Yesterday morning, I woke with a heart full of hurt and ruin. The thoughts of the loss of Gideon and how we would be celebrating his last day as a 10 year old weighed heavy on my soul. I laid there for a bit, not wanting to move, on the brink of tears. I finally lifted up, knowing I better get going or we would all be late, and I saw that beautiful sky. I stared in awe for a bit, snapped a picture that does not do the masterpiece justice, and managed to give thanks to the Creator.
This year has been immensely difficult. As we’ve struggled with a reduction in hours, income and gone back and forth on selling our home and moving, the stress has eaten at me. The uncertainty in the life of a planner wreaks havoc on wellbeing. Couple that with a crazed medical community who seem to no longer care about actual data and well-being of kids and I was twisted. Many times I felt on the brink of depression and in a state of sullenness. Apathy doesn’t suit me well. I care too much, not to care but at the same time I felt too hurt to get too close. At work, I’ve felt like I’ve been balancing on the line of the circle, lonely and looking in. I’ve prayed, read, reached out to my pastor, talked it out a million times with my mom and Lance and waited.
So here we were today, picking up our individual birthday cupcakes, placing a few things on Gideon’s grave and trying to get a few pics to remember number 11. As I looked down at the ornament, “Joy to the World,” I chuckled. It hasn’t always felt like much joy this past year. But then I thought of the second part of the song—“the Lord is come.” I was again reminded that my joy doesn’t come from my circumstances but from the Lord. And I love Jesus—like butterflies in my stomach, singing in my spirit with a praise unlike any other. But that didn’t take from me missing Gideon. That didn’t take from not seeing my son turn 11. That didn’t make this past year any easier. As we got in the car and made our way home to sing happy birthday and eat our goodies, I began to sob. “Though You Slay Me” played over the speaker and the tears streamed.
“Though You slay me
Yet I will praise You
Though You take from me
I will bless Your name
Though You ruin me
Still I will worship
Sing a song to the one who's all I need”
A calmness came and again I went back to the ornament. Joy to the world. I needed to cry out to God. I needed to once again let him take the cup from me. I needed to be reminded that though I will suffer, I will know heartache and loss and misery, these will pale in comparison to the glories I have in Heaven. These will pale in the glory of God. And he reminded me. As I sit here tonight, thinking about Gideon and what he may look like, what he might be interested in, I will rejoice. Nothing can undo my joy I find in Jesus. Though sin and sorrow will come, nothing can separate me from the goodness of our God. My name is written in the book. I will see our son again. I will see Jesus. And although life may look different than what I thought it would or what I think it should, his mercies are new each morning.
It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. —Lamentations 3:22-23
