To my lover

Congratulations! On this, your last day at your old job, I want to tell you that I am so proud of you for all your hard work these last two years. You have done well, and I know you will not be easily replaced.

I am so excited for you as you move on to a position that seems to have been created with you in mind. What a wonderful opportunity. I hope it was worth waiting for!

I love you. I will be with you in this new job, supporting you in every way I can.

Congratulations!

Love always,
your beloved



Edit: Sorry for being sappy, but this is just a really, really BIG deal for us!

Oh Lord, remember me!

Remember me, even as I struggle and strain to remember You!

Lamentations 2

The Lord is like an enemy;
He has swallowed up Israel.
He has swallowed up all her palaces and destroyed her strongholds.
He has multiplied mourning and lamentation for the daughter of Judah.

My eyes fail from weeping,
I am in torment within,
My heart is poured out on the ground because my children are destroyed.

My wound is as deep as the sea. Who can heal me?

"If you find God with great ease, perhaps it is not God that you have found."
-- Thomas Merton

I read this quote in "Reaching for the Invisible God" recently and it really comforted me.

Treasures in Lamentations 1

Bitterly she weeps at night, tears are upon her cheeks. Among all her lovers there is none to comfort her... People have heard my groaning, but there is none to comfort me.

Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Is any suffering like my suffering that was inflicted upon me, that the Lord brought on me in the day of his fierce anger? From on high he sent fire, sent it down to my bones. He spread a net for my feet and turned me back. He made me desolate, faint all day long.

The Lord has sapped my strength. He has handed me over to those I cannot withstand... This is why I weep and my eyes overflow with tears. No one is near to comfort me, no one to restore my spirit. My children are destitute because the enemy has prevailed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I feel... I feel as though my very faith is slipping through my fingers and I am powerless to stop it.

Over the Rhine, New York City, June 14 2006

i radio heaven

i get mixed signals

i move the antenna

i switch the channels

i lie in this bed

my satellite dish

is there room in the universe

for one last wish

the wound is deep

i'm just trying to confess it

A note

There is some discussion going on over on Adam's blog regarding his posts about the "overrated faithfulness of God." I'm not about to join that discussion (at least not at this point) but I just want to say that what he wrote, specifically his entry on 6/5, comes from my heart as well. What he wrote resonated with me so much that I just wanted to say "yes!" outloud. His post means alot to me, because of where I am and what I am going through.

People who read it can take what is said the wrong way, and that is a risk of blogging these kinds of thoughts. And, as Adam said, they are just thoughts. But I think if people remember his heart, and mine, they can better understand where we are coming from and why it is that we need to walk this path.

Our false god has been knocked down and we are left sifting through the pieces to find the real God. Please be patient with us.

The music

I can't hear the music anymore.

That is one of the quotes from Joyce Landorf Heatherley's Silent September that just really, really resonates with me. I have been disturbed, and even frightened, by the fact that I have not been able to sing to God, for quite some time - even years now. When I've been in the presence of other believers who have wanted to sing, I try, but end up just being silent. Is it because I am too angry with God to sing? Perhaps, but this is not always the case. There are times when I have wanted to sing, have even yearned for it. But I just can't. And now I know why.

I can't hear the music anymore.

It can't rain forever

Today, as I was reading through a miscarriage support message board, I came across the words “It can’t rain forever.” That put into words a hope that I’ve been carrying for a few years now. I think it’s part of my mind’s way of coping with my seemingly endless heartache. To make myself believe that this can’t go on indefinitely. It has to end some time. Right? Kind of like the statement in my last post about making payments into the I’ve-suffered-enough account. It has to get full at some time, right? Pain has to lose its fury at some point, just like any storm in nature. Right?

Yet, like the author of my last post, I am continually surprised and even amazed at the endurance and intensity of pain. It appears to have no limit, nor does it has respect for human levels of tolerance. I often think to myself: “Why I am so surprised, again and again, at unfairness and injustice in the world?” Why are any of us surprised?? It is nothing new - we have been fighting it since birth. I recently got a call from my mother-in-law, who said it appears she had some sort of a mini stroke that permanently took away some vision in one of her eyes. The doctors are worried it will happen again and attack her other eye. What?? Where did that come from? She’s a healthy person – how could that happen? Again… I am surprised when these things happen. But I am learning that these things – and other things, like my grandfather’s awful death, and my dad’s bout with cancer, and my brother’s hard times, and my beloved friend’s depression, are not interruptions in life. They ARE life.

So why are we still so surprised? A few thoughts come to mind. The first, which is not very original, is that we are fish out of water. We weren’t created for this imperfect world. The reason I am shocked is because this really isn’t how things are supposed to be, so no wonder we are feeling the absurdity of it. We were supposed to be experiencing life altogether differently. It will never, never feel right to us; we will never get used to it. The second thought, actually borrowed from Adam, is that it may be due largely as a result of teachings many of us have received that, in so many words, tell us that, once we are Christians, life will not include the types of suffering and burdens that it does for those who are not believers. And that God is never silent, or hidden, or unfair. You know, the people who only ever talk about victory in Jesus. And who avoid the darkness.

Lately I am finding a need to accept the presence of this darkness. By that I don’t mean embrace it, but I mean to stop fighting against it. I think part of that means taking a hard and fast look at the belief that “it can’t rain forever.” I am beginning to think that maybe… it can. Really. Not for everyone, but maybe for some. Wouldn’t you consider Paul one who experienced a lifetime of rain? That doesn’t mean he didn’t have happy times and blessings, but he lost everything.

When Jesus was on earth, he didn’t heal everyone. It has recently occurred to me as a very real possibility that I may be among those who remain unhealed. From childlessness, that is. Sure, God can heal me, but perhaps the way He will choose to do it is by healing my heart, not my empty womb. Adam and I have discussed altering the direction of our prayers, to some degree. Not that we will no longer ask for children, but that our prayers may be more along the lines of “Help us to live with this” instead of only “Please give us our heart’s desires.” Using the picture of unending rain, the image becomes a prayer of “Since the rain continues, and the floods abound, teach us to swim!” That is a hard change in direction to take. By doing that I face fears that I may resign myself to my greatest nightmare – no children. I know that is not necessarily the case. God could still chose to bless me with children. But there are greater things at stake here. And I do so want to have my hands open when He finally chooses to fill them.

“As surely as the sun rises, He will appear; He will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth.” Hos 6:3