Hopeful

There have been at least three conversations I’ve had in the last week that are prompting me to finally post this draft of thoughts that have been sitting for weeks waiting for me to have the words to complete these thoughts. I may have found some of those words this week through talking to Billy and reading some of the many books we now have on grief and child loss.

I’ve shared a lot about this process and I keep getting messages that say “you’re so brave “ or “vulnerable for sharing” or “strong”, “faithful” and many other words to fill in those lines. First let me preface this with I LOVE seeing messages from you all. It warms my heart and makes me feel not alone and very seen and loved. It helps me see the good and beauty that is all of you in a world that feels so bad and ugly right now but I feel like I’m anything but those words described there. I don’t feel brave or strong or faithful or graceful. None of it. Truth is, I am not strong enough. I’m not brave enough (even if that one is true, I wish I didn’t have to be) If there’s one thing that I am it is that I am completely broken. The saying that goes God won’t give you more than you can handle… it’s not biblical nor is it true. I’m not just bent or bowing under some heavy pressure… I’m broken. I am only strong because His power is made perfect in my weakness. He is the strength that is getting me through. I am weak though.

Writing has been helping me see God’s grace and mercies for me and I’m able to write it out with a nice ending after the bad has passed and the truth has returned and it definitely shows the faith I have but I also want to show where those struggles are too. Now, I HAVE to believe there is hope. I have to. It’s what gets me through day to day but there are many times when faithful is not the word I would use to describe my thoughts or day to day .

I wrestle and pound my fists at God asking why often. Ultimately, I come back to His word and His love but I go right back to struggling too. Faith is a consistent every moment decision and a lot of moments I have it but a lot of moments I’m hanging on by a thread. My faith is only the size of a mustard seed but let me show you what He’s done with it.

I really want to be transparent for anyone who has gone through anything of this sort. We are all grieving in our own ways and we can’t compare our grief because it’s simply not comparable. We can’t compare our faith because it’s also not comparable. I want you to see that I have faith but not every moment starts from this seemingly unattainable faith that I have stored away. It’s been work and I struggle in this area regularly and if you do too… I see you and I understand. It’s hard. But God is there. He also sees you and He loves you and this faith is for you too whether you’re ready right now or not. He can work in you too.

Church is still the easiest and the hardest place for me to go every single week. Every week I get excited to get dressed and go to church to praise God with my family and community. And every Sunday I cry before the sermon even begins. There’s only been one Sunday where neither me or Billy cried and it’s been weeks since that one week passed. I still zone out during sermons and Bible study. Or even just chatting with friends. I sometimes decide not to go to Bible study and instead drop off the kids and head to Starbucks for a minute alone.

This past Sunday, I was fuming at one of the songs. It’s a song I generally love to hear and sing along to but the words just made me soo mad this time. “It’s your breath in our lungs so we pour out our praise”, those were the words and I was mad at God. “Why didn’t Huxley have Your breath in his lungs” I kept mumbling to myself. “He didn’t have breath soo I can’t pour out my praise for you” I wrestled in my head standing in the very front of the Church. I was using God as a punching bag and if I could paint the moment in a picture it would be me hitting him in the chest until I exhausted myself and when I fell to the ground He would just calmly hold me there. In that place, right where I was, He took the beating and still saw me through. I don’t know why He didn’t give Huxley breath in his lungs but I know Jesus is sad with me. I know there isn’t a tear I’ve cried that He hasn’t counted. I know He is for me and not against me (and Huxley and you). I know this wasn’t His will. I know He will make all things right. I have to hold on to that hope. He took the ultimate beating to save me (and you) and He’ll take whatever beating I throw His way too and then we’ll sit and then stand and eventually one day walk forward. Right now I feel tainted. I feel bruised and exhausted. But I feel hopeful. Maybe that’s the word that describes me more than strong, faithful, or brave, I’m hopeful.