The past few weeks have been – rough. I have so many emotions and feelings swirling around in my brain all the time. I told a girlfriend the other night that it feels like my thoughts are a game of pingpong.
Back and forth. Be happy, be sad. Be thankful, feel resentful. Be angry, be calm.
This week brought an unexpected death to our extended family. A lovely woman who left behind a very distraught family.
The twin’s 2 year birthday was Saturday.
Kaden’s 9 month birthday was Monday.
I see families moving on, growing, becoming the very thing so many of us picture when we think of adulthood. Marriage, babies, school.
Hope dims on days when this overwhelms me. When I look back at the past 2 1/2 years of waiting to bring one of our babies home and I’m furious that once again, I’m here with this burden to carry.
I feel tricked when I look at my life compared to what I was taught as a child. I feel like someone, anyone, in Sunday School or youth group or marriage counseling should have said, “Hey – I know we sing these fuzzy warm songs, memorize verses, and you take home a monogramed Bible, but there may come a day when you face tragedy beyond comprehension and you’re going to start to wonder about the real Jesus. Not the white, shiny, perfect teeth Jesus that floats along with permed hair. Not him. But the Jesus that is going to swoop down and be there while you curse Him and scream every horrible thing you can imagine, then collapse in pain. Let’s talk about Him.”
Obviously it’s no one’s fault. Most people have normal, placid lives that go on with small bumps of discomfort. Who would have thought to warn me it might be different? My parents were real enough with it all, but they were my parents. So you know – I knew better than them until I was like 26.
I’ve had to search for my own relationship with Jesus – twice. I may have to do it again before I get to be with Him one day. Mine makes some people uncomfortable. I realize that. It’s not pretty, I use bad words on here, and when Kaden was dying I cussed God out in my bed. F-word and all. I lay there in the dark as hot tears ran down my face and my heart exploded while I just silently screamed obscenities at Him for allowing my child, another son, to die.
It’s different. My relationship with Him is based off the way I was created. Just like a human one – because half of our relationship is human. It doesn’t mean it’s all right – certainly not. I realize that. But I repent and come back when I start to heal, when the pain isn’t so searing that I can begin to see His hand over this all.
He didn’t cause it, but He allowed it. And He’s using me, if I’m willing, to make it into something beautiful. I’m seeing that unfold bit by bit. My hope starts to brighten a little.
I’m slowly getting to a place (I will never fully be there) where Jesus is enough. Beyond even the worldly desires of my heart. He is starting to fill that hole that longs for a different story, a baby, a short way out of the grief, the desire to be accepted and understood. He steps in where my worldly shortsightedness can’t see another way.
My Jesus is different than the Jesus I knew as a child. He’s my friend, my comforter, the hand held out when I stumble in the dark. He’s the one who wipes away the tears on my cheeks and listens as I rail against Him. He looks at those pictures of Himself in the halo and with the dark, sad, cow eyes and laughs with me. He’s righteously angry on my behalf. He’s so much love that I’m ashamed to be in His presence as the mess I am.
So in case no one ever told you about another Jesus – one that is waiting for a unique relationship with you, one that can fill that hole in your heart – then stick around. Let me tell you ’bout mine.