Disclaimer: If you're not in the mood to be happy-->sad-->sad-->happy-->sad-->questioning-your-own-emotional-health then it may or may not be a perfect time to dismiss yourself from this post ummm...rightaboutnow.
I have a no-good very-bad guilty history of Lenten lethargy. I always start off on Ash Wednesday with a big bang and stay strong for a while, but eventually the excitement of Easter comes and...and I don't know, I guess it's hard to "suffer" and be somnolent and sacrificial and sad when there is so much light at the end of the tunnel.
"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return..."
You can't.
Cloud nine: occupied!
But like good little Catholic doobies, we still wanted to say "yes" to the season of Lent. As said in one of my previous posts, this was one of our goals: "Pray the rosary more often. And pray it with Brian. Prayer is a vulnerable thing, and an increase in vulnerability means a deepening in love. One of the vows we made on the altar was to accept children willfully from God and then raise them responsibly in the Church, so I think it's really important that we can share the fundamentals of our faith together before we open the chapter of making/raising childrensss..."
So we prayed the rosary, and mostly/always we offered it up for our brand new little blob that was happily gestating away.
I mean, we thought it was happily gestating away. [Because who wouldn't be loving life in the uterus?]
But maybe not so much.
Because this Monday...
A shocking turn of events, and...
Miscarriage.
Holy cow, it's a mean bullet to bite and a nasty spoonful to swallow.
[Yeah, mmmhm. How was that for an emotional roller coaster? Welcome to my lyfeee as of lately.]
I spent the entire day wadded up on the couch crying. Like out of control UGLY sobbing. And Brian has never ever seen me shed a tear in the 4-ish years we've known each other, so I'm pretty sure he wished he could've either a) melted down into the hardwood floor or b) vanished instantly underneath some sort of wizardly invisibility cloak. It was the craziest everrr hormone-raged pity party for two, so be so so glad you weren't invited. Or even re-incarnated as the fly on the wall who wasn't invited either but was still watching, because you probably would've wanted to suicide your second life after witnessing an episode like that. [I should've taken a picture of the mound of snot-soaked Kleenexes that accumulated on the floor because...well that would just be an emphatic little picturesque illustration to add here. But......some dignity saved.]
ANYWAY...
Miraculously I had the chance to wake up and try again...
And the next day got a little better...
And the next day after that was even better...
And here I am today, well...experiencing a little diarrhea of the mouth and somehow ready to be a storyteller/scribe of our testimony.
-- Job. Maybe just a random suffering servant from the land of Uz who lived thousands of years ago, but also someone fully alive and surviving/thriving in my heart on the daily. Who exactly is he? A wealthy man who started out with 7 sons, 3 daughters, and thousands of animals and was suddenly stripped of everything. His oxen and herdsman were put to the sword, lightening electrocuted his sheep and their shepherds, and his camels and their tenders were killed. His children were killed, his house collapsed, and he was covered from head to toe in blistering boils. He tore his cloak and cut off his hair, yet still he cast himself prostrate on the ground and praised the name of God. "...The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord...we accept good things from God; should we not accept evil?..." Bing bam boom. Even in all of his profound sufferings, Job never turned his heart or face from God. Never ever ever. [Side note that is unrelated to this post but I cannot go on without a mention: I met the 21st century version of Job several years ago in nursing school and I have never forgotten one minute detail of that encounter. One of the most blessed and gutwrenching memories of my life to date and holy moly...profoundness in the flesh right there that will be engrained in my memory until the day I die and probably even longer.]
Job taught me: Hit me with Your best shot; I will always keep my face turned towards You...
-- Mary. The sweet mother of Jesus whose heart was pierced as she witnessed the death of her own Son. I shalt not even get started on this one because the list of reasons I love and adore her will go on and on and on times infinity, but her example as a daughter of Christ and mother of God has always mystified me. And in those horrible moments of miscarraige [but only in between sobs when I occasionally inhaled enough oxygen for a tiny brainwave to form] I never stopped thinking of Mary: "Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord; let it be done to me according to Your word." Palms up, heart open, face smiling. Bravery and trust and surrender and love and obedience all wrapped into the perfection of her answer. She da bomb. Me need to be like her.
Mary taught me: Not my will, but Yours. And all in Your timing...
-- A really sweet friend who probably doesn't read this blog, but still -- I refuse to sell her out slash throw her under the bus. When we first decided to jump on the baby-making bandwagon and shouted a big loud AMEN! to being procreaters and co-Creators, I honestly wholeheartedly really did think that we were in control of all of this and God would just smile down sweetly and lovingly comply with our VERY clever and perfectly timed-out plan. I mean, why wouldn't He? We are NFP-ers [another blog for another time -- haven't quite found the words to explain that method of madness yet] and our timing was dead on and this was just the perfect month to add a new piece to the puzzle of our life. It was purely biological [sperm meets egg, sperm likes egg, sperm joins egg] and a little bit spiritual [as in I knew God would be sooo happy that we were agreeing to be fruitful and multiply!]. So anyway, this friend [who may or may not've also been trying to get pregnant -- but not with her first] was always reminding me that it's God's game and He'll decide when the timing is right and blah blah blah and I always just smiled and nodded and thought yepppp. But eventually she did get into my head, and man oh man was she sooo right. Being able to let go of this tiny little tragedy and knowing how to make peace with His plans has made the coping a million times easier. Maybe actually like a trillion. So I owe her. Big time. Oh, and today she sent me this message, which was probably the greatest note that I ever could've read in this moment: [In talking about one of her miscarriages] "The baby knew nothing but love. It was conceived in love and was loved the whole time it was present in me. Then it went back to the ultimate home of love. While I would have loved to have known more of and held that little baby, earth comes with much sadness, pain, and sin. Our baby never knew that, just love. I kind of think perhaps God had a spirit that just needed to know that love, and its purpose was fulfilled in its super short time here."
A really sweet friend taught me: My plans/timing are not God's plans/timing. Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and amennnn!
[Wow, are you still reading? I definitely understand if you've nodded off a few times because...holy wordiness.]
SO...where was I? Oh.
Today, we're of course still semi-sad, but we're also on our knees in thanksgiving. On our knees knowing that He gives and He takes away. On our knees knowing that we are handmaidens [and also the masculine form of that?] of the Lord. On our knees knowing that, even when things don't make sense, His plan does. On our knees thankful for Job, Mary, and Sweet Friend. [And I mostly definitely mean "on our knees" in the figurative nature because I am comfily cozied on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table and Brian is in the recliner well, reclining. But you get the picture. It's the thought that counts.] And one last thing before I release you from my tiny prison called a blog: here's today's little blippit from my "Pope Francis Daily Surprise" app...
I think it's juuuust about time to wrap this novel up, but can't do it without acknowledging that this year may not go down in the books as another of typical Lenten lethargy...
...So here's to this especially "symbolic" season: plunging down with our sweet Jesus for a brisk brush through hell...
...and also to the soon-approaching Easter: rising again quickly and triumphantly to face the Easter cross. And rising in the joy of knowing that suffering and death have no grip on us, but that redemption and celebration and the fulfillment to come will always claim us. Already definitely cherishing the fact that we are so deeply loved and so worthy of hope and victory and new life!
And for now? Today? In this moment? Basicalllllly, we are just putting one foot in front of the other and stepping forward slowly. Spending some quality time with the Great Physician who knows how to heal our brokenness better than we know how to lay it at His feet. Appreciating that He always plans for our future to be bigger than our past. Observing how the journey of life will undoubtedly press on. Knowing that the days ahead will unfold beautifully if Brian and I continue loving and being faithful to each other...
...and loving and being faithful to God...
...and someday when our little bit of love and faith intersects with His huge amount of loving faithfulness, big things will happen.
Or maybe just "little" things.
Like babies.
And lots of them. ;)
*****
PS -- Congrats on making it to the end! Seriously... Kind of a big accomplishment and there's definitely something to be said about your attention span.
PSS [Or is it PPS?] -- We don't do well with the sympathy vote and have already had a significant enough pity party of our own, so no need for mushy gushy sad sorrowful phone calls pleaseeee! Foreal, I mean it! Picking up and moving on and don't want to revel in the bad and ugly, so don't you dare drag me backwards. But prayers for peace [and future babies!] always accepted, OBVI.
PSSS [PPPS?] -- We in this household are fast grievers and big supporters of the Big Guy's perfect plan, so don't feel obligated to waste too many prayers on us! Easter and new life are just around the corner and pretty soon everything gon' be juuust fine. ;)
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