Crash and Burn

Crinkling sand beneath my warm toes, I listened to the waves as they smashed against the beach.  Breathing a deep inspiration of therapeutic, salty air, I exhaled the troubles that had wound my nerves so intricately for the past several months.

Ahh.  This is the life, I thought.  Miles from frustration; ages from pain; far from worry.

It was sweltering hot, and with perspiration dripping heavily from my chlorine-soaked ponytail, I stepped lightly to refresh my feet in the ocean water.  The tide bathed and tickled my toes, and because of the brutal heat, my body begged me to venture further out for a cool dip.

The waves, which had originally lapped sweetly against my ankles, began to vigorously charge against me as I waded deeper and deeper.  As long as I could see the waves coming, I could brace myself for their strength.  But when I turned my back to the approaching tide, the force felt stronger.  Harder.

I couldn't tell where or when they'd be coming.  The deeper I got, the faster they hit.  The harder they got, the weaker I realized I was.  Some were so strong that they knocked me over.  Some knocked me under.

One.  After the other.  After the other.  Until I briefly questioned, "Will I ever regain my footing?  Will I drown here?"

I think it's only fair for those of you who have accompanied me on this journey to hear the "real stuff" that I go through in this grief.  Yes, I've been trying desperately to make lemonade from this sour season, but you know what?  It would be wrong of me to lead you to believe that every time I have a setback, my first thought is, "Well, golly gee whiz.  What valuable lesson can I learn today?"

This isn't Mr. Rogers' neighborhood.

Sometimes, I find that I can move to a place like this quickly.  But, folks, it isn't always that simple.

Exhibit A?  Let's journey to yesterday morning...

Sunday morning.  The alarm sings to let us know that it's time to get up for Sunday School.  To be honest, it's a struggle every week over whether or not we'll go.  Not because we don't love the class.

Our class roster has quickly become a list of nothing but parents and parents-to-be.  It's a fairly small, intimate class, so it's impossible to hide in the crowd, and I often find myself wedged between a rock and a hard place...or a pregnant belly and an even bigger pregnant belly.  Two of my classmates are set to deliver in the next month or so.  A third pregnancy was announced two Sundays ago.  We were one of three couples left who weren't expecting.

So let's drop a bomb, shall we?

All morning, Dru kept telling me that he had a funny feeling; like we shouldn't go that morning.  It had been a bit of a tough weekend (Saturday was my second due date, and of course we paused with grief), but I pish-poshed his concerns. For some reason, my stomach was in knots the whole ride there.

As usual, we were running a few minutes late but made it just in time for prayer requests.  My last shining hope of a non-mom-to-be eagerly raised her hand.

"I have a prayer request...and a praise..." she began.

My heart fluttered.  My fine-tuned, bitter, infertile eye scanned her for a tell-tale bump.

"We have a doctor's appointment this week..."

No, please, dear Lord, no...I feel a wave coming, but I can't see it...it's a big one...

"Because we're thirteen-and-a-half weeks expecting!"

She looked right at me when she said it.  Right.  At.  Me.  My face was numb.  I heard nothing after.  But as I looked around at my classmates, I realized I was the only wife who wasn't pregnant.

With a stupid look on my face, I sat there.  Frozen.  My ears bleeding from the news.  I carefully faced Dru and whispered, "We need to leave.  Now."  We stayed through the prayer, but as Dru gripped my hand as our leader prayed "...and bless this new life, Lord...," my body started to shake, violently rejecting the news.

We hauled tail at the sigh of an "Amen."  As quickly as we had arrived, we were out of there.  Dru started the car angrily, and we began to weave in and out of nearby neighborhoods.  He talked incessantly of shrubs and landscaping (it's become his "safe place"), and me?

I yelled.

One by one, I named them--those who had announced a pregnancy or had a baby in the last nine months.  The girls at work...our sister-in-law...our Sunday School classmates...this girl from Facebook...that girl from Facebook...those six neighbors of ours...

It added up to more than twenty.  Twenty. 

When I think about that number, I think my head will explode.  Really.  If you're scratching your head incredulously at my undying frustration, that's okay.  I'm thankful you don't understand.  But if you've been where we are--even a little bit--I'll bet you get it.

And as much as I want to be a "good Christian girl" and respond how I know I should, this sucks.

It's overwhelming, and it sucks.  And you know what?  As we drove around yesterday, I did something I haven't done in a very long time.  I questioned everything I believe in.

It is possible that even as a follower of Christ, even though you're searching for His promises, His grace, His mercy, His goodness...you may not feel it.  You can find it, but you may not feel it.

I spouted off vile things.  That God doesn't see me.  That He has forgotten about us.  That He must not want us to have a baby.  That He just flat out doesn't care because if He did, then it wouldn't hurt this much.  I cursed the fact that He was asking this much of me.  While so many others have it so easy, He's making it hard for us.  Everytime a wave comes, He doesn't let me get my breath before another sends me crashing to the bottom.

Stop it, God.  Stop!!  Give me a break already.  I need a break.  If He is so great and good and wonderful, why won't He come save me from this pain?  Enough already!

I just couldn't feel Him.  And because I couldn't feel Him, because He was letting me drown, I doubted that this whole experience was nothing more than a reason to put us down. 

In my heart of hearts, I know this isn't the truth.  I know that.  But what you feel can make what you know seem like a farce.  When they don't seem to match up, emotions can override what you know to be true.

But as I picture how I must have looked to my Father--pitching a fit, screaming at Him, attempting to claw free from His steadfast grip--I imagine that, just like a Daddy does when His daughter falls and hurts herself, He has me sitting on a kitchen counter examining my wounds.

Kindly, He takes my hand.  Yeah.  They're pretty deep.  They're ugly.

And while I wipe my teary eyes, hoping that it will take nothing but a kiss to soothe the pain, He pulls out a cleanser to wash over my wounds.

But it burns.  It hurts.  It feels awful.  Because it hurts, I doubt what He's doing.  It must not be working right.

"My child," He says lovingly, "this will help.  I know it hurts, but this is going to make you better."

Instead of trusting that He knows what's right, that He knows what I need, I kick and scream and doubt that He who created my inmost being isn't giving me what I need.

He is.  It just isn't the way that I want.  I want the kiss.  I don't want the burn.

Friends, I'm sitting on the counter getting my wounds cleansed tonight.  It's terribly unpleasant.  I'm kicking, screaming, and crying.  And I don't want it to have to be this way.  But I ask, I beg, that you pray for me and my ugly, wounded body, and that I'll surrender it to the Healer--the One Who gives me what I need and not what I want.

Yeah, the Doctor is in, and even though He's working on me tonight, He's open to new patients.

Need an appointment?  I'm sure He'll see you next...

Dancing with the Green-Eyed Monster

Waaah, Waaah. Look at you. If Charlie Brown had a twin, it would be you, wouldn't it? A sad sack with a black raincloud that follows you step by step. Things just can't go right. And that darn football keeps moving right before you can kick it.
And, of course, you're the only one who ever has bad things happen. Bad things never happen to other people. Just you.

Yep. Because you're still single.

Or unemployed.

Or stuck in an apartment.

Or childless.

All of the above, perhaps?

And while the thick drops of rain muss your hair with hurricane-like gales, you see that the sun has chosen to peek through--not at you--but on the opposite grassy green side of the fence.

Yes, you can see it clearly now. The brilliant sunshine radiates its comforting warmth on your neighbor. They're practically glowing.

And...what is that? Is that a halo glistening in the light atop her angelic head?

"GIVE ME A BREAK," you wail. "I want what she has. I'm. So. Jealous."

Completely, unabashedly jealous. In fact, the Green-Eyed Monster has gripped your back with its greedy claws and joyfully rides piggyback wherever you go. It's stuck to you. You can't rid yourself of it.

Jealousy is one of the easiest evils to latch onto. What makes it so easy? Why, because we're constantly trying to make each other jealous.

Oh, come on. I know you've done it. Brag about your fabulously extravagant vacation in Europe. Boast about your fantastic wedding that cost way more than everyone else's. Go on and on about how you didn't even try and--WHOOPS!--pregnant with a perfect 40-week pregnancy and a healthy newborn to boot. You flash your clothes or your cars or your homes or your relationships.

We do it because it makes us feel better. And because it makes everyone else feel lousy.

It's terrible, but we do it anyway--although we'd never actually cop to doing all of this bragging on purpose. Because that would be wrong.

*insert dramatic eye roll and heavy sigh*

I don't know about you, but jealousy can be a real struggle for me. But what's so wrong with wanting what other people have? It's not like I'm going to go to drastic lengths or steal someone's stuff because they have something that I don't. I'm not going to ruin someone's life over my jealousy.

Hmm. Maybe not. But you'll ruin yours.

I'll give you an example. As I've mentioned many times, one of the hardest things for me since losing Eli and Sarah has been merely having to be in the same room as someone who is pregnant, especially if her due date was near either of mine. One girl in particular was announcing her pregnancy just as we had lost Sarah; it was her first pregnancy--a successful one, at that--with little-to-no trying. Week after week, I have had to sit and watch her grow, knowing that I would have been a mere 10 days ahead of her. My heart brims with sadness, anger, but perhaps most of all, jealousy. I don't know why her pregnancy worked and mine didn't. I don't know why hers was so easy and my attempts at having a child have been so hard. Because I feel it's unfair, I resent her for experiencing this happy time.

But, that's not right. The Bible doesn't say, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's things...unless it's something you really, really want." And it doesn't say, "Love thy neighbor as thyself...unless the neighbor keeps getting everything you want." Nope. We are supposed to do the right thing, no matter how we feel.

But why?! Why do I have to do the right thing when I simply don't feel like it?

Jealousy attacks you more than anyone else. It consumes your thoughts. It can drive you to stop at nothing until your life or your possessions are somehow "equal" to your neighbor's. It makes you ugly. It makes you vicious. It makes you, well, a monster.

You learn to scowl. To frown. To accuse. To want and want and want until you can't want anymore. You forget to see others because somehow, the world has become a mirror that only reflects you and your desires.

When I have to sit and stare at a pregnant belly, I can feel the envy swallowing my body whole. I'm not proud of it. But when I am not actively surrendering those thoughts and feelings to the Lord, Satan uses them as a launching pad to distract me from all of the positive things I could be learning through this difficult time. God can't be glorified if I'm too busy dancing with the Green-Eyed Monster at my pity party.

Yes, I know. It's hard. It's so hard not to be jealous when it's something you desire or have worked toward wholeheartedly.

But instead of thinking about what you don't have, think about what you do. Because I'll bet the latter has more substance than the former.

Okay, here goes. I have a wonderful, loving, Christian husband, a great job that I love, a home, a family that cares about me, two dogs that light up my life, two working arms and two working legs, lungs that breathe, a heart that beats....

And you know what? If nothing comes to mind, be thankful for this: Jesus gave his life because of the stupid things you do. So that you could live. He gave it all. Everything. Nothing was withheld.

Think about it. Does he really owe you anything?

But good grief, Charlie Brown wannabe! Make a wallflower out of the Green-Eyed Monster. Quit dancing with him and let Jesus take the lead. From here on out, tell that monster that you're not interested anymore.

And let him know that your dance card is full.

"Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long." ~Psalm 25:4-5