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Surely You Will See The Wasteland Bloom


Re-posted with permission from Michaela Evanow

I don’t know how I come across bloggers/writers, but somehow I do. And every now and again I fall in love with their writing, in essence, their heart. Not long ago I read this post from Michaela, Surely You’ll See the Wasteland Bloom. Her words resonated deeply, so much so I shared this in our HOPE Christian Infertility Support Groups and wanted to share it here on the DUBL blog. She was so kind to give me permission to do so as long as I would link back to the online She Loves Magazine where she is a resident writer.

Say a little prayer for Michaela and her ‘Momma’s heart’. She’s  a precious Mother and caretaker of her two year old angel, Florence. Take a moment to check out her website, follow her blog posts and send a little love her way at Michaela Evanow.


Surely You’ll See the Wasteland Bloom
by Michaela Evanow

When the searing pain of grief makes a home in your heart, it tells you to push Truth away. The darkness calls you abandoned.

How can this be? How could a God…why would a good God…?

The questions come out in hoarse screams in the night, when your fists pound and clench, tight and hard. You feel too weak to fight against the corrodible nature of fear and anger.

Sometimes it feels good to sit here, and make misery your bedfellow. It feels good to cry and hiccup. I have lingered in this place of crumpled sheets and wet pillowcases, where hope is deferred and everything is an impossibility. It never felt good. I told my broken heart that it was dangerous to have hope when grief was beckoning. I silenced Bravery, and stood with fear.

I felt that my hope no longer had a name, my hope felt weak and incapable. I wanted to spit the words at Him.

Unbeknownst to me, in the still and dark of every night, He let the dawn stretch forth, faithfully and with purpose. The early light of day peered through the single pane windows and my house hummed to life. The world moved on and on, alive and rolling.

Life clings, even in the barren places, the hungry places where we feel heartsick, homesick, bone tired.

Hope can be deferred, but Hope is not dead.

Lazarus and Sarah sang it to anyone who would listen. This is what Hope did for me, even when I was barren, even when I sank into death.

Think of the miraculous conception of a child, after years of trying and failing. There’s a yelp of disbelief when you discover your blood is doubling to feed a tiny human, deep within the dark of your body.

I’m writing over at SheLoves Magazine today. Won’t you come by and finish the rest of the story over there? sheloves button

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