In Which We Remember and Learn to Dance

Due to my Friday posting schedule, it's May 5th. But really, I'm posting about yesterday, May 4th.

And it has nothing to do with Star Wars Day.

You see, while the majority of the world does movie marathons and makes Star Wars snacks and writes fanfiction and dresses up like their favorite character...I remember May 4th for a different reason.

May 4th, 2020 was the day our foster baby left us. I think I can still pinpoint that day as the worst day of my life up to this point.

In 2021, I grieved. I wasn't over it. I was still convinced that I'd invested myself too much, that I'd hoped too hard. I wasn't ready to move on, and I certainly didn't want to forget.

In 2022, I felt guilt that I wasn't grieving. I was slowly forgetting. But I didn't want to.

And this year? Well, this year... I feel peace. Because it's time to move on now. It's been time for years.

K was my foster brother for a little over two months. Admittedly, that's not a long time, especially that we now have foster brothers that have been with us for two and a half years. But when you invest so much in a small amount of time, it weighs on you. Suddenly, the person that your life revolved around for two months is gone. Not from this earth--just from you. And you have absolutely no control over where they are or who treats them how. It's a helpless, destructive feeling.

But just like with all grief, life moves on. God is still good. You must remember...but you must not grieve any more.

Remembering ensures that you keep, both in your head and heart, the lessons you learned, and the memories of those close to you.

But grieving...grieving for too long keeps you from moving forward. It hurts your remembering well. You begin to remember only the bad, only the grief. You forget all of the good memories.

Ecclesiastes 3:4 says that there is a "time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance." Grief and mourning are not bad things. But they have their seasons. We're not creatures that were made to mourn and grieve, but to laugh and dance.

So today, please choose to dance. And choosing to dance doesn't mean forgetting. It means remembering, and finding joy in the memory. But it also means finding joy in where God has placed you, with the people he has placed you with, here and now.

what are your thoughts? what's your testimony with grief and mourning?

Toodeloo, friends!

~Lily May

P.S. Back when my foster brother left, I wrote a now-buried blog post about my experience. Although much of my writing I now see as a bit cringy (it was the first post I'd ever written), I'll share it anyway, in case you'd like to read my story. You can find that post here.