I have a voice

I like to write. I like to communicate. When I don't get the words out, I tend to stew. I don't like to stew. 
I like words. 
Words can be healing. I know this firsthand. 
I was in the car a few days ago with a loved one. 
We were talking, just about life in general. 
She said something to me that stung a little: 

I wish you wouldn't talk about your miscarriages. I wish you'd stop writing about them. It makes everyone uncomfortable. I hardly think about mine anymore. 

I was taken aback. 
Writing is one of the few things that's gotten me through a painful season. 
I started questioning myself. 
Should I keep this all to myself? Should I stay silent, forget my three losses, forget, forget, forget? 

I can't. 

I'm sorry. 

The thing is, I am joyful at the thought that I can help others experiencing this. 
It's a hard, hard thing, losing a pregnancy.
Unless you've experienced it, you just can't imagine. 
Three times over, I NEED this to be used for something bigger. 
The tears I have cried cannot be for nothing. 

I want to help women. 

You, the woman who just can't get pregnant. 

You, beautiful one, who keeps losing your treasured pregnancies, your answered prayers. 

You, sweet woman, who so diligently attends your friend's baby showers and silently wonders if you'll ever get one. 

I've been there. 

My heart goes out to you. 

You are not alone. 

I was reading one of my favorite blogs today. 
Ann Voskamp is a genius.  
I was reminded today, through her post, that God WILL use our struggles for good. He will. And that soothes the ache a little. 

I won't stop writing. The purpose of eucharisteo, true eucharisteo, is to see the gifts even in the toughest times. My miscarriages were some of my toughest, most painful times. 
All my life I've wanted children. I struggled to see God in my losses. 
But he was there. 

I can give thanks. 

I have a voice. 

It's a gift.