Three months have passed since losing the baby and I felt like I was off to a good start, acting as though I had this grieving thing down and could just blast through the process. I have failed miserably at doing that, however, and have spent far too much time than I would've liked in the dark and scary places. I don't know if I'm past it yet, but really hate who I am in it so am eager to move, to breathe without the pressure in my chest, to look up into people's eyes and smile like I mean it. I'm lonely, but don't want anyone around.
It seems that all that was safe and dependable has been lost and I'm fighting the urge to start over completely in an entirely different place. My grief will follow me, that I know, but the things in my life that are like big, sharp, chunky, grains of salt in my wound will not face me every day, tempting me to destroy my relationships, my ability to be involved with anything church-related, and satisfaction with my life as it sits today.
I want the last nine years to have meant something. There are days when I feel like I'm back to square one and all the lessons I learned about waiting patiently for my desire to be fulfilled, loving others who are being blessed while I still wait, being content with the here and now, are not applicable anymore. I know they should have prepared me for this time but I wonder how well I actually, if at all, learned. I'm no longer grieving a desire, but a person who I loved so very much and never got to know. Time, I've decided, and space from all that obligates me, seems to be the only solution. Things I've been involved with over the last few months are slowing down and clearing from my plate and I am not replacing them with anything. Almost like God is saying, "Tiffany...............stop. Stop everything." I'm fighting the urge to reply...."Why? What do YOU want? I don't really want to talk to you right now."
But I sense there are some things that need to be said, some tending-to in the really raw places and as much as I don't want to spend time dissecting my pain I long for the peace that comes afterward. It's like digging around to get that sliver out all the while squirming against the process.
"Hold still so I can get it out."
"Nooo, it hurts!"
"I know it does, sweetheart, but the sooner we get it out the sooner you'll feel better."
And at long last relief comes, trust restored and confirmed in the hand that held the needle. I'm praying God's grace and mercy to cover my life. Praying that I begin to have more good days than bad. Praying that God gives me what I am completely lacking, that I wouldn't be interested in trying to do this alone, that my heart would soften towards Him and what He's obviously doing in my life. Praying for endurance to do this whole waiting thing again, for strength to resist the downward pull into yucky places, for joy to return.
"God wants the combination of his steady, constant calling and warm, personal counsel in Scripture to come to characterize us, keeping us alert for whatever he will do next. Oh! May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope!" (Romans 15:4, 13 The Message)