1.21.14
Sometime in Mid-November, the Hope Mommies organization had advertised that they were doing their annual retreat outside of Austin in February. They invited us all to come spend the weekend with each other to share our stories and remember our babies.
Alex and I talked about it for nearly a week. We didn't really know what the right thing was. First off, Alex was about to be out of the army for good and we weren't sure what his job situation would look like. Secondly, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to go be around a lot of women who had been through what I had been through. I knew where I was at in my mourning, but where would the other women be at? Would I backslide into disappointment and despair listening to all the other moms miss their babies? Would I finally go through an anger phase? What if all the other girls were super-churchy and I just didn't fit in?
Alex had decided to get his Crossfit certification, which is not inexpensive, and our deal was that he got to do that and I got to go to the retreat. Both of us expressing our independence, both of us getting something that we wanted (more than needed).
I think I was one of the first ones to sign up for the retreat, and when we returned home from Punta Cana I had finally had time to catch up on the Hope Mommies blog and look through their facebook page to see all the postings. Some girl named Kellye Tilford wrote a post about old tea cups, and I"ll never forget it.
Old Mugs
by Kellye Tilford
I love “junk”. I love finding “trash” on the side of the road that needs a little wash & new paint. I have a whole corner in my bedroom dedicated to the “treasures” I find. (My poor husband. Our bedroom never looks clean.)
Along with side-of-the-road-treasures, I LOVE vintage items. Our house is full of thrift store & flea market finds. They all hold so many stories. The chair I am sitting in, writing to you, has held so many different bodies– old, young, sick, pregnant, worried, joyful, heartbroken humans for countless years! Sometimes I close my eyes & pretend to know all the places this chair has been– a little girl’s bedroom, a dusty porch, pushed in to a family’s dinner table. I am passionate about making old things “new” again. I am possibly obsessed with the process: it touches me at a soul level. One time I found an old, old, super old chair & cried as the smell of it in the back of my car still held the smell of someone else’s home. There is such overwhelming beauty in other humans’ stories & I absolutely cherish them.
So, join me as I venture to a very old neighborhood in the heart of Chattanooga, TN. I heard from a friend that there is a man named Chester who has a HUGE warehouse FULL of old items for great prices. I could not wait to go! The place is called Deck’s Glassware & Salvage. To me, this place was a goldmine! Chester could not have been any more friendly. I told him what I was looking for & he gave me a pair of work gloves, finished his peanut butter & jelly sandwich, & told me to follow him to the back. (To the back?! With a man named Chester? Wearing gloves? Who wouldn’t worry for their life a bit?) My adrenaline was pumping like it does at the starting line of a race.
Behind two wooden doors lay before me a land flowing with milk & honey. No, really… this place was flowing with old, deserted, unwanted, filthy, vintage dishware. Piles upon piles. I was, undoubtedly, drooling. Milk & honey, my friends.
This picture hardly does justice to the vastness of this gold mine!
I dug through old boxes & huge piles of muddy glassware searching for perfectly imperfect coffee mugs. I would find a super unique one & clap aloud! While searching for the next mug, tears would stream & my heart would begin to pace… I truly wanted to find the next perfectly imperfect mug. For you. I prayed, which kind of seemed silly, that God would direct my hands to the mug that would steal your heart, that would match your personality, your story, your you. I tried never to pick the same mug twice (though sometimes they were so cute I just had to grab two!). I think my obvious enthusiasm of these dirty, little mugs sparked a flame in Chester’s heart, too. He would dig & dig, & then bring me a mug, seeking my approval excitedly. He would say things, in his grandpa sounding voice, like, “Well, this here mug has a nice weight to it & no cracks. Whaddya think, Miss?”.
I got home with two boxes full of the dirtiest little mugs you ever did see. I have never been more excited to do sink loads of dishes, haha!
As I carefully scrubbed each & every mug, I stood over that kitchen sink praying. And singing. And weeping. Praising God & in the next breath, crying on your behalf. And praying some more. I weep that your baby is not here in your arms. I weep that Hope Mommies even has to exist. I weep that our world is tainted with brokenness through & through. I rejoice that your baby is perfectly in the arms of Jesus. I rejoice that Hope Mommies exists so you can relate to other Mamas, & find the hope of Jesus Christ. I rejoice that this world is not it, that Heaven is our forever.
The next day I took these clean, shiny, lovely little mugs to another local shop where they would fire on the Hope Mommies logo. Anderson Bailey Ceramics did incredible work, and remarkably quick. I was ecstatic!
I share all of this with you, dear sister, to let you know how much prayer is being poured over you. I share this to let you know how much I love praying for you. It is such an honor to get to know your name, your baby’s name, your story, & plead for the Prince of Peace to hold your heart so close.
I share this because I really do think the uniqueness of each mug is profound. Each mug is as unique as your story. Each mug tells it’s own story – just like your heart does – there are no two the exact same.
I cannot wait to see which mug goes with which woman at the retreat!
I pray that as you pick out your mug, you feel the warmth of love that has been prayed over it. Our God is big enough to do that, you know… He can bring your heart a flicker of joy just from the design on an old mug – the way it fits your hand perfectly, how dainty or how bulky, the colors, the shape… He can make an old mug whisper, “I know you. I love you.” Just like a friend can pick out the perfect piece of jewelry that matches your wardrobe says, “I know your style. I notice what you like because I love you.” Our God does that, too!
I pray that as you pack that mug up to go home with you that you drink out of it often & reflect on a weekend where your heart got to intertwine with other hearts that relate to you so intimately. I pray that mug holds delicious coffee or tea & is sipped over raw conversations or in much needed moments of solitude with Jesus.
Mostly, my sister, I just want you to know how much you are prayed for. You are prayed for by name. If you have begun registration for the Hope Mommies Retreat, your name is on a board at my house, & I am daily praying for you to show up that weekend. I pray you find the financial means, the courage to show up where you maybe don’t know anyone, & that you let go of any fear that is holding you back from committing to a weekend of diving into what Hope is, who Jesus is, & hearing heart cries that resonate with your heart of hearts so personally.
You are worth it. Your story is worthy of being heard. Your heart is too lovely not to share. Others will, undoubtedly, be blessed by your presence, your sharing, your courage. You will encounter Jesus there. You will feel His presence, his love, his truth, & the Hope that can only come from Him, without a doubt I tell you this.
I am praying that I get to hold tightly to one of these little ole mugs & sip on coffee … across the table from you as you hold onto yours, sharing your story, your hope… sharing our Jesus.
Jeremiah 1:5, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you…” (ESV)
Um Hi. If you aren't totally in love with Kellye Tilford, you may as well stop reading my blog right now. I instantly felt a connection with this beautiful writer, and I cried the first time I read that post. Even now, as I re-read her words of crying over every mug as it represented a baby that is no longer here, I tear up. I felt honored, and loved. I was in awe that God would use someone who had never experienced a loss, who had healthy alive babies, to love on a group of women who had lost someone precious.
I couldn't wait to meet her.
I couldn't wait to find my mug.
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