I may go back and try fill in a few of the larger things, but then again, I might not.
I am currently in a season of utter deep, dark, drowning in the trenches of some really really hard life stuff right now. All my life I haven't shared much about that journey in our life, mostly because it isn't entirely all my story to share. Granted, Faith also isn't only my story to share, but... she is not here to someday read, someday compare, someday accuse of oversharing... Although the deeper and longer this other journey is going, the more and more I am feeling that at some point there will come a point where I do need to share at least some things - mostly because I know I cannot be the only one, we cannot be the only family in this similar place. And while I do know I am not alone, I do also know this is one hell of a hard and lonely ride right now.
But for now, this blog is still about Faith. About our Journey to Faith. The life and loss of our infant daughter now over ten years ago. Double digits. Wow, where does that time go? Who would she have been? What would her personality have been? What friends would she have? What loves would she have? What favorite foods would she want? What would her favorite color have been?
Several weeks ago my beautiful daughter-in-law messaged me a link to a local Infant and Childless Awareness 5k Color Run. She asked if I would be interested in doing it with her and the girls.
**{Girls}** Insert quick side note, in July we welcomed our second granddaughter into our lives. And there is so much to tell about her and her life, that I do promise to come back to a share a few of those stories with you all.
She took care of signing us all up, she took care of getting Faith's name added to the back of the t-shirts, she took care of reminding me about the event and she pulled into the event parking lot about two minutes after I had arrived and we put on our shirts and put in our miles together, and I knew it was one of those moments in time when you just know you are not fully mentally or physically prepared for it before you arrive, and yet also know it is going to be something special.
I was out running early one morning and got attached by a dog in early July and was injured and haven't really been able to run much since. I have done some walking and some elliptical miles, but overall I have been sidelined from running and working out. Some I'm sure is just an excuse I'm using with the dog bites and hematomas, some I'm sure is also just an excuse that I am just currently spread too thin to allow time for working on anything for myself, beyond getting through each day.
As we stood in the parking lot of the event, we were surrounded by individuals and families all holding infant and childloss close to their hearts and minds. There were strollers and kiddos and puppers and runners and walkers and color stations and wind. So very much wind.
I laid in bed that morning, not wanting to get up. Not wanting to face people, interact with people. I didn't want to have to push myself and sweat and feel just how out of shape I have gotten, how much weight I have gained. And as I got up and drove in silence alone in my car, I also realized I was probably trying to just continue to leave that door into my heart shut.
The pain in my heart is so great these days, that it has just kind of closed Faith's door for a while. I don't have enough available inside me to deal with it all at the same time. So without actually even knowing it, she closed her door and slipped into a quiet corner, still holding my hand, but also holding her pain and loss for me.
As I drove and thought about this, part of me was so sad that I had allowed this to happen, letting her silently just slip into the shadows during this current season, and part of me was so grateful as well. As I thought of her and all the things... all the what ifs... all the memories... I just knew that holding both of these journeys side by side in both of my hands at the same time would have been too much. Too much. So for a while I've had to let her go, as I've grabbed on even tighter with both hands as I am being drug along in this current season.
Physically she is not here on this earth with us. I don't understand why that is our reality, and most days I'm able to say (and believe) the words that God has a purpose for all this. For her, for us, through her loss.
I know there has been gains through our loss. Friendships, chances to share our story, bring awareness, stand in the silence with others knowing a small inkling of their pain from their loss... And I realized yesterday that I am also failing miserable in that whole portion of my life right now. No, I know I'm not failing it - but I am not available to fully (or even partially) invest in the infant and child loss awareness as I have in the past. And I'm sorry for that.
I'm sorry I have gone silent and have slowly disappeared over the last few years. And I have to be completely honest, it's going to be that way for a while longer. The light is not yet visible at the end of this tunnel I am currently so lost in.
The devil is busy at work telling his lies of failure and not good enough's, and I know it is not just me he's preying on. The entire world right now is hurting and also feeling lost and broken. We are all battling big hard things that we think we are the only ones. But I have to also trust that we aren't the only ones.
I'm reminded of our sermon from 1 Kings today about Elijah, exhausted and tired and ready for the Lord to take him. He thought he was the only one left, completely alone, not enough, ready to die... and in fact... God was assembling a crew of seven thousand other believers waiting to join forces with him...
Elijah wasn't alone, and neither are we. Elijah was enough, and so are we. Even when we feel most alone and most not enough.
