Endless Circles

Blood flows.  Late.  Not really but late enough for Hope to be lifted and then to be shattered once again.  Every month it is the same circle to be spun around and around again on.  I know we are clay on the potter's wheel but I'm so worn from going in constant circles of pain and broken heart, the loss of a hope so dear and one that I can't let go of that I'm falling into a depression.  Every month now is a month of mourning.  Mourning an empty still womb that aches to be filled once more; echos of tumbling babies and haunted by phantom kicks and fluttering fingers.  I want life in me again.  When there is life growing in my body, there God's hands are inside of me knitting and forming and whispering dreams and plans for this little one as well as for me.  When I am with child, I am most with God then ever before.  I grow like my child is growing.  God can not be in me growing a precious babe without growing me also.  Two are one; mother and child.  Three are one; mother, child and God.  I am the most beautiful, strong and confident with child then ever in my life.  I am transformed for this season and I feel like I glide on the air of Grace.  A dream was placed in my heart and I gave birth to it with all of my heart and mind, body and spirit.  But, at birth came death and that dream shattered into a million and more shards of blood and death and miracle and mercy but still dripping with indescribable pain and agony.  He asks me to give it to Him to carry but I don't know how to let go of the unseen that sucks up every minute part of my day and life.  I breath in; I breath out and all I want is to be filled to overflowing once more with new life and to birth that dream into life and wholeness and fullness and peace and joy; Hope and Faith.  "What do you want?" Jesus asks the blind man.  "I want to see!" says he.  "What do you want?" Jesus asks this empty, aching, sobbing wreck of me.  "I want to be FULL again!!!" I scream.  "I want Your hands in me!  I want life in me! I want to hear your voice vividly!  I want to dance in your arms again as I did then.  I want my core of womanhood to come full circle and finish my testimony with my dream birthed empowering, living and wriggling and crying and nursing.  I want Hope and Faith in my arms not figuratively or spiritually."  And the sobs leave me blackened with make-up; my face, my hands, my pillow, my husband's shirt.  Oh my husband; Jesus flesh in my life, the one that I struggle to not stab with blames of fault that because of him I will never fulfill my dream and my womb lays empty and aching and my heart crushed into oblivion.  God is bigger than him and me and choices and I beg for healing to my Jesus-man's body but I fear that the only healing that will come will have to be to this shattered woman and that only weighs all the more as I face the task of having to bury a dream; a dream I've buried and dug back up and perhaps it is the rotting carcass of this dream that is killing me and dragging me down deep.  But, how do I untie this burden-corps of dead-dream?  I've always been a dreamer but dreams have always been out of my grasp.  How do I let go of that which I have never held?