Friday, May 4, 2012

Wildflowers from Winter Bloghop: Daffodils of Hope

It would take the prompting from a treasured friend to get me share something I so rarely talk about. Katie Ganshert’s doing a new thing. As a part of her blog hop she has stirred writers to share unique stories of how God brought beauty from pain. Katie’s debut book, Wildflowers from Winter wonderfully portrays this. (I’m looking forward to posting my review in the coming weeks.)

There is something noble in uniting readers this way; something intrinsically spiritual and healing.
You are not alone…

It was a dark season.

Feelings of despair had tangled around my heart, clutching with vine-like intensity. And I still had to carry out my day-to-day routine of raising two young girls. Preparing breakfast, trips to the park, combing hair, baths, and tucking in at night.
Carrying on—all while my resolve withered inside.

I was in the midst of a time of great loss, repeated loss. Experiencing hurt like none I’d known before. I was enduring pain I so rarely talk about to this day.
As my body bled, I stammered in my faith. I questioned God. I grieved the future I’d imagined for the babies I’d never meet. I took it personally.

I cried so much my eyes felt as though they’d shrunk. And in some ways my vision had diminished. I was dying to self. Dying to my hopes and dreams. It was a cavernous losing season.
No matter how many lights I flicked on all around the house early that spring, every room still seemed to evoke a dull, lifeless gray. A muted perception seeped through my every waking moment; mockingly present every corner I turned. I forced myself to attend the MOMS group at our church. I led it. They expected me to be there.

I had no idea what awaited one afternoon soon after I returned from the MOMS group.
I busied myself by wiping down the kitchen table, sounds of Blues Clues creating a numbing background noise. The doorbell sounded.

I walked as though in a trance to open the door. A young girl with gorgeous brown curls stood before me holding up a bundle of bright yellow daffodils.

She hardly spoke a word. I spotted her mom, a friend of mine, waiting in the car. I took the daffodils in my hand. My friend gave a quick wave, the girl smiled and spun on her heel, then skipped back to the car. Off they went. I felt as though I’d been dropped in an antiquated silent movie, all but the vibrant yellow flowers in my hand.
Then I brought them inside.

I filled a medium-sized vase, then plunked the stems into the cool water. I set the cheery daffodils on the table I’d just cleaned. My girls ran over to me, asking questions. Questions I couldn’t answer because I’d been rendered speechless. Women had lovingly made me meals during this time, sent notes with kind words of encouragement, and continually offered to watch my girls for me. I’d felt loved. But nothing spoke love to me quite like those flowers in my kitchen. They communicated God in a way that nothing else was able to up until that point.
They brought color back into my world.
The daffodils reintroduced hope into my wilting belief.
They brought life back.

 Today, I’m brimming with gratitude as I carry out my day-to-day routine of raising three young girls. Preparing breakfast, trips to the park, combing hair, baths, and tucking in at night…Blessed be the name of the Lord.

***A complimentary copy of Wildflowers from Winter will be sent to a random commenter. Comment away!***
*Thanks to Lori Genrich (and daughter) for the impression you had no idea you were leaving with me
**photo by stockXCHNG


  1. Oh, Wendy. Thanks for sharing your story of beauty from pain. It touched me heart.

  2. beautiful! Come share it with others at Stillbirthday on Facebook if you would like! Other loss moms would be encouraged by it!

  3. Wendy, you have a way of evoking so much emotion with your words. This touched me, friend. Such an important reminder that sometimes those small gestures have the GREATEST impact. A simple bouquet of daffodils dropped off my a little girl. Not a speech or eloquent words. Just silence and beauty. Thanks for sharing this story, Wendy! I know it wasn't easy.

  4. Beautiful and eloquent. Thank you for sharing.

  5. Okay, are you trying to make me cry?? And on a Friday?? This touched me, Wendy. I've had so many moments like this, where something random will appear when I'm having a dark, dark time, and it will lighten the troubles. Beautiful.

  6. The pain of miscarriage is immense. I wrote my bloghop on a short snippet of my journey through the same valley. Aren't you so glad God is in the daffodils, providing hope in the midst of great pain.

  7. Amazing how God knows just the way to touch us when we are at our most desperate. I love this story, and the symbolic beauty those flowers brought to your life. Thanks so much for sharing, Wendy. I love the way you write!

  8. Oh, Wendy, friend. Like Katie said, your words evoke such emotion and beauty. YOU are a beautiful soul.

    I've not known this type of loss, but my mom did. It seems that so many women suffer in silence over this type of loss. Thank you for speaking out, reminding them that they are not alone. Love you!

  9. Beautiful story. Thank you so much for sharing...

  10. As I follow the stories along this Wildflowers from Winter blog tour, I feel like we're all being drawn together and blessed as we learn of the winter storms we've all passed through and the blessings that have flowed from them. Often when we are in the middle of the storm, we feel so alone, as if we are the only ones who have ever gone through the cold times. But in sharing these stories, we bond together and can rejoice at the flowers that bloom in each other's lives because we've been there.

  11. Beautiful, Wendy. Just beautiful.

  12. Great blog. I love how flowers tied to your story, given the blog hop. :)

  13. beautiful story, Wendy. So beautiful and powerful. Thank you so much for sharing this today...

  14. Beautiful sentiments. Daffodils tied in perfectly to both theme and season.

  15. Wendy, You had such courage to write this today. I have a friend that has suffered 7 miscarriages. Your writing has such emotional power to it here. Thank you for putting yourself out there to minister to other women.

  16. Powerful. That's all I can type because the goosebumps are spreading to my fingers. :)

  17. Wendy: This is beautiful. Flowers whisper our feelings. God was in that kindness. Thanks for sharing.

  18. I'm grateful for every single one of your comments. Grateful for this bloghop. And most grateful God doesn't let go.
    ~ Wendy

  19. What a sweet and darling gesture. Great friends know when even a single word is too much, but kindness always speaks to a broken heart. My miscarriage led me to start a blog 11 years ago. Sharing took so much out of me, but brought so much to me. Sometimes the most profound words to a mom, and dad, who has lost a baby are "I know." Thank you.

  20. I ache for you, Wendy, as I think of your loss. Losing a longed-for child hurts so badly. I remember the agony of learning that I'd lost our first baby. Unspeakable job becomes seemingly unbearable sorrow. And yet the Lord doesn't leave us there. He brings about healing. Oftentimes He uses others to minister to us, just as He used your friend who delivered those daffodils. What a wonderful gift she gave you.

  21. Blessed be His name indeed, Wendy! Thank you for sharing such a personal pain. You've definitely ministered to others with your experience. It is often in the littlest things that God's love shines through the brightest.
    Hugs from one Mama eagerly anticipating being reunited with babies never held to another. Blessings!


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