I've got to say, God has a way of pushing me to do things that are uncomfortable... things that I've said I'd “never” do.
A dear friend encouraged me to start writing, and I'll admit, I didn't want to do it. I'm not sure why that is, just yet. Am I afraid of what others may think when they read my thoughts? Am I worried that my thoughts don't have value, or that I won't be able to articulate how I really feel? All I know is that I'm thankful for her encouragement, and know that God was speaking through my sweet friend's gentle pushing.
I'm just going to throw this out there -- I miss my daughter, Rosie. It's been almost two years since her sensationally dramatic birth and death, my heart has been ripped apart, and a gaping hole is left. To be completely honest, the hole is beyond repair...and that's okay.
Can I just say that “okay” is a relative term? What does “okay” even mean, really?
As an adjective, Webster's Dictionary defines the word as “satisfactory, but not exceptionally or especially good.”
Some days -- some moments, I can buy into that. After all, I have a beautiful life, a new home, and so much to be thankful for each day. Honestly, some moments I find myself in a literal PIT of despair, so I can't really say that's “satisfactory.”
It's not even that I find myself asking “Why?” anymore.
For me, it's a feeling of deep disappointment in God, all the while giving Him praise.
After all, I cried out to Him in the weakest moments of my life. I begged Him to heal my baby, still safe in my womb... You know, the one He knits inside of. (Psalms 139:13). When she took her first breath, I pleaded with Him to allow those breaths to continue. As countless medical alarms echoed throughout our hospital room, my Rosie's body in distress, I prayed for Him to stop the suffering for my child.
I cried out to Him as His hands and feet disconnected my daughter's life support, and said “God, I know you can do it. Please. One last chance.” And He did it. My daughter is healed, and in His arms forever. That doesn't change the fact that I desperately want her in mine... but I PRAISE Him still.
I praise Him for his presence and power.
My oldest daughter describes this feeling, this state of my heart, as “ambivalent.” She's five, y'all. When adults chuckle and comment, “Wow, that's a big word for a little girl. Do you even know what that means?” She replies “It's when you feel two feelings at the same time.” Thank you, Daniel Tiger.
Grief is raw, and “okay” stretches the boundaries of its definition, even two years later.
I was recently asked, “Do you ever listen to other people's problems, and laugh when you compare them with the things that you've been through?”
Laura Story writes “I no longer believe the myth that trials are a curse. Trials are an opportunity. They are an invitation to do good to glorify our Father in heaven, to transform our lives from the inside out, and to drive us into the arms and footsteps of Jesus.”
Well, thank you, Laura, but I don't want any more opportunities! All joking aside, the trials of this life SUCK, but I have to admit, my soul needed (and still needs) some transformation.
How about yours?
When you find yourself in moments of despair, monumental or minuscule, do not discount your trials and suffering. Your feelings are real, and justifiable. Comparing your circumstances to others may lessen the immediate blow, but it almost always leads to feelings of guilt regarding your own circumstances and response to grief.
God uses these moments of despair to draw us close to Him -- draw us close so that we will rely on His presence for comfort.
So, please cry. Cry out to Him. Wallow in self pity because YOUR SUFFERING MATTERS.
There is absolutely no comparison when it comes to our moments of disappointment.
We all need Him, and His power to transform us into who He wants us to be. Allow Him to use your moments of weakness, your literal PITS of despair, to rise above a life of “I'm okay.”
He's working on me.
-- Emilee
