A Sacrifice of Praise

Therefore, let us offer through Jesus a continual sacrifice of praise to God, proclaiming our allegiance to his name. ~ Hebrews 13:15 (NLT)


Have you ever made a sacrifice of praise? I thought I had, until the time came that I really knew I had. It seems like such a simple act, to praise God, and really it is. But this particular Scripture makes reference to a sacrifice of praise. A sacrifice.


The thing about a sacrifice is that there is cost involved. Think about it. If we can easily, even glibly, do something without giving it much thought or consideration, it is not a sacrifice. If we throw $20 into the offering plate and we still have plenty left over to pay the bills, go to lunch, buy a new purse or pair of shoes, and hit Starbucks a few times, then we’ve given an offering, but not a sacrifice. On the other hand, if we use the money we’ve been saving for our annual vacation (or whatever), to help a family who has lost everything in a fire (or something else), that is a sacrifice.


A sacrifice is not always the easy or pleasant thing to do, but it is the right thing to do. A good parent will sacrifice their own wants and desires to provide for and take care of their family. Most of us would even go so far as to sacrifice our own life, if it were to protect or save the life of a loved one. And of course we have the amazing example of Jesus, who came as the Lamb of God, to be sacrificed, in order to reconcile us to God.


A sacrifice of praise comes from a broken heart or a shattered spirit. It is not given without pain, because to praise in the midst of sorrow is a sacrifice. To choose, or will yourself, to rise up above the circumstances that are pulling you down, and praise the Living God, no matter what, is a sacrifice. When you are feeling crushed by the heaviness of grief, or are being mercilessly battered by the storms of life, and you choose to believe, to say, “Nevertheless, God is good,” you are offering a sacrifice of praise.


The first time I offered to God a sacrifice of praise was after my first miscarriage. I was hurting and I was angry. And I didn’t understand why I lost the baby it took me so long to conceive in the first place. For a while I went through the motions, but that’s all they were. I’d go to church, and was present in body for worship, but not in spirit.


Then one day during worship, I stood, and I bowed my head, and I began to cry. In that moment, I spoke to God, telling Him, “All I have to offer is my pain and anger, but if you want it, I give it to you.” And then I began praising Him for who He is. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t full of energy and life, but I did it. I remembered that God is good, even in my grief. I gave him a sacrifice of praise.


When worship was over, I was changed. No, the pain wasn’t magically all gone, but I felt the peace and love of God. I found that when I praised God in spite of my hurt, it strengthened me. I was able to experience the loving comfort of my Abba Father. Since that time, I’ve had other occasions to offer up a sacrifice of praise, and every single time, God has met me there, and comforted me.


Giving a sacrifice of praise during a time of sorrow isn’t easy, but it is important. Not for God, not to stroke His ego, but for us. It is through our sacrifice that we are able to let go of the pain and begin to truly heal. God longs to comfort us when we are hurting, but He is a Gentleman, and will not force Himself on us. He is there though, waiting for us to allow Him to. And it is only then, when we are willing, that He can give us beauty for ashes.


Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. ~ Matt. 5:4 (NKJV)

Mother's Day Loss ~ Update and Poem

Last week I spoke about my latest miscarriage and what I have been experiencing emotionally. On Wednesday, I had the D & C, so now the ordeal is over. I’m now able to move forward and ready to begin healing. The emotions (anger, hurt, frustration) are still there, but not as intense as they were. I am beginning to take comfort from my Father. I have to wonder though, if medical personnel will ever understand there is no comfort by them saying things like “there was something wrong with the fetus, and the body just took over,” or “there’s no reason you can’t try again.” A simple “I’m sorry” is much better than medical justifications.


Mother’s Day is this Sunday and while I’m happy to be a mom to my precious little Sweet Pea, I can’t help but think of the little one’s I’ve lost. I recently found this poem on a site that has a pregnancy loss area. It touched me deeply and occurred to me that it may bring comfort to other women who’ve had miscarriages, so I’ve decided to share it here. I would love to give proper credit for this amazing poem, but don’t know who wrote it.

~~~

To Hallmark, they brag that they have a card for everything.


Dear Mr. Hallmark,

I am writing to you from heaven,
and though it must appear,
A rather strange idea,
I see everything from here.

I just popped in to visit,
your stores to find a card.
A card of love for my mother,
as this day for her is hard.

There must be some mistake I thought,
every card you could imagine.
Except I could not find a card,
from a child who lives in heaven.

She is still a mother too,
no matter where I reside.
I had to leave, she understands,
but oh the tears she's cried.

I thought that if I wrote you,
that you would come to know,
That though I live in heaven now,
I still love my mother so.

She talks with me, and dreams with me;
we still share laughter too,
Memories our way of speaking now,
would you see what you could do?

My mother carries me in her heart,
her tears she hides from sight.
She writes poems to honor me,
sometimes far into the night.

She plants flowers in my garden,
there my living memory dwells.
She writes to other grieving parents,
trying to ease their pain as well.

So you see Mr. Hallmark,
though I no longer live on earth,
I must find a way,
to remind her of her wondrous worth.

She needs to be honored,
and remembered too
Just as the children of earth will do.

Thank you Mr. Hallmark,
I know you'll do your best,
I have done all I can do;
to you I'll leave the rest.

Find a way to tell her,
how much she means to me.
Until I can do it for myself,
when she joins me in eternity.

~ Author Unknown

Happy Mother's Day!

Anguish, Anger, and Acceptance . . . Again

When I first started this blog, one year ago, I was being obedient to God by sharing my words, thoughts, etc. Most of what I post here comes solely from me, but some of what I post is from another source (My Princess book, American Patriot’s Almanac, etc). Sometimes I like to be informative, other times I like to simply have fun, and once in awhile I share with you my journey.


Regardless of what is posted each day, I strive to be real and relevant. Sometimes my words are for God, sometimes for others, and sometimes they are for me. Like most of you who do much writing, I find it to be cathartic. Sometimes, I simply have to let what is deep inside of me out. This is one of those times. While this is for me, it is not private otherwise I wouldn’t be posting it here. It is real and it is honest. I don't do fake Christianity.


First, let me say that I’ve been a Christian for ten years now. My relationship with God is deep enough that I can be real with Him, and He's big enough to handle it. I know there are mountain top experiences and valley experiences – and neither last forever. I understand that elation is on the mountain top while growth happens in the valley. I know God has a plan. I know He will never forsake me. I know He collects all my tears in a bottle. I know He uses things intended for harm and turns them into good. I know that God is good. I know all of this. But sometimes, I feel . . .


I had hoped to make a wonderful announcement soon. Instead I’m disappointed again. On March 31st, I discovered I was pregnant. We decided to wait until our first scheduled u/s to make the announcement. We were hopeful that this one would take. It hasn’t. We are now in the midst of our third miscarriage. Third. We have been dealing with this “threatened miscarriage” for two weeks already. The pregnancy is not viable, there’s basically nothing left but an empty sac, which is not passing on its own, so we had to schedule a D & C for next Wednesday. The day before what would have been our first scheduled u/s. Five days before Mother’s Day.


I don’t understand any of this. I’m hurt, disappointed, confused and angry. Very angry. I’m angry with my body for once again rejecting the life that was trying to grow within. And I’m angry with God. I know He could have intervened, but He didn’t. For whatever reason, known only to Him, He has allowed me to carry this burden again. As I have continued to delight myself in Him, I have not gotten the desires of my heart, but rather heartache.


I have an amazing, healthy and beautiful daughter that I love with all of my heart and I am eternally grateful for, but I wanted at least one more. Is that so wrong? This has been a five year journey. We are “older” first time parents and I desperately wanted to give Sweet Pea a sibling or two, because the likelihood of our passing when she is still relatively young is pretty strong. Of course that’s not the only reason we wanted another child. We just did.


The thing that gets me, is that those who seem least able or worthy of having children, have no problem doing so. Teens who are still children themselves, girls and guys who’d rather party than parent, drug addicts, welfare recipients, child abusers or murderers, etc. Rarely does a day go by that there’s not news of terrible child abuse. Just yesterday I heard of a local man and wife who’d been arrested for extreme child abuse. They admitted to breaking both the legs and an arm, as well as numerous other injuries, on their four year old daughter, over a potty training incident!


Once again, I just don’t understand. I come from a screwed up, dysfunctional family, both immediate and extended. I am the only one who’s worked to better myself. Booze, drugs, poverty, stripping, welfare, abuse, etc, is the normal way of life to my family. So is breeding like rabbits. The girls (my cousins) have lots of kids, who all have different fathers, whom they seldom marry. The guys really aren’t any better – it’s just harder to determine how many illegitimate children they really have. None of them take responsibility for the actual raising of the kids they have.


I grew up knowing life wasn’t fair. I accepted it. I didn’t really care that I’d been neglected, sexually and emotionally abused, was treated like a piece of dirt for being a welfare kid (that was before it was cool to be so), and many other things I survived or overcame from my childhood. I believed I could change the direction of my life and I did so. And yes, it was with God’s help. But He didn’t offer me anything that He hasn’t also offered my family (and millions others), I just reached out to receive it.


But this one thing makes me cry out to God, “It’s not fair!” Why is it that I am having such difficulty, when I’ve overcome so much and have so much to offer? We can provide a safe, loving home, and meet the needs of a child financially, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. And I know I’m not the only one. Before I became a Christian, I’d only known one person who’d dealt with infertility – my friend LaNae, who was a Christian. But since I’ve become a Christian, I’ve met, known, and have heard of lots of other people who also struggle with this issue. Once again, it’s not fair!


So now we are faced with more choices. Do we continue on, trying to have another child of our own, trusting God to provide, and likely facing more bitter disappointment? Do we look into the option of adoption? Do we simply quit, accept the one child God has given us and be content to be a family of three? I’ve thought of adoption in the past, but I would rather it be a choice because that is what we want to do, not because we are forced into it because we have no other option.


I ‘feel’ very differently than what I ‘know’ and right now, this is my reality. I don’t need pat Christian answers or patronizing platitudes. Since the miscarriage is not yet complete, obviously neither is the grief. This is something we will get through, but I wish we didn’t have to. Frankly, it sucks. I wish this wasn’t happening again, but it is. And I know, that in the grand scheme of things, my problems are pretty minor compared to what millions, perhaps billions, throughout the world are suffering. Still, they are my problems and they do hurt. I haven’t been ok in the last couple of weeks, and it will probably be awhile before I am. Please don’t tell me that my pain will help someone else some day, because right now, I just don’t care.


Thanks for letting me vent and process. Thank you for allowing me to share my anguish, anger, and acceptance. Again.

NaNoWriMo and Heartbreak Update

For those of you who are interested in my NaNoWriMo progress, I have an update for you. I “re-discovered” NaNoWriMo and signed up on October 29th. It began on November 1st, so that didn’t leave me a lot of time to create, much less outline a plot. I did what I could do though. First, I thought up the title, then I created my book cover, and finally a brief synopsis. I had all of this accomplished by October 31st. I still have no outline, but I’m sort of winging it and filling that in as I go.

The basic plan was to do some writing on the weekend, but not a ton, because for me that is family time. But I knew Jeff goes to bed early, so I could do some fast writing between when he goes to bed and when I do. Ahh, best laid plans… They sound so good theoretically, but in reality, they don’t always work out the way intended.

Saturday night I got some writing done – about 700 words. It took awhile to get going and really find my storyline. That was ok for me though, because you only have to average 1667 words per day to make it to the goal of 50,000 in 30 days. I knew I could make up the deficit easily enough.

Then Sunday came. Many of you probably already know that while we were all getting ready for church, I discovered my beloved cat Prissy had died during the night. I was, and still am, devastated by this awful discovery. Sunday wasn’t a day for writing, or for church going either, but a day for crying and talking and remembering. I felt a sorrow that was overwhelming.

Since I’ve always had pets, I’ve also always had losses. And it hurts. I’ve never taken the death of a pet well. They have always been like children to me. It was just three months ago that we lost our beloved Ashley (our dog) and I still wasn’t completely healed from that. But there was a big difference between the two losses.

Ashley was really old, and had been in failing health for two years. We made sure she wasn’t suffering, but kept her with us and comfortable for as long as possible. We always made sure to love on her and we had time to prepare. The hurt was enormous, but we got to say goodbye in a better way. We knew the day was coming and expected it. We spent her last hours with her, and took her to the vet when it was time and stayed with her until she was gone. We loved on her, petted her, hugged her and she wasn’t alone when she died.

For Prissy it was different. I was preparing to take her to the vet for a senior screen – just to see how she was doing as she started aging. She appeared to be doing well. I was concerned about her weight, but not overly. I had no idea I would lose her so soon. Now I live with regret. Our last moments together were not spent in love. I was working on the computer, trying to get my story going. Prissy came up to my chair, like she would do periodically, and began meowing – loudly, because she wanted some attention. She wanted to be petted and loved on. But I was trying to focus on my story, so my response was not to simply drop my one hand and pet her as I worked. No, unfortunately, my response was a harsh, “Prissy stop! Go away!” And she did. I went to bed soon after and didn’t see her again until I found her, dead, in the morning.

Oh, how I wish I could take that back. I loved her so much, but in the final moments of her life I didn’t give her the loving she wanted. Now, I believe she knew that I loved her regardless, but it’s not the same. I wish I could have said goodbye to her in a much better way. I wish she hadn’t been alone when she died. I think she just died in her sleep, but still I wish I could have known. No, it wouldn’t have changed the final result, but it would have definitely changed my tone and attitude with her. She was never a bother, but that was the way I treated her the last time I saw her alive. And I’m so, so sorry for that.

Needless to say, the loss of my Prissy really took the wind out of my sails for writing for NaNoWriMo. With much effort, I began again yesterday. It was hard to focus because I miss her so much. And it certainly doesn’t help that she died in the office, laying just to the right of where I sit at the desk and type. I’m trying to get it together though, because I realize life does go on. I still cry, my heart still hurts and the grief is still very real, however, I do believe I will see her again in heaven.

In the meantime, my MC (main character) now has a cat. It’s just one way I can honor my Prissy as I work through this time of grief. I’ll be giving you more NaNoWriMo updates periodically. Thank you to everyone who has expressed interest in my progress, and to everyone who has offered kind words of comfort for my loss. Blessings!

NaNoWriMo Info:
~ Title: A Little Rain Must Fall
~ Book Cover: See Right Sidebar toward the top.
~ Word Count: 4202
~ Synopsis: Morgan Reynolds feels all alone in the world. Young, pregnant and unmarried, she finds herself in an impossible situation. With little hope for the future of the baby she’s carrying, there’s only one solution she can think of. When one mistake leads to an even bigger mistake she wonders, will she ever find the love she wants and the redemption she needs?

A Heavy Heart, Again

Once again I come to my computer with a heavy heart. Today I said goodbye to another precious friend and fur-baby. My beloved cat Prissy died sometime while we were sleeping. (Needless to say, we did not go to church.) She was thirteen years old, and I’d had her for eleven years.

I’ve written of Prissy before. How she adopted me at PetSmart. If you’d like to read about that experience you can click here. She’d been abused before and was a very skittish cat. But we were a good fit. She needed to get acquainted in her way and in her time and I understood that. In my opinion, her beauty was beyond compare. She was a long-haired calico and the colors on her coat were stunning. She was a large kitty – about as round as she was tall.

She was a birthday gift to myself when I was a single gal living alone. Shadow followed within weeks after and it was the three of us for a few years. When Jeff and I got married, we became a blended family with us, my two cats and his dog Ashley. (Some of you may remember Ashley died just three months ago – if you’d like to read about that, you can click here.) And for two years it was just the five of us. Then along came two more cats – Salem and Mazzie. All of the family basically got along with a few tiff’s here and there. There was never any doubt though, that I was Prissy’s and she was mine.

Prissy remained rather aloof throughout the years. She kept her distance from the other animals, with the rare exception of Shadow, who had always attempted to get close to her. Once in awhile she’d get playful with him or they would sleep close together, but that was the exception rather than the rule. It has only been in recent years that she has even willingly come close to Jeff, allowing him to pet her. Prissy was never much of a cuddler, but once in awhile, on her terms, she would be a lap cat to me.

A fond memory I have of her, is her desire to groom me. Periodically while I slept, she’d get up by my head and start trying to clean me – till she got too much hair, that is. I know a lot of people would think, eew gross, but not me. I understood she was showing me love in the way that she could. Her own hair was a problem for her too. It was really long and thick, but because she was so fat, she wasn’t able to properly clean herself and if let go too long, it would become matted. So, I did what any loving cat-mom would do – I got her shaved down every eight months or so. She hated, hated, hated that process, but when it was done she was sooo happy, because then she could actually feel me petting her. When it was long and thick, she just didn’t get much out of petting because it didn’t feel like much to her. So after a shave-down (and a few hours of pouting would pass), she would practically stalk me to have me pet her!

Eleven years is a long time to love someone so much. She’s been with me in good times and bad. She brought me much comfort at times when I really needed it. She has given me much laughter and smiles, and now tears.

As I mentioned when we lost Ashley, I’m one of those Christians who believe that our beloved pets will be waiting for us in Heaven. I just don’t think a loving God would give us the capacity to love this much if death was just the end. I believe God loves the animals too and that Heaven will be full of them. My heart hurts so very badly right now, but I believe I will see my Prissy again in Heaven. When we lost Ashley, we bought a memorial stone to put in our yard. It says, “If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to Heaven and bring you home again.” That is truly how I feel.

The pain of hurt is acute right now, but the joy of love is even stronger, because I know that in time the pain will lesson, but the love never will. I have many wonderful memories of my Prissy and they bring me comfort and make me smile. She was a wonderful pet, fur-baby, friend and companion for eleven years and I will always hold her in my heart. I know the grieving has just begun and it will lessen in time. For now though, I’ll cling to the memories, look at the pictures and know she is in a better place right now, waiting for me. Thank you for reading this and taking the time to get to know my Prissy just a little bit.