Marc and I are doing a bit better. We've come to grips with what has happened, and I think our hearts just feel sore. (It brings the hymn "Come ye sinners, weak and wounded, sick and sore" to mind-- that's us!)
We are settling back into the groove of our daily lives, looking at the days and months ahead as a family of three instead of four.
I feel myself fighting moments of anger. Anger at God, mostly, I suppose. I know it's "natural" to feel this way in grief, but who said I wanted to feel this way? Like when the lady at the playground turns to me this morning and says, "Is she your only child? She'd make a great big sister." and my mind immediately goes into accusing the Lord. Yes, she would, God! But it's because of YOU that she can't! At times it just makes me so mad.
I know that's just me lamenting. And I know it's okay, and I know He can handle it. Why else would He let His people sing songs like "Leave me alone, God, so I can be happy again" in His Word? (Psalm 39:13) (really!)
The Psalms always shout at me, much like my daughter is doing now!, and remind me that no matter my wretched emotional state, I can take it before my God. His Word reminds me that what it means to be normal in the Christian life is to look more like an emotional mess than a stoic saint-- at times I am full of praise and delight, and in others, I am overwhelmed with anxiety or sorrow. It doesn't take but a flip of a few pages to show me that.
The worship book of the Bible, the Psalms, carry such a deeper, broader range of emotion than the little pop ditties we tend to give out like candy in our churches today. We ought to sing more songs like "How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me? How long will I have cares in my soul, grief in my heart all day?" (Psalm 13), don't you think?
Of course, Jesus told me what to expect in this world. Trials and tribulations. (Why should I expect anything different?)
And then He tells me to take heart, because He has overcome the world.
Take heart, Amy.
So we press on, wrestling against the whispers of "you weren't good enough" and "He doesn't want to bless you." It's quite the battle.
Thankfully, He's using the SHOUTS of a beautiful, boisterous four year old, the SHOUTS of prayers from His people all over the world, the SHOUTS of encouraging words from friends, the SHOUTS of God's word, the SHOUTS of beautiful fall flowers from my mom, the SHOUTS of little gifts and meals and cookies from those around us.
The shouts fight the battle of doubt and despair. He knows I need them to stop listening to the whispers.
The shouts remind me this isn't the end of my story. This may be a chapter of dark providence, and as difficult as it is in the midst of it, I know the ending isn't:
"...and the birthmom picked the other family, leaving Marc and Amy disappointed and grieving."
No! That isn't the end!
But it's where I am now.
And so I trust and wait. And take heart. And see what the Author of the story will bring next.