Confessions of a grieving mommy...

...who's also a real-deal, Christ-follower...a bona fide PK...a pastor's wife, even...

You might wanna grab a seat...and a cold washcloth.  This could get interesting.

I've been sitting on this one for quite some time now. It's actually almost been a month since I last chatted with you over a Dr Pepper! Wait...what...you don't drink DP while you ponder the prolific paragraphs that are birthed from my inner depths?!?  Harsh. I shall have to consider defriending you when this whole thing is said and done...of course, then I'll be dead so...yea...guess we can let it ride. Don't say I never did anything for you. Dr. Pepper is, after all, the trump card of all trump cards.  Ask my former students. Don't judge.  Teachers get thirsty.

Anyhoo...

These confessions are so multi-faceted, I may have to produce a mini-series here, so be prepared to be wowed and amazed. Not really...I'll just divide and conquer so the vast majority of you won't fall asleep. I say "vast majority" because my family members already nodded off as soon as they sat down earlier. Whatcha gonna do...can't live with 'em...can't smack 'em around whenever ya want. Such is life.

Yes, I'm stalling.

Might as well jump off the cliff right here at the beginning...enough beating around the bush. 

Confession #1:  I'm finding it difficult...I mean, to the level of deep-throat struggling...to sympathize with other people's trials. I walked into this journey a self-proclaimed hard-nose.  I've always been a "suck-it-up" kind of gal.  I've said on more than one occasion that I needed to call an audible and get an immediate substitution whenever compassion and grace were in high order for our kids. This is so very sad...but so very true.  I'm not proud, just honest.  

I've mentioned in previous blogs that when we began our stay in the PICU, I realized how unloving and compassionate I truly was, when  it struck me how little I had actually carried the burdens of those in pain, to date. Not by way of excuse, but I truly believe on some level it was because I could not fathom the tremendous weight with which they were loaded down.  I tried...I desired to "be there" for them.  I failed...countless times. It takes an extreme measure of God's grace to weep with those who are weeping over something you've only experienced on the big screen. 

And then we began to feel the burden...to be crushed by the weight...and then, I got it. And guess what? I thought that's where God had taken us in His sovereignty...to a place no person wants to be...to the brink...to the edge of an abyss.  That was enough, wasn't it? To hurt all over...to ache with gut-wrenching pain as you see your precious one fighting for their life. I choke on the words, "It can't get worse than this!" over and over in my mind. Because it can...it can get so much worse.  I've lost track of how many times I said, "If only THIS doesn't happen..."...and then it would.

I long for those days when I could feel pain...when that ache reminded me that Zoe was still alive.  Now there's just numbness, where once was life. 

When we sang to her by her hospital bed with tears in our eyes  and warmth in our voices because we knew she could hear us. Too often now, I open my mouth, and nothing will come.  Ice cold.

Those prayers lifted up in that room ranged from sweet whispers of gratitude to bold promise-claiming sermons.  Now it almost feels painful to pray...as if I'm pretending to be thankful for anything when He failed to do what we truly desired for Zoe.  

But 2 months ago, as we tip-toed to the precipice, we shouted, "WATCH THIS! God is doing amazing things with Zoe's story! Wait for it...keep watching!"  

And then someone pushed us over the edge.  No warning. No rope. No rescue team. Only a safety net of God's loving promises. Can I just be honest? It's a long way down before you reach the net. There's all kinds of debris and thorny obstacles before you arrive. Sometimes it even feels...no matter how ridiculous this may sound...as though you're being pushed off that cliff over and over again, as if the first time didn't wound enough. And not only are you falling, but you've got a knife-wielding assassin on your back, making sure you're fully dead upon impact. To state the obvious, the safety net won't do any good if I'm not alive when it catches me.

Are you sensing the attacks of the enemy?!? You should. I know it, but it's not enough to identify the situation...we are called to action...to raise our swords and fight. So here we are right now...at this moment...I will lead the charge. Satan's sucker punch will not best the sword of the Spirit...I won't go down without a fight. 

Ever since Zoe's death, I've moved into new territory. This club...the one no parent wants to join...is exclusive, to say the least. I've taken some measure of comfort from fellow members because they understand the heartache like no one else can. Wanna know why? Because they're still living it every. single. day. of their lives. That's something I never grasped before this trial..."It's been a year...surely they've moved on by now..." Yea. But now that I'm on this side...now that I've got that permanent stitch in my side...the rose-colored glasses are gone. To clarify, they were smashed into oblivion.

By God's grace, we've got a closed membership with high dues and long meetings. You don't want in...trust me.

Before this turns into a pity party, let me hit the nail on the head.

Anything short of our mind-blowing, life-ending sorrow is hard for me to process.  Every time I hear of sickness, or job struggles, or fractured relationships, or any number of things that devastate people (I should point out...they would've also devastated me pre-June 7th), I want to scream! 

YOU'RE ALIVE! DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO! MOVE ON OR MAKE IT WORK! STOP WHINING...YOU STILL HAVE YOUR FAMILY!!!!! YOU'RE NOT PICKING OUT GRAVESTONES!!!! YOU'RE not...IT'S not...I'M not...I just can't...do this.

I don't want to be in the club. I wasn't given the option to refuse membership. I'm a much better cheerleader than a 3rd-string lineman. The hits keep coming, and my feet are glued to the turf. 

But still the command remains..."Bear one another's burdens." "Rejoice with those who rejoice. Weep with those who weep." 

No evaluations of pain-levels. No waver for those who've endured more. No bye for the deepest wounds. 

Therefore, this warrior knows who picked this fight. Not one ungracious thought or unkind word comes from the Father. Not one. That only leaves one option...our adversary, the Devil, prowls around, seeking a way to devour me. He can't take me out of the hand of God, but he can make me limp and useless in that hand. I feel at times like Job...except I was never that solid before...and now I've allowed one devastation to shift my gaze. 

There is no victory in keeping a tally. There is no battle of the mind that a child of God cannot win. This one has been hard-fought and continues to wage on.  I want to remain on the winning side, and so I work out this salvation with fear and trembling...confident that even in my weakness, He is stronger. He is working this confession for His good pleasure, and that's a safety net I will gladly fall into any day.