I remember...

The strongest emotions carry the greatest memory weight... I've learned in the past twelve years to savor them so they don't slip away... wasted.  When the tears of joy or sadness hit, they burn into the soul deeply... if you let them.  The sooner you realize their value the more you hang on to them and feel them for what they will be worth in your life... or someone else's.  I think we're programmed somehow, like auto pilot, in our drive to avoid pain by bearing down, covering our ears and just "get through it".  To hold one's breath and wait it out... waiting for it to past.  I tried that for a bit and it worked somewhat as a child, but I distinctly recall the time when I realized that "this too shall pass" couldn't be my goal because something else would always take it's place in a sea of never-ending obstacles to navigate. I had a choice to make.  Either I spent my days in the waiting room of life, often in the fetal position, or I would search until I found a way to live this life with whatever came at me.  God wasn't up there allowing me to take more than his grace could cover or his mighty outstretched hand could lift. The pains of this life are "A Grace Disguised" if we absorb them and allow them to... grow our souls.  He can take something awful and make it into something beautiful.  Time and time again He's done it.  In my life and in the lives of those around me.  He's done it so much that I'm oddly excited to see what he will do when something awful comes.  In my sadness I am somewhat giddy at the thought that there is nothing I can do. 

There is a song by a wonderful lady I heard speak when I was younger.  He name is Ann Kiemel.  The words are:

"Something beautiful, something good
All my confusion, He understood
All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife
But He's making something beautiful out of my life."

I often sing this song and pray for this mess of a vessel to somehow be raised up with the rocks to praise the God I love,  the one who created me, who sustains me, and will raise me up again someday to spend eternity with him.  When my path is done, when my breath ceases, when I am absent from this body I will be present with him!  (2 Cor 5:8)  It's my deepest desire to stand before Him and hear "Well done."   It is His path... not mine that I tread.  He has the handbook.  As John Piper says, "He is doing thousands of things at any given time... He may allow me to see two or three."  My perspective is so very small, but I'm excited to be part of that grand plan.  So... when I do not understand and I cannot make sense out of my circumstances, I trust Him because I don't know those other things that are slipping into a perfect place in this thing we call life...

There is only one way to absorb the pains of this life and yet live it in the joyful abundance intended for us.  "...to Him that is able to do Exceedingly, Abundantly more than I can ask or imagine..." (Ephesians 3:20)  I can come up with some pretty good stuff, but indeed He knocks me away with so much more!  I can ask people around me to be strong and carry me, but I need to cry out to "Him who is able to keep me from falling and pick me up when I do (Jude 1:24).  He's my rock and my fortress (Psalm 18:2).  My ever-present help in time of need (Ps 46:1).  If He is all this and more, than why do I ask others to be?  We know whom we have believed and am persuaded that He is able..." (Daniel Whittle) "I cry out to the Lord morning, noon, and night... and He hears me... he rescues me from the tempest and the storm." (Ps.55:17)

Twelve years ago today He knocked our socks off!!! That little blonde haired, blue eyed beauty entered our world with a bang!  Her life would forever change ours and so many of those around us.  We chose life 12 1/2 years ago in response to the life that was given to us.  It was never a question.  God doesn't make mistakes.  He's not less but more with her life.  She is Godly beauty... personified.  She is a vessel that reflects a loving, patient God.  She is His perfection.  Exactly who He created her to be.  Her mind and choices don't often get in the way of her being who He wants her to be.  She simply is.
 Her life...
slows ours down enough to see the beauty around us...
reminds us of the complexities of this life that are so much bigger than just one...
reveals the beauty in a grown man kneeling down to tie a shoe, change a diaper or acknowledge the human being pulling at his arm...
the value of a life spent on nothing other than being what God intended her to be- alive!
causes servants to thrive and leaders to be humbled in her presence...

I saw a man I greatly respected as a child in church this past Sunday.  I hugged him and introduced him to my Abby who was going all jelly legged in front of me as she didn't want to be drug around the church (she likes to move on her terms). He smiled deeply as he said, "I remember praying for this gal before she was born."   How many stories like this one have I heard through the years... over and over again.  I wonder how many more did pray or do pray but never tell us?  Simple joys, simple blessings... 

Once again...
He picks me up when I am down. 
He is my strength when I am weak
He is the treasure that I seek
He is... my all in all

A Grace Disguised... How the Soul Grows Through Loss

A Grace Disguised... How the Soul Grows Through Loss by Gerald L. Sittser is a book that has been changing my life.  A friend recommended it after I miscarried, and for some reason, I went on Amazon and bought it.  I probably bought it because it was something I could tangibly do. I need to "do" something, and when there is nothing that can be "done" to make things okay, I'm really at a loss.

Fine, not so fine

Upon receiving the book in the mail, I promptly tucked in under my bed and left it there for months.  Maybe it was the title that put me off... Grace disguised... I didn't think that loss and grace belong in the same sentence let alone the basis for an entire book.  I didn't want to read about going through the steps of grieving or Bible verses about suffering because I'd already done both of those, and I still wasn't fine.
I mean I was fine...
for a while...
and spent all my energy convincing me and those around me that I would be okay...
until I was not, and then I spent my energy trying to hide how "not right" I was.

Learning to grieve

After embracing my grief over the loss of our baby, I discovered how I had not grieved in other areas of loss in my life either. I felt overwhelmed by the thought of grieving more and promptly buried it all under a growing heap of despair.

My life has changed in so many ways, yet I expend so much energy fighting for "what was" rather than for "what is". I knew I had to embrace a "new normal" but didn't know that meant first grieving.  I somehow felt admitting the struggle made me less. Less because I didn't trust HIM enough or maybe God wasn't big enough for me? Or maybe I didn't want to face the fact I wasn't as strong as I wanted to be?

The Book

The basis of the book is embracing the pain can allow a soul to grow. This growth not only helps with the pain but also makes more room for joy.  It's because I allow myself to feel that pain so deeply that I can feel others pain as well and better minister to others in their pain.

Some quotes from the book...

• "Regret is, therefore, an unavoidable result of any loss, for in loss we lose the tomorrow that we needed to make right our yesterday or today."
• "Even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead." -Frederick Buechner
• "...unsure how to find a new identity on the other side of loss but it is not simply the loss of identity that causes a problem... it is also the difficult conditions under which a new identity must be formed."
• "I lost the world I loved, but gained a deeper awareness of grace. That grace has enabled me to clarify my purpose in life and rediscover the wonder of the present moment."
•  "...John of the Cross wrote about something he calls 'the dark night of the soul.' ...it is a depressed spiritual state into which one slips and, turning to traditional remedies-emotional fervor, spiritual discipline, rational analysis, worship, service-finds in them absolutely no help and comfort.  All props are stripped away.  One is left utterly alone and helpless."
• "... in choosing to face the night, I took my first steps toward the sunshine." 

Community of Brokenness

I was completely undone with the chapter on "A Community of Brokenness".  We know how to "rally around" someone who experiences loss of a loved one or a tragic accident, but after a short period of time we expect that person to pull it together and "return to normal" in order to be healthy and allow us to be comfortable again with the person we once knew.  The sad part of these expectations is that they will never be that person again.  Their soul will either grow to accommodate the loss or become despondent in a slow and painful death of who they once were and can no longer be.  The loss won't go away because... it happened.  The effects of it will forever be part of who he is.  We want to help but few are willing to pay the price to stand in the gap and allow themselves to be changed by someone else's loss.  Sittser says it so well,  "Good comfort requires empathy, forces adjustments, and sometimes mandates huge sacrifices.  Comforters must be prepared to let the pain of another become their own and so let it transform them.  They will never be the same after that decision. Their own world will be permanently altered by the presence of one who suffers."  To think that I must allow myself to change as a result of someone else's loss makes me smile and squirm in my chair all at the same time.

Changed by my pain

Today in the quiet moments I let it sink in and the tears started to fall.  There are a few people in my life who have let my losses change them.  They've shouldered my pains in person and/or on their knees.  My family, for one, has allowed my life to change theirs.  They do life differently because of us... because of Abby.  My sister kept me lucid after the miscarriage by faithfully calling and making sure I rose to care for the beautiful girls I do have.  She did nothing seemingly heroic, yet her consistency saved me.  She absorbed my pain and mourned with me. Even though she didn't understand my brand of pain, she chose to be present.  Not just in the moment or the moments that followed but daily.

She's not the only one who has chosen to be present with my life with Abby.   My family and a couple close friends don't expect us to be normal and they give us the grace to be who we need to be.  They don't wait for our trials to end but find ways to hold our hand or carry.  Sometimes is a meal or a gift, but more often it's a knowing hug resulting in a tear-stained sleeve or a timely phone call.  They know no matter how many doctor visits or hospital stays we may have, they are never easy or uneventful physically and emotionally.  One doesn't master these events and escape unscathed.  Each day/event leaves its mark and we feel it as if it were in isolation rather than a common occurrence.  We could only get better at expecting less and enduring more alone, but it is those who accompany us down those roads each day that give us a lifeline of hope in the midst of unbearable times that could result in despair.

Pretending normal

I don't know how to express the daily challenges in a way that doesn't overwhelm or put people off.  We've spent too many years pretending we were normal, but we are not.  We cannot work harder or smarter to change our circumstances, nor do we desire to do so.  We're caught in a chasm of who we are and who we want to be. But then again, aren't we all?  We don't know how to live in our world.  After over a decade at this disability parenting we're still not experts in this field and likely never will be.  Just as we think we've got a handle on our purpose in this "Life with Abby," something changes and we fall flat on our faces... again.

The challenge

So... one question remains... will we allow ourselves to be affected by our losses and the losses of those around us?  Will we absorb our pains or someone else's and allow them to grow and change us?  Will we embrace a community of brokenness as a place we all visit... in time, or will we turn our heads to shield ourselves from the pain around us?  Will we "...remain distant, wanting to help but fearing vulnerability... or avoid the pain (altogether)... because it threatens to dismantle our well-built defenses against our own losses...?" (Sittser)