Pit

I've been doing this a long time.

I can get a really good read on a church community as soon as I walk in the door.

It was familiar.  The cool pastor, the loud music, the bright lights, the casual atmosphere.

Deep breath.

And I find myself here on my knees again.  Caught up in grace like an avalanche.  


It's hard to be here.  It's harder to be elsewhere.  At least here they don't know my name.  They don't know my story.  Maybe here they won't feel the need to preach.  Here, they don't know what I know.

"we are the only army who kills their wounded"...

I just shook my head at the truth of it.  Being the wounded.

~

I've been in a pit.  There's no other way to put it.  Just a stupid, deep, muddy pit.  I can't see out of it because it's too deep and I can't climb out of it because it's too wide and I can't make a home here because it is not where I belong.

I know better.  

I know how to change my perspective and I know how to make the most of the worst of situations. 

I know how to fix things.

I know how to build things.

But too much life has been happening, too fast, and coming at me too hard.  Like so much water drowning your face.  Forgetting to drink.  

These sentiments, these images however, only really apply to my emotional and spiritual life.  Physically, I am still barreling through.  Working three and four jobs some weeks, setting up my new home, getting finances and logistics in line.  The fog and murkiness I feel in my head and my heart are not affecting my external world.  

But my heart has been so sad.

There have been a few nights when I've even cried myself to sleep.  Hand on my stomach, feeling this crazy little boy move.  And just whispering, hoping he knows I'm not crying because he's coming.  That this is not his fault.  That I wouldn't change him and his being for anything.

But it is hard.  To look at a disassembled crib and wish there was a daddy to put it together.  To come home at night, only a little scared of the dark and quiet, and wish there was someone big and strong to keep me company.  To think about long nights and brand new babies, and wonder how I'll do it without any real help.  How I'll teach a boy how to be a man.

Those are the thoughts that keep me in the pit.  Thinking about things that haven't happened yet.  And wondering how I'll manage.

It hasn't stopped me -- weighed me down, maybe.  Damaged my heart, maybe.  Hurt my hope, for certain.  But I refuse to give up.  To follow some of the worst advice I've heard in the last eight months.  To assume, just because words are said, that they are either beneficial, true, or good.  

You may not think so, many others don't.  But my judgement is still good.  I am still discerning.  I still hear the voice of God.  I still have my share of wisdom.  And perhaps what bogs me down more than anything are those words and opinions and voices of others.  

When it's only One voice I need to be hearing.  

Today I was reading a friend's blog (here).  I didn't even get all the way through the post and I read this, and I felt God saying "Shhh -- those are the words I wanted you to hear..."  

As if out of all of the mess, He'd highlighted them for me.  

"I always think of the peace of God as being tranquil and resolved. But I don't know that to always be true. It was peace - and yes, it surpassed all understanding. But it was mixed with dread. Because I knew it was going to be so hard. I think that's how it is sometimes. It's knowing it will be good. It's trusting God that with the limited amount of information of the situation before me, He will use it and show me how lovely His plan actually is."

Deep breath.  Right there.  In that moment.  That paragraph was full of all my oxygen.  

And there it was.  My perspective change.  Grace like an avalanche, Fran's words: copious amounts.  As if God just knelt down and said, "yeah, baby girl, I know it's hard." And scooped me up.  

Stupid pit.  

Nothing changed.  Nothing got better.  None of the questions were answered.  

I just changed where I was standing.  

I heard Him tell me to write it down.  To work it out with my words.  To breathe deep the peace and hope He was offering, even though it makes no sense.  Even when this three pound baby boy is laying heavily on my lungs.  And it doesn't matter how deep, I just can't get enough air. 

I'm still going to be grumpy.  And want all the things I wanted before.  But I swear.  It will be good.  

I have no idea how.  

But it will.  

I just can't get back in the pit.