It’s About Not Giving Up

I was having a conversation last night with some old friends, (old as in we’ve been friends for a long time, not that they’re old in age). :) Anyhow, as we were discussing our lives and situations one of them asked, “What do you do when you’ve lost hope?” It was a quite timely question for me as it’s something I’d been processing plenty lately.
There seems to be no shortage of experiences in life that can cause a person to lose or struggle with hope. I can honestly say things have certainly felt pretty hopeless at times as we’ve lived through repeat losses and disappointment with trying to become parents. People would say (and still say to us) don’t give up hope, one day you will be parents. And while I appreciate the encouragement I echo my friend’s sentiment, how DO you not lose hope when things feel so, well hopeless?
For me right now, I am finding hope in the act of refusing to give up. When I refuse to let what’s happened to us dissuade me from pursuing becoming a parent, I am persevering. I may have an empty nursery, but if I gave up it would still be empty. If I refuse to quit trying to become a parent however, eventually there’s an excellent chance a child will end up in our home. There’s hope in that fact. I may feel sad and things may feel bleak sometimes right now, as they naturally would…I’ve just lost another child; but if I give up the sadness wins, it remains. If I persevere I’m giving my life, and my God the chance to change these tragic circumstances.
I think about Romans 5:3-4 (picking up just a pinch before 3), “And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. 3Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
Now I’m not saying I’m rejoicing all that much in my sufferings. Frankly I think they suck and I’d rather not be experiencing such grief. But I don’t think this passage is insinuating I should to be celebrating that I’m suffering, as much as it seems to be suggesting that it makes a difference how I approach my suffering. If I refuse to let my sufferings squash me completely, if I allow myself to learn and grow through them; the transformation can in the end be potentially beneficial, and perhaps even something to be grateful for. Perseverance develops character, and character hope. So, in the midst of pain and frustration, if refusing to give up (especially when giving up seems easier) is perseverance, then through perseverance an opportunity to develop character; and then therein lies the answer to the question…HOPE.
It seems to me, not losing hope is about NOT giving up.

Finding Things to be Thankful For

Life just really doesn’t make sense sometimes. I’ve known this for a long time of course, but the evidence of this has never been more apparent to me than now. Not a day goes by that I’m not left shaking my head thinking how could this happen? How after everything, were we only destined to bury yet another child? At times it just seems ridiculous. If I think about it too much my mind is blown by the sheer absurdity of it all. I have to admit, a lot of times my conversations with God lately sound frighteningly similar to a SNL “Really!?!” segment.
How does one even begin to process an experience like this; years like this? It starts to feel like we’re doomed to always be the couple that’s hoping and then grieving; always with empty arms in the end. I think back to 3 ½ years ago when we first started planning and trying to have a family. We were so full of joy and anticipation. We had no idea what was ahead of us, what we would face in the years to follow. It’s probably better that we didn’t know. I doubt we would have tried at all, and then in all honesty there are certain things we would have missed out on.
During my sad depressing day yesterday I was talking to a friend of mine, and she pointed out to me that amidst my grief and sadness I was inadvertently finding things to be thankful for. She, like many of my friends, just feels ill right along with me in the aftermath of our most recent loss of Noah; but she suggested to me that when I find myself realizing something to be thankful for amidst all the heartache we’re experiencing, I should remember it, even right it down. It obviously won’t make me hurt any less, but it might put some of it in perspective.
I’ve thought about this for awhile and I think there’s some definite merit to the idea. I’m realizing, although I wish I could have gone about it another way, that throughout these experiences I have learned and grown in a lot of ways; and I do still have a lot to be thankful for. One example that comes immediately to mind is my husband. If I ever doubted for an instant that I did the right thing in marrying Brian, after what we’ve been through in the short amount of time we’ve been married, any shred of doubt has been obliterated from my mind. I have to be one of the luckiest women out there to have a husband who is so strong, supportive and loving; who has stood by my side through everything we’ve been through thus far, and who has demonstrated time and time again he always will. I’d like to think this would have been affirmed to me in any other life circumstance; but I must admit weathering these storms together has made me uniquely and abundantly thankful for Brian in a way that I think could only have come to fruition through what we have lived. So even though it’s been awful and painful, for this knowledge I can sincerely say I am thankful.
There have been several other examples I have thought of as well, but I won’t list them all here because believe it or not, it would make for a fairly long blog post. Instead I’ll just note that even though I still shake my head at the situation, and wish with all my heart that things could be different for us. I acknowledge that if they were in fact different, so we would be also; and in all honesty that might not be such a good thing. So, I suppose that’s yet one more thing to be thankful for.

Song of My Heart

Made it through a day today that I knew would be hard, but was pleasantly surprised. I felt peace and love today. People were praying for me, this I know and felt.
That said, as evening falls around me, my heart still feels what is was bound to feel today. The words of a Nicole Nordeman song continuously flow through my head. I share it because I think it captures the emotion far better than any words I could ever knit together to describe it.

Small Enough
oh, great god, be small enough to hear me now
there were times when i was crying
from the dark of daniel's den
and i have asked you once or twice
if you would part the sea again
but tonight i do not need a fiery pillar in the sky
just wanna know you're gonna hold me if i start to cry
oh, great god, be small enough to hear me now

oh, great god, be close enough to feel you now
there have been moments when i could not
face goliath on my own
and how could i forget we've marched around
our share of jerichos
but i will not be setting out a fleece for you tonight
just wanna know that everything will be alright
oh great god, be close enough to feel you now

all praise and all honor be
to the god of ancient mysteries
whose every sign and wonder turn the pages of our history
but tonight my heart is heavy
and i cannot keep from whispering this prayer
"are you there?"

and i know you could leave writing on the wall
thats just for me
or send wisdom while i'm sleeping,
like in soloman's sweet dreams
but i don't need the strength of samson
or a chariot in the end
just want to know that you still know how many hairs
are on my head
oh great god, be small enough to hear me now

When Life Returns to Normal

One of the really hard parts about grief and loss is when life returns to normal. Although normal might not be the right word; perhaps more when life returns to routine. I never do well with this part of the process. As my educator husband has assessed, I have trouble with transitions. So after time has passed, and life picks up again, at some point I’ve got to join the ranks again, (so to speak) whether I’m ready or feel like it or not. It’s a feeling I liken to playground jump rope. The rope is moving and others are jumping waiting for you to run in and jump along, but you’ve got to time it just right so you don’t get smacked in the face or trip and get tangled up. I’m not sure you’re ever quite ready, but eventually you’ve got to take a shot and get back in the game with everyone else.
So here I am, back in the game. I returned to work this week which is always hard for me. Not because I don’t like my job or the people I work with, quite the contrary. It’s just hard for me to return to my routine after my life has been rocked so thoroughly. I’ve learned now from experience that I have to give myself extra time before doing so, but I’ve also learned it’s still hard no matter how much time has passed. I think it’s because like it or not returning to routine means time is moving on and eventually I have to move along with it. Sometimes it’s hard to see time tick on, people going about their days, their lives and not think, “Don’t you know what has happened? How can you just keep going?” Time doesn’t stop for my tragedy… or anyone else’s for that matter. It feels like it should, but it doesn’t.
This means I can’t stop either. Sure I can take a reprieve for awhile, take a breather and gather my wits again; but eventually the time comes when I have to decide to live my life again, no matter what state I find it in. I’ve yet to find a way where escaping reality with any semblance of a permanent nature is feasible. Trust me, I’ve tried. Whether I like it or not, time does move on. Life continues, and so must I.