Despite Alder's good day yesterday, all the loving support from friends and family near and far, I still struggled. I knew this would be a long, bumpy road, I just assumed my bumps would correspond with Alder's. Now I know better. This journey is a bit like watching a baseball game: you're sitting in your seat, twitching a little to jump out and swing your own bat but doing your best to be still and watch. (Hey, if you're lucky maybe at least you've got some pop corn as a distraction.) And then. BAM! You're hit by a ball out of left field, and what you're left with is a black eye from spectator sport.
That's what yesterday was for me. And today, I've got not a black eye, but two puffy ones, swollen from the tears compiled. It started out as somethings small: a quick, harsh word that cut deeper than he intended; a rude, insensitive phone call from a social worker with prying, painful questions; a nagging worry and disappointment that Alder's scan didn't just read, "all clear;" yet another inquisition from said social worker; the slowing of my milk production from stress, or who knows?; the grande finale--the realization that my wedding rings, handed over just before my helicopter ride, have vanished. Too much. Just too much. Everything is out of my control, and thanks, but no thanks, God, I just don't want another "growing moment." I'd rather just wallow.
And I lost it. I lost it more than I've lost it since last Friday when they first took my baby away. Lost it like I lost it when my water broke and I thought that my child would certainly die, and my own life was hanging in the balance. Everything was lost, lost, lost, and all I could do was sob. And shout. And say angry things to Sam and to God, who didn't seem to care a whole lot about my own emotional state. I cried so much I started to hyperventilate, which, who knew, is also dangerous after a c section. Insult to injury: don't cry too much or you might pop your insides open. Insert giant eye roll.
Eventually, I calmed down just enough to crawl into the sheets and tell God I'd really rather not talk to Him tonight, thanks. But, Glory to God, we don't serve a God who answers our whims, or who hides His face when we call out in a rage. And today, I am so, so, thankful that not only does He stay with us while we push Him away, but He gently turns our faces back to Himself.
So, yes. He still woke me last night. And as I staggered, exhausted, to go pee again, I could feel the soar wrapped around my waist, the tightness of my scar. My Alder wound. They were right about crying too hard. Too late now; my whole body ached. My wound ached. Wound..."He was wounded for our transgressions..." I began in my head. Oh, there you are, Lord. Good evening. Would you like to talk again?
I pulled out my phone, (maybe a little begrudgingly,) and googled the reference. Two popped up, the first in Isaiah. I read through it, but it just didn't seem like that was quite what He had for me this night, so I flipped to 1 Peter 2:13-25:
Be subject for the Lord's sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good. For this is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people. Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God. Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor.
Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust. For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.
Again, I was washed over with the Lord's gentle redirecting of my heart. It's amazing how, these days, sanctification feels much more like taking a bath than it does going through the fire. I come out feeling refreshed, restored, reliant. I always associated repentance as carrying such guilt, but no. The Lord's discipline truly is all gift. Guiltless, weightless, cleansing.
Last night while I wallowed, He prepared comfort. He prepared hope, He prepared joy and abundance for my soul. In 1 Peter, Peter speaks of enduring through our suffering, because through suffering, we get become more like Him. For the first time in my life, I understand something new about what it means to be more like Jesus. It's not only that we take on His attributes; it's certainly not that we become God. It's more of a longing to find ways that He has made marks upon us resembling His own. I pine for these love scars. And I have one, at least: I have an Alder wound from where they took my baby; Jesus has a Gina wound from when he came to get His baby back. And He promises to come for me over and over and over and over again. Even when I think I'm lost, for Him, I'll forever be found.
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