Breathless Beneath the Weight

There's a heaviness that's settled in the sorrow for me. I'm not sure if it's the fact we hit two months without our girl or just lots of "little things" adding to the weight. Stone upon stone.

Have you ever let your kids bury you in the sand on the beach? I have that feeling of being trapped beneath mounds and mounds of wet sand with shells and stones set atop for good measure. And I wonder, "is this what being planted feels like?" Is this the dying of the fruit so the seed may take root? Is this the stab of roots attempting to shoot from the seeds safe encasement? If so, I don't care for it. I shy away from this pain. I feel the water from above seeping below to quench my thirst, but it's still all so, so heavy.

Sunday night felt like a concrete mixer poured wet cement over me. Maybe because it was Sunday, and I'm already working through the weight of that day. Maybe I tried to do to much. There are things of hers we had brought home from the hospital, the funeral home, and the funeral: placing them in a pile in our closet those two months ago. Some of these are things I want to keep. Hence I sifted through them in order to pack them away.

I held the pajamas she wore to the hospital. They came home. She did not. I hugged her favorite "Christmas blankie" she was sure to drag into my room when she tried to sneak into bed with me. This is the same blanket we felt compelled to bring with us to the hospital hoping it would bring her comfort to have something familiar. She never needed that blankie again. I ran my fingers over her favorite story books knowing I'd never get to read them to her again. I remembered the feel of her while I held her while reading to her. I gently placed her last little locket of hair, a soft braid into the box.

    

Then I came to a folder we forgot we were given. I opened it up and staring back at me was her death certificate. I went to our filing system and stared blankly. Where do I file this? I only have a file for birth certificates. Where does one file away the last document of their child's life? I collapsed into tears. Heavy, ugly tears. I couldn't breathe with grief. I was physically sick. I reached for the phone to reach out to a friend as Adam was in the living room with the kids. In that moment I felt compelled to put it back down again. It was a moment for me to reach out to my Father. It was conviction, and in that moment it took effort to obey.

I cried and groaned to Him. I felt so sick with grief. So sick, in fact I had to vomit. Then I resumed my tears and my prayers. It felt like God was quiet. "Where are you? Where are you in this moment? I can't see you. I can't feel you the way I normally do, the way I want to." It was the first time in two month it felt like God was silent. There was more distance than I'd felt before. I cried for Him to carry me. I finally decided to get ready for bed, so I picked up my phone to play music. It helps redirect me. What did I find? In the moments I felt God was quiet He had actually used a friend to send us the song, "Lord From Sorrows Deep I Call" by Matt Boswell and Matt Papa. That was exactly where I was: calling to him from the ravine of sorrow.

Lord, from sorrows deep I call

When my hope is shaken

Torn and ruined from the fall

Hear my desperation

For so long I've pled and prayed

God come to my rescue

Even so the thorn remains

Still my heart will praise You

Storms within my troubled soul

Questions without answers

On my faith these billows roll

God, be now my shelter

Why are you cast down my soul?

Hope in Him who saves you

When the fires have all grown cold

Cause this heart to praise you

Should my life be torn from me?

Every worldly pleasure

When all I possess is grief

God be then my treasure

Be my vision in the night

Be my hope and refuge

'Til my faith is turned to sight

Lord, my heart will praise You

And oh, my soul put your hope in God

My help, my rock, I will praise Him

Sing, oh, sing through the raging storm

You're still my God, my salvation

I'll be honest with you. While I recognized He saw me in the heap on that floor and heard my weeping, I struggled with parts of this song. I knew it to be true. But I lamented to Him, I slumped there weak and weary forcing myself to praise Him. And when I couldn't (for there were moments I could utter nothing with my lips nor my heart), I asked Him to hear my desperation. I asked Him to help me sing through the raging storm because I just couldn't. I felt buried in sadness so heavy. The next song to play was "I Will Wait for You" by Shane and Shane. 

Out of the depths I cry to You

In darkest places I will call

Incline Your ear to me anew

And hear my cry for mercy Lord

Yea, I will wait for You, I will wait for You

On Your Word I will rely

And I will wait for You, surely wait for You

'Til my soul is satisfied

So put your hope in God alone

Take courage in His power to save

Completely and forever won

By Christ emerging from the grave

I will wait for You, I will wait for You

Through the storm and through the night

I will wait for You, surely wait for You

For Your love is my delight. 

Now, I know He hasn't forsaken me; but that doesn't mean there aren't moments when my feelings lead me elsewhere. There are moments my emotions and heart are slow to follow what I know to be true. "Cause this heart to praise you," as I cry out for mercy from the depths. That's my prayer in this heaviness of sorrow. If this is what being planted is like, then I'm ready for those roots to take hold and the shoot of new life to spring above the ground. I'm desperate to reach the sun. But even then I think I'm underestimating the struggle in the growth. I remember how hard it is to move beneath the weight of sand my kids have buried me beneath; that struggle to move even a toe. My lungs are barely able to expand beneath the weight. Yet, eventually, with the struggle the sand starts to crack. The shells tumble to the side. I emerge with a greater sense of freedom. The sand and debris still cling to me- evidence of the weight I just bore. But I'm free. 

In this life I will always long to rid myself the grit and chaffing of the sand. It won't always be like this. C.S Lewis said, "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." Therefore, my hope is in God alone. His love is my delight. One day I will know Him fully, and all the pain and desperation that consumes me in these moments will be forgotten. 

 As I was writing this there was a letter waiting, unbeknownst to me, in the mailbox: a letter He knew was perfectly timed to minister to my heavy heart. Sitting on my desk is a book I received last week from a gentle soul who knew the words within would encourage me. So, I'm waiting. Here is this storm, I'm waiting for Him. His ear is inclined to me. He shows me that in ways anew each day, even in dark moments my feelings betray me.