finding my words...

Hello my blog friends,

I'm sorry if you came here looking for fun updates and cute pictures of the kids.  They're doing great.  I hope to share more about what they're up to soon.

But I'M coming here to write and process.  So much is swirling through my mind after the year we've had, and though we didn't drown in the flood of suffering, I'm still catching my breath from it all.

I'm trying to find my words.

There are layers to our suffering that are too vulnerable to share, most especially on a public blog.  Marc and I have been deeply wounded in many ways this year, and I'm limited in what I can say and who I can tell.

That alone makes suffering so much harder, y'all.

When my daughter's hair was falling out, I took to this blog to write my raw, honest emotions as they came.  It was a huge part of my acceptance process, not only to write it out, but for others to read it and empathize with us through our struggle.  Our suffering was "out there," public, on display for all to see and respond.

I suppose if I have to suffer, I prefer to take my suffering communally like that.  It holds me up to know that others KNOW and care and are WITH me.

If I may be so vulnerable to admit, I'm not feeling "held up" right now.

I'm navigating these deep waters with Marc, a good therapist, and a couple of close friends.

And I'm supposed to believe that Jesus is with me, making a way for me, directing me along this journey.  He's carried me thus far, and He has been so, so good and faithful in the past.

But my fears tell me this time it's different.  The evil one whispers lies to me.... "no one is with you," "you don't belong anywhere," "you should have never changed."

An older, wiser friend sat through Caroline's hairloss journey with me.  She opened up the Bible and showed me in the Psalms how raw and honest were the words of lament.  And at the end of many of the laments (not all), the psalmist suddenly makes an abrupt right turn to say something hopeful to the effect of "yet will I trust Him..."

I remember my friend gently and lovingly telling me, "Amy, you're not in that final verse yet where you're able to proclaim your faith.  You're still in verses 1-4 of the lament, and that's OKAY."  She gave me time and space to not be okay.  I didn't have to fix myself or change my attitude right away.  And you know, looking back, over time I guess Jesus did that for me.

Right now, I'm finding my words.

There's alot I'm trying to figure out.

And I'm going to heed my friend's advice.  It's okay if the words I'm finding are mostly those of lament, disappointment, fear and doubt.

Is this whole Christianity thing even true?
God, are you even there?
How long, O Lord, will you turn your back from me?

Lord, I believe.  But help my unbelief.

2017...

Good riddance to you, 2017.

You brought with you deeper sorrows than I've ever felt.  You took away people and things that brought great joy into my life.  You held all the most terrible moments in your hands and seemed to rain them down on my head. You turned my hairs gray.  You took away any sense of "normal" I might have felt before. 

And now, in this beginning of 2018, I'm still left trying to piece myself together from the havoc you created.

Goodbye, 2017.  I won't ever forget you.

I'm still recovering from you, but I have a sneaking suspicion I'll look back on you and see how all your chaos and pain changed me. 

I think you pushed me down the path a little faster than I wanted to go.

And one day, I hope I'll thank you for that.