Showing posts with label hope; grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope; grief. Show all posts
Friday, July 12, 2013
A grief unending
Today I came across this blog post about a mother losing her children. Read it. That is all.
Sunday, September 02, 2012
The first signs of new life
Spring is such a thrilling season. In countries where there is a vast difference between summer and winter, particularly countries in which there is snow in winter, spring is a time of celebration - a time when there are the first indications that life is returning.
Years ago, I felt I had a close relationship with God, when I was able to hear him speaking to me easily, and frequently. Then I suffered a series of disappointments, including Zoe's death, and I found myself in the valley of the shadow of death. At the bottom of the valley, I felt I lost my connection with God. I couldn't hear him, and that feeling of isolation has been incredibly difficult to manage or work through. These past 5 years have felt like the hardest, darkest, longest winter of my soul. It's felt like the winter in Narnia - I've known what spring and summer feel like, what the warmth of the sun feels like, but can't really remember what they felt like. Over the past year or so I've felt the gradual thaw, but spring still felt like a long way away.
This past week though, it feels as if spring has finally arrived. I had a moment of celebration earlier in the week when I heard God speak words into my mind for me to share with someone else. It has been about 5 years since that last occurred. What joy! To hear my Saviour's voice again... For whatever reason, he's decided I'm ready again, that this ordeal is at an end.
My celebration and relief were short-lived though.
Back in the late ninties (I think it was in '99, but I can't find the exact journal entry to confirm it) I felt that God had given me a passage of Scripture as the direction for my life. At the time, I believed God told me that this passage would be the mission of my life, that this was his calling on my life. The passage in question? Is 61: 1-4:
"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn and provide for those who grieve in Zion - to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendour. They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations."
It was confirmed for me several times since then that this IS God's calling on my life. In the darkness, when I was questioning everything, I tried to hold onto those previous moments when I felt God confirmed this for me. Today, God confirmed it for me again, but not in the way I would ever have anticipated.
It struck me, on this occasion, that when Jesus spoke these words in Luke 4, he hadn't yet been to the cross. The cross was still to come - and Jesus knew that. He knew that in order for him to bring good news to the poor, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim release, etc, he would need to suffer and then die. What's more, even as he said those words, as he opened the scroll and read them, he knew that that was what would have to happen.
It then struck me that when God has made this passage the calling over my life, he knew that in order for me to fulfil it, I would have to share in Christ's suffering. I would also have to experience a death, an isolation from the Father and a grief. I, too, would have to be wounded. Where in the past I have focussed on the positive aspect of the words, without thinking about how I would get there. Today,God revealed to me how this long night of the soul and the disappointments of the last few years have all been part of God's plan for my life. Even Zoe.
It struck me that even before I was born, God knew that Zoe would die. He chose not to remove this grief from me. He chose to allow it. He made her death part of his plan for my life. Paul had his "thorn in the flesh". 3 times he asked God to remove it, and 3 times God's response was that His grace was sufficient for Paul. While Paul's thorn may have been physical rather than spiritual, the principle remains. God allowed him that grief, that wound, in order to use him to bring God's good news to the Gentiles.
As I reflected on this, and on the passage, instead of seeing the positives, I saw the pain. How do I bind up the broken-hearted? By having my own heart broken and allowing myself to weep with them. How do I preach release to the prisoners? By sharing my own journey of release. How do I comfort those who mourn? By having mourned myself. For each of the promises, where before I saw myself in a position of strength reaching out to help the weak, now I see that God's plan was always for me to be in a position of brokenness sharing my life with fellow sufferers. And how would he achieve that? By breaking me. By isolating me. By leading me into the valley of the shadow.
My reactions were multiple. First and most overwhelming was my shock. Zoe's death was purposeful. There it is. In my face. How do I carry this cross? However, fortunately, that was not my only reaction, which in itself says something. It struck me that God didn't have to reveal this to me. The fact that he did tells me that He thinks I've come far enough on the road to be able to handle this piece of news. Wow. Wow. Overlaid on this are my reflections on how I handled her death in the first place.
In grief, some Christians are able to maintain their joy, not to move into the blame game. I was not one of those. So, as I was reeling from shock, I deliberately chose to take it to God, to continue to honour him. I was able to thank him for revealing this to me, for trusting me with this information; praise him for moving me on from where I was.
That I was able to do so was some comfort. Her death has not been in vain. It has helped to mature me. But it hurts. It really hurts.
Moving beyond my pain, after crying my way through a good deal of the service, I have come to a place of acceptance. Her death is not something I will ever get over, partly because it is only in this place of grief that God can fulfil the calling he placed on my life. It is only as I allow my heart to be turned from stone to flesh, to be wounded by the woundings and brokenness of others, that God's words over my life will bear fruit.
Jesus had to be crucified in order to bring shalom into our lives. I had to lose Zoe.If God had revealed this to me beforehand, I think I would have walked away. Jesus, in facing the cross asked God to take it away, if he could, yet submitted to God's plan to save human kind. My role on this earth is FAR from being that far-reaching or vital. Having had my own "cross" to bear, I can still choose to walk away, to say this is too much to bear.
All this was running through my head during the service. There were tears, and lots of them. Yet, I have chosen to walk this road. Why? Because God spoke to me. God spoke to me! If I have to go through another grief like that, then I'd rather do it with God on my side, than not. Being isolated from him has been hell. Sheer hell. I can get through anything else if God is at my side.
Spring has sprung, people!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Milestones
Tonight I reached another milestone in my journey of healing. It's been a long time coming, more than 5 years, and I'm thrilled to have finally reached it.
It's late, so I don't want to go into all the details about how I got here, or why this is such a big one - maybe one day I'll have the energy for that. What I will do, though, is to tell you what happened.
Tonight, while praying in a group of 3 at the end of an education plus church meeting, I took a step of faith. I asked God to speak to me for the other 2 people in my group. I haven't done that in 5 years. Then I took another step of faith, and decided to accept that what I "heard" was from God. Then I took yet another step of faith, and decided to share what I felt I'd heard with the others in the group.
This is SUCH a big deal for me. This represents SUCH a huge step forward for me. In some ways, I can't believe I've reached this point again. Part of me believed that I would never get here again, that this point was out of my reach. Yet, here I am.
Of course, this is all thanks to God, who has been steadily, but slowly, drawing me back to himself; who has been slowly but steadily working in my heart and in my mind, reminding me of the truths I already know; of softening my heart to trust him again. It's a work of grace - from beginning to end.
I have to add that I doubt I'm about to jump off the deep end and suddenly start sharing words with all and sundry. In many respects, I feel like a new Christian in all this again, like this is the first time I've ever done this stuff. I know that to be sensible, I also need to go slowly with this, to ensure that what I'm hearing really is God. BUT!!! But, I can testify that tonight God spoke to me for someone else, and that is just SO huge for me.... I feel like I've just run a marathon and beaten my own time by half.
What a milestone! Thank you, Lord! You are indeed faithful, even when we are faithless; you are loving, even when we feel unlovable. Thank you.
It's late, so I don't want to go into all the details about how I got here, or why this is such a big one - maybe one day I'll have the energy for that. What I will do, though, is to tell you what happened.
Tonight, while praying in a group of 3 at the end of an education plus church meeting, I took a step of faith. I asked God to speak to me for the other 2 people in my group. I haven't done that in 5 years. Then I took another step of faith, and decided to accept that what I "heard" was from God. Then I took yet another step of faith, and decided to share what I felt I'd heard with the others in the group.
This is SUCH a big deal for me. This represents SUCH a huge step forward for me. In some ways, I can't believe I've reached this point again. Part of me believed that I would never get here again, that this point was out of my reach. Yet, here I am.
Of course, this is all thanks to God, who has been steadily, but slowly, drawing me back to himself; who has been slowly but steadily working in my heart and in my mind, reminding me of the truths I already know; of softening my heart to trust him again. It's a work of grace - from beginning to end.
I have to add that I doubt I'm about to jump off the deep end and suddenly start sharing words with all and sundry. In many respects, I feel like a new Christian in all this again, like this is the first time I've ever done this stuff. I know that to be sensible, I also need to go slowly with this, to ensure that what I'm hearing really is God. BUT!!! But, I can testify that tonight God spoke to me for someone else, and that is just SO huge for me.... I feel like I've just run a marathon and beaten my own time by half.
What a milestone! Thank you, Lord! You are indeed faithful, even when we are faithless; you are loving, even when we feel unlovable. Thank you.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Same situation, different reaction
I've been chatting to a Twitter friend about God. He used to believe, but now doesn't. I haven't probed as to the reason yet. (It's hard holding a deep and meaningful conversation when you're limited to 140 characters!!)
He's been reading Richard Dawkins, and has found what Dawkins said in 'The God Delusion' helpful. (VERY briefly, Dawkins argues that there is no God, that everything we THOUGHT was God is just biochemistry and genes at work.) His words were that he found it 'freeing' not to have to believe in God anymore, and commented that maybe he feels this way because of years of disappointment.
In response I told him how, when Zoe died, I wanted nothing more than to give up my faith, because it also felt like I would have been freeing myself. I really and truly wanted nothing more to do with God, the Church, faith and Christians. I wanted to believe that there was no-one up there listening to me, no-one up there at all, actually. It would have been so much simpler.
For the regular readers of this blog, you will know how much I have struggled with my faith since then. However, as I have struggled, I've found myself being drawn back into faith, rather than being repulsed from it. Ultimately, for me, I find myself echoing the words of the disciples: "To whom else shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." These words were uttered after Jesus' teaching caused hundreds to reject him. At that point, Jesus offered the disciples a way out, asking them if they wanted to leave him too. He didn't apologise for or retract the tough teaching. Equally, he didn't explain it and make it easier. He simply asked them whether or not they wanted out.
Like the disciples, I find Jesus' teaching very hard to swallow at times. His standards are so high, and often so contrary to the prevailing culture. Yet, it's either His way, or the highway. With God, there are no middle grounds, not in this. Everyone, eventually, has to make a choice about which camp they choose to stand in. If you choose the God camp, you don't get to pick and choose which beliefs to accept. It's an all-or-nothing deal.
In the end, for me, God has the words of eternal life. Life does not make sense in any other context. So, I battle on, grappling with the stuff I find difficult. Actually, more accurately, God has battled on with me - my return to faith has been all God's doing. My part has been limited to submission/ acquiescence and small steps of redeveloping trust in Him.
Graeme, on the other hand, has had a completely different reaction to mine. We both faced the same crisis of faith over Zoe. I have found my way back (or more accurately, I have been drawn back). He has not.
Grieving is a different process for each person, and takes a different length of time for each. I'm hoping that he is still in the place I was, and that, with time, as his heart heals, he will return to faith, in the same way that God has drawn me back to himself. I hope that he doesn't get stuck. I hope that ... I hope that he's not too proud or rebellious to allow God to draw him back. I hope, most of all, that he finds peace - the shalom peace of God that passes all understanding.
He's been reading Richard Dawkins, and has found what Dawkins said in 'The God Delusion' helpful. (VERY briefly, Dawkins argues that there is no God, that everything we THOUGHT was God is just biochemistry and genes at work.) His words were that he found it 'freeing' not to have to believe in God anymore, and commented that maybe he feels this way because of years of disappointment.
In response I told him how, when Zoe died, I wanted nothing more than to give up my faith, because it also felt like I would have been freeing myself. I really and truly wanted nothing more to do with God, the Church, faith and Christians. I wanted to believe that there was no-one up there listening to me, no-one up there at all, actually. It would have been so much simpler.
For the regular readers of this blog, you will know how much I have struggled with my faith since then. However, as I have struggled, I've found myself being drawn back into faith, rather than being repulsed from it. Ultimately, for me, I find myself echoing the words of the disciples: "To whom else shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." These words were uttered after Jesus' teaching caused hundreds to reject him. At that point, Jesus offered the disciples a way out, asking them if they wanted to leave him too. He didn't apologise for or retract the tough teaching. Equally, he didn't explain it and make it easier. He simply asked them whether or not they wanted out.
Like the disciples, I find Jesus' teaching very hard to swallow at times. His standards are so high, and often so contrary to the prevailing culture. Yet, it's either His way, or the highway. With God, there are no middle grounds, not in this. Everyone, eventually, has to make a choice about which camp they choose to stand in. If you choose the God camp, you don't get to pick and choose which beliefs to accept. It's an all-or-nothing deal.
In the end, for me, God has the words of eternal life. Life does not make sense in any other context. So, I battle on, grappling with the stuff I find difficult. Actually, more accurately, God has battled on with me - my return to faith has been all God's doing. My part has been limited to submission/ acquiescence and small steps of redeveloping trust in Him.
Graeme, on the other hand, has had a completely different reaction to mine. We both faced the same crisis of faith over Zoe. I have found my way back (or more accurately, I have been drawn back). He has not.
Grieving is a different process for each person, and takes a different length of time for each. I'm hoping that he is still in the place I was, and that, with time, as his heart heals, he will return to faith, in the same way that God has drawn me back to himself. I hope that he doesn't get stuck. I hope that ... I hope that he's not too proud or rebellious to allow God to draw him back. I hope, most of all, that he finds peace - the shalom peace of God that passes all understanding.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
I love Cape Town
Jonah - apart from being in the belly of a large fish, what else do you know about him? I thought I knew the story well, but this morning we heard a really great sermon on his story, which brought a fresh perspective to the story for me.
All these years, I've merely thought of Jonah as this rebellious guy who eventually succumbs to God's will, and Nineveh is saved as a result. However, maybe it's been a long time since I really read the story (you know how it is with stories you know well... if you re-read them, you often skip over bits because of what you're expecting to read). Yes, that is part of the story, but there's much more to the story of Jonah than just that.
Our preacher this morning was talking about Cape Town, and linking the story of Jonah & Nineveh to our story today, in Cape Town (or whichever city you live in). The reason that Jonah rebelled wasn't because he was afraid of failure, or afraid of being made to look like a fool. Rather, he was rebellious because he was afraid of success. He knew that if he went, the Ninevites would repent, and God would forgive them; that his mission would be a success. He didn't want that to happen because he didn't think the Ninevites deserved that measure of grace. He would rather have died than allow them to repent and receive God's grace. After all, these were heathens, non-Jews, with a history of violence & blood (not to mention other atrocities).
It's interesting that the history of the Bible, and of the whole creation, has been moving towards urbanisation and culminates in a city and with a city. (Let's not get into a debate now about the place of nature in a city - we are going to occupy a new EARTH, which implies places of natural beauty, not just urban environments.) Nineveh represented one of the greatest cities of the day, with a population of 120 000.
Essentially, the message that God told Jonah to take to them is the same message He has been bringing to the world since mankind first rebelled: you are more sinful than you realise, but you are more loved than you can ever imagine, so turn to God.
The challenge to us was this: will we be like Jonah, or Jesus? Are we more interested in keeping our religion 'pure', or in saving lives? Are we more interested in our own comfort zones, or in saving others? Are we willing to die to keep the status quo, or are we willing to die to save lives? Do we run from our cities, or to them?
I have to confess that my answers didn't please me. I don't really want to engage with the marginalised, the poor, the needy, the smelly, the ugly, the disabled, the homeless, the drug-addicted, the immoral, the amoral, the broken. I want to be left alone to just get on with my life in peace and quiet, in comfort and ease. I don't want to have my eyes opened. I don't want to have my heart broken again, or to feel so helpless and hopeless again. I don't want to have my hands and pockets emptied. I don't want to have my diary reorganised and my time reallocated. I've had enough tears to last me several life times, and I've lived through "enough" (isn't that such a relative term?!?!) economic hardship to write books on. I've experienced brokenness and isolation, abandonment and pain, and quite frankly, I don't see why I should put myself (or my family) through any more.
But the gospel of Jesus calls me to more. Very often others say Christians are just people who need a crutch. If only!! If I call myself a Christian, then I am called to pouring out my life, my love, my money and my time to others - and not just others like me, not just others who meet the standards I set for myself. I'm not just called to this self-sacrifice once, or for a season. This is a calling that is a way of life.
You want to know what the problem with God is? It's that he loves us too much to leave us alone. As I've prayed for God to restore my faith, to restore our relationship, to bring me back to a place where I can worship him with passion and abandon (rather than out of a sense of duty or academic recognition that he is worthy of it), to a place where the pain of losing Zoe fades as his goodness shines through that tragedy, he has taken me seriously.
In the first few months after losing Zoe, I couldn't pray. I couldn't worship. All I could do was cry. I was so angry with God that I knew I risked losing everything. I didn't want to be held by him, or have anything to do with him. It was my Christian family who kept me safe. They prayed for me when I couldn't. And their sole prayer was that God would honour his promise and bring me through this storm with my faith intact; that he would hold on to me when I could no longer hold onto him.
When I was eventually able to pray, that was my prayer too. I recognised that only God could save me, only God could bring me out the other side without losing my mind, my faith, my entire reason for being. I recognised that I had no power to hold onto God. I was stuck at the bottom of this hole and could not pull myself out. Everything I believed about God was up for debate, and unless he wanted me to drift away, he would have to do the hard work of bringing me back into the fold. In his gracious mercy, that's what he has done.
I still struggle to worship, but it's getting easier. My heart still wells with tears most Sundays, but alongside that, I can now give thanks (if not effusively, then at least honestly) for other blessings in my life. But God is not satisfied with that. He loves me too much to leave me at this point. While I will probably continue to grieve at some level for the remainder of my life on earth, God wants far more for me than I am currently experiencing. And that 'far more' includes growing me to the point where I can once again offer my life sacrificially in service of and to others.
Ugh! Right now, I could think of nothing worse. But I know that in time, God will change my heart. He will show me ways of being, ways of doing, that will make it possible for me to choose this way of the cross. He will enable me to follow in Jesus' footsteps, and to be involved in helping save the people of this city. The really interesting thing is that I actually look forward to that day. I look forward to the day when my life is wholly outward looking, rather than inward focused. Even though I know what it will mean, part of me also recognises that the best life is the life that is given away, not the life that is jealously guarded.
But I'm not there yet. One thing I have learnt though, is that God only asks me to take one step at a time. He doesn't' expect me to get everything right immediately, or get my life sorted out today. Right now, the step I'm taking is to get involved in church again, meet some new people, and start to build a new community and Christian family around myself. I can't walk this journey alone, and I will need people of faith and wisdom to walk alongside me, to share in the successes, and to gently correct me when I wander off the path. What comes after that, well, I'm sure God will show me when the time is right, and by then, I know it won't seem as big a jump as it does today.
So although my answers displeased me, I also know that I don't have to beat myself up about it. In his time and in his way, God will deal with me, and that's okay with me.
All these years, I've merely thought of Jonah as this rebellious guy who eventually succumbs to God's will, and Nineveh is saved as a result. However, maybe it's been a long time since I really read the story (you know how it is with stories you know well... if you re-read them, you often skip over bits because of what you're expecting to read). Yes, that is part of the story, but there's much more to the story of Jonah than just that.
Our preacher this morning was talking about Cape Town, and linking the story of Jonah & Nineveh to our story today, in Cape Town (or whichever city you live in). The reason that Jonah rebelled wasn't because he was afraid of failure, or afraid of being made to look like a fool. Rather, he was rebellious because he was afraid of success. He knew that if he went, the Ninevites would repent, and God would forgive them; that his mission would be a success. He didn't want that to happen because he didn't think the Ninevites deserved that measure of grace. He would rather have died than allow them to repent and receive God's grace. After all, these were heathens, non-Jews, with a history of violence & blood (not to mention other atrocities).
It's interesting that the history of the Bible, and of the whole creation, has been moving towards urbanisation and culminates in a city and with a city. (Let's not get into a debate now about the place of nature in a city - we are going to occupy a new EARTH, which implies places of natural beauty, not just urban environments.) Nineveh represented one of the greatest cities of the day, with a population of 120 000.
Essentially, the message that God told Jonah to take to them is the same message He has been bringing to the world since mankind first rebelled: you are more sinful than you realise, but you are more loved than you can ever imagine, so turn to God.
The challenge to us was this: will we be like Jonah, or Jesus? Are we more interested in keeping our religion 'pure', or in saving lives? Are we more interested in our own comfort zones, or in saving others? Are we willing to die to keep the status quo, or are we willing to die to save lives? Do we run from our cities, or to them?
I have to confess that my answers didn't please me. I don't really want to engage with the marginalised, the poor, the needy, the smelly, the ugly, the disabled, the homeless, the drug-addicted, the immoral, the amoral, the broken. I want to be left alone to just get on with my life in peace and quiet, in comfort and ease. I don't want to have my eyes opened. I don't want to have my heart broken again, or to feel so helpless and hopeless again. I don't want to have my hands and pockets emptied. I don't want to have my diary reorganised and my time reallocated. I've had enough tears to last me several life times, and I've lived through "enough" (isn't that such a relative term?!?!) economic hardship to write books on. I've experienced brokenness and isolation, abandonment and pain, and quite frankly, I don't see why I should put myself (or my family) through any more.
But the gospel of Jesus calls me to more. Very often others say Christians are just people who need a crutch. If only!! If I call myself a Christian, then I am called to pouring out my life, my love, my money and my time to others - and not just others like me, not just others who meet the standards I set for myself. I'm not just called to this self-sacrifice once, or for a season. This is a calling that is a way of life.
You want to know what the problem with God is? It's that he loves us too much to leave us alone. As I've prayed for God to restore my faith, to restore our relationship, to bring me back to a place where I can worship him with passion and abandon (rather than out of a sense of duty or academic recognition that he is worthy of it), to a place where the pain of losing Zoe fades as his goodness shines through that tragedy, he has taken me seriously.
In the first few months after losing Zoe, I couldn't pray. I couldn't worship. All I could do was cry. I was so angry with God that I knew I risked losing everything. I didn't want to be held by him, or have anything to do with him. It was my Christian family who kept me safe. They prayed for me when I couldn't. And their sole prayer was that God would honour his promise and bring me through this storm with my faith intact; that he would hold on to me when I could no longer hold onto him.
When I was eventually able to pray, that was my prayer too. I recognised that only God could save me, only God could bring me out the other side without losing my mind, my faith, my entire reason for being. I recognised that I had no power to hold onto God. I was stuck at the bottom of this hole and could not pull myself out. Everything I believed about God was up for debate, and unless he wanted me to drift away, he would have to do the hard work of bringing me back into the fold. In his gracious mercy, that's what he has done.
I still struggle to worship, but it's getting easier. My heart still wells with tears most Sundays, but alongside that, I can now give thanks (if not effusively, then at least honestly) for other blessings in my life. But God is not satisfied with that. He loves me too much to leave me at this point. While I will probably continue to grieve at some level for the remainder of my life on earth, God wants far more for me than I am currently experiencing. And that 'far more' includes growing me to the point where I can once again offer my life sacrificially in service of and to others.
Ugh! Right now, I could think of nothing worse. But I know that in time, God will change my heart. He will show me ways of being, ways of doing, that will make it possible for me to choose this way of the cross. He will enable me to follow in Jesus' footsteps, and to be involved in helping save the people of this city. The really interesting thing is that I actually look forward to that day. I look forward to the day when my life is wholly outward looking, rather than inward focused. Even though I know what it will mean, part of me also recognises that the best life is the life that is given away, not the life that is jealously guarded.
But I'm not there yet. One thing I have learnt though, is that God only asks me to take one step at a time. He doesn't' expect me to get everything right immediately, or get my life sorted out today. Right now, the step I'm taking is to get involved in church again, meet some new people, and start to build a new community and Christian family around myself. I can't walk this journey alone, and I will need people of faith and wisdom to walk alongside me, to share in the successes, and to gently correct me when I wander off the path. What comes after that, well, I'm sure God will show me when the time is right, and by then, I know it won't seem as big a jump as it does today.
So although my answers displeased me, I also know that I don't have to beat myself up about it. In his time and in his way, God will deal with me, and that's okay with me.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Out of the blue
Today we went to Matt and Claire's wedding. Congrats guys! Awesome wedding! Wish you all the best for your future together.
As special as the day was (I was green with envy at how beautiful and meaningful their wedding was! Wish I had been that creative with ours.) I found it very difficult to sit through. One of the most difficult things about losing Zoe is that I never know when grief will strike. It struck fairly early on in the service, during the worship at the start, making it incredibly difficult to share in their joy.
There was a line from a song (I can't even remember the song now) which spoke about how God destines all our days, from the first cry to our last breath. As I sang those words, something within me cracked again. Surely God destines our days from the moment of conception, not just the first breath? Because if it was only from the first breath, then that means God had no plan for Zoe's brief life, and that the life she had was outside his power or will or something. Although I still struggle to accept that God allowed her to die before she was born, I have to believe that every moment from her conception was in his power, that he had amazing plans for her life.
Of course, the moment I had started thinking about her, I couldn't help myself thinking about all I will never share with her - particularly her wedding to some amazing man. I will never have the honour and privilege of giving her away. Needless to say, I spent a good portion of the wedding frantically wiping away tears and trying not to break into sobs. Thank God we were in the back row, so no-one would have noticed anyway, even if my mascara had run all over my face.
One of the passages read, which was rather obscure for a wedding - at first glance anyway, was from Nehemiah. It spoke about the fact that time of mourning and weeping has come to an end, and that now the time for rejoicing and laughter is here. Over the past few days I have been coming across verses that, in various ways, have encouraged and exhorted me to leave my grief behind, trust God fully, rejoice in him fully, and move into the next season - which is joy.
On the one hand, I am very pleased by this. I would love to be able to leave this heavy heart behind. I would love to stop crying and mourning.
On the other hand, the thought that I might forget Zoe really scares me. I don't want to forget her. I don't want to stop missing her. I don't want to pretend that it will ever be okay that she's not here.
So how do I bring these two extremes together? How can I possibly experience the full measure of joy, laughter and a spring season in my life when my daughter is dead? I know that I have good days, days filled with laughter, and I rejoice that I am able to have those, because I know that to remain in grief for ever is unhealthy for me. However, I just don't see how I can go from this current space where Zoe is often on my mind, where the very thought of her makes me cry, to a space where when I think of her it is only with joy and thankfulness, with no hint of sorrow or longing.
Then again, maybe I'm completely misinterpreting these verses.
There is no doubt in my mind that if this child survives, my heart will be full of joy and love for it. There is no doubt in my mind that this child, if it survives, will make me laugh and smile, and will make my heart feel so full it will want to burst. But none of that can erase the pain I feel that Zoe is not and never will be with us here on earth. No matter how much joy this 3rd child of ours brings us, I just don't see how that joy can overpower the grief and pain in my heart that comes from missing Zoe.
I've realised that the comfort God offers does not wipe away the pain. The comfort he brings is that our pain is not pointless, or meaningless. The comfort he brings is that one day we will see her again, and that her death can bring about hope & help for others. But it does not wipe away the pain. I always thought it did. But God didn't wipe away Jesus' pain on the cross. In the Garden, the Father did not wake away Jesus' fear of the cross. Rather, he gave him the strength to do what had to be done despite his fear. The Father did not abandon his son on the cross, but neither did he make the pain any less to bear. God's comfort does not mean pain is wiped away - at least, not here on earth.
One day, all injustices will be righted and vindicated. One day, all pain will be healed, not just comforted. But that day is not today - at least, not for me. I look forward to the new spring season of life that God seems to be preparing for me. I look forward to the birth of this child. But I doubt that either will miraculously heal the pain in my heart. Rather, I live in hope of that day when all sorrows will cease, all wars will end, and shalom comes in the full glory God always intended.
As special as the day was (I was green with envy at how beautiful and meaningful their wedding was! Wish I had been that creative with ours.) I found it very difficult to sit through. One of the most difficult things about losing Zoe is that I never know when grief will strike. It struck fairly early on in the service, during the worship at the start, making it incredibly difficult to share in their joy.
There was a line from a song (I can't even remember the song now) which spoke about how God destines all our days, from the first cry to our last breath. As I sang those words, something within me cracked again. Surely God destines our days from the moment of conception, not just the first breath? Because if it was only from the first breath, then that means God had no plan for Zoe's brief life, and that the life she had was outside his power or will or something. Although I still struggle to accept that God allowed her to die before she was born, I have to believe that every moment from her conception was in his power, that he had amazing plans for her life.
Of course, the moment I had started thinking about her, I couldn't help myself thinking about all I will never share with her - particularly her wedding to some amazing man. I will never have the honour and privilege of giving her away. Needless to say, I spent a good portion of the wedding frantically wiping away tears and trying not to break into sobs. Thank God we were in the back row, so no-one would have noticed anyway, even if my mascara had run all over my face.
One of the passages read, which was rather obscure for a wedding - at first glance anyway, was from Nehemiah. It spoke about the fact that time of mourning and weeping has come to an end, and that now the time for rejoicing and laughter is here. Over the past few days I have been coming across verses that, in various ways, have encouraged and exhorted me to leave my grief behind, trust God fully, rejoice in him fully, and move into the next season - which is joy.
On the one hand, I am very pleased by this. I would love to be able to leave this heavy heart behind. I would love to stop crying and mourning.
On the other hand, the thought that I might forget Zoe really scares me. I don't want to forget her. I don't want to stop missing her. I don't want to pretend that it will ever be okay that she's not here.
So how do I bring these two extremes together? How can I possibly experience the full measure of joy, laughter and a spring season in my life when my daughter is dead? I know that I have good days, days filled with laughter, and I rejoice that I am able to have those, because I know that to remain in grief for ever is unhealthy for me. However, I just don't see how I can go from this current space where Zoe is often on my mind, where the very thought of her makes me cry, to a space where when I think of her it is only with joy and thankfulness, with no hint of sorrow or longing.
Then again, maybe I'm completely misinterpreting these verses.
There is no doubt in my mind that if this child survives, my heart will be full of joy and love for it. There is no doubt in my mind that this child, if it survives, will make me laugh and smile, and will make my heart feel so full it will want to burst. But none of that can erase the pain I feel that Zoe is not and never will be with us here on earth. No matter how much joy this 3rd child of ours brings us, I just don't see how that joy can overpower the grief and pain in my heart that comes from missing Zoe.
I've realised that the comfort God offers does not wipe away the pain. The comfort he brings is that our pain is not pointless, or meaningless. The comfort he brings is that one day we will see her again, and that her death can bring about hope & help for others. But it does not wipe away the pain. I always thought it did. But God didn't wipe away Jesus' pain on the cross. In the Garden, the Father did not wake away Jesus' fear of the cross. Rather, he gave him the strength to do what had to be done despite his fear. The Father did not abandon his son on the cross, but neither did he make the pain any less to bear. God's comfort does not mean pain is wiped away - at least, not here on earth.
One day, all injustices will be righted and vindicated. One day, all pain will be healed, not just comforted. But that day is not today - at least, not for me. I look forward to the new spring season of life that God seems to be preparing for me. I look forward to the birth of this child. But I doubt that either will miraculously heal the pain in my heart. Rather, I live in hope of that day when all sorrows will cease, all wars will end, and shalom comes in the full glory God always intended.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Death and periods
I'm almost "officially dead". At least, that's what my CMT thinks. Not having heard from me in over a week, nearly 2 in fact, she was becoming convinced that I was dead.
Hmm...
OK, so I've been REEEEEEALLY busy. But I'm not dead. Not yet. Give me a few years at my current pace and maybe I will be, but not yet. I'm having too much fun to die!
In fact, a colleague asked me today how I do it - working full time, with a family, and LL, and studying part-time. I had a good think about it, and replied that I'm not sure.
On the one hand, it's about expectations - I have to do stuff, so I just do it. Be disciplined and just do it. There are enough hours in the day. On the other hand, there aren't enough hours in the day, so something is always falling off the bottom of the list - like time with Graeme, or my sleep and health, or LL, or my marking.... It's just a matter of juggling which one, so that the one falling off the list isn't urgent. Of course, I don't recommend it to anyone else, not even myself. But I'm having fun... so I don't think I'm ready to give anything up just yet.
But back to the story about my CMT. So I'm chatting to her about how I'm really not yet dead (aren't you pleased to know that?!). She's shaking her head at me incredulously, when I promptly inform her that next month is THE MONTH. (We're falling pregnant next month, if you didn't know. Don't call us [we're going to be BUSY], we'll call you.) At which point she nearly fell off her chair laughing, until she realised I was serious. 'But Nicole,' she said to me, 'how are you going to manage that ON TOP of everything else?' I just smiled, shook my head and replied - I have no idea, but probably in the same manner I'm not managing now, except that things are about to get a lot more interesting with my head down a toilet bowl all day.
(Oh yes, I have horrible, nasty, never-to-be-repeated-unless-you-absolutely-have-to kind of pregnancies! There's no cheaper way to have a baby. I love feeling the baby kick, unless it's into my lungs, or down into my fractured spine. I love bonding with the baby over 8 months. But I HATE being pregnant. Cramps, sore legs, sore back, sore tummy, sore knees, vomiting, nauseous, unable to sleep, unable to walk... I'm going to stop now, before I convince myself this is a really bad idea!)
It's hard to believe that this will (hopefully) be my last cycle for the next year. Hooray! No more pads or tampons or leaks. No more feeling cheated and jealous when I see other women with big bellies.
I know this sounds absolutely crazy (and this is not tongue-in-cheek), but I am really looking forward to having the opportunity to hurl my guts into the nearest loo about once a day. I am looking forward to having my bones come apart to such an extent that I have to wear a special pregnancy hip and thigh brace to be able to walk without pain. I am looking forward swollen ankles and being berated for not drinking enough water every day. I am looking forward to being woken up at 2am in the most excruciating pain as my leg or foot tries to bend itself the wrong way round. I am looking forward to feeling 100x more tired than I am now. I am looking forward to getting more stretch marks on my stomach. I am looking forward to not being able to bend over, or see my toes.
Simply put, I am looking forward to feeling awful. Because feeling awful MEANS something. It means that there is a new life growing inside me. I am looking forward to holding that new life in my arms, looking into her eyes and hearing her cry. Everything will be worth it for that single moment of knowing that I have succeeded in bringing forth that new life.
It doesn't matter to me that I am already more busy than anyone else I know, or that there really isn't time in my life for this, or that I'm already tired. To be honest, I really don't care if I lose the business, or fail my course. What I care about most is that new life. I can't wait to meet my new baby....
And this time around, I am going to cherish every moment of my pregnancy. Every kick, every heart-beat. Because if this one should die too, as is highly probable, I don't want to carry the guilt I carry for Zoe - that I failed to appreciate her while I had her with me. I won't make that mistake twice.
This moment has been 18 months in the coming, and that's an awfully long time to wait for something you are desperate for. While I usually hate having my periods (they are SUCH a las!), this next one I will celebrate with joy. One more to go, please God! Please, God?
Hmm...
OK, so I've been REEEEEEALLY busy. But I'm not dead. Not yet. Give me a few years at my current pace and maybe I will be, but not yet. I'm having too much fun to die!
In fact, a colleague asked me today how I do it - working full time, with a family, and LL, and studying part-time. I had a good think about it, and replied that I'm not sure.
On the one hand, it's about expectations - I have to do stuff, so I just do it. Be disciplined and just do it. There are enough hours in the day. On the other hand, there aren't enough hours in the day, so something is always falling off the bottom of the list - like time with Graeme, or my sleep and health, or LL, or my marking.... It's just a matter of juggling which one, so that the one falling off the list isn't urgent. Of course, I don't recommend it to anyone else, not even myself. But I'm having fun... so I don't think I'm ready to give anything up just yet.
But back to the story about my CMT. So I'm chatting to her about how I'm really not yet dead (aren't you pleased to know that?!). She's shaking her head at me incredulously, when I promptly inform her that next month is THE MONTH. (We're falling pregnant next month, if you didn't know. Don't call us [we're going to be BUSY], we'll call you.) At which point she nearly fell off her chair laughing, until she realised I was serious. 'But Nicole,' she said to me, 'how are you going to manage that ON TOP of everything else?' I just smiled, shook my head and replied - I have no idea, but probably in the same manner I'm not managing now, except that things are about to get a lot more interesting with my head down a toilet bowl all day.
(Oh yes, I have horrible, nasty, never-to-be-repeated-unless-you-absolutely-have-to kind of pregnancies! There's no cheaper way to have a baby. I love feeling the baby kick, unless it's into my lungs, or down into my fractured spine. I love bonding with the baby over 8 months. But I HATE being pregnant. Cramps, sore legs, sore back, sore tummy, sore knees, vomiting, nauseous, unable to sleep, unable to walk... I'm going to stop now, before I convince myself this is a really bad idea!)
It's hard to believe that this will (hopefully) be my last cycle for the next year. Hooray! No more pads or tampons or leaks. No more feeling cheated and jealous when I see other women with big bellies.
I know this sounds absolutely crazy (and this is not tongue-in-cheek), but I am really looking forward to having the opportunity to hurl my guts into the nearest loo about once a day. I am looking forward to having my bones come apart to such an extent that I have to wear a special pregnancy hip and thigh brace to be able to walk without pain. I am looking forward swollen ankles and being berated for not drinking enough water every day. I am looking forward to being woken up at 2am in the most excruciating pain as my leg or foot tries to bend itself the wrong way round. I am looking forward to feeling 100x more tired than I am now. I am looking forward to getting more stretch marks on my stomach. I am looking forward to not being able to bend over, or see my toes.
Simply put, I am looking forward to feeling awful. Because feeling awful MEANS something. It means that there is a new life growing inside me. I am looking forward to holding that new life in my arms, looking into her eyes and hearing her cry. Everything will be worth it for that single moment of knowing that I have succeeded in bringing forth that new life.
It doesn't matter to me that I am already more busy than anyone else I know, or that there really isn't time in my life for this, or that I'm already tired. To be honest, I really don't care if I lose the business, or fail my course. What I care about most is that new life. I can't wait to meet my new baby....
And this time around, I am going to cherish every moment of my pregnancy. Every kick, every heart-beat. Because if this one should die too, as is highly probable, I don't want to carry the guilt I carry for Zoe - that I failed to appreciate her while I had her with me. I won't make that mistake twice.
This moment has been 18 months in the coming, and that's an awfully long time to wait for something you are desperate for. While I usually hate having my periods (they are SUCH a las!), this next one I will celebrate with joy. One more to go, please God! Please, God?
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Princess postings
This post carries a health warning: if you are not an evangelical Christian, not only may you not understand anything I'm saying in this post, but you may actually find yourself thinking I've lost whatever credibility or sanity you thought I had. I don't have the time or energy now to explain some of the terms and concepts I use properly, and I apologise. I'm exhausted, but I want to document something profound that happened to me tonight at church, because I know it will be important to me in the days, weeks and months to come to have something in writing to reflect upon.
For those who know what Jesus Ministry is, or Freedom Prayer.... I walked through the 5 R's tonight (for the first time in a very, very long time). Hence my exhaustion. Feel free to keep me accountable on the 'Replace' step.
Tonight was significant in that, once again, God demonstrated his love and mercy to me. I managed to take the plunge and ask for prayer after the service tonight (yet another milestone for me). (This was after walking through the 5 R's on my own during the service.) The person praying for me received a picture of me as a princess, with a crown on my head, and as a mother, standing tall in the courts of heaven.
To understand the significance of this, it is necessary to back track slightly. God has spoken to me on several occasions over the past 8 years about the fact that I am a princess. (Rightly speaking, so is every Christian woman or girl, but for me this picture has added significance.) Every time he has, it has been part of a message that not only am I dearly, dearly loved, but I am important to God, not insignificant, and powerful in Christ. It has also been part of a message that God has a plan to use me mightily to increase his kingdom.
When the lady praying for me spoke of this picture she had seen (who, I might add, does not know about this picture, or its significance to me), my soul knew instantly what God was saying to me. I burst into tears because, while it was not what I had been expecting to hear, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
The events of the past 3 years have left me reeling. 3 years ago I believed that God had big plans for my life. (I won't say how big, or in what direction because that would only come across as arrogant; plus, over the past 3 years I've developed a very healthy dose of scepticism that I ever understood what God had been saying to me and I really don't want to wind up with even more egg on my face than I already have.) I believed I understood the big picture and something of how God wanted to achieve that picture in my life. Then the 3 years took place, and everything I thought I believed and knew was called into question, including my most sacred hopes and dreams.
(Edited to add... Angela, if you're reading this [or the wonderful ladies from the morning growth group - please tell Angela to read this] - do you remember what you said to me the last time I saw you, as we were sitting on Sue's couch in her beautiful kitchen? Do you remember what you told me God had said to you was in my future? I've just realised that I'm doing it... right here, right now, with this blog. It's not how I thought it would be - for one thing, it's still so small, but from small beginnings God grows big things, so I'm hopeful that God will grow it further... but I'm doing it! Thank you for your encouragement, your obedience and your faithfulness in speaking out what you thought God had shared with you!)
Following these 3 years I found myself in a place where I didn't see how God would ever use someone like me - someone who was so completely uncertain of everything good Christians are supposed to believe. Sure, I believed that if he wanted to, he would; I just didn't see it happening. I mean, let's be honest here: you can't expect me to pray and listen to God for someone else when I wasn't even on speaking terms with God, or to talk about how amazing God is when I felt he was the worst sort of being ever to have existed... and that's just for starters.
The end result is that I thought my dreams were over. I thought that whatever potential I might have had, had been exploded apart and I would never again know the heights of joy in Christ, or the depth of passion, or the sobering responsibility (and exhilaration) of being on the front lines of the advancing kingdom again. I would never know the tremendous satisfaction of actually living my dreams. And I was coming to terms with that.
I was coming to accept that the status quo was all I could ever expect, that between motherhood and the other demands on my time, this was as good as it was ever going to get for me. Sure, I could do lots of good stuff and be a good person, but for a Christian, being good isn't what it's about. There's an ocean of difference between being good or doing good stuff, and being in relationship with God that makes you a part of his army advancing against the kingdom of darkness, equipping the saints and raising others up.
In the split second that the woman praying for me tonight started saying "princess", I knew exactly what God was trying to tell me, and it nearly blew me away. It was this: "Nothing has changed: the plans remain in place."
Do you have any idea of the significance of those words in my life? The prophecies that God spoke over me are all still valid. Still valid!?! Can you believe that? My mind is really struggling to get to grips with this. I thought I'd blown it. I thought I'd strayed, taken a wrong turning, headed off down the wrong track, but that's not what God was saying tonight. (At least, if I heard him correctly, that's not what he was saying.)
I thought I knew what the plan was; I thought I knew where God was leading me, and I thought I understood what he wanted from me. Then, everything fell apart. Now, it seems God is saying that things are still on track. But if they are, then I have absolutely NO CLUE how we get from A to B. The last 3 years have taught me to doubt what I thought I knew, so I'm not even sure that I ever understood where point B is, let alone how to get there now from here. I'd be lying if I said I'm not more confused now than I was before!
And yet...
And yet!
The joy of this evening is that God still has a plan for my life, a big plan; a plan that means my life will not just be an existence; a plan that means that when I'm on my death-bed I won't be looking back with regret - I'll be celebrating the difference I made in the world and in God's kingdom.
I am still a princess. I am still dearly loved. I am still important. I am still significant.
So while I'm more confused than ever, and while I still don't know what God wants from me, or where he's leading me, or why he has allowed certain things to happen, tonight marks an important step for me. God's plans for me are still on track.
The door of hope has opened just a crack for me and I dare to dream that maybe, just maybe, God still plans to give me the desire of my heart - to be greater than 'just' a teacher, or 'just' a mother, or 'just' a Christian - to really make a difference in this world for the sake of his kingdom using the gifts he's given me.
A lot of things still make no sense to me... but tonight I am able to set aside my doubts and my fears and just trust. (I'm sure that in the days ahead I will see the Deceiver at work... pray with me that I will be able to walk steadfastly in this truth when that time comes!) I have no idea how long I will be able to stay on this mountain top, appreciating the vista, but for as long as I am permitted to stand here, I will simply enjoy the view and marvel at the mystery of God's ways. He is in control and all is well with my soul.
For those who know what Jesus Ministry is, or Freedom Prayer.... I walked through the 5 R's tonight (for the first time in a very, very long time). Hence my exhaustion. Feel free to keep me accountable on the 'Replace' step.
Tonight was significant in that, once again, God demonstrated his love and mercy to me. I managed to take the plunge and ask for prayer after the service tonight (yet another milestone for me). (This was after walking through the 5 R's on my own during the service.) The person praying for me received a picture of me as a princess, with a crown on my head, and as a mother, standing tall in the courts of heaven.
To understand the significance of this, it is necessary to back track slightly. God has spoken to me on several occasions over the past 8 years about the fact that I am a princess. (Rightly speaking, so is every Christian woman or girl, but for me this picture has added significance.) Every time he has, it has been part of a message that not only am I dearly, dearly loved, but I am important to God, not insignificant, and powerful in Christ. It has also been part of a message that God has a plan to use me mightily to increase his kingdom.
When the lady praying for me spoke of this picture she had seen (who, I might add, does not know about this picture, or its significance to me), my soul knew instantly what God was saying to me. I burst into tears because, while it was not what I had been expecting to hear, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
The events of the past 3 years have left me reeling. 3 years ago I believed that God had big plans for my life. (I won't say how big, or in what direction because that would only come across as arrogant; plus, over the past 3 years I've developed a very healthy dose of scepticism that I ever understood what God had been saying to me and I really don't want to wind up with even more egg on my face than I already have.) I believed I understood the big picture and something of how God wanted to achieve that picture in my life. Then the 3 years took place, and everything I thought I believed and knew was called into question, including my most sacred hopes and dreams.
(Edited to add... Angela, if you're reading this [or the wonderful ladies from the morning growth group - please tell Angela to read this] - do you remember what you said to me the last time I saw you, as we were sitting on Sue's couch in her beautiful kitchen? Do you remember what you told me God had said to you was in my future? I've just realised that I'm doing it... right here, right now, with this blog. It's not how I thought it would be - for one thing, it's still so small, but from small beginnings God grows big things, so I'm hopeful that God will grow it further... but I'm doing it! Thank you for your encouragement, your obedience and your faithfulness in speaking out what you thought God had shared with you!)
Following these 3 years I found myself in a place where I didn't see how God would ever use someone like me - someone who was so completely uncertain of everything good Christians are supposed to believe. Sure, I believed that if he wanted to, he would; I just didn't see it happening. I mean, let's be honest here: you can't expect me to pray and listen to God for someone else when I wasn't even on speaking terms with God, or to talk about how amazing God is when I felt he was the worst sort of being ever to have existed... and that's just for starters.
The end result is that I thought my dreams were over. I thought that whatever potential I might have had, had been exploded apart and I would never again know the heights of joy in Christ, or the depth of passion, or the sobering responsibility (and exhilaration) of being on the front lines of the advancing kingdom again. I would never know the tremendous satisfaction of actually living my dreams. And I was coming to terms with that.
I was coming to accept that the status quo was all I could ever expect, that between motherhood and the other demands on my time, this was as good as it was ever going to get for me. Sure, I could do lots of good stuff and be a good person, but for a Christian, being good isn't what it's about. There's an ocean of difference between being good or doing good stuff, and being in relationship with God that makes you a part of his army advancing against the kingdom of darkness, equipping the saints and raising others up.
In the split second that the woman praying for me tonight started saying "princess", I knew exactly what God was trying to tell me, and it nearly blew me away. It was this: "Nothing has changed: the plans remain in place."
Do you have any idea of the significance of those words in my life? The prophecies that God spoke over me are all still valid. Still valid!?! Can you believe that? My mind is really struggling to get to grips with this. I thought I'd blown it. I thought I'd strayed, taken a wrong turning, headed off down the wrong track, but that's not what God was saying tonight. (At least, if I heard him correctly, that's not what he was saying.)
I thought I knew what the plan was; I thought I knew where God was leading me, and I thought I understood what he wanted from me. Then, everything fell apart. Now, it seems God is saying that things are still on track. But if they are, then I have absolutely NO CLUE how we get from A to B. The last 3 years have taught me to doubt what I thought I knew, so I'm not even sure that I ever understood where point B is, let alone how to get there now from here. I'd be lying if I said I'm not more confused now than I was before!
And yet...
And yet!
The joy of this evening is that God still has a plan for my life, a big plan; a plan that means my life will not just be an existence; a plan that means that when I'm on my death-bed I won't be looking back with regret - I'll be celebrating the difference I made in the world and in God's kingdom.
I am still a princess. I am still dearly loved. I am still important. I am still significant.
So while I'm more confused than ever, and while I still don't know what God wants from me, or where he's leading me, or why he has allowed certain things to happen, tonight marks an important step for me. God's plans for me are still on track.
The door of hope has opened just a crack for me and I dare to dream that maybe, just maybe, God still plans to give me the desire of my heart - to be greater than 'just' a teacher, or 'just' a mother, or 'just' a Christian - to really make a difference in this world for the sake of his kingdom using the gifts he's given me.
A lot of things still make no sense to me... but tonight I am able to set aside my doubts and my fears and just trust. (I'm sure that in the days ahead I will see the Deceiver at work... pray with me that I will be able to walk steadfastly in this truth when that time comes!) I have no idea how long I will be able to stay on this mountain top, appreciating the vista, but for as long as I am permitted to stand here, I will simply enjoy the view and marvel at the mystery of God's ways. He is in control and all is well with my soul.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Arise!
A milestone reached.... Graeme and I went to the evening service at church on our own for the first time EVER since we've returned home, and I think even for the first time since Janel was born.
The preacher was a friend of ours who runs a project called 'The Warehouse'. Their aim is community upliftment through various projects that they run. As a result, he works with the poor a lot. More about that in a moment though.
Being in church was both amazing and unbearable. Graeme and I have really been struggling with the issue of not really feeling like we belong to a church, and therefore, with trying to find somewhere to belong to. Before we left SA in 2000, we were members of the evening service. Since our return, we've been going to the family service. We don't know the people there, and it's really not a service we feel comfortable in for various other reasons that I don't want to air here. Mostly, we want a community like we had at the Ascension. We want to be part of a small to medium sized church where you can actually know everyone by sight, and where you can actually know a large number of people by name. We also want a church that has great teaching, great worship, and great children's church. So, not much then really.
In the past, when I've moved churches, I've known which church was the right one to join by the feeling of coming home I had when I sat down in the church. It's happened every single time I've moved to a church that has blessed me and challenged me. As yet, I haven't had that feeling when we've been back to our 'old' church, and I haven't felt that in any church we've visited.
Sadly, I didn't feel that last night either. (I bet you thought that was where this story was going, didn't you?!) However, as I looked around at the people in the service it struck me how many of the faces were familiar. When we left Ascension, everyone there had stood round us, as communities ought to, in grief over losing Zoe. I looked at these dear people, who had meant so much to us, but who really had never known us. I wondered how they would have reacted if we had lost Zoe here instead of in the UK. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by a desire to share our story with them, to tell them about our loss, to have them put their arms around us and enfold us in love.
It struck me though, that it was in this community, rather than any we had thus far experienced, that we were probably most likely to find the depth of relationship I am craving. I know these people loved us in their own way before, and they could do so again. Revelation #1.
As we began to worship, I promptly burst into tears, and proceeded to spend the rest of the worship with my eyes and nose overflowing, and no tissues anywhere in sight. I was battling to sing the words and mean them. All I kept thinking was, 'How can I say You are worthy of praise, or God Almighty, when you let my child die?' - or thoughts to that effect. I know that my real problem is that I'm struggling to trust God. As C.S.Lewis expressed it - the problem of pain is that the only solution to it seems to be that either God is not all-powerful, or he is not all-loving.
As I was grappling with this, I heard God's quiet voice asking me just to let go and trust Him, not to try and reason it out. And I just couldn't. I want an explanation. I want to know why. I'm not sure what effect knowing will have, whether it will drive me further away or give me a way out.
As I continued grappling, once again God spoke quietly to me. He reminded me of the last time He asked the seemingly impossible of me. For most people, if you asked them what they would most hate God to ask them to do, it would be to go to China as a missionary (or something similar). For me, it was to give up my dream of coming back to SA and staying in the UK permanently. I grappled with that question for months before I could come to a place of relinquishing my home and my family and saying, 'Not my will, but Yours, o Lord.'
But God hadn't asked me to give up my family, or South Africa. In a sense, at that time, I felt like Abraham, who had been given the son he craved, the son God had promised, and then had been asked to sacrifice him. He got to the point of having tied up his son, put him on the altar, and was raising the knife to kill him, when God stopped him. At the time, I felt like God granted me a reprieve. Once I was able to submit, He told me that he didn't require that of me. (Sjoe! That was a close one!)
As I was remembering all this though, it suddenly struck me that God was now asking the 'impossible' of me. The 'impossible' thing God requires of me is not to give up my family, or my home. It is not to give up my job and live without an income. It is not even to give up my own body and live as a disabled person. No, the 'impossible' thing God requires of me is to give up my child, my little Zoe, and to trust that even though she died, God is still all-powerful AND all-loving. Revelation #2.
From experience, I know that until I can do that, I'm not going to move forward in my relationship with God. We've reached an impasse, and God is not going to surrender to me! However, again, from experience, I know that God is patient. He will give me the space and time I need to work through this until I can do the seemingly impossible.
And then, as if that wasn't enough, someone shared a passage that had been given to a group she was praying with on Saturday. It was given in the context of praying for transformation in South Africa. The passage? Isaiah 43:18-19. For the benefit of those who aren't good Jews and can recite the Old Testament prophets at will...
"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the wasteland."
Well, I think you can gather how startled I was as that passage was shared. In fact, in reading through the whole chapter earlier today, I nearly wept (especially at verses 5-7). The first part of that chapter has always had deep significance for me. It's one that God has given me time and time again at crucial times in my life.
Then, the Bible message email thingy I belong to sent me the following verse today...
"ARISE [from the depression in which circumstances have kept you - rise to a new life]! Shine (be radiant), for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!" Isaiah 60:1, from the Amplified Bible.
Do you think God is trying to say something to me? Just maybe?
Isaiah has to be one of my favourite books in the Bible. God has spoken to me through it so often. It strikes me then as no real surprise that these two passages are both from Isaiah.
I guess the question is: will I have the guts to step into the unknown and let go of my need to understand? Will I trust God despite my lack of understanding. Will I stretch out my hand to take hold of the one He is stretching out to me?
And if I do, what will the implications of that be? Does that mean I will never again be allowed to remember my baby girl, or miss her, or grieve her? Does that mean I will never again allow myself to ask the question my heart most longs to have answered?
Who knows?! Who knows. What I do know is that at the moment I'm stuck, and I'm not capable of moving forward on my own. And I also know that if I continue to stay in this place, I am going to lose my faith - as a consequence of neglect, rather than anything else - and then where will I be? I think this is what is euphemistically referred to as being between a rock and a hard place.
Edited to add... sorry, I forgot to tell you about the sermon. I'm exhausted now, so will do that another time.
The preacher was a friend of ours who runs a project called 'The Warehouse'. Their aim is community upliftment through various projects that they run. As a result, he works with the poor a lot. More about that in a moment though.
Being in church was both amazing and unbearable. Graeme and I have really been struggling with the issue of not really feeling like we belong to a church, and therefore, with trying to find somewhere to belong to. Before we left SA in 2000, we were members of the evening service. Since our return, we've been going to the family service. We don't know the people there, and it's really not a service we feel comfortable in for various other reasons that I don't want to air here. Mostly, we want a community like we had at the Ascension. We want to be part of a small to medium sized church where you can actually know everyone by sight, and where you can actually know a large number of people by name. We also want a church that has great teaching, great worship, and great children's church. So, not much then really.
In the past, when I've moved churches, I've known which church was the right one to join by the feeling of coming home I had when I sat down in the church. It's happened every single time I've moved to a church that has blessed me and challenged me. As yet, I haven't had that feeling when we've been back to our 'old' church, and I haven't felt that in any church we've visited.
Sadly, I didn't feel that last night either. (I bet you thought that was where this story was going, didn't you?!) However, as I looked around at the people in the service it struck me how many of the faces were familiar. When we left Ascension, everyone there had stood round us, as communities ought to, in grief over losing Zoe. I looked at these dear people, who had meant so much to us, but who really had never known us. I wondered how they would have reacted if we had lost Zoe here instead of in the UK. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by a desire to share our story with them, to tell them about our loss, to have them put their arms around us and enfold us in love.
It struck me though, that it was in this community, rather than any we had thus far experienced, that we were probably most likely to find the depth of relationship I am craving. I know these people loved us in their own way before, and they could do so again. Revelation #1.
As we began to worship, I promptly burst into tears, and proceeded to spend the rest of the worship with my eyes and nose overflowing, and no tissues anywhere in sight. I was battling to sing the words and mean them. All I kept thinking was, 'How can I say You are worthy of praise, or God Almighty, when you let my child die?' - or thoughts to that effect. I know that my real problem is that I'm struggling to trust God. As C.S.Lewis expressed it - the problem of pain is that the only solution to it seems to be that either God is not all-powerful, or he is not all-loving.
As I was grappling with this, I heard God's quiet voice asking me just to let go and trust Him, not to try and reason it out. And I just couldn't. I want an explanation. I want to know why. I'm not sure what effect knowing will have, whether it will drive me further away or give me a way out.
As I continued grappling, once again God spoke quietly to me. He reminded me of the last time He asked the seemingly impossible of me. For most people, if you asked them what they would most hate God to ask them to do, it would be to go to China as a missionary (or something similar). For me, it was to give up my dream of coming back to SA and staying in the UK permanently. I grappled with that question for months before I could come to a place of relinquishing my home and my family and saying, 'Not my will, but Yours, o Lord.'
But God hadn't asked me to give up my family, or South Africa. In a sense, at that time, I felt like Abraham, who had been given the son he craved, the son God had promised, and then had been asked to sacrifice him. He got to the point of having tied up his son, put him on the altar, and was raising the knife to kill him, when God stopped him. At the time, I felt like God granted me a reprieve. Once I was able to submit, He told me that he didn't require that of me. (Sjoe! That was a close one!)
As I was remembering all this though, it suddenly struck me that God was now asking the 'impossible' of me. The 'impossible' thing God requires of me is not to give up my family, or my home. It is not to give up my job and live without an income. It is not even to give up my own body and live as a disabled person. No, the 'impossible' thing God requires of me is to give up my child, my little Zoe, and to trust that even though she died, God is still all-powerful AND all-loving. Revelation #2.
From experience, I know that until I can do that, I'm not going to move forward in my relationship with God. We've reached an impasse, and God is not going to surrender to me! However, again, from experience, I know that God is patient. He will give me the space and time I need to work through this until I can do the seemingly impossible.
And then, as if that wasn't enough, someone shared a passage that had been given to a group she was praying with on Saturday. It was given in the context of praying for transformation in South Africa. The passage? Isaiah 43:18-19. For the benefit of those who aren't good Jews and can recite the Old Testament prophets at will...
"Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert
and streams in the wasteland."
Well, I think you can gather how startled I was as that passage was shared. In fact, in reading through the whole chapter earlier today, I nearly wept (especially at verses 5-7). The first part of that chapter has always had deep significance for me. It's one that God has given me time and time again at crucial times in my life.
Then, the Bible message email thingy I belong to sent me the following verse today...
"ARISE [from the depression in which circumstances have kept you - rise to a new life]! Shine (be radiant), for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!" Isaiah 60:1, from the Amplified Bible.
Do you think God is trying to say something to me? Just maybe?
Isaiah has to be one of my favourite books in the Bible. God has spoken to me through it so often. It strikes me then as no real surprise that these two passages are both from Isaiah.
I guess the question is: will I have the guts to step into the unknown and let go of my need to understand? Will I trust God despite my lack of understanding. Will I stretch out my hand to take hold of the one He is stretching out to me?
And if I do, what will the implications of that be? Does that mean I will never again be allowed to remember my baby girl, or miss her, or grieve her? Does that mean I will never again allow myself to ask the question my heart most longs to have answered?
Who knows?! Who knows. What I do know is that at the moment I'm stuck, and I'm not capable of moving forward on my own. And I also know that if I continue to stay in this place, I am going to lose my faith - as a consequence of neglect, rather than anything else - and then where will I be? I think this is what is euphemistically referred to as being between a rock and a hard place.
Edited to add... sorry, I forgot to tell you about the sermon. I'm exhausted now, so will do that another time.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Storms
The light at the end of the tunnel is a rubbish analogy when it comes to grief. A much better one would be a storm....
I'm sitting in my classroom, marking tests, with some music playing, when I suddenly realise that I'm singing out loud.
Enthusiastically. Loudly.
And it's a worship song.
Then it hits me - I'm no longer angry with God.
How did this happen, and when? I don't know. But it strikes me that I feel like I'm in a Cape winter storm. Above me a small gap has appeared in the clouds. I can see blue (grey) skies above me. The wind is still howling; the rain is still falling; but for a moment I can feel the warmth of the sun. I know that this may only be a brief respite from the anger of grief, but I'm going to revel in it while it lasts, remembering that 'summer' is just around the corner.
In the words of Geoffrey Rush's character in 'Shakespeare in Love': "It all ends happily. How? I don't know. It's a mystery."
I'm sitting in my classroom, marking tests, with some music playing, when I suddenly realise that I'm singing out loud.
Enthusiastically. Loudly.
And it's a worship song.
Then it hits me - I'm no longer angry with God.
How did this happen, and when? I don't know. But it strikes me that I feel like I'm in a Cape winter storm. Above me a small gap has appeared in the clouds. I can see blue (grey) skies above me. The wind is still howling; the rain is still falling; but for a moment I can feel the warmth of the sun. I know that this may only be a brief respite from the anger of grief, but I'm going to revel in it while it lasts, remembering that 'summer' is just around the corner.
In the words of Geoffrey Rush's character in 'Shakespeare in Love': "It all ends happily. How? I don't know. It's a mystery."
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