Much of the world is holed up in their homes as a pandemic virus spreads rampant from one continent to the next. It’s all that’s on the news, in the headlines, in our social media feeds, in our minds.
Many are working from home, attempting to school their kiddos from home, rationing their toilet paper and hand sanitizer and figuring out their “new normals,” whatever in the world that might be. Some have lost their jobs or are simply unable to go in to work right now. The economy is in absolute upheaval, and no one is quite sure what updates and changes will be coming to us as each hour and day passes.
Two and a half weeks ago my hubby and I made a last minute decision to head out of town for the weekend. We went many of the same places we went to five years prior; the drive, the hunting show, the covered bridge… And it was surreal to me how that five years felt like an odd mix of nearly a lifetime ago, and nearly yesterday, all at the same time.
Five years ago right now I was pregnant with a little girl, who we would find out had Trisomy 18 and would never get to come home with us. I’m sure this is devastating news for any parent… but at the age of forty, with nearly two decades of infertility behind me… I was beyond devastated with this unexpected “gift” God chose to “bless” us with.
Five years ago I was sick, really sick. I was basically on bed rest, living in a nightmare in which only a very very small handful of people were even aware of. How in the world do you tell the world that you are pregnant, at the age of 40, with a baby you knew from the very beginning was not actually going to become a living, breathing, addition to your lives and your family? Well I couldn’t, and we didn’t… we staggered and stumbled and blindly attempted to pull each other along during those hours, days, and months.
Five years ago I was in my house, not leaving unless absolutely required. Oddly similar to present day. Five years ago I was living in fear, uncertainty, desperation, depression, uncontrollable crazy. Again, oddly similar to present day.
And I’m not sure if that is making living and surviving within this current crisis easier, or harder.
The part of me that is getting sucked back into those hard and vivid memories are finding these days at home, away from others, listening to the crazy in my head, perhaps even more hard to continue to battle forward through. At times it’s all just almost too much for me, the overwhelm almost debilitating. But… there is also the part of me that remembers and actually feels God’s provision and strength and faithfulness through all of that five years ago, and that brings me some moments of comfort and peace.
I don’t know about everyone else, but I know right now I am on one hell of a rollercoaster ride. A ride that is barreling out of control and ricocheting off the four walls of this home I am imprisoned in.
Actually, I have to take that back, I do not feel at all imprisoned here. I am a very happy introvert that is more than ok with not having to leave my house. Granted this is not something I was expecting, and not something I’m at all in control of, but overall I am not overly bothered that I have basically not left my house for two weeks. I am however struggling with adding homeschooling on to my full time job, but… I am choosing to try see the blessing in it, choosing to do the best that I can in the unexpected gift of time we have all been handed right now.
And here I am… on the eve of that “day” yet once again … that day when everything stopped for just a few minutes. That day when everything fell apart, when all the stars did not align. That day when Heaven’s tears rained down and hell's gates seemed to swallow me whole.
That day when part of me died, but that day when the Lord also graciously allowed me to live.
I know we were given this journey for a reason. I know, for whatever reason, Faith MaryJo’s life was given to her only to be left as her legacy. And I know, that no matter how hard, or how sad, or how crappy it can all be some days… that this journey is honestly a gift, just not the gift we are used to getting all tied up with frilly bows and sparkly wrapping paper.
Over the passing of the last five years, I have come to know that this is the true kind of gift that was given for the sole purpose to keep on giving. This is the kind of gift that really isn’t a celebration, a party, a magical moment forever etched in time, but it is the gift that allows a very hard story to be told, to be shared, to also be forever etched in time, just like the name and date that is etched into her black granite tombstone on the other end of town.
It’s the gift that has allowed me to be able to see differently, feel differently, act differently, love differently. It has given me the eyes and heart to see and feel and know the need of the importance of entering in and walking alongside others, of allowing others to enter in and walk alongside me… of offering help and of receiving help.
And yes, as awesome and positive as all of this sounds, and in reality it “is”… this gift is also the membership to a club that I never asked to join. This was not my choice, this was not in my control, this was not the path I wanted my life to have to travel down. We can say all the right things, and put ourselves all back together on the outside, but of course the inner reality is…
It’s hard… it’s really, really hard.
And yet, for whatever reason, it is, in fact, the card we have been given, the path we were meant to journey. And if you believe in a Big God, in a Big Heaven, then at some point (or at least on most days) you have to attempt to give up the fight and simply open your hands and try openly give of the "blessings" from that which was taken away from you.
Granted some days are much easier than others. Some seasons and months are just harder than others. March is hard for me during a normal year, and especially hard this year. But here we are… time has continued to tick and tomorrow we will wake and we will both celebrate and grieve the birth day of our daughter, Faith MaryJo.
There will be smiles, there will be tears. There will be grief, there will be reflection, and there might be a few miles run in her memory (and maybe even be a little cake served in her honor). It will again be just us tomorrow, just our tiny little family, in this tiny little house, on this big big journey together.
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