Monday, January 30, 2017

Lessons Learned in times of trouble

My life has undergone a paradigm shift: a fundamental change in approach or underlying assumptions. In 3 weeks time I lost my infant, my pregnancy, and my grandma. And with that, I lost the entire assumption of what my future was going to look like. All the hopes and dreams I had, all of the ideas and experiences I anticipated- gone. Just all gone in one quick swoop. Everything obliterated as one beautifully orchestrated disaster.  'Isn't it beautiful- the way we fall apart?'

You see, I am a Jesus loving, faith abounding person, with real and raw emotions. Life is not always okay. You don't always have to be happy. It's not always good "all the time". BUT, HE is always good all the time. Does it mean I always feel it? Absolutely not, but I know it. So when I don't feel like He is good, then I say it anyway. I praise Him anyway. I pray anyway. I rely on Him anyway, because eventually I will feel it again. Because it is the truth. 

He has proven over and over again that He loves me, that He holds me, that He cares. So there is no reason why He won't continue to do that- won't do it continuously, again and again.  

We all need a paradigm shift. The things being created inside of me are so great- so intense, that it would take me hours to explain to you in the all the ways I see Him working. Those hopes and dreams and ideas I anticipated- they will actually be better than I could have ever imagined. Because there is something new in me, something fierce, something true and divine being worked out for my good. 

So what lessons have I learned?

He is good even when it appears He is not. And He is divinely orchestrating my future.

He hurts with me, and He hurts for me.

His ideas will be far greater and more fulfilling than my ideas.

It's all about faith.

I need people to talk to, that legitimately care. That don't forget me as time moves on, but constantly reminds me that I can talk to them, that I'm not alone, that I am still loved. I need people, even when I don't like people.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Eve's Eulogy

I’m supposed to talk about how precious Evelyn was, how beautiful and loved. And she was, so much. But there’s more than that. The meaning of her name is “wished for child”, or “the child I prayed for”. And how I did pray for her. The words I always prayed over her were ‘gentleness’ and ‘life’. I loved taking her places because people always loved on her- always commented on how perfect she was. She was so tiny, but she was so mighty. All she ever knew was love- she never had to experience anything else. Nick would say she was just like me- stubborn and independent. And she was. She wanted to run around with her brother so much. If she wanted something- she let you know. I always joked that Ryan was my pride and she was my joy. She lit up the room- she was so observant, with a  strong quiet gentleness about her. She was joyful.

Most of you knew her 8 months, but I knew her 16. From those flutters to kicks, to middle of the night cries. I remember when I first held her and thought: Even though I love this child SO much. Even with the magnitude of which I love and cherish this child- even at that depth- God STILL loves her more than I can. How anyone could love her more than me blows my mind- but there Jesus was, loving her even more than my own love. Loving ME even more than that.

8 months will never be enough- but it will be JUST enough. I prayed life over her. What I didn’t know is that at 8 months old, she would begin to point others towards the way for eternal life. This strength and peace I have, is not my own. And if you do not know that peace, don’t leave here without finding it. Don’t let her life and death be just a memory for you- let her life and death be the beginning to understanding your eternity. It’s not enough to say you believe in Jesus- you have to KNOW him. Know Him as I know Him. Know Him as my sweet girl knows him. My Princess is now a princess of the KING. So let her memorial be a gentle breath of life for you. Let’s honor her sweet life by giving Him OUR lives.

Sunday, January 15, 2017

But I'm also

I have a name,  but I'm also grieving.

I continue my days. I walk, and move, and mostly breathe. I do what I'm supposed to, I say what I'm supposed to, but I'm also grieving.

The world outside presses forward, presses onward, presses more. Hours then days, then days and months. Life continues, but I'm also grieving.

People stop asking, people stop talking, people stop bothering. I ask to be left alone. And then, I'm left alone, but I'm also grieving.

The days push me forward, but I don't want to push forward. The wind blows around my life, but I don't always feel like I'm living. I am here, but I'm also grieving.

I do the next thing. I get up. Then I do the next thing, and clean house. Then I do the next thing, and often I have no idea what the next thing is. And I just keep going, but I'm also grieving.

My goal is joy. I run as fast as I can towards the goal of finding joy. One day, I won't have to strive for the joy- I'll just finally be there. I am trying, occasionally failing, then trying again. But I'm also grieving.

I cling to anything routine, anything standard, anything structured. I cling to the truth of who I am, what God is preparing in me, and a slightest hope that will one day turn to joy. But I'm also grieving.