The Trials of Life

How great is our God!  How great is His love towards me!

26 degrees.  That’s what the thermometer said.  A glance outside told me it was correct, too.  A sheer layer of white puff lay on the ground.  The look was completed as the sleet produced instant glitter on the outdoor surroundings.  I listened and prayed as over and over I heard the sirens of emergency vehicles and skidding tires.  I prayed hard for my husband’s safety as he traveled home and listened sympathetically as he informed me that no one knew how to drive out there.  Neither one of us happy that his commute was now lengthened.  I love winter.  I love Christmas.  I love what it symbolizes.  I love the life, joy, peace, love, lights, aromas, and family gatherings that it brings.  I love the chilly weather.

And yet, it forced me to ponder the relationship between Christ, chilly weather, and long commutes.  If you were to measure your heart temperature (or love, service, etc.) towards Christ, where would it fall?  96 degrees?  42?  30? Negative 3?  As I pondered this question that hit me as I prayed, I wondered where my heart temperature fell.  Then another question struck me: as much as I dread my husband’s long commute, delays, distractions, and cannot bear to be separated from him, how much more does God dread our long commute to Him?  Can I bear to be separated from His presence?  Can I bear to NOT dwell in Him?  How often do I sever that cord of communication from Christ to my heart with distractions or delays?  This is not to say that we are ever separated from Him, but that’s another topic in and of itself.  Brian and I have longed recently for a deeper walk with Christ.  God has various ways of making this happen—and strengthening our marriage.  And it’s not always easy.

It has now been two weeks since I miscarried our 6-7 week old child.  It haunts me wherever I go, in whatever I do.  Dreams.  Memories.  Hopes.  Talks.  It all happened so fast—a month and a half of severe sickness, a nightmare of a week, the joy and then loss of a baby, and recovery.  I would like to say I am doing just fine; and in truth, sometimes I am okay.  But right now, I’m not.  I see babies everywhere.  I walk in the store and see the baby section.  All my friends and family are having babies.  I hear friends complaining about getting and being pregnant.  I wonder why God gives babies to those who don’t seem to want them and those of us who love them, lose them.

Physically, I’m still in a lot of pain.  Cramping.  Weak.  I feel so helpless and sort of failing as a wife because I’m having a hard time doing a lot right now.  I tire easily.  Sleep a lot.  Have a hard time eating.  I still have all of my pregnancy symptoms.  I want to be strong.  I want to be normal.  Everyone says to just move on—you’ll have another baby.  I’m trying.  But it’s hard.  It hurts so deeply inside—never before have I felt pain like this.  Trying to find a doctor/midwife and dealing with insurance is overwhelming to me.  I don’t know—sometimes I don’t like being a mercy—we seem to take things more to heart, hurt intensely, and hold on to things we probably should let go of.  I don’t want to be alone right now. 

I want to know what my baby looks like.  Whether baby is a boy or girl.  I want to see tiny feet and hands.  Cuddle a small body.  Hear coos.  See smiles.

I’m not usually morbid.  Some days I’m okay and others, well, others, it’s just hard.  But it leads me to question whether or not I will allow this, as with other trials, to draw me closer to God and to strengthen my marriage relationship.  I hope so.

That was really long.  But I needed to just write.  I feel like I haven’t been able to in so long.  I suppose I had better return to baking and cleaning in preparation for going to a bonfire tonight.

Smiles.