday after getting the positive test. They got me in for my initial blood test appointment later that day (Aug 12). This was just supposed to be the appointment that “confirms pregnancy”. Little did I know, that would be as far as I’d get.

The receptionist called the next morning to confirm I was pregnant and needed to schedule my first ultrasound. I took a sigh of relief. That relief lasted for a good two hours. A second call came in around 11 AM, but this time, it was my midwife’s nurse. She wanted to see if I was still bleeding or experiencing any discomfort. I told her yes to both. The bleeding wasn’t too heavy, but it was enough to need a liner. And the pain felt similar to a period.

She hesitated. There it was again. The hesitation I’ve become so familiar with. She informed me that my levels were lower than what is expected, so they needed to be checked again tomorrow (Aug 14). As of now, my HCG level was only 13, which was considered “borderline” for pregnancy. My progesterone was also low, sitting only at 3.59.

And so the spiraling began. I 10/10 do NOT recommend googling if you’re trying to stay calm or optimistic. But I couldn’t stop searching. Everything I read indicated this pregnancy would not last. How could this be? How was this happening? This was supposed to be my light at the end of the tunnel. But all signs were pointing away from that hope.

I went in Wednesday to get my blood drawn. The tech informed me I wouldn’t hear anything until tomorrow, so off I went to play the waiting game. I asked Riley that evening if we could name the baby Parker if I ended up miscarrying. It was gender-neutral, and I wanted to be able to honor the baby’s life with a name. Plus, I wanted to know what to call them in heaven. He agreed. I already knew in my gut what the results were going to say. All that was left was to hear the words. And on Thursday (Aug 15), I heard them loud and clear.

“Mrs. Walker, I’m so sorry to be the one to inform you that your pregnancy is no longer viable. There’s nothing at this point in pregnancy that can be done. You should be able to pass this at home since it is still very early. We’d just like to check your numbers again next week to make sure everything happens smoothly. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I was covering my mouth trying to contain my screams. I had to say something though. What are you supposed to say to that? I squeezed out the quickest response just so she knew I’d heard her. “Okay.” I hung up and hit my knees. For the first time in my grief journey, I was angry at God. Furious, actually. And I let Him know it.

“What have I done to You that is so wrong? You’re taking everything from me! Why is this happening? Everyone I love dies!“

Those next few days were brutal. Don’t believe the lie that an early loss is just like a bad period. It’s not. My body was painfully aware I was losing a baby… losing a life. I experienced minor contractions, severe pain, and heavy bleeding. The postpartum hormonal shift was very much there. I remember screaming at one point as I felt another contraction, “I am watching my poor baby come out in pieces!” That wasn’t entirely accurate, of course. But it definitely felt that way.

This seemed like the final straw. I had nothing left to give. I was confused, bitter, and broken. I closed my heart off that day. I was numb. What was the point of being faithful if God was just going to keep adding to my pain? All I could see in my mind was the “list of losses”. There was no hope or light for me. It was just darkness.

I lived in isolation from God for weeks. That doesn’t really sound like a long time, but I felt every second of it. Up until this loss, I had come to depend on Him for every moment. But I was in a tricky stage of grief now. I felt like I couldn’t trust Him. Parker felt like a betrayal… like a broken promise.

There were so many times I’d cry out, “I don’t want to be angry at You, God. But I just can’t get past this.” Parker was too personal. Riley and I were the only ones who would really grieve what was lost this time. With Mom and Bruce and Mamaw, so many others grieved. Each of them lived a life full of love and purpose. But my little baby never got that chance. And like I’ve said before, you can’t miss what you never knew.

I shared a piece of this in my post, Meaning Behing The Name, but it wasn’t until I heard a particular song that things started to shift for me. That song was none other than “I’ve Witnessed It” by Passion.

You’re good, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re strong, and I’ve witnessed it. You’re constant, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

You love, and I’ve witnessed it. You heal, and I’ve witnessed it. You save, and I’ve witnessed it. And I’m confident I’ll see it again and again.

There it was. The truth blaring in my ears. No matter how much I wanted to ignore it, I couldn’t. God hadn’t betrayed me. He hadn’t turned His back on me. He hadn’t broken any promises. God had been GOOD to me. Every step of the way. I had just been too angry to see it.

Look at my husband He has blessed me with. Look at my two living children He has provided and protected. Look at the home He has handed me. Look at the family and community He has surrounded me with. Look at grace and mercy He has shown me. Look at the love He has displayed for me on the cross and every day after.

God, even in my consuming pain, You are GOOD. God, even in my weakness, You are STRONG. God, even in my unsteady faith, You are CONSTANT. God, even in my anger, You LOVE. God, even in my brokenness, You HEAL. God, even in my sin, You SAVE.

So, where does this truth leave me? I still don’t have the answer for why babies have to die. I doubt anyone does. But that’s the beauty of Christ, isn’t it? He holds all of the answers. 1 John 3:20 reminds us,

… for God is greater than our hearts, and he knows all things.

While my grief is heavy and abundant, I take great joy in knowing I’m on the side of the One who knows it all. I pray you can too.

Posted in church

The Turning Point.

Posted on by imtaylorwalker

Have you ever read Lamentations? No, I don’t just mean 3:22-23. I mean in its entirety. Don’t get me wrong, those verses offer a wonderful reminder – His mercies are new every morning. Praise the Lord for that! But, what about the rest of the book?

To lament means “to express grief or sorrow; to mourn.” That’s exactly what the book of Lamentations is… grief, sorrow, and mourning. In fact, Lamentations 1:1-3:20 is utterly d-e-p-r-e-s-s-i-n-g. The author describes destruction, starvation, wickedness, and death… yikes. It’s not a book people often turn to when looking for joy-filled encouragement. But maybe we should. Because Lamentations offers something beautiful to believers. It offers a turning point.

Riley and I were not faithfully attending a church when Mom died. Since the beginning of our marriage, we were your typical “church-hoppers”. We never stayed at one church for too long. We had a bad habit of missing a handful of Sundays and were too embarrassed to go back. We didn’t want the guilt-trip of explaining where we’d been. The answer was never justifiable. So, instead of facing our faults, we just… hopped.

By the time we had Ellie, we pretty much gave up on going completely. I was a clingy, anxious, breastfeeding mom who refused to go near a church nursery. We did try a couple services with Ellie on my lap, but it was a trainwreck. No more than 5 minutes in, I’d be off to a bathroom stall trying to nurse her to sleep… which didn’t work. So up and down the halls I’d go, not catching a single word of the sermon. It was terrible. After that, we just avoided the church subject altogether. **Not-So-Fun Fact: One of the last things I ever got to say to Mom was a lie. She asked if we had made it to church that morning. I was too embarrassed to admit we hadn’t been going, so I lied. Sorry about that, Mama. Guess you know now.**

It was an awful feeling, really. Because we knew better. We were both saved at a young age. We had grown up in good churches. Basically all of our family faithfully attended. But we had fallen into the dangerous trap of complacency. We had convinced ourselves that if we just cut the Sunday livestream on in the background, we could check off our “church box” and carry on with life. Boy, were we wrong.

Fast-forward to Mom’s funeral. Dr. Corts said something during the sermon that hit me like a ton of bricks.

She was strikingly grateful and thankful for the salvation He had won for her on the cross. She was saved from her sin and given a new life. But what was so distinctive about her was that she NEVER got over it. It was almost as if she couldn’t believe it. Which I think is always a sign of a genuine follower of Jesus.

There it was… The truth I had so desperately been hiding from. I had lost my gratitude. I had overlooked His sacrifice. I had gotten over Jesus. What was I doing?

Back to Lamentations for a minute. In the first two and a half chapters, we see how God’s people are paying the price for their sin. The author outlines the absolute state of darkness they were facing. But then, there’s a turning point. Lamentations 3:19-24 says,

Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall! My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me. But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in him.

In those few verses, everything changes. The trajectory shifts. Darkness is met with light… with HOPE.

The wreck was our turning point. It’s when our life of darkness turned to a life of hope. When Mom died, heaven became overwhelmingly real. I don’t know if anyone can relate, but heaven kind of felt more like a fantasy before. It’s not that I thought it was fake. I guess I just struggled to fully understand the reality of it. But once I knew Mom had entered those pearly gates, everything changed. It’s as if I could see her worshipping at the feet of Jesus. I could hear her singing “Holy! Holy! Holy! To the Lord God Almighty!” I could envision her whole and perfect and pain-free, no longer burdened by this world.

This realization brought us running back to the place we should have been all along… We had missed out on YEARS of spiritual growth and opportunity to serve. There was no more time to waste. I’m not saying church will save you. I’m just saying it’s where you’ll want to be if you are.

Church is prickly. It steps on your toes. It holds you accountable. A lot of people don’t like that. I sure didn’t for all of those years. But, let me offer you the piece of the puzzle I was missing… Church restores my HOPE. It puts God’s goodness on full display. It offers growth. It reminds us why life matters and what we must do with the time we’ve been given.

Maybe you’ve drifted. Maybe you’re running from the truth. Maybe you’ve become complacent and do just enough to check a box. It’s time to face the truth. Let this be your turning point.

Find a church. Call it home. Show up faithfully. Serve your community. Be a light. And never get over Jesus.