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Turnips and Grief

I found these turnips in my fridge today. And normally, opening the produce drawer isn't a big deal. But today it was, because these turnips were bought to go along with the "What fruit or veggie size is your baby this week" apps. These turnips were meant to be the next veggie we would take a picture with next to our two kiddos and my growing belly. Three and a half months ago. Before we found out that we lost our baby. Prior to the clearing.

And that's the sneaky thing about grief. You think you've done all the phases of Kubler Ross' theories on grieving. The tears don't come as readily. Anger isn't as quick to flare. And you realize that life has continued to go on. Yet, these moments when something sneaks up on you don't cease to take your breath away. Sharply. For a moment.

After I recovered those breaths, something miraculous became more apparent. Look there, closely, at the top.

At those beautifully curly, neon yellowish-green leaves on the top. When I bought these turnips, I'm certain those leaves were not there. But now, almost four months later, after being forgotten in the produce drawer, these turnips are not only still delicious, but they were starting to grow into new plants that would continue the vegetable circle of life.

Where have you grown when you weren't paying attention? What blossomed when the pain of something else was blinding you? Even when we aren't paying attention, something new is being created. How can that new growth unleash something remarkable? It's time to find out.

Shameless plug alert: One of the books that was sent to me after we lost our sweet baby is called "Almost a Mother." The author, Christy Wopat, shares a powerful story of her own loss of twins. Right now, the Kindle version of the book is available for FREE! Please share with anyone who might benefit from reading Christy's powerful experience.

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