Unanswerable Questions

As the shock dissipates and the reality comes rolling in like a giant wave of destruction that one could never outrun - I am overcome.  By pain, by disappointment, by a cacophony of questions that seem to pour out of my heart and are received only as an echo in the darkness.  There is no answer that comes, no response, just their echo that seems to go on forever.

The spiritual struggle that is at war within me right now is more intense than any struggle I have faced with the Lord before.  I think in the past it felt like I was a disappointed child.  I wanted something and my Father said 'no' and I wailed and wrestled against him and it was a real struggle.  But ultimately, I trusted my Father, I trusted His care for me, the goodness of His heart and I submitted.  I finally relaxed into him and quit fighting and I felt better, I was able to accept whatever it was that He would give me, even if it wasn't what I wanted.  Now, this place is deeper and darker.  It feels like the distrust and betrayal of a child who has had her Father promise he will come and then he continues to not show up when he said he would.  The sadness, rejection, betrayl and hurt are real barriers to being able to trust that father again.  I don't mean to imply that this is a crisis of faith for me in the sense that I may choose distrust and walk away from my Father because I did not get what I wanted.  I just mean that this crisis of struggling with, who is the Good Father when things unfold in a way that does not feel like it could possibly be the most good, the most kind or the most loving - it is real.  I will not pretend like I understand this or like the answers don't matter.  I believe that walking through this valley with honesty and earnestness is part of the spiritual journey.

The truth is that in the depths of my despair, I am not experiencing this supernatural protection  or comfort from Jesus that makes it feel better.  In some ways, God feels far off and I don't think that is an accident.  When I look at the scriptures, it seems that there are definite times when God hangs back and does not rush in with the answers to make everything better right away. "Truly you are a God who hides himself." Isaiah 45:15, "As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. " Ecclesiastes 11:5.  The Psalms are full of David crying out to the Lord asking "How long will you forget me?" And "Will you reject me forever?"  Even Jesus uttered similar words as he hung on the cross.  I think the place I am in is not unique - I think it is exactly the place where God builds faith - the place where it looks like a wasteland and hope is nowhere to be seen, not even on the horizon.

I am learning that it is not the suffering, the loss or the pain that threatens to destroy my heart.  People have a remarkable capacity to endure hardship and suffering when it makes sense.  Men and women choose to die for the sake of their country, to protect their children, to be martyred for their faith.  It is the confusion, the circumstances that cannot be explained that threaten to crush the spirit most acutely.  I can understand suffering as a result of my own sin or even the sin of someone else that impacts me... But when you did nothing and you had nothing to do with or no control over what happened; those are the situations that shake our foundations so deeply we cannot simply get back up and move on.  As I have been reading the book of Job, I have been struck by what appears to be the source of Job's most intense frustration.  It is not the suffering that God has allowed to be inflicted upon him, it is his inability to find God in the midst of it.  Job says, "Oh that I knew where I might find Him, that I might come to His seat!  I would present my case before Him and fill my mouth with arguments... When He acts on the left, I cannot behold Him; He turns on the right, I cannot see Him.  But He knows the way I take; when He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:3-4, 9-10.  Over and over Job laments that God feels far off and talks of how he longs to be able to communicate with God about this disaster.  I feel this way right now.  I want God to rush in and make this better, help me understand what He is doing, affirm that He sees and cares.  It isn't that I don't believe the things that I know to be true about God.  It is this seemingly incompatible place of my knowledge and beliefs about him and my actual reality.  I have to believe that it is in this place of incompatibility,  this place of impossible questions that real, enduring faith is born.  As Dr. Dobson puts it in his book, When God Doesn't Make Sense, "What is faith?  It is 'the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen' (Hebrews 11:1).  This determination to believe when the proof is not provided and when the questions are not answered is central to our relationship with the Lord."

I know my questions are mostly unanswerable, but that doesn't stop them from pouring out of my broken heart.  And that's okay - it is okay to struggle and not be able to accept a simple - God is good all the time.  It doesn't mean it isn't true, but my heart needs to get there and for me that takes time and learning what it means to trust God when your dreams fall apart.  I would rather have that kind of faith - the kind that can withstand unanswered questions  and dead children- than the kind that says the right words but doesn't believe them.

If I am honest

I write not just because it helps me process my pain, but because it makes me feel braver and less alone.  I am learning to be honest with myself, to not rush towards the silver lining, to tell the truth - even when it is hard.  I guess that is one side effect of suffering.  You quit caring about all of the crap that doesn't matter, you only have room for what is important.  When you are broken, when you are shattered into a million pieces, when the fire burns the fiercest and threatens to consume everything… this is where love is born.  I don't want to be here, no one chooses the furnace, but when it chooses you - you will either be consumed or you will fight like one who overcomes hell and somehow light will pour out of all those broken pieces and create a radiance that is not your own.  

I am not there yet, not to the place of the broken pieces coming together to form anything from which light can pour forth… but I have hope that the radiance exists, that there is still joy, still hope, still healing.  I'm still in the midst of the disaster, the one that strikes and you know that sometimes good people get screwed for no reason.  Sometimes you get something so awful that you never deserved.  You cannot 'win' your way out of it by working harder or being better - sometimes life is really unfair.  Having suffered similar losses before, I know what it is like to cling to Jesus like the life jacket He is and somehow find dry land again and after careful examination realize that you are 'okay.'  You are not the same, you will never be the same, but you faced your greatest fear and survived.  It was easier for me to see good, to see the ways that those experiences made me richer, deeper, more compassionate and present.  It was easier to look back and see that God had made something good out of my pain.

Now…if I am honest - which I will be… I don't care.  I don't care about all of the fruit that grows out of suffering.  This coming from a person with a well developed theology of suffering.  I'm just over it.  I don't want to grow, it isn't enough to lose another child just to learn a lesson of some kind.  I have to believe there is more, that God's redemptive purposes are greater than that.  I am learning to be gentle with myself, to quit running away and striving so hard, to just accept that this is my heart right now.  To acknowledge that while I know all of the true things about God, it is a million miles from my head to my heart at this moment… and that's okay.  Hope will come, but it is a door that each person must open on their own - no one gets to do it for you.  

I was praying today and just telling my Father about my deep hurt and disappointment.  I had this vision of myself with my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces and I carefully gathered them and put them in this hard, protective shell and I cradled it carefully in my hands.  Jesus put his hands around mine, He didn't say anything but I could feel him beckoning me to look at Him, to open my hands… but I couldn't, even when I tried, I couldn't see His face, I couldn't meet His eyes, I couldn't unwrap my hands.  I was desperately holding onto what is left of my heart and feeling so fiercely protective of my hopes, my pain, my dreams… how can I open my hands and truly let go when I know that even if He holds it all, it doesn't mean that I will receive what I want?  

That is where I am, this is the truth.  I know that God won't leave me in this place, that He won't give stones when I ask for bread, but He can handle it.  He can handle my heartbreak, my unbelief, my pain … whatever I bring Him - He can take it.  I may not be ready to hand it over yet, but I know He's there, hands gently cupped around mine, waiting for me to be ready to let go.

Choices

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Somewhere along the way, approximately four years ago when the journey to grow our family began, this blog quit being a place where I would post family pictures, stories and updates and began serving as a window into the pain that was ripping apart my soul.  I still rarely post about all the good things that are happening and tend to come here mostly to unload the burden of my heart.  I have learned in my suffering, that even if no one else hears it, my pain needs a voice – it needs to flow forth from my heart onto a page. 

This time around I can’t seem to find my voice, and even when I do find it, I can’t authentically speak the truth that my heart knows.  I am grateful for the prayer warriors that I know continue to speak truth over my life right now – sometimes we all need a voice when we cannot trust our own.  Having walked this road before, I expected that I would have the road map; I would know where we are going and have the tools to get there.  I don’t.  It is strange to go back and read my words about grief and what it felt like at that time.  Many of the same feelings are there and it does bring me some comfort to remember that I can do hard things and that God will ALWAYS meet me there, no matter how dark or how painful, darkness and light are the same to Him (Psalm 139:12).  This loss was startling in so many ways.  I will never understand how a strong heartbeat turns into no heartbeat in a matter of hours.  Even as initial pathology reports return indicating nothing abnormal - there is nothing normal about losing three babies in less than four years.  I want so badly to be able to point to something and say "It is this, this is what went wrong."  Because if I can say that then maybe there is a way to fix this, some measure of preventative strategy to be taken.  Even though there are more tests to be done, more doctors to see - I don't expect that we will find any medical explanation for why we are facing this reality.

I am realizing again that part of me has believed the lie that is so prominent in our culture.  We can do anything, be anything, achieve anything.  If we work hard enough, give enough, sacrifice enough, desire it enough, if we are good enough - we will earn it, we can do it.  The truth doesn't look like that however; the truth is that we can do all the right things, make the right choices, work our hardest, and we can still fail to achieve the outcome we so deeply desire.  As a 'fixer' by nature, that is maybe one of the hardest things for me to surrender - I cannot earn my way out of this or work hard enough to prevent this kind of pain from happening.  It seems that at this juncture, I am left with few choices.  I can't control the future of my family, but I sense that these next steps that I am taking are on holy ground and will shape the future of my family.  I can choose to surrender to the bitterness of my soul, to let the injustice and agony define who I will become.  I can choose to put on a brave face and stuff the pain away while I recite scripture about how God is good to us all the time.  But neither of those responses honor the life or death of my Levi.  That means the only choice I am left with is to choose to face the pain as it comes, to not run away, but feel its full intensity and stay present - to choose love.  The song that keeps resounding in my heart in these moments is the hymn, 'O love that will not let me go.'

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

This is the love that can heal and can fill the giant emptiness that I feel inside my soul.  Somehow there is always enough, enough grace, enough strength, enough love, enough comfort.  Levi deserves the best of me, all of my earthly and heavenly babies do.  So I will keep showing up, I will keep bringing my pain and emptiness, and uttering the only words I can say right now, "Jesus, help."  I don't want this story and everything in me wants to run away from here, but that is not love.  Love holds on, it wrestles, it turns black and blue and breaks apart sometimes.   But love always wins, it always beats the darkness, always overcomes the enemy, always fulfills its purpose - love never fails.  I can choose today, as many times as needed, to believe there is hope and to love greater than my fear.   To say like Job, "Though He slay me, I will hope in Him."  Job 13:15

Processing Pain

I have always been an external processor.  I need things to come out of my heart and my mind in order to think and feel deeply about them.  This past week has been the absolute worst of my life.  It seems impossible and like I must be watching these events unfold in someone else's life - this can't possibly be my story.  But it is.  We will lay our sweet Levi to rest today and to think about it fills me with anguish that is indescribable.  I have so many questions, ones that I know will likely remain unanswered until I am united with my babies and our Creator - I have a feeling that the answers won't matter so much at that point.

I have been spending a lot of time in the Psalms and in Job because God's word promises that it will not return void but will accomplish the purpose for which He sent it and I need something to be successful right now (Isaiah 55:11).  Psalm 56 says "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.  In God, whose word I praise, in God I have put my trust; I shall not be afraid.  What can mere man do to me? (vs 3-4).  It goes on to say "You have taken account of my wanderings; put my tears in Your bottle.  Are they not in Your book...This I know, that God is for me." (Psalm 56: 8-9).  When I think about that, I think that my bottle must be overflowing, there can't possibly be room for more tears.  I want it to be such that when your bottle has collected all the tears it can hold, you are safe - you can no longer experience great tragedy.  But, I look at the world - at the suffering of those in Haiti, the refugee crisis, and the loss of those close to me and I know that this isn't the case.  Learning to live with sorrow and with loss is part of our human experience because we are fallen and this is not Heaven.

I still feel somewhat frozen in this place.  I am aware that there is a long road ahead that leads to healing; it is full of valleys, some deep, dark caves, impossible hills, and when I look at this road it seems like a journey that I could never survive.  I can't stay here though, I know I must start walking and it will hurt like hell... there are no shortcuts to healing.  As I read the book of Job, a man well acquainted with suffering I am struck by his responses.  He is thought of as a holy man who did not sin and refused to curse God, even when God allowed Satan to afflict him.  "Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?  In all of this Job did not sin with his lips.  Job 2:10"  When Job's friends came to visit him after his children had been killed and after he was stricken with illness, they did not recognize him.  I wonder even without the physical ailments if he would be recognizable.  I feel so unlike myself right now, a little hard to recognize, because that is what great pain does to you.  Job did not sin and did not curse God, yet he carried tremendous pain that altered him to his core.  I don't know what it looks like to worship in the midst of great pain.  I feel like it should look like some kind of peaceful surrender and acceptance, but that is certainly not the state of my heart.  Maybe my act of worship is just to show up, and keep showing up, being present with God in the midst of pain, questions, anger, confusion. 

Job certainly wasn't afraid to express his pain.  "For what I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me.  I am not at ease, nor am I quiet, and I am not at rest, but turmoil comes. Job 3:25-26"  "Therefore, I will not restrain my mouth; I will speak the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.  Job 7:11"  I have learned through my journey of suffering that people will do just about anything to avoid suffering and to watch someone else suffer is painful.  We want it to end, we want to make it better, we want everything to be okay.  But, the truth is - it isn't okay and it will never be okay.  If we are going to experience healing, we have to stop trying to escape pain and we have to be present by being true to the moment and experiencing our feelings as they come and not trying to escape.  For me, that means a battle to stay present, to be wounded, but to stay present with the pain and trust that Jesus will meet me there.  He is well acquainted with suffering and grief.  Our Father knows what it is like to lose a child.  So, I will be brave today and I am so grateful for those friends and family members who are choosing to be brave with me - to sit in the darkness with me, to be present in the pain and not try to make it better.  Thank you all for your prayers and expressions of love for our family, we have felt Jesus carry us and it means so much that Levi's life and his death - they carry an eternal significance.   

Freedom

I have never liked the idea that grief is a linear progression, it is often portrayed that way even in counseling classes.  It makes it seem as if the stages are progressive and have a definite beginning and ending.  That certainly has not been my experience of grief.  I saw this graphic representation of grief recently that I found helpful.

It feels more like this tangled knot where so many of these feelings are overlapping and some so close to the surface while others are buried deep inside.  I don't know that I will ever look back at this time in my life and call it "good".  But, I can say that were I am right now emotionally, spiritually, and mentally is a much more healthy place than where I was 1 year ago.  I owe that in large part to Jesus, but also to our sweet baby Ethan.  That is what we decided we would have named him and what we call him now when we talk about him.  I didn't like to think about him honestly, I had these images in my head of him unmoving on the ultrasound right before he left me that I can't erase and that kept me up at night for weeks following our loss.  It has been recent, that I have been able to think about him and talk about him as our gift from God to show us how to love greater than our fear, to be grateful for each moment because time is short, and to experience the steadying/anchor love of Christ through the most intense storms of life.

Ethan means solid, enduring, strong, firm.  I can't think of a better name for a child who taught me what it truly means to have Christ as an anchor to my soul.  We have completed all medical testing, seen all the necessary doctors and the answers remain that there is no answer.  No medical reason that explains our losses - everything appears to be perfectly normal.  There is no guarantee that this won't happen again, no preventative measures to be taken, no course of treatment to improve our odds.  Despite the 'positive' report from the doctors, I know that I can't put my hope in having a baby.  My hope has to be in the love of God towards my family, the justice that belongs to God alone, and the fullness of Christ He has promised to those that seek him.

See, life isn't fair - I see it everyday in the children who were born addicted to drugs and struggle in school, in the young mother of 3 boys who has terminal cancer and is told "there's nothing more we can do."  Everyone has their own story of grief and disappointment with life.  For most of us there are no answers to "why?" or "how long?".  In many ways, walking this road has brought me freedom - I don't have to be afraid.  Even as we look into an uncertain future, I don't have to fear what will be because I know from experience that no matter what happens, no matter how dark it feels, no matter how terrible the suffering - God will find me there and He will be good.  As many verses in scripture state, "The Lord is on my side; I will not fear, what can man do to me?" Psalm 118:6, "What then, shall we say to these things?  If God is for us, who can be against us?" Romans 8:31.  "Fear not, for I am with you,  do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you. Yes, I will uphold you with the right hand of my righteousness."  Isaiah 41:10.

It is because of Ethan that I got to experience a love greater than my fear and even when my fear became reality, God didn't let go of me and continued to show me His mercy and transforming kindness.  How can I resent that?  How can I curse that?  I couldn't choose it - but I can embrace it and allow Ethan's brief life to continue to give life to me and be thankful for the ways it has made me a more compassionate friend, a more attentive mother, a more grateful spouse and a more graceful servant of Christ.  I never considered suffering loss to be a road to freedom, but maybe it is, maybe it is the way to be free from fear, free from all that is insignificant and meaningless, and free to truly live without regrets.

I now picture my sweet baby up in Heaven, keeping his siblings  and great grandparents company and reminding me to live each day fully, on purpose, and without fear.  Perhaps the greatest burdens are also our deepest blessings.

Beauty will Rise

I have spent a lot of time lately reading works from people who have endured great suffering and listening to music that was born out of experiences of deep pain.  It might seem counter intuitive to find comfort in those places... and yet, it has been very comforting to let others speak the words my heart feels and just to know others have walked this road of suffering and it has born beauty in their lives. 

It feels very isolating sometimes - this grief.  It feels like no one around me has any idea what is really going on in my heart and like I am existing in some world where I am in so many pieces and most people will only see a couple of them.  I have been reading "Choosing to See" by Mary Beth Chapman which is a wonderful book, I actually haven't read the beginning - I skipped straight to the part where their daughter died and have only read about their grief and processing the days afterwards.  I downloaded the album Stephen Curtis Chapman wrote "Beauty will Rise", in the months following their daughter's death.  Some of the song lyrics just speak so beautifully what I have felt so deeply and it ministers to me to feel that I am walking a road others have traveled and survived.

I think the song that has spoken to my heart the most is this one, "Our God is in Control"

This is not how it should be
This is not how it could be
This is how it is
And our God is in control

This is not how it will be
When we finally will see
We'll see with our own eyes
He was always in control

And we'll sing holy, holy, holy is our God
And we will finally really understand what it means
So we'll sing holy, holy, holy is our God
While we're waiting for that day

This is not where we planned to be
When we started this journey
But this is where we are
And our God is in control

Though this first taste is bitter
There will be sweetness forever
When we finally taste and see
That our God is in control

And we'll sing holy, holy, holy is our God
And we will finally really understand what it means
So we'll sing holy, holy, holy is our God
While we're waiting for that day

We're waiting for that day
We'll keep on waiting for that day
And we will rise
Our God is in control

Honestly,  Christmas has been hard for me.  In part because of what is missing  and in part because I can't help remembering last Christmas when I was pregnant and the terrible days afterwards when the first miscarriage happened.  I have felt so deeply this sense of how 'not right' things are and the bitterness of all that is missing.  I have found myself in tears many times this week, and God has been there to remind me of his love and goodness, but it still hurts so much sometimes.  Some other lyrics from the "Beauty will Rise" album that have put words to these feelings are below:

"Jesus will meet you there"

When you think you've hit the bottom
and the bottom gives way
and you fall into a darkness
no words can explain
and you don't know how you make it out alive
Jesus will meet you there.

 

When you realize the dreams you've had
for your child won't come true
when the phone rings in the middle
of the night with tragic news...
Whatever valley you must walk through,
Jesus will meet you there.

 

"Questions"

Who are You God
For You are turning out to be
So much different than I imagined

And where are you God
Cuz I am finding life to be
So much harder than I had planned

Know that I am afraid
To ask these questions
But You know they are there

And if you know my heart
The way that I believe you do
You know that I believe in You

Still I have these questions

Like How could you God
How could You be so good and strong
And make a world that can be so painful

And where were you God
I know you had to be right there
I know you never turn your head

You know that Im confused
By all this mystery
You know I get afraid
But if you know my heart
As completely as I trust you do
Oh you know that I trust in you

Is it true
that fore every tear I cry
You cry a thousand more
Cuz you weep for those that weep

And are you, just holding yourself back
From crushing all the pain and evil in this world
For reasons we just cant understand for now
 

But isnt there a day of redemption coming
Ohhh
Redemption is coming
Ohhh

Quickly Lord, come quickly
Lord, come quickly
Ohhh
Ohhh

So who am I God
That you would raise me from the dust
To breathe your life and your love in me
You know that I believe

Aside from Jeff and Jesus, I don't speak these things out loud to many people.  It helps me though, to open a window to the grief instead of keeping it closed up inside.  I think that is why people who have been through difficult things write books, music, or find other ways to express their pain.  I find that people who have been though impossible things, like the Chapmans, C.S. Lewis, Richard Wurmbrand, and others - even when they aren't talking directly about their grief or pain there is a depth to their writing about the human experience - a more complete understanding of faith, trust, and belief.  I think it is because they are people who have suffered and been transformed by their experience of suffering.  I am grateful for the works produced by these individuals that have inspired hope and courage for me.  I guess I hope that by not shying away from the pain or suffering, God will use my experience to minister to others walking through their own valleys.

Finding Strength

As I have been confronting my grief and processing the pain I have felt an intentionality in the process - I don't want to waste this opportunity.  I recently had a conversation with a friend where she essentially said that she couldn't believe that I was being honest about my situation and my feelings in such an open way and that it must make it hard for me to know that others are aware of my suffering.  It seemed like a strange observation to me, that it would be better for me if my pain were less obvious. 

Early in my walk with the Lord, He impressed upon my heart a theology of suffering that essentially boils down to the heart of suffering existing for the glory of God.  When I sat in my dorm room reading Desiring God by: John Piper, it resonated with me so deeply - even though I had no idea what it would mean to truly suffer.  I hesitate to even attempt to summarize Piper's theological interpretation of suffering, but I will select a few passages from the 'suffering' chapter of that book that sum up his viewpoint:

" All experiences of suffering in the path of Christian obedience, whether from persecution or sickness or accident, have this in common: they all threaten our faith in the goodness of God and tempt us to leave the path of obedience.  Therefore, every triumph of faith and all perserverence in obedience are testimonies to the goodness of God and preciousness of Christ - whether the enemy is sickness, Satan, sin or sabotage.. Not only that, the suffering of sickness and the suffering of persecution have this in common: they are both intended by Satan for the destruction of our faith, and governed by God for the purifying of our faith."

"The point is that Christ sovereignly accomplishes his loving, purifying purpose, by overruling Satan's destructive attempts, Satan is always aiming to destroy our faith; but Christ magnifies his power in weakness."

" The pearl of greatest price is the glory of Christ.  Thus Paul stresses that in our sufferings the glory of Christ's all-sufficient grace is magnified. If we rely on him in our calamity, and he sustains our 'rejoicing in hope,' then he is shown to be the all-satisfying God of grace and strength that he is.  If we hold fast to him 'when all around our soul gives way,' then we show that he is more to be desired than all we have lost... so suffering clearly is designed by God not only as a way to wean Christians off of self and onto grace, but also as a way to spotlight that grace and make it shine.  That is precisely what faith does; it magnifies Christ's future grace.  The deep things of life in God are discovered in suffering."

There is so much more that could be quoted or summarized, but really, just go buy the book - it is worth it!   I believe that nothing is wasted and as terrible as this year has been, it would be wasteful to not share what God has done and is doing through this process of grief and suffering.  I think another important piece of this puzzle for me has been to be where I am and quit trying to profess that which I do not possess.  It has been so healing for me to be able to be honest with God and bring him my pain and disappointment and experience Him in that moment without trying to rush to promises of peace and comfort that I just don't feel right then.  Somehow in my honest weakness, his strength is most evident.

I know for everyone who walks this terrible journey of infertility, stillbirth or multiple miscarriages - it is extremely personal and different for each person, so in no way do I think everyone needs to or should respond in the way that I am choosing to.  But for me, over the last few weeks, I have felt a need to just let it all die and grieve the loss of my dreams.  I dream of a family with 3-5 children (some adopted) and all of them close knit.  I dream of a loud house full of yelling children, big dinners with children all around the table, babies to rock, hands to hold, beautiful chaos. This dream may never come true.  Even as pathology reports return with no answers and no indication of any problems, I don't know that God will ever choose to give us a healthy baby.  And if He doesn't....it certainly won't change who He is, but it changes my experience of him.  Can I trust Him and love Him and follow Him and believe Him just as much as if my dreams were fulfilled the way I wanted them?  I don't have an answer to that right now - at least not an honest one.  But, I find my heart experiencing peace I can't explain, hope that is not rooted in getting what I want, and grace that is enough - even when I  see others get exactly what I want without having to walk a road that is full of pain.  This leads me to believe that walking this road will only solidify my experience of Christ and not just my belief in Him.

I have wrestled with the heart of God and what God truly desires for me.  Just as Luke11:11 says "Which of you is a father whose son will ask him for bread and would hand him a stone, and if he asks him for a fish will, instead of a fish, hand him a snake,”?  This feels like asking for a fish and getting a snake.  I have struggled with feeling like it is not enough to go through all of this just to learn a lesson or grow spiritually.  I have been reminded about the ways that God and Satan can take the same situation and what Satan intends for evil, God can use for good.  I have been asking the Redeemer to come and redeem this...I don't see it now, but I do believe that is who HE is and what he does.  

Choosing to believe that God's plans are better than my own is really hard and definitely a choice that is being made every day, some days every moment.  But I know I am not alone and just as God carries my children with Him, He carries my heart and my dreams and my brokenness... it doesn't make it all okay, but it makes my burden much lighter.  I want my suffering to magnify the future grace of Christ, spotlight His sufficiency in weakness, and testify to His power over death and destruction.  I can't do it... I have tried and failed over and over again to humanly make this right.  So, I will continue to 'boast' about my weakness and put my suffering on display, not because I want sympathy or pity (especially not pity), but because when I am weak - HE is strong.

Impossible Questions

It is strange that "How are you?" suddenly feels like an impossible question.  Most of the time I give some kind of dismissive answer, but lately even when people I know I can tell the truth to ask me I can't seem to formulate an answer.  Being someone who is typically overly self-aware, it feels strange to feel so disconnected from myself.  Even if I had answers to this question, it still feels impossible to find one that fits.  Mostly because I have moments of time where life feels 'normal' and I don't feel immense pain and then out of the blue the loss surfaces and suddenly I am in tears or choking back raw pain and hurt.  I have spent 6 months of the last year pregnant.... and yet there is no baby.  I can't help but remember Christmas last year - I was pregnant, and thinking about the four month old baby we would have to celebrate Christmas with this year - I remember what it felt like packing up the Christmas decorations shortly after that miscarriage.  Unpacking them this year shortly after another miscarriage felt like a terrible tradition.  I have times where I feel the joy I used to about the Christmas season, but right under the surface is a wave of pain that we are not picking out presents for the boy or girl we would have found out about by now.

I have all sorts of impossible questions for God about 'where is the good?' and 'what about satisfying the desires of my heart?'.  But, the truth is that I know the TRUTH, I know who God is - I don't know what He's doing, but I know who He is.... and that doesn't always make it feel better. 

I think I rushed myself last time to find a  somewhat superficial place of trusting God and belief in his goodness. I didn't want to feel terrible anymore, so I recited the verses that made me feel better and moved forward.  That's not enough for me anymore.  I am allowing myself to struggle with God, believing that no matter what I ask him, no matter how dark my heart feels - He can handle it and He will not withdraw his hand.  It is not enough for me to 'fake it till you make it', to recite glib truths about God working all things together for good, or pretend like believing hard enough will change my circumstances. 

I don't mean to sound cynical or like I don't ultimately trust God - but I think for me, I need the struggle, to wrestle with Him over these things instead of pretending to be somewhere that I am not.  I know many of these questions will remain unanswered... but I really believe this time of wrestling and pain is going to produce a faith that can withstand dead children, suffering, and hope that truly doesn't disappoint - even if I don't get what I want.  When I look at the life of Jesus, I am reminded that He was in the business of meeting people in impossible places and doing impossible things, right?  In many ways that gives me encouragement to keep asking impossible questions, keep pressing on in this impossible situation, and keep telling Him the truth.