I’m pressing pause here for the month of June and have asked several blogging friends if they would kindly share their words here. Today’s post come from my sweet blogging friend, Steph, whom I have only met in the comments of my blog, and on her own site. Her words today speak of great struggle, but offer tremendous hope. I pray you’re encouraged by them, as I have been.
I remember rocking my firstborn in the middle of night, her all sleepy-eyed with milk slowly making its way from the corner of her puckered lips in seeming rhythm with the tears slowly making their way down my smooth cheek.
And with a heart about to burst with an overwhelming love never felt in quite that same way. . . came heavy, dark emotions that threatened as fiercely as an early summer’s storm. Raging. Stirring. Hinting at the torrent that lay underneath.
And I would rock on.
And pray–desperate pleas. As I imagined. As I thought—of the garage only a few strides away. Of the possibilities. Of the relief of ending it before life as I knew it continued.
And do you wonder where one goes when she’s feeling this way? What hope she can find when the world around looks confusing and terrifying? When her very essence seems to have disappeared into the night and what has come into her body and possessed it is a very betrayal of everything she has ever held dear?
And the answers; they didn’t feel like answers at all.
“This, too, shall pass.”
“It’s just a funk.”
“You just need to get out more.”
“You’re focusing too much on your baby and not enough on God.”
“Get back into a routine quiet time.”
Fingers. all pointing. to my ineptness.To my inability to pull myself out of the sucking quicksand that was only minutes away from totally pulling me under. The vacuum of darkness.
It was always there. just beyond my reach. I could feel it. I could sense its presence. I knew that with one wrong move I was gone.
Fast forward a couple of years, and two more babies, and you have enough emotional and hormonal turmoil to fell even the strongest of women. Of which I was not.
It wasn’t until a multitude of physical symptoms came knocking on my door and presented themselves to a rather astute physician that I got help. Unwillingly. Hesitantly. Without much hope. I bore the scars of shame, not being good enough, not being able to please my God enough on my own.
And the roller coaster ride of those early years of parenting became years filled with secrets. Whispers. Sharing in hushed tones as I found women with similar stories who needed offerings of hope. Offerings that I was only able to give as a result of someone pouring them into me. Someone seeing my need and offering me a new perspective on how God saw me. How very much He loved me.
And then it was a few years after that when I finally came under the care of a practitioner who helped me understand brain chemistry. Who could measure certain things. who could help me fathom what was going on within my own body.
And the day I walked into her office, she told me my lab results, and asked, “based on this number, alone, it’s a wonder you haven’t killed yourself”.
That was the day I knew grace. That God had been present. That rather than deserting me, He had been by my side the entire time. And while my journey was far from being complete, His promise to continue alongside me was still good and true.
He does have a plan for me. And He is faithfully completing it. Day in. Day out. Until the day of full healing and restoration I will experience in His presence. for eternity. Amen.
Hanging on with hope through the journey until then,
Alongside loving her Lord more & more every day, Steph is the wife of one incredible & astute detective, homeschooling mom to four amazing tweens and teens, and lover of anything that gives her some space and quiet 🙂 Her experiences with chronic pain, depression, raising kiddos with special needs, and part-time work as a nurse all feed her writing and perspective of hope amidst the messes of life. You can read her writing at Only Here, Only Now, find her on facebook, or follow her on twitter.