It’s been nearly three weeks since I wrote on here. Mostly because I have been a bit too overwhelmed to write how I’m feeling. And even typing that makes me want to close the computer.
I’m tired of feeling like this. I don’t know what else to say. I often wish that I could go back to 3 years ago and make the decision to just have Bella – like we were on the verge of doing. I flipped through old pictures on Instagram yesterday – way back to when I wasn’t even pregnant with the twins, and my heart hurt. I saw this girl who was happy. Young. Vibrant.
I don’t even know where she went – or when I lost her. But I hardly recognize her anymore. In fact, by the end I felt so envious of my former self I had to shut off my phone for a while. (hashtag healthy right there y’all)
Then something hit me – there was hardly any Jesus in those pictures. I don’t even remember thinking about my faith a whole lot. A snap of a devotional once in a while. A Bible verse. Would I trade my faith now in for the easier, carefree me? Or the little glimpses of knowing my sons?
Everything is so different. Writing that feels like I’m complaining, but I don’t think I am. Just – struggling.
You know what? I read a saying the other day by Shane Claiborne where he said: “My life was pretty together, then I met Jesus & that messed everything up.”
I totally get that. For some of us, meeting Jesus and deciding that our life is His for the taking isn’t going from bad to wonderful. I know people who have had that experience – it’s incredible to hear about. But my journey has taken me down even further into madness. Sure, this was probably all bound to happen to me whether or not I gave my life fully to Christ. BUT – even my innermost being has changed so much that I spend most of my time wondering if I’m ever going to feel any semblance of normal again. Whatever normal is.
And I hesitate writing that because there will be the well meaning comments from people who do care saying things that pierce my heart like:
- “It’s been a year and a half now.”
- “But you have your little girl to think of!”
- “Some people just want one child.”
- “You need to count your blessings.”
Dangit. These little grief clichés make my head explode clean off.
I do love that gif so very much.
I wish that the people who say these things could understand that ALL of those weigh on me day in and day out. Every moment of every day, those exact thoughts play on repeat in my head. Along with missing my sons and the two different lives I lost with them. My thought process is like being in a prison where the walls are decorated with what could have been, painted across in red letters with “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE OK?”
I keep praying. One of my biggest de-stressors is reading the Bible each night before bed. Chapter after chapter. I finish with my eyes barely open, my head full of how Jesus used stories far more painful than mine for his good.
I don’t know where I fit in anymore. I feel more lost and confused after going to Zimbabwe than I did before. The more I study and read, the more I ask why. The more I pray, the more aware I am of how everyone else gets a redeeming story – and not us. Not yet but the fear that grips me is – what if not ever?
What if I’m walking this path and nothing happens? That is my greatest fear. All of this for – nothing. I pray a thousand times a day that God will show me, clearly and without a doubt, where I fit into this plan. My talents, my time, my experience, the longings and desires he’s placed on my heart. Sometimes I’m so ANGRY because I think, “Haven’t I been through enough? Can’t you hurry this all up and show me what I’m supposed to be doing? You made me this way – so do something.”
I know. That’s my humanity and distrust talking. And impatience. Grant me patience Lord and do it now. 😉
Pray for me? Pray for my mind and understanding this season and in this next year as I ponder where the Lord wants me to go. I stand at the edge of unbelief for my life being used in a way that glorifies Him, helps others, and fulfills my weary heart. It seems like this will never end – and I long for a time when the grip of confusion loosens it’s hold on me.