What an odyssey this has been. Still is. Thirteen months ago when I began this blog, I could not have anticipated all that we would encounter in the course of our peregrination. I could not even imagine it. I’m not feeling at all brave, but I think the Holy Spirit is telling me to write about this. When I began this blog, Graeme and I chose its title together – Walking Through The Valley. This was a deliberate reference to Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me All the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever. We were walking through the valley of the shadow of death, our family, each of us in a different way, but there’s no sugarcoating it. Graeme was dying, and as he experienced his physical decline and the thoughts and emotions that accompanied it, the rest of the family experienced the valley too, each in our own way. Here’s where I take a huge risk and make myself very vulnerable. For the past four months, I have been walking through that same valley. I have wrestled with depression and I have been overwhelmed by myself and despairing at my own despair. I have felt like everything has been taken from me, I have felt that having lost so much, I wanted to lose everything, right down to my life. I have felt that my life was pointless and would always be pointless. I have felt that there could never be anything good in or about my life, that what was good has been destroyed and could never be restored. There has been agony and anguish so deep within my soul that I have not been able to comprehend that I am, in fact, still alive. It has felt like such pain should surely mean death. I have longed for and cried out for my Father to take me home to eternity too. Let me be very clear here: I have been very aware that I have much that others do not – comparing my circumstances to those of others, even people I know, I have much to be thankful for. And I am. What I have felt is not about circumstances. It is about suffering. And so when I feel like everything has been taken from me, I have nothing left but God. I have nothing but praise left and this is an act of my will not the way I feel. Staying connected to my brothers and sisters in Christ has been my survival strategy. Getting to church, getting to home group, no matter how hard – my life has depended on these connections and on the help I get to stay connected to God, my hope and the source of life. Acknowledging his sovereignty in my life even when I can’t see him or feel him is like acknowledging the sun. He still exists even when I feel there is nothing, that the darkness is all-encompassing. The sun still exists even when it is night, even when I can’t see a speck of light no matter how hard I look, the sun is still there. God is still there. I don’t usually write about my children here, but it’s fair to say I have felt they have been lost to me too, through their grief-stricken acting out and inflicting their pain on the people closest to them, the ones they are bound to in and by this enormous love for Graeme we all share and the enormous pain we all feel at his death. Our society’s paradigm tells us that our children are meant to grow up, become independent, leave home and leave their parents to enjoy coupledom again at the other end of their lives together after the hard work of raising a family. Life rarely seems to work out the way we humans plan it though. Graeme and I always expected we wouldn’t have decades of retirement together, but we thought we’d have some. The recent emotionally destructive behaviour I’ve had to contend with comes with such a sting, knowing that at the end, I won’t be able to sit back with my man and say, “Well, that was a hard slog, but now it’s time to enjoy each other again, and the fruits of our labour.” I don’t really know how to verbalise the death of the hope of that experience. I am not perfect. I do not wish to be seen as perfect. If I set myself up as perfect, I make myself a god, and I am as far from being God as east is from west. I believe it is more important to be real than to be perfect. If we are real about who we are and about our failings, then we can be real about the grace and mercy we have in Christ Jesus. Denying reality is not helpful and I believe that where denial takes root, imprisonment flourishes. The state of cognitive dissonance created by denying reality cannot be resolved by denying harder, but only by bringing out into the light that which was in the shadows. Shadows cannot exist in the absence of light, and choosing to focus on the light does not deny the shadows or make them go away, but it does diminish their power. Jesus did not deny the difficulties in the lives of the many people he encountered. He did say, “The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” (John 10:10). I know that although I am responsible for myself, I cannot be strong and endure without Jesus. I can only be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Every day I get through, I get through because of Jesus. Because when I want to crawl into a hole, curl up and die, I ask him, Jesus, help me. Help me. Help me. I cant do this alone. And I am so privileged to have been given people who love me and who are willing to help me stand when I want to collapse, who have a hope and a sense that there is some purpose in all this when I cant see anything but suffering and more suffering. I don’t know what you’ve been through, what you’re going through right now, what any of us will go through in the future. I do know that Jesus is right here with me in the midst of my suffering, and that he walks beside me, has gone before me, and will stand behind me. I know that he offers this same presence to everyone but forces it upon no-one. I know that he is my strength and my salvation, my comforter and my counsellor, my advocate, my shelter and my strong tower. I have learned that I can trust him with my life when I can’t even trust myself with my life. I know that you can too, that if you want to let someone else carry the burden that has become too heavy for you, the weight that crushes you, all you need to do is ask him. Ask him, and he will give you rest.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Sep 2014 10:55:21 +0000
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