To start again.....and again.

I am a college student.......again.  Shortly before the new year I made a last minute decision to enroll in classes and complete my nursing school application.  I have no idea if I'm qualified, if I took the right required courses, or if they'll even take a second glance at my application, but I had to throw out a "fleece" to see if it might just work out this time.

This is my fourth college, and not even my last.  I started this process oh, something like 16 years ago when I was a post-secondary student taking college courses while in high school.  I most likely will not master the chemistry course I'm taking now, as much as my pride would like to think I could, but I will not let it discourage me from continuing to walk down this road.

The last time I did this God surprised us with Jeremiah, so I'm walking forward fully aware that at any time something might come about that changes our circumstances.  But just as likely it won't and I'm determined to accomplish my degree.  It's an interesting thing to juggle- my commitment to pursuing this goal and my commitments at home.  I've been preoccupied for the last two weeks, the stress of deadlines completely consuming my free time.  My house is an absolute DIS.AS.TER,  Jeremiah has spent FAR too much time in front of the television, and I can't even remember the last time Lee and I went out on a date.  So it's easy to see the sacrifice we're all making as not worth the end goal, to think I'm being a horrible mom by leaving for a few hours each week, knowing that I'm not the greatest housekeeper (would I even want to be the woman that is? I don't know..) and being gone from the house only makes it worse.  But I've been waiting and sitting and doing some things with my time for the last several years, but I'm excited about challenging myself with a big life goal that is really just up to me to accomplish.

I need this for ME.  Lee's excited for me and fully supports this decision.  It's time for him to be the cheerleader and I think that's good for both of us.  So I will keep plugging away at it, one class at a time, and yet making sure that I am all that Jeremiah needs me to be.  Sounds like a piece of cake, right?  I'm going to do my best to exemplify determination without compromising priorities.

But look at that face.  There's no way that I could turn down an opportunity to make snowballs or go ice skating even if a test about electron configurations is breathing down my neck.

When Zumba meets a rocket ship: a recipe for significance

"Oh...I never got to know you kids," she said, her eyes sad, standing what seemed like several feet below me with her hands on my cheeks.  I can still feel them, those silky fragile hands, aged beyond strength and form. 

They were crooked and frail yet so incredibly tender. 
I didn't want her to pull them away, but at the same time all I could think was, "Why not?  Why didn't you get to know me?"

I don't really know why the feeling of Norma's hands lingers with me.  But it has- for the last 5 days since Aunt Freddee's funeral.

I hardly knew my dad's mother, and my maternal grandmother passed away years before I was born. But my heart still mourns and yearns for a grandmother's touch. I almost can't learn enough about who they were, especially because I know both of them would've been more than just a card at Christmas and birthdays.  They would've been, oh I don't know, more.......significant than that.

Friday's events have lingered with Jeremiah as well, prompting a lot of conversations about where Freddee is now and whether or not there's a map to heaven. 

"I wanna go there!" he said to me but then the conversation led down a rabbit trail that eventually ended with him quoting something or other from the movie, Rio.  His questions about God and heaven are forming, and I feel a tad overwhelmed and yet excited about where Jeremiah's heart is. I know that I'll be answering questions about sin one minute and then giggling together the next about how funny it was when that one bird said, "I'm gonna pop this cage open like a sogey can!" Or so goes Jeremiah's recitation...

What's coming together for me right now is how unexpected things of significance can come about.  Yesterday I purchased a cheap plaster paint-it-yourself-rocket for Jeremiah since the days have been rainy and my patience short. :)  I fully intended for that to be something that would occupy his time so I could complete one task uninterrupted.  But I could absolutely not say no when he looked at me and said, "You can paint this WITH me........if you WANT to." 

Forget showering immediately after an hour's worth of Zumba.  I sat on the kitchen floor, sweaty and sore and not feeling remotely crafty, and grabbed a paint brush.

"I real like doing this with you, Mom."
"I like doing this with you, too, kiddo."

We were done in less than 10 minutes as the majority of the rocket was painted black, J's favorite color.  It was a few minutes out of my day, an interruption in my routine, but incredibly significant time spent in the life of an almost four-year-old. 

It makes me wonder how many of those kinds of moments have passed me by, when something could have been but wasn't. 

For years I wanted someone to step in and be the grandmother I never had- to take a moment with me and make it significant, but really how great of an expectation is that?  Yikes.  Too great for most.  Yet I wonder, perhaps there were far too many days of interrupted routines and the 'should've-called-so-and-so-like-I-thought-about-doing' happen and those potential moments of significance were gone forever.  Who knows if someone wanted to step in yet were sidetracked, like happens to every single one of us, like I almost was today.

I just don't want to see that look in my own eyes when it comes to opportunities to be significant in someone's life.  Because when it comes down to it, there are some people there's no replacement for.

So this is what it feels like......

Lee started his first day working in Rochester this morning.  We've settled into our new house a bit, labored like crazy in the front yard so when we drive up to this new place it might actually feel like ours.  I haven't finished hanging things on the walls- they're not quite familiar enough to me, these DRYWALL structures. We spent 6 years in a plaster and creaky wood built house longing for the ease of drywall and now that we have it, I can't figure out where to put stuff.  I want to walk these walls and have them speak of a settled life here, but we're not there yet. There is such an air of promise here that I am so excited to jump into, but I have to take the time to rest, to settle. ( Hence, the non-blogging for the entire summer) Land first, Tiffany.  Then start walking.

I have to tell you what happened about a month ago. Shortly before Lee moved down (he had to work in Duluth until the end of July) we began talking about how this move was an opportunity for a fresh start in our life.  Where is God leading us?   What things did we need to start being more intentional about? (DATE nights, for one!!!) Those sorts of things launched us into a conversation about how much the past 11 years of infertility have affected our relationship, our goals, etc.  We did some calculations.  91.6% of our entire marriage has been clouded by infertility.  Don't get me wrong- there have been AMAZING times in the last 12 years of our marriage, but never entirely free from that thing hovering in the background, sapping a teeny bit of joy from just about everything.  But along came Jeremiah, sweet thing, who might someday understand that his birth and membership of our family came right smack dab in the middle of the most difficult years of my life and that because of it, he became an incredible lifeline of God's love for me. 

When we started talking about how much time we've devoted to the process of just building our family, we realized how little time we've spent being the foundation of this family.  Who have we become?  We realized that it was due time to start altering course.  So when Lee came down for a visit we went for a motorcycle ride.

It was awesome.  My heart raced as we leaned through curves along the lakeshore, and my mind kept thinking, "YES!  THIS is who we are!"  Windblown and helmets covered with bug guts we grinned at each other. 

I spent the rest of that night thinking and praying about it all.  The next morning Lee had to return to work and I really felt the nudge to attend church.  I'm not a fan of doing that when Lee's not there with me, but I just really felt like I was supposed to go.  I loaded my purse with activities for Jeremiah and found a place in the sanctuary that would make an easy exit possible should he get rowdy.

The worship team began to sing a song that I just really don't care for, but I tried hard not to wince or sink my shoulders in annoyance.  At that very moment God spoke to me.  I've thought about how to write this next part in a way that doesn't make me look like a total fruit, and even as I'm typing this God's saying, "Just write it, Tiffany."  Okay.

Suddenly I saw the Lord's outstretched hand before me.  Darkness surrounded me except for the light glowing from his arm.  Instinctively I reached for it and as I grasped onto it, he began to pull me up.  I didn't even realize I was on my knees but as I stood the darkness I was wearing, and surrounded with, fell away.  Underneath was the most beautiful gown- glowing, fitted perfectly to my form.  The instant the darkness reached the ground he spoke, "Tiffany. I have restored you, and I have restored you to Lee." 

I was flooded with images of a dance.  In "real life" I grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled down the outline of what I saw.  Maybe someday it can actually be acted out- we'll see. The whole thing lasted maybe a minute and afterward I stood there, trembling, pen still poised on my paper. 

And just like that I knew my struggle with infertility was over. God will do whatever he wants with my children, however they come to me, but I don't NEED it to happen a certain way.  He does not need to make things "right" by me.  He called me out and now I just need to walk in obedience to what he did and said.  My daily choice is to remember the power of that moment and to live in it.  It's absolute freedom and I won't go back to the way I was before.   

Now there is even more reason to take time to settle in.  My heart was just completely made over and I need to let it marinate.  The excitement of what's to come will not cause me to skip this step of rest, especially when I wondered for so many years when rest would come.  Wondering what it would look like when it was finally over for me.

So this is what it feels like.

From How to Who

We move in one week.  I'm up to my eyeballs in boxes and more than anything else all I want to do is mop my floors.

Not kidding.  They're disgusting and the only reason I haven't busted out my mop & glow is that I know in a matter of hours there will be graham cracker crumbs and dust bunnies dislodged from underneath the abyss that is called my refrigerator. Not to mention muddy dog paws that seem to reappear after every potty break taken in the back yard.  All this is progress- boxes mean moving.  I hate it.  Chaos, even necessary chaos drives me absolutely insane.

So should it really surprise me that during all this necessary chaos we should get another phone call asking if we're interested in adopting again?  It shouldn't surprise me 'cause apparently that's how things get rolling in our family.

These past few months have been very interesting.  Who am I kidding?  My life is always.........interesting.  I don't think I'll be able to operate in the mundane, as refreshing as it might sound.  After meeting with our fertility specialist in February, months after pursuing what we expected to be a very 'simple' treatment for our infertility issues, we walked away seriously considering something we never thought we would. 
11 years of that blasted "I" word is staring us in the face come August and it's time for it to be over.  We're considering in-vitro fertilization to be our last ditch effort to carry a pregnancy to term.  I fight to try to figure out how much is left to me to pursue and decide and how much I need to just let go of.  11 years into it and I'm still baby steps away from square one.  Do we have to pursue in-vitro so I can say we exhausted all our options?  I'm still working that out, but I do know one thing:  I'm ready for infertility to stop controlling my life.

I've almost let Infertility take things away from me.  I say almost because God has given me a husband, who more than anything, has fought to keep ME.  ME, the woman he fell in love with and married, not the woman that infertility could have changed me into.  He would not allow me to lose myself to this process, would not allow me to stop fighting to salvage what was still left of that goofy 19 year-old girl he married. 

I say almost because God has given me a mother who has walked it before me, has lived her own perpetual grief and yet has CLUNG to her faith, who has shown me what it looks like to stay pliable in the midst of pain. 

I say almost because God has simplified the most complex of emotions into a simple statement of love for me in the form of my tulip garden.

So I'm not surprised when in the midst of making decisions about how I can end this process and choose when things get to be over, selling our house and buying one that has more bedrooms than we actually need and praying that God would fill them, that we get a phone call from a friend who has a friend who has a nephew who has 2 babies................and here we go. 

God is persistent in proving to me over and over again that He's got it all worked out.  The fact that it comes at the most ridiculous times for me just proves that it's Him.  The MOMENT I try to take charge, no kidding, He does something absurd.  Awesome, but absurd.  When I titled this blog post I was thinking about how my focus has shifted from how I was going to become a mother to who I was going to mother.  It's still true, but as I've been writing God's been saying, "Tiffany- your subject, Who, is ME." 
I keep hmm-ing while writing this post.  That's why I love it.  God works on me while I write.

I keep doing that.  I keep trying to figure out how I'm supposed to think, how I'm supposed to be and God keeps saying to me...........not HOW.  WHO?

So I will do my best to answer in the moment.

You are God of the universe - the loving creator of everything.  You, who set time and space into motion, and dreamed to fill it with man- a broken but beautiful creature you just can't help but love and consistently redeem.  You are the keeper and caregiver to my babies in Heaven, who you planned and carefully tended to for the days that they were with me and who get to see your face before I do.  You, who while I was in the midst of difficulty trusting, fighting you for what I wanted, set things into motion in MEXICO that eventually brought Jeremiah into my arms. You, who knows the amount of breaths I get to take and the number of hairs on my head- who takes the time to craft such beautiful tulips in my flower bed as a reminder of your faithfulness to me.  You, who gently tips my chin up saying, "Not how, Tiffany...........WHO.  Me."

I can't help but trust you. 

Onward

Our house is officially on the market.  We've had a several showings over the last two weeks and I am more than anxious to progress to the next step.  I don't know when a buyer will come along, but that was the whole purpose of getting the house on the market early, to give us time before life in Rochester begins. 

I don't know how to say goodbye.  I've never been very good at it.  I don't know how to tie up loose ends with relationships that will forever be altered by distance.  It was difficult to paint over the growth chart Lee and I started for Jeremiah on the kitchen doorframe. Transferring that information over to paper seemed......well, less somehow.  But life happens.  Change is unavoidable.  There is only so much that we can pack up and take with us.

So how do you pack up and take along relationships?  Given, the age of social networking has enabled them to continue or re-engage, but what about old-fashioned living life together kind of relationships?  Wanting desperately to maintain what once was doesn't necessarily mean that's the healthy, natural progression of them.  Almost seven years in Duluth has given us TONS of memories, great friendships, many 'firsts' in our life.  It's the longest we've ever spent in one place and even though we've moved several times in our marriage, I feel like I'm learning how to leave and say goodbye all over again.  It is not my strength but I want to do it well. 

The storm seemed to have passed rather quickly; the ability to hold on, hunker down and wait for signs of calm is getting easier and easier. 

In hindsight I cannot minimize or discredit my hopes- they were pure, honest and real.  In hindsight I cannot take hopes unfulfilled and toss them.  I do not know what from my past means for my future but this one thing:  I will continue to stand, and if I fall it will not be for long.  I get no other say in the matter but that.  I do not get to say when this is done, I do not get to change what has already happened- the only shot I call is whether or not to keep standing.

I could not stop the onslought of memories that brought me back to kneeling on the bathroom floor, arms protectively wrapped around my womb, begging God to spare the life of my baby; the sound of my dad sobbing on the phone when I called to tell him the baby was gone; cleaning off my miscarried baby and sending it to heaven with this blessing-
Go rest with Jesus, my darling....

The waves of absolute brokenness come without warning at times.  I will not seek for truth in those moments- I will let them ride out, determined that they will not wash me away.  I will cling to the knowledge that it breaks, the tide of pain breaks, if but only for a while, and then there is rest.

I cannot stop those moments, but I will let them pass and they will not damage me.

It is true that I will be saddened and grieved about the pain of life.  This world is full of it, but if I cannot move beyond it, if I cannot recall the pain without being brought right back to the moment of injury and getting stuck there, then what victory have I really allowed Christ to have in my life? 

I will not leash the power of God.  Not for one minute.

All it took was one question.  I wasn't prepared for it and even though it wasn't directed at me, I couldn't react.  I just turned around and walked away.  'Quickly, find something else to think about.  Grab that plate, ask Jeremiah if he needs something else to eat.  Is there still pop left in that can?' Anything, think about anything but the answer to that question.

"Wait, don't you have two kids now?" she asked Lee.
"No, just Jeremiah."

A brief look of confusion flashed across her face before I escaped.  I spent the rest of last night trying to regain my equilibrium, hoping the conversation would not return to that topic, hoping she would wait until we were gone from the party to get an answer to her curiousity. 

It's been over a year and a half, the time spent doing my very best to move forward and I was suddenly back to crying myself to sleep, prayers mingled in the giant mess somewhere.

Today I'm surprised by my weakness, wishing it weren't so easy to cry, wondering if this will ever be over this side of heaven. 

I feel tethered to the pain.  The chain has lengthened these last 10 years, and sometimes I feel like it's not even there.  But then a question, one innocent well-meaning question asked, and I find myself staring up at the sky, backside smarting from the unexpected flop as I've been yanked back.  I'm crawling to my knees today, doing my best to clean up and start walking again.

It reminds me of one afternoon while Lee and I were waiting for the first birthmom to make her final decision about her baby.  Incredibly emotionally strung we spent some time along the St. Croix river in Stillwater hoping that distraction would help ease some of our tension.  Sitting along the cement retaining wall I held onto our dog's leash when suddenly he started running towards another dog throwing me off-balance.  My grip was strong, but still I found myself falling into the water scraping my arms and legs against the cement on my way down.  Lee's strong arms helped me out of the water and as I made it back to the grass I could only stare numbly at my scraped and bloodied skin.  I was dripping wet and still bleeding as Lee gently secured me in the truck.  I knew he was waiting.  I was waiting, waiting for it all to collapse. 

The scars from that day are gone, the pain only a memory.  My season of waiting for resolution and healing didn't last long, and there was finally a day when the memory of that time didn't make me weep.  The addition of Jeremiah brought tremendous healing for me-I remember that well.  I'm trying to hold onto that as hope for right now.   

I've spent years buffering myself against pain, toughening my "skin" against well-meant questions and comments and in the process created quite an untouchable shrine in my own heart.  My very private place of pain that no one could really touch.  But I am not impenetrable.  My pain does not belong there, and most certainly does not belong held selfishly in my heart.  So I will do with it what I feel God is asking me to do, offering it as my most sacred  and vulnerable possession as a form of offering.  Can pain be presented to God as an act of worship?

But it is what I will do, even if my hands are still bloody while I lift them upward.

I've been staring at this jigsaw puzzle for what seems like hours- not sure where to put these pieces.  I know they are part of the sky that backdrops dinosaurs meandering down a dusty path.  I know where they belong, but they just don't fit together.  It doesn't help that the pieces are not standard jigsaw shapes, but odd and nonsensical morphed ones that I would NEVER expect a 3-year-old to comprehend regardless of what the box says.  So I'm stuck here, staring at this image slowly coming together and wondering how what I'm holding in my hands is going to work into the big picture.

It's a surprisingly accurate metaphor for my life right now.  I have no idea where I fit, or where I'm supposed to be.  I don't know where I'm going.  I feel like I'm wasting time, wasting myself, staring at this "picture" where the pieces just don't fit together.

I realize that being in a state of limbo will never be a comfortable place for anyone, even those that like change, but I cannot seem to rid myself of the feeling that I'm supposed to be doing something. I do know where we're going- our move to Rochester is right around the corner, and maybe having a huge life change within grasp makes me feel restless. 

My life is consumed with preparations for our move, with little time for anything else.  My to-do list is scarily similar to a lazy-susan, just spinning around and around in my head until I can slowly clear things off.  Lately my life has been balancing that with a 3-year-old boy that seems to be a walking protest to my unavailability.  He doesn't understand that what I'm doing is for our ultimate benefit.  He just knows that he's not getting from me what he wants. 

He can't see the big picture.

Ugh.....  He's kind of like me. 

I wish I could say that I behave better than my son when his patience has expired, that I don't throw my own kind of tantrum and freak out when circumstances just don't seem to jive with what I'm wanting.  I wish I could say that I've matured so much in my life and in my faith that I'm able to offer him great life lessons about trust, patience, and unselfishness.  But I find that I still have a 3-year-old's heart when I'm holding the puzzle pieces in my hand, frustration growing, and all I hear is, "It's time to put that away- we're not finishing that right now."

So instead of trying to force the pieces together, (which is something I try all too often to do and usually ends up looking like a picasso-ish disaster because I just wanted the stupid thing done already so I could move on), I'm learning to let the empty spaces between them remind me of adventures not yet taken, answers yet to be given.

I'm learning that those spaces allow room for hope and possibilities to surprise me. 

Who knows? 

There just might be a whole panoramic view in between those two pieces of sky.

Finding agates and burning quads

One Saturday afternoon a few weeks back we loaded the truck with our bikes and headed up the shore.  Countless times before we've said we wanted to ride the paved path along the Lake Superior Hiking Trail and with Fall upon us, our chances for doing it were closing in fast. 

It was gorgeous.  The birch along the shoreline were in their color-changing prime.  Curving in and out of the woods, mostly uphill the first half, our bikeride was exhilerating and exhausting.  We stopped on a bridge just past Iona's Beach, and because of the wind, the water came crashing in along the cliff beneath us.
"Jeremiah, do you want to get out and look at the water?"  I asked.

"No....I gonna see it from right here."  His tentative expression told me he wasn't quite thrilled with the idea of peering over the edge of the railing.  I understood, not being a huge fans of heights myself.  But that day, the thrill of riding fast down hills and peering over high railings was irresistable.  We made it to Split Rock Lighthouse a while later and while sitting on a bench in the sun ate pears so ripe and juicy our water bottles were unnecessary.  We stopped along a beach on the way back and let Jeremiah throw rocks in the water for a while.  He, after all, had merely been a spectator the entire afternoon, perched cozily in his bike trailer.  Energy abounding he grabbed the closest stick and began exploring the rocks.  Both Lee and I sat- our leg muscles burning and too wobbly to do much else. 

"Look, Mommy- I found an agate!  See the colors?"  Jeremiah said as he held up a tiny speckled rock.   It wasn't an agate, but I loved that he assumed my most treasured lakefront pastime.

It wasn't much longer that my legs finally regained enough strength to join Jeremiah in the search.  And that's when I found it.  Years upon years of sifting through lake rock and I hit the jackpot.  The biggest, most beautiful agate I've ever found seemed to jump out at me.  Lee was on the other end of the inlet as I casually made my way over to him, the rock BURNING a hole in my pocket!  My nonchalance was ridiculous because Lee took one look at my eyes and knew I had trumped him once again.  (You see, it's taken years, but I've finally convinced Lee that agate-hunting is irresistable but he thinks if he's going to spend that much time with his nose to the rocks that the payoff should be often and BIG!)

I'll spare you the details of my subtle, and sometimes not so subtle gloating and just say that it was as close to a perfect day as I could've hoped for.  It's been a long time coming.  As each day passes and I'm that much farther away from my dark and scary place I feel more and more like myself again.  A different version of myself, stronger somehow and more sensitive, too, in other places- but me!  I couldn't help revelling in the freedom as the wind whipped through my hair.  Let me tell you this, though, my life is far from some emotional made-for-tv-movie where the main character stands on a cliff with the wind swirling her hair as the camera pans out and the credits start to roll.  But that afternoon was pretty close- and you know what?  I'll take those moments any chance I can.

Sometimes a fresh coat of pain does the trick~

(Previously a wine color)

I spent Labor Day weekend laboring.  The dining room and living room are fantastic new colors and have completely changed the feel in my house.

I needed something different.

Even with huge life change right around the corner and a new house in the mix of things, I still needed something to change right now.  Especially since I feel like myself again.  I just came out of a haze that has been the last few weeks, no thanks to the medication I was on, and can breathe. We decided to pause our treatments for a while- even perhaps until after our move to Rochester.  While the last few bits of chemicals were working their way out of my body I reached the epitome of all craziness.  Hysterical sobbing became my nightly ritual and by the third night I knew I wasn't going to swallow that crazy pill ever again.   Ever. 

(Previously yellow walls)

I don't understand why these cysts keep recurring, and my normal tendency is to examine and analyze what they mean- what's God trying to tell me, what do I need to be doing differently- the whole lot.  A friend asked me recently, "Tiffany, are you the type of person that analyzes everything or is a cyst sometimes just a cyst?"


Perhaps it's a literal "bump" in the road?  An opportunity to rest instead of get worked up into the stressful hype that is infertility treatments?  I needed this break- even though I fought against it for the first few weeks.  I was ready to be done with it all, even if Lee wasn't.  For the first time in 10 years we found ourselves in flip-flopped positions.  But it wasn't long into our conversation that Lee spoke some kick-me-in-the-butt truth into my life.

When 10 years is actually like 15 minutes

If a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day, then the past 10 years of my life are as long as HALF of a sitcom on television (15 minutes) and 3,650,000 years.  Somehow I can relate to both.

I was telling Lee the other day, "How is it that I can be dealing with the same stuff after all these years?  Why is it I can't see more progress?"  But I've also just blinked- and here we are.  Married almost 11 years with an almost 3 year-old. 

15 minutes isn't a whole lot of time for extreme makeovers- even the best make-up artist in Hollywood would have their hands tied.  But 3,650,000 years?  Honey, a whole lot can get done in that amount of time.  Hindsight perspective would show progress, but on a very slow, incremental timeline.  That's how I feel today, that as much as I've been willing to progress and desiring to move forward, I'm inching along through far-too-familiar poo.

I'm impatient.  I'm tired.  I don't want to do this anymore.  I can't stop but I don't want to keep going.  Ever have days/weeks/years like that?  God's completely at work in our lives right now, but I'm so stuck today on what isn't happening that I'm struggling to adjust my focus to what's is happening right now. 

We are moving to Rochester next year and are really excited about it.  When the call came about it on Sunday evening I wondered if we would be able to get good news twice in one week, but round 2 of fertility treatments failed today and I'm not happy about it.  I'm so frustrated that I can't even properly thank God for what He's doing about our move.

I should be better at this.  This is where frustration moves from my circumstances to myself and no matter where I look there's disappointment.  I'm not handling this like someone with 10 years of experience.  I don't want to walk forward with this lingering over me, so I want to deal with it.  Right now.

I have the next 3 hours before I go into the clinic and start the next round of treatments to let God absolutely do what no Hollywood make-up artist would ever even dream of being able to do. 
I'm going to let him completely re-work my heart. 
He's done it countless times before (plus the 120 times I HAVE been counting) and He will do it again.

Tried and true, Fernando Ortega's album, The Shadow Of Your Wings: Hymns and Sacred Songs is now playing on my computer as I continue to write.  Ahhhhh........truth from scripture that I can sing along to.

He is patient.  He does not tire.  He never wavers.  He remembers that in comparison to him I am like the grass that withers away in the sun, therefore has no expectations that I'm going to be perfect at this, or that after 10 years I should have this figured out to a science.  Whether it's one day, 15 minutes, a thousand years or 3,650,000 years, it makes no difference to Him. 

"So roll up your sleeves, put your mind in gear, be totally ready to receive the gift that's coming when Jesus arrives.  Don't easily slip back into the grooves of evil, doing just what you feel like doing.  You didn't know any better then; you do now. As obedient children, let yourselves be pulled into a way of life shaped by God's life, a life energetic and blazing with holiness.  God said, "I am holy; you be holy."  1 Peter 1:13-16

"Just remember, the mess you make is the mess you clean up," was my response to Jeremiah this morning when he asked if he could cut with scissors.  We have this conversation every time. But no matter how many times I tell him, when he's finished there are small scraps of construction paper littering my dining room floor and his desire to clean up is nonexistent.
"Pretend to be a dump truck, Jeremiah!  Scoop it up and DUUUMP it out."
"No I don't wanna do dat."
"Okay, well you don't have to pretend to be a dump truck but you still need to clean up your mess."

What came next in the conversation was an expression of his new-found sense of independence.  I'll spare you the details, but it resulted in Jeremiah spending a little bit of time sitting on the step in a time-out.  Being separated from our company is heartbreaking and it doesn't usually take but about 30 seconds before he is saying, "I'm ready to be a good listener, Mom!"  I'm trying to recognize when the attitude in his heart has changed versus his attempt to exert control and say when his time out is over.  It's hard. 

I don't always get it right. Sometimes I make him wait the full 2 minutes, other times I respond immediately with our post time-out conversation.  I want him to learn that just because we're ready for something to be over, even if our hearts are in the right place, it doesn't necessarily mean that it will be over.

Tell. Me. About. It.

Today marks 10 years of our infertility journey.  I kind of hate the word "journey".  It seems redundant and overused and boring.  So 10 years into our infertility whatever-word-is-better-than-journey, I find myself facing a date that I NEVER thought I'd see and certaily hoped I wouldn't.  I was ready for this 'whatever' to be over, hmmm, about 9 years and 7 months ago.  But it's taken me every moment of the last 10 years to get to THIS place, where I can say that as difficult as it's been, it's also something I've been entrusted with. 

I was talking to a friend earlier today and she asked me if, since our diagnosis, I struggled with bitterness toward God or other doctors because of how common my issue is and if I wondered why this wasn't discovered 10 years ago. Honestly, I spent all of maybe 5 minutes thinking about it after we first met with Dr. Corfman, because I could not think that and look at Jeremiah without realizing that if it had been discovered all those years ago, he would not be mine. 

So when I think about the time I've spent walking in intense conversation with God, I realize what a privilege it all has been.  Crazy? Perhaps.  You should know by now that I'm not a pie-in-the-sky kind of gal but I can tell you this right now- I've spent far too much time trying to figure out what I needed to learn, or how I needed to change the condition of my heart (beneficial processes however) and not enough time accepting what I've been given, or been entrusted with.  I want to walk through this "assignment" well-and not just for the purpose of getting to the other side, but because I want to honor the One who gave it to me.

I'll let him decide when it's over.

"Each of you should continue to live in whatever situation the Lord has placed you, and remain as you were when God first called you." (1 Corinthians 7:17 emphasis added)

When dreaming of teak pergolas...

The smell of this crisp northern Minnesota air is changing as the summer is progressing.  Today it's raining and I can smell the promise of Fall.  Big changes might be coming for us in the next few months, the biggest one obviously being a possible pregnancy.  We also might begin the transfer process to another part of the state. 

Though we don't even know if we'll be moving, I've already begun the list in my head of all the things I'll do differently in my life, my house, my garden.  The list actually began shortly after we moved into this house when we realized how much space around us we actually NEED.  I'm not talking, "Oh, we've got so much stuff that we need a bigger house."  It's more like I-can't-look-out-any-window-of-my-house-without-looking-directly-into-my-neighbor's-living-room, kind of need for space.  I can't stand it, and the idea of living on 30 wooded acres with a possible river running through the property just sends me into an ethereal daydream I don't want to leave. 

It's hard to look at my life, my surroundings, and not think about all the ways that it could be better.  No 100+ year-old paint chipping off of doorframes and floors that have needed to be resurfaced since 1995, but maybe a back deck framed in a Teak pergola woven with wisteria and paper lanterns.  No more, "My back lawn isn't grass at all, it's just a dense ground-cover WEED," but maybe a rolling grassy lawn with a big maple tree in the middle where there's a swing and a treehouse with a collapsable ladder and a mounted telescope for late-night, mid-summer star gazing.

 

Doesn't that sound fantastic?  I can get caught up in it so easily, we all can.  "Keeping up with the Jones'", comparing our lives to others and what they have that we want, or even being motivated to work out harder because you'd like to have the abs of the girl on the Zumba video (guilty here of all counts, by the way).

But I was challenged many years ago, when we first started our journey of 'why-isn't-what-I-want-happening-yet', by my mother who asked me what pain I'd like to have instead.  Instead of complaining about the difficulites in my life, studying my discontent and basically telling God that He's not quite handling my life very well, that perhaps I should see my struggle in a different light.

Would I switch with someone else who was trudging through a different kind of pain?  Like perhaps the family on the news who's son disappeared from school.  His mom just hasn't been able to straighten the covers on her little boy's bed because he left it messy the last time she saw him- would I like to trade places with her?

So maybe the next time that my grief wants to swallow me whole, or when my relationships seem to be just a bit disappointing, or that roll of fat just WON'T go away, I'll remember that it's not about me- not about what I want and what's not happening for me- and I'll pull up my boostraps once again and gratefully walk forward.  Even if it is just out into my weed infested, uneven, clay-packed backyard.

Maybe this isn't about me~

Three months ago Lee and I decided to pursue our final option in this whole twisted infertility journey.  As much as we've pursued treatments in the past, we never felt like we were dealing with a doctor that specialized in infertility, so that possibility was always out there, floating around. 

It's been interesting, balancing this infertility-stuff with already being a mom, wanting Jeremiah to always know what an incredible blessing he has been in our lives. His existence has made me what I've waited my whole life to become, Mommy.  He is more than we could've ever asked for in our firstborn.  That's what he is-our firstborn, even if he wasn't born from my womb. 

We've always wanted a few kids, and as much as we would like to adopt again, the desire to be pregnant has never gone away.

I kept hearing about a doctor from the Cities, specializing in infertility, who made monthly trips to a clinic here in Duluth. The recommendations to see him where persistent enough that I felt like if I didn't just go and see him I would never stop hearing about it. I was going to go and just check it off the list and close the door forever.

I wasn't prepared to have hope come ripping through our lives again.

The diagnosis: 10 minutes into our meeting with Dr. Corfman, we were diagnosed with a very common, and very treatable condition:  Poly cystic Ovarian Syndrome.  We left that meeting with the most calming sense of relief.  Finally, after 10 years, we actually knew what the problem was.

The plan: One month of birth control pills followed by 6 months of relatively easy treatments (a combination of ultrasounds and medications).  Dr. Corfman said he didn't think we would even need to see him again, that confident that our problems would be solved.

This new leg of the journey started in April, and four months into the process I've just finally been able to actually start the treatments.  A completely normal cyst appeared on one of my ovaries which delayed treatments by 3 months.  I cannot tell you how frustrating it was to feel, at long last, like we were able to step forward only to be halted in our tracks.  After 10 years you'd think 3 months would be no big deal, but I struggled, thinking, "Haven't we had to wait long enough?  Why another complication?"

Round 1 was unsuccessful, and again I'm struggling.  My long-waged war with hope has crept up on me again. The flip-side to hope being disappointment, of which I've tasted for so long that I feel silly for hoping at all.

"Tiffany, did you really think this was going to work? Haven't the last several years proved otherwise?"

"Aren't you satisfied with the child that you have?  Isn't that enough for you?  How ungrateful are you???"

It's ridiculous, and these things that I struggle with are LIES- I know that- but it's my process month after month x 120 months.

This is the time when all I have left is to go back to the basics. 

What is faith?

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." (Hebrews 11:1 emphasis added)  
"And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him." (Hebrews 11:6)


 Hope and faith are tied together.  I cannot believe that God is able to do something and not hope that He will.  That was my biggest struggle for so many years- I believed that God could, but that
He wouldn't for me. 

Why? 

Because of past sin in my life? 

Because maybe I was just being used, like a puppet, for God to communicate some truth to the masses (that just might be paying attention to my life)? 

Because I am just... that... slow... in learning what God was wanting to teach me before this would be resolved?

Or how about this?  Maybe this isn't about me.........at all.  The selfish person in me says, "How cannot it NOT be about me?  It's MY pain!!"  

But what if the affects on me are important by-products but not the main goal? 

What if all these years of waiting are actually because of God's intricate, love-motivated plans for my children?  Maybe all these years of waiting are because there's a specific timing for when all my children are born. What they are going to accomplish, or give, or motivate, or change in the world is delicately woven into this great story that just hasn't started yet for the rest of them. 

Jeremiah's has- oh, does that boy have a story about the importance of his existence, of that I'm sure, and I cannot tell you what a privilege it is to be a vital part of it.  This time alone with Jeremiah, before any other children arrive, is vital to what God is going to accomplish in his life. 

So as I prepare myself to begin Round 2, I am readjusting my thinking.  I walk forward, knowing that God is not in the business of wasting time.  I continue to hope, embracing the disappointment if it should come, and believing that God is making beautiful things out of this whole story all along the way.

Empty places to fill

I'm a recent subscriber to (in)courage, a fantastic blog written by extraordinary women I hope to have the privilege of meeting someday.  One story in particular really spoke to me as I read how a woman suffered the loss of her baby at 18 weeks, enduring the labor and delivery of her stillborn daughter.

I almost couldn't read it, the pull to return to my dark and scary places so strong that I had to read bits at a time, forcing myself to stay in the present.  It was actually a really good exercise for me, to stay in the now, where I seem to be spending almost all of my time these days.  What a relief to feel like I'm on the other side of the hump able to make continual steps forward.  A year later and I finally feel like myself again.

Do you know what the most interesting part of this process has been?  I actually feel blessed to have suffered- it's the strangest thing.  If you had asked me a year ago if I felt like it was a privilege to watch my long-awaited miracle rip from my body I would have spiraled into the deep.  Looking back though, I can say I've never in my life experienced a season where I've been so raw and vulnerable before God.  Never have I been more bare, more naked of soul.  To finally understand that I don't need to always "feel" God's presence to trust that He is not only there, but active. 

Easter had special meaning for me, especially as I read Arianne's post.  We spent the morning together as a family, revelling in the memory-making with Jeremiah and I wondered if my grief has made me a better mother to him.  That if in the whole process I've been able to show him how to cling on for dear life, to wait patiently with hope (my longtime nemesis and now friend), to cherish every incredible moment and milestone, to fiercely fight through the dark and scary places, but most importantly how to love the God that we don't always understand. To let God mold, especially in the suffering. 

I've been searching for significance in this whole journey since it started, more focused on how my desire would eventually be fulfilled than on what God is doing in and around me.  To have made our life, our pain, our story "public" means that others are watching and waiting with us and I can't help but think of the disciples after Jesus' crucifixion.  How their faith was tested when they had to see the God they believed in die, to wait while grieving their loss, to hope that loss wasn't the final chapter, to know that their process was so very public.  What must if have been like to see their broken hearts and yet their stubborn determination to see it through? 

So again my focus shifts and I cannot help but think of my incredible little boy, who is sponging up more of my life than I'm aware of and the incredible privilege it is to have him with us.  What I want Jeremiah to believe about God has to be lived out in my own life and with that I will continue to step forward.

So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while. These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.

1Peter 6-7

*I've been motivated to make my blog a bit more interactive and with that I pose this question:  Are YOU waiting for something?  Perhaps you're trudging your way through your own dark and scary place- tell me your story!

Knots and Tangles

My life was changed a few weeks ago. Not anything drastic or really noticeable from the outside. I still throw my hair up in a ponytail far more than I'd like to (no glamour mommy, here), still haven't cleaned under my refrigerator since we installed it, can't bring myself to wear socks to bed even though my feet are always freezing , and only moved the Christmas garland from the porch railing to the porch floor 3 weeks AFTER Christmas. All of those things are the same as they've ever been for me.

My heart on the other hand, is different.

I met with a friend of mine at the beginning of December. 2009 was a difficult year for both of our families and I get a ton of comfort from sharing that with her. I am understood, no talking necessary. A few days before we met for coffee I had come to a startling realization while doing the dishes. Why that's thinking-time for me, I don't know, but monotony produces introspection. I was rinsing plates and loading them into the dishwasher when I stopped midstream, water dripping onto my toes when I thought: In all my beliefs of God's sovereignty and goodness, I realized that although I believed God COULD bless us with a healthy pregnancy I didn't believe that He WOULD.

For some reason I believed that it was my destiny to live in perpetual grief and unfulfilled desire just so God could show that He was in charge and I wasn't going to get my way.

When I told my friend this, it almost felt like a confession and saying it out loud was relieving. Doubt had been harbored in my mind and heart for the entire year and I finally leaked it out. I wasn't depressed by my admission, but it didn't feel like acceptance either- it was just out. Even though some relief came, it didn't feel like truth. Honesty perhaps, but not truth.

Not 3 days later our pastor preached about hope. I sighed and groaned internally throughout the message- not because I didn't like it, oh no, because it pierced me through and through.

A few days later I received a mailing from Chip Ingram's ministry, Living on the Edge. This is how it read:

Dear Tiffany,


NEED HOPE?---------------------> Romans 5:1-5


What do you do when you get discouraged? When everything in you just wants to give up, throw in the towel, or just flat out cry?


I have found that discouragement births in my thinking. Proverbs 23:7 says, "As a man thinks, so he is." The gate to your heart is your mind. What you allow yourself to believe about your circumstances may be the most important decision you make every day.


So what if you viewed your present circumstances- whether painful or pleasant- through the lens of God's wisdom? What would it do for your soul? Your emotions?


Get HOPE-------------------------> Romans 11:33-36



Hope comes when we choose to look at all of life through the lens of God's wisdom. The wisdom of God tells us that He will bring about the best possible results by the best possible means, for the most possible people, for the longest possible time.

Ever have those times where God communicates so clearly that you almost feel like an idiot because how obvious He makes it? I've known all along that the experience of this last year is full of meaning and purpose, that nothing goes to waste if I keep myself open to what God is doing. What I hadn't grasped was that the experience of this last year is God's PERFECT means to His PERFECT ends. If there was a calmer, gentler, more loving way of accomplishing whatever He's doing, THAT would have been my reality. I cannot tell you how many times I asked, "This way, God? Could there not have been a different way?"

But no, there could not, and I cannot be angry with him anymore. I cannot possibly understand how this all works together and therefore cannot tell him how to do it differently. I'm seeing knots and tangles, places where the yarn has been torn and retied, frayed a bit in some places, like-new in others. What I know is that God promises redemption-when I will see in full what He did with my life.

Have you ever come on anything quite like this extravagant generosity of God, this deep, deep wisdom? It's way over our heads. We'll never figure it out.

Is there anyone around who can explain God?
Anyone smart enough to tell him what to do?
Anyone who has done him such a huge favor that God has to ask his advice?
Everything comes from him;
Everything happens through him;
Everything ends up in him.
Always glory! Always praise!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Romans 11:33-36

To Hope for Bliss~

I survived November 7th. Approaching like a giant tidal wave, my original due date scared the living crap out of me. I kept thinking these last few months, "If I'm at least pregnant again by the time my first due date comes, then it will be at least a bit easier". I don't know why I expected any of this process to be made easier, but I guess I kind of thought that God would buffer the continuous blows along the way. I wasn't asking for it to become easy; there is no way that it could have been, but perhaps without the bitter sting of scraping along the gritty bottom. I felt that if I could at least just live with my head above water for a bit I could SEE the place I would finally be marooned. But as each blow came I was pulled under, swirled around, and left sputtering and gasping for air, relief, peace.


A friend began to pray Psalm 91 for me knowing what was coming my way, asking God to tuck me under His wings and let the storm pass over me, that I would be sheltered, protected, and possibly even comforted. Intensity grew with each day that passed, finally peaking the day my friend delivered her baby due the same time mine was. Weeping into Lee's arms I kept asking, "Why did it have to be this way? Why? Why like this?" And even as I wept for my babies, my disappointment, my absolute brokenness, I knew what God was asking me to do.


Let it go.

No more should've-beens, no more what-ifs, no more whys, AND go to the hospital to visit this brand new baby girl, something that I had already decided months ago that I wasn't going to be able to do. I still don't understand why God keeps asking me to do these really hard things, why I feel like I'm under constant demolition and construction. I understand that suffering produces all these incredible qualities, but was I really that bad to start off with that I required this much character-producing heartache?


A few Sundays ago a drama video played during the service where "God" took a hammer and chisel to this guy to shape and mold, blah blah. All the while this video played and I heard the "tink-tink" of the chisel and I couldn't help but think how inaccurate the drama was. Maybe for that guy it was as simple as "tink-tink" here, and "tink-tink" there with a little "Ooh, ouch that hurts", but nothing about these last several years (this one in particular) has felt anything like a chisel. How about a wrecking ball? Explosives? THAT I'd like to see in a drama.

So as I prepared to go to the hospital I was expecting to be shattered once again. But an interesting thing happened as I made my way to my friend's room........I was okay. I didn't even have to stuff it or pretend; I was actually okay and not once while I was there did I think that I should've been across the hall in my own room. Walking the hall with Jeremiah toward the elevator, a hospital volunteer bent down, greeted him and asked if she could give him a trick-or-treat bag. For some reason being able to share that moment with Jeremiah, where his eyes got huge when he squeaked out a humble, "Sank-ooo!" (thank you), was a sweet time when I wondered if the whole time at the hospital was going to be torturous. I loved that it ended up being a fun, meaningful time for not only me and Jeremiah, but for me and my friend as well.

Holding her baby was healing for me, ending the anticipation of something I thought was going to be excruciating. Not once while I held her did I have to say, "This is not my baby." I had already held a newborn after my loss and I can't tell you why that helped me, but it did. So as I left the hospital I felt undeniable relief. A promising sense considering how I had spent the last several months. I only hoped it would continue through my due date.

And wouldn't you know? It did. Not a sense of bliss, certainly not, but breathing room in the noose I've been wearing. Is it possible that I'm on my way out of "The Great Sadness", like is described in The Shack? Like I mentioned in my last post, I've been at odds with myself in how to approach this season of silence with God. Tempted to escape it all and satisfy whatever I feel like satisfying and then wanting to stick it out to prove myself faithful, desiring to put myself into God's good graces. I just want it to be made right, I want to walk in success- even if it's just for a while. I want this all to mean something beyond the promise of personal growth.

O Lord, come back to us! How long will you delay?
Take pity on your servants!
Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love,
so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.
Give us gladness in proportion to our former misery!
Replace the evil years with good.
Let us, your servants, see you work again;
let our children see your glory.

And may the Lord our God show us his approval
and make our efforts successful.
Yes, make our efforts successful! (Psalm 90:13-17)

So I guess I stick it out and wait for God to make it right, for my years of suffering to be replaced with years of bliss (can I be so bold as to hope for bliss?), for the days and days upon days upon years of emotional and spiritual construction to be fruitful, successful and with much-awaited approval from God.

I have a moment of peace right now. It's naptime, freshly baked ginger snap cookies are cooling on the countertop, and pandora.com is soothing me with ballads from the likes of Allison Krauss and Patty Griffin.

This is the only moment of peace I've had so far today. It's been a day full of pain and I'm so very exhausted but I find that my desire to write has finally returned after a several month hiatus. Depleted beyond words I've had nothing to say. Nothing intelligible, anyway, as the tides of continuous grief have swept over and over again. We lost another baby in July and the following two months were consumed with almost insurmountable anger. I do not ever want to experience pain like this again. My faith has been bloodied and I've begun to live in expectation of grief rather than joy. I expect pain rather than blessings and am not sure what to do with that. I'm disappointed that this is what I've become and wonder just exactly what God thinks of me.

But even as I write words come to me, "He remembers that we are dust". So now I'm going to Google that to find the full passage...

Here we go:
The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.
He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust (Psalm 103:8-14).

My prayer lately is that I would be able to experience God's love in a tangible way rather than His seemingly painful sovereignty. I'm still waiting and wondering how much of my own junk is getting in the way. I can see God's love in all the "generic" ways- job, home, health, etc. But is it okay to say that right now I want more? Sometimes I even feel entitled to it, like God has to give in order to make right what went so wrong this year. So here I am, dust, having entitlement issues. THAT, I feel, is my biggest hurdle. When did I start feeling like I deserved anything good? But when has God ever been in the business of treating people as they deserved, whether good or not?

I find myself vascillating between the behavior of the brothers in the parable of the prodigal son. Wanting what I want when I want it, I storm away and pretend that what I'm pursuing is going to replace not only my desire but being in close relationship with the father. Other times I sit in my disappointed entitlement and can't believe why God wouldn't honor my obedience, my years of doing what was "right", my faithfulness. But both are on my terms, aren't they? I know I'm not supposed to be either brother, but what I'm supposed to be is elusive at best.

So I'll eat my fresh cookies, perhaps even make myself another pot of coffee, and continue to pray that God shows me what in the world to do with myself all the while hoping this precious moment of peace will carry me through the rest of the day.

The hand that holds the needle~

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)

Enter the Silence~

I must be entering some new stage in the grieving process, or just realizing that I've spent the last month in relative silence. Oh, there's been plenty of noise but the silence I'm talking about has more to do with me and God. I don't really know how to talk to Him right now and I'm desperately attempting to cling to the faith I once knew. We are literally surrounded by difficult circumstances that seem almost unbearable and I don't know how to join the bandwagon that says these difficulties are not God's doing. I cannot tell you how many times these last few weeks people have said we've been robbed from and that God's angry about it. Honestly, I don't believe it. The God I believe in is not taken by surprise by anything and certainly does not have things snatched from His hand. Sure it would be easier to believe that God only does good, or what we can see as good, instead of believing that God brings and not just allows grief. And you know what? I'm okay with that. Even if my current circumstances make it harder to see how God could make anything good of this that will make up for the loss.

I've been reading this passage in Lamentations 3 quite a bit lately:


"21 I'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I've swallowed. I remember it all—oh, how well I remember— the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there's one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
22-24 God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left.
25-27 God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It's a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. It's a good thing when you're young to stick it out through the hard times.
28-30 When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don't ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don't run from trouble. Take it full-face. The "worst" is never the worst.
31-33 Why? Because the Master won't ever walk out and fail to return. If he works severely, he also works tenderly. His stockpiles of loyal love are immense. He takes no pleasure in making life hard, in throwing roadblocks in the way;"


So I've got to believe that my relative silence has got to be more about waiting for hope to appear than that God is absent. I cannot believe in a God who makes Himself unavailable to me, so instead I willingly 'enter the silence'.

I started writing this post last weekend and am now just returning to it (Wednesday). Sunday brought the beginning of some much-needed healing for me. As I listened to our pastor pray and thank God for the trial he's facing in his own family I knew it was time to follow suit. I almost couldn't believe that I was thanking God for the miscarriage- not like, 'Thanks God that my child is dead', but, "God you have proven yourself to me time and time again that nothing, absolutely nothing that happens in life is wasted. I hold that to be true right now and believe that this is evidence that you are actively working in my life- however painful the procedure might be. Thank you for this time...."

Ugh, it was not easy to do at all and I almost felt like it was something my mind was doing with the expectation that my heart would fall in line at some point, but when I got home and talked to Lee about what was going on I knew that something had shifted for me.

I don't know where this is going. I still don't entirely know how to talk to God right now, but I know that the bible says that when there are no words the Holy Spirit intercedes on our behalf. At times I feel my spirit groan and even if I can't put words to it or explain exactly what I'm feeling, God knows it thoroughly to the very last breath. I know that it's time for me to start moving forward. So I will take this step, this one beautiful but little bit scary step and wait, wait, wait for hope to appear.