It's hard to believe all that has happened in the past seven days. Let me just say -- this week has been full on. One of those weeks that is a hinge between "before" and "after," and nothing, nothing feels the same.
I never imagined that over half of Made's early bird spots would be sold out by now. I never imagined that the registered students would already be forming a community of love in our Facebook group. And (since we're being honest here) I never believed that anyone would want some heart-child-creation of mine like the Made students have wanted this course. Thank you for that, those of you whose own hearts leapt and said yes!
I never imagined that on Tuesday a friend would message me to say that her baby had died before he was born, died inside of her, and that I would fly to be with her and stand in the pain and meet her sweet son and hold her as she cried when she did the things that no mother should ever have to.
I never imagined the way this would make my own grief over Eve feel so raw and new. I have cried more in the past few days than I have in the past few months. And really, it was needed. My grief had scabbed over while there was still hurt that needed draining, and this has reopened me not only to pain but to healing as well. This is hard, and good.
I never imagined that witnessing my friend's loss and grief would stir up the courage to lean into this thing that's been on my heart for over a year but that I've been too afraid to embrace. Seven days ago I would not have believed you if you'd told me that my heart would be saying "yes" to this strange calling this week.
And (hang on, we're switching gears here) I never imagined how hard it would be to try to hang on to my faith when my husband lost his. It makes me feel weak and my faith feel paltry that his decision for atheism would rock me so profoundly. That his choice would feel so much like death in my heart. I turn to God's word for comfort, and find it cold and hard. I am trying to enter in, but it feels like banging my head against a wall.
I never imagined that all this things would converge with my anxiety and as a result that I would find myself unable to go to bed for four nights in a row (and counting . . .). That this would stir up my eating disordered tendencies that still lie nested in the recesses of my brain. That I would feel so profoundly old.
I don't know how to wrap all this up in a neat bow. Probably because that's impossible, although that fact doesn't stop me from wanting to try. I believe that Jesus is bigger than my self-doubt, than my God-doubt, than my pain and fear and shatteredness. But some days -- days like this one, that falls at the end of an uninmaginably beautiful and terrible and terrifying week -- it's hard to see that belief as anything more than flimsy smokescreen of desperate self-delusion.
But telling you these things feels like praying. And if God is the God I believe he is, than this is enough. This is prayer, and worship, and enough and enough and enough. Even though my heart is too tired to hold onto that hope.
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