Wrestling Hope

It is Saturday morning here in our small mountain town in France. I’m stealing a moment to write while the boys watch cartoons and Anina naps. Jason is out on a group day hike in some nearby mountains. Today begins our first two week break from classes. We have completed our first 7 week block!  All praise and honor to our great God. Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who are praying for and encouraging us on this wild journey.

There is so much going on that its hard to know what to even focus on or write about. My heart and mind have felt pulled in a million directions the past few weeks – school and language learning, home rhythms and routines, meal prep and planning, meeting the needs of our children, reaching out to friends, connecting with and praying for our hurting family back home, staying connected in marriage, creating new relationships here, making plans for this 2 week break, dealing with physical ailments, anticipating the holidays and upcoming exams, etc. As in everyone’s life, there is no end of things to do and things to process.

But sometimes… sometimes I have to just stop. Sometimes I have to be still, while everything continues to swirl around me. My body sends me signals that it’s time for a little stillness – that I need to let my mind and heart catch up with my life a bit. For me, this looks like tension headaches, increased pain in my problem hip and foot, increased anxiety, restless sleep, and increased fatigue. It’s like a huge ‘time out’ sign that I can only push past for so long. So here I am, on a Saturday morning, with four little ones and SO much to do… and I’m sitting on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, with my coffee, water, and laptop. I’m letting my soul untangle itself, and letting my body rest a bit. We will see what pours out…

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I held her against my chest as I swayed back and forth, humming softly. I simply could not put her down. She nestled in contentedly, letting the full weight of her little body rest into mine. I kept swaying, kept humming, until the humming was silenced by the tears… my tears. I finally let them come. She lifted her head and looked intently at my face, unaccustomed to me crying while holding her, but then nestled back in. Once I let the tears come, they wouldn’t stop. I caressed her hair, looked at the crocheted mobile hanging over her crib, then the hand-stitched quilt on the wall – both made by dear friends. I turned and watched my toddler son sleep peacefully in his bed next to hers.

“Oh Father, I don’t deserve the amazing gift of these children!” my swirling thoughts finally came to front of my mind as I cried out. “Why do I get my dream, when my sister can’t have hers?!” It all felt so unfair. I did nothing to deserve these precious babies, and she did nothing to deserve the loss of hers.

My sister is saying goodbye for the FIFTH time to the tiny baby within her. Her first little one left emergently – leaving behind the scars of trauma, pain, and loss. Then a double blessing – and double loss. Then another emergency – requiring surgery, hospital rooms, and more trauma and pain. And now… again?!

When she sent me the picture a couple weeks ago from across the world, evidence of another little life growing within her, I immediately fell to my knees in prayer. For days, I thought of her continually, and begged God for this baby to be their miracle. I reminded Him of all the miracles that He has performed in the past, and in our absolute trust in His ability to do above and beyond what we ask or think. I reminded Him that she has faithfully trusted and followed Him – through all the ups and downs of this journey – and that THIS TIME – she needed the miracle in order to know the extravagant love He has for her. In the midst of our pleas and longings, we received the news…

No miracle. Another loss. More grief. More pain. More confusion and anguish. No chance to hold this baby this side of heaven.

“I don’t understand what You’re doing! Why do we even hope and pray for the miracle?!”

And so I hold my baby girl, watch my sleeping little boy, and cry. I let all the pent-up emotions come out. I know what it’s like to experience loss – three of my precious babies went to heaven before I could hold them. But I also know what it’s like to experience the miracle – four times now. The two little ones in this room, and the two sleeping in their bunk bed down the hall. These children have come with a lot of challenge and a lot of work, but they are still absolute miracles.

I’ve also seen miracles in the lives of friends – the relationship they longed and prayed for finally comes to fruition; the child is finally placed in his mama’s arms after she ached and cried and prayed for him; the financial needs are met even though it had seemed impossible; the darkness that had threatened to destroy finally lifts… Yet I’ve also experienced the heartache and confusion when the miracle doesn’t happen – her baby boy only lived for an hour; both of their tiny girls are now gone; their son fought so hard but lost his fight for life at only 6 months old; the battle for her mind and heart is still raging and nothing seems to change…

I’m so tempted to stop hoping and praying for miracles – to protect my heart from this pain and disappointment. 

“What’s the point God?! Why do you tell us to ask, when it feels like so often your answer is ‘no’?”

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This past week has been full of me wrestling through these questions with the Lord. I’ve struggled to focus on French language study, and the details of daily life here. I’ve been asking deep questions (again) about hope and prayer and miracles.

I’ve been reading the book, “Daring to Hope” by Katie (Davis) Majors, in spare moments the past couple days. The spiritual, mental, and emotional battles have been raging in my heart, and in our home, the past couple weeks. I struggle to know how to pray. I waffle back and forth between trust and discouragement. One moment I run to the Lord, and the next moment I square my shoulders and turn the other way. Jason and I have been dancing this same awful dance – one moment turning toward one another, and the next turning away – sullen and alone. The kids feel the tension and have been extra needy lately. We are all tired from the constant energy it takes to learn a new language and culture. Yet nothing saps my energy like fighting against God or my husband.

And so, I sit here, trying to pray, trying to process. The boys keep fighting and Anina won’t stay asleep. The weight of housework, homework, and overdue correspondence is feeling heavier by the moment. I’m only half way through Katie’s book, but I think I’m coming to very similar conclusions in life thus far…

I don’t understand why God does many things the way He does. I don’t understand why my sister can’t hold and raise her babies here on earth. I don’t understand why she has had to go through this loss and heartache over and over. I don’t understand why the peaceful, beautiful Cameroon that we left 3 years ago had been turned upside down by violence. I don’t understand why God allows so much pain and suffering to remain, and often thrive, in this broken world.   

But this I know… I. know. Him. I know He exists. I know He is good. I know He is in control. I know He is gracious. I know HE is the full embodiment of Love. I know that He is holding all those I love, and that He loves them more than I ever could. And I know that HE is enough for them – and for me.

It might seem silly to many to continue to hope, to continue to pray, to a God who sometimes answers ‘no’ in painful ways. But He is all I have. Prayer for me has become like oxygen – I need it to take my next breath. I can’t turn toward Him, toward my husband, or toward this life, without His Spirit empowering me. He has graciously put me in a place the past several years where I know that I cannot do this life for even a moment on my own.

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So, I get up. I wash dishes, cut vegetables, pick up toys, teach and care for my children, do my homework, practice French, turn toward my husband, and turn toward God. These two weeks of ‘break’ from classes are going to be full of work, travel, adventure, and study. I truly don’t have energy for it. I’m sure there will be more wrestling and more struggle. But I hope and pray that there will also be more peace, more stillness and internal rest, more growth and trust, and more of God here in our midst. I hope and pray that my sister, and all those suffering, will somehow know Him to be real and near in the midst of their pain. I hope and pray that Love Himself will envelop us all, even when we don’t understand what He’s doing.