All my life
Been shaking
Wanting something
Holding everything I have like it was broken
Gimme something good
-Ryan Adams, Gimme Something Good
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
-James 1:17
Well, just doing life these days.
Nothing too crazy, too out-of-the-ordinary, too extravagant.
Actually, we have gone to see two movies in the last two weeks, speaking of summer blockbuster extravagance. And we will see another in a couple weeks. Because…this. But other than that, it has been neither wild or crazy.
We have The Work and The Weekend-dividing our time into rest and livelihoods. We have appointments, meals, hang-out times, and game nights. There’s the shopping, the cleaning, the laundry, the dishes, the recycling. This is the Pacific Northwest, after all. Figuring the fibro out is a daily thing-how to rest, and how to push through; how to breathe through it all-the pain and the exhaustion, but sometimes just the plain unfairness of it all. There’s the texts, the emails, the messages that make the day so much better.
In the past few weeks, I've tried not to see the looming mountain that is August. I've tried to ignore it, block it. Focus on the present and all that. But here we are. I've felt more grief about my miscarriage in the past few weeks, knowing that August and my would-be due date has been steadily approaching. I stopped counting the weeks I “should” be a long time ago, but now it’s mind-boggling and mind-numbing to think that I would be quickly approaching 40 weeks. The start of our baby adventure, the start of a new, terrifying, and completely wonderful season. Names could have been chosen, a nursery all set up by now. Ah well. Grief is thankfully smaller now, not as all-encompassing. But there is a hole in my heart that will never fully close, never completely heal.
So grief is a part of life now. And so it should be-for to ignore this pain, this season would be heartless. I must give my grief space and room and air-even though it does not require as much now. I’m faced with the reality this month all over again, and I must look it in the eyes. I will hold this month close-cherish my first child with remembering, with celebrating, with writing. I will give thanks for his or her life, and the joy that his or her existence brought.
Even though this month is full of the ordinary, the normal, not full of the anticipation we hoped for, it is still good. There is still joy to be found. This life is a gift. The pain, the aches, the uncertainties, the smallness and the grandeur of life-it is all gift. All grace. The grief of miscarriage, the grief of chronic pain-it is all pointing me back to the Gospel, to the Creator, to the Giver of life. I find myself needing to be held-held by a heavenly Father from whom all good things flow, and from whom all comfort for all sorrow comes. He is the One to whom I bring all my broken things, and while He does not fix them all, He is sad with me. There is also the promise of redemption, of hope, for transformation for all things. The Apostle Paul says in his letter to the Romans that creation itself longs for transformation, for healing. I will cling to the promises, the hope, the love and joy of Jesus this month, this season, and in this ordinary and splendid life.
