The Path Before Me

I should state right now that I found the above images on a blog belonging to a friend of a friend. I haven't yet asked her where she found them or even made sure that it is okay for me to post them on my blog as well. This is a COLOSSAL BLOGGING FAIL. I just want to admit that up front.

I've been thinking a lot about that second image especially lately. It seems like a perfect depiction of my emotional life since February 19th. An excruciating game of king of the hill in which each subsequent emotion is not eradicated, but simply displaced by the tyranny of the next. Disbelief dethroned by yearning, then anger, then depression, then ultimately (I hope) by acceptance. Grief is not linear and every experience is unique, but oh. Twelve months. Please, Lord, don't let it take twelve months.

It has definitely been nice to feel some of the anger dissipating. It is not completely gone by any means, but somehow, somewhere, at sometime, a great deal of it was swept out, and I was able to recognize a moment of peace. But... now the clouds have rolled back together, the sky has closed, and darkness has descended. I've looked at the world around me and I've thought, I know this darkness. I know this darkness. Please, Lord, not again.

I thought - I honestly thought - it would be easier this time. I thought, we've done this before. We're in a better place. It will hurt, but not like before. But I was wrong. It hurts, just like before. And, perhaps not just because of the miscarriage, perhaps because of all the change: the moving and the trying to make new friends and the trying to adapt to new roles in life, in addition to the miscarriage and my hurting family - perhaps because of all of it, the depression seems so much worse this time. It reminds me, not of my experience following the first miscarriage, but of the horrible swamp of sadness** that was my life just a few years previous to that. I feel the weight of it pulling me down, and I know what lies at the bottom of that pit, and I don't want to go back there again.

And, Lord willing, I won't. Because I know what this darkness is, and I've defeated it once before, and I am not alone. Peter and I have had many talks lately about how I'm doing. About how we're doing. He knows too, and he cares, and this time I'm not afraid to be honest from the beginning. I'm not afraid of the options, of the tools available to us, and I'm considering them all. And this time I know what I didn't really know before - what I didn't truly learn until the days immediately following our first miscarriage - how very, very much I am loved.

But I feel broken too. Not brokenness as we pray for in church (although I suppose I feel a measure of that too), but broken as in, Does Not Work. Malfunctioning. Useless. I wake up and I feel no joy and I work with all my might to perform my roles of mother and wife and friend to the best of my ability, and I pray for endurance, and I pray for grace, and I pray for forgiveness. And I just keep mechanically putting one foot in front of the next. Wash this dish, dry that tear, smile, try to pay attention, try to listen, try not to fall apart here, breathe. And in my mind the lies about my value and my worth and my purpose bounce back again and again and again despite my attempts to slap them away. And I feel like I'm playing a game of ping-pong against a brick wall, and every day I feel weaker. Tired. Too tired and so overwhelmed.

And yet... the hope remains. It still endures. I know, I can't stop knowing, how much I am loved. I have not forgotten. And even as I fail more and more, and perhaps fall more and more, I feel His love. I feel His acceptance of me. I feel His gentle encouragement. He is not ashamed of me. He is not ashamed of my grief. He is not anxious or afraid of the present or the future.

I was created for Him, and He holds me, broken, and He is not disappointed.

So, as I struggle through another day, I remember. As I run my emotions dry on the treadmill, I remember. As I stand in front of the mirror and fight back the tears of disgust and dislike, I remember.

I remember my affliction and my wandering,

the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.
(Lamentations 3:19-26)

I remember, and I won't forget. The spark of hope is in me yet, the light of His love burns in my heart even still, I have seen His miracles, and by His grace I still believe.

The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day. (Proverbs 4:18)

Posts that have given me hope this week:
Peter's Easter Sermon
Just Breathe
When Christians Ask Why


**And yes, that is a reference to The NeverEnding Story. Because it's God's grace (and even humor) through the little things that is helping me get through. :)