Learning to Live with Loss

As I mentioned before I have found a good amount of solace in reading other people's blogs. A good friend of mind pointed me towards one of her friends blog's not too long ago. This blogger has had a horribly rough year including a heartbreaking loss that I cannot even fathom. Even still her writing about her faith is amazing. Her trust in Christ so complete even though she is grieving.

Through reading a handful of her entries and in processing my own stuff relating to our infertility/adoption/loss, I realize that often I play the "it could be worse" card. It goes like this, our situation could be worse at least _____ didn't happen, or how can I be struggling, look at what so-and-so is dealing with. While its true, my "stuff" could be worse, its not right to discount the fact that the past 4 years have not been a cake walk by any stretch of the imagination.

Pain is pain; regardless of our human-made hierarchy of loss, regardless of what others are going through. Infertility, I think, is a special type of pain that is often hidden, swept under the rug, not acknowledged. I often wonder if this is because it is somewhat invisible. Maybe it is because no one really knows what to say, or because it is so personal. Whatever the reason is it is often a much quieter grief. I mean essentially we are mourning children that do not exist.

Somehow through all of the failed cycles, through the trials, through the years of waiting, through the pain, and the glimpses of joy, I'm learning that it is okay to not be okay. I obviously have a lot to be thankful for and I am, a God who would send his son to die for me, a wonderful supportive husband, a great family, our sweet dog, and so much more.

Its not that I want to wallow in what I do not have or in the obvious ache of what I long for, but I am still aware that something is very much absent from this picture. I am learning how to be present in this season that God has obviously called me to. My hope is that I will learn how to truly submit my all heart to God in this time and learn to live right where He has me at this moment, really live.

Still I have a great deal of hope for life the other side of this desert. If I really look hard enough I can almost see the promised land, but it feels like it is a long ways off. Some days it even feels like a mirage, a dream. I know it is there, but I have to make it through this journey first. I have to learn how to patiently sit at the feet of my Father and find contentment in His love first, even if this means I have to rest in the desert of all places.

One of my all time favorite verses right now is from Isaiah 42:16. God promises to "...lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them."

Even in the darkest roughest places God is there. He can see the way, even when I cannot. He knows what is coming and where He is taking me. And while He is leading me; blind, anxious, stumbling me, He will make the darkness turn to light. I cannot wait to see the sun rise over this journey.