trying to see the stars through the darkness

Sunday, my dear friend Heidi experienced what I believe to be the most devastating moment of her life as she lost a daughter due to pregnancy complications at 23 weeks. Our circle of friends has been so terribly saddened for her and her family that we have, on different occasions, found a tiny bit of comfort via a handful of inspirational writings. Here are my 3 latest favorites, on remembering to live in the moment and working to find the good in the bad.

From the writings of Anna Quindlen, discovered for me by my friend Jennifer:
"...But the biggest mistake I made is.....I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."

Sent to me from my Aunt Phyl and Aunt Rena just the other day:
Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo.
But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo).
The cleaning and scrubbing will wait 'til tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.
~ Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958

And, here's the most gorgeous thing, again learned from Jennifer who said it was one of her grandpa's favorite poems. It's totally appropriate right now as we are trying to sort out why our friend has had to endure so many tragic things lately.
My life is but a weaving between my God and me.
I do not choose the colors, He works so steadily.
Oft'times He weaves in sorrow and I in foolish pride
forget He sees the upper and I the underside.
Not 'til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly
will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why
the dark threads are as needful in the Weaver's skillful hand
as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

So, here's to treasuring the "doing." For Heidi. For Emma.