Skip to main content

Still.

It's been a year and a half since I have last written on this blog.

A year and a half of being stretched and pulled, built up, humbled, all through stumbling and small, baby steps, struggling and fighting to see grace as it was meant to be seen.

I do not feel as though I have any profound new truths or big growths to show for the last year and a half. I do not find myself full of deep wisdom or steadiness.

Instead it's merely felt like life. Messy, stumbling life. A life in constant, dull throbbing need for the grace of a Savior. For daily grace in daily failure.

I find myself in the tension between deep thanks for what God has blessed me with - home, job, adventures, sweet moments with dear people that choose to love me even at my worst,
and the struggle with restlessness and discontent - in self, in situation, in the slow, painful process of sanctification.

I have held those who have been broken as they cry for hope, crying for a hope only a God they do not know yet can provide, and have been the one held as I seek out a taste of the God I love as I grieve my sin and humanity.

And I always come back to needing grace, wanting to understand it, fighting to take it to heart. How can I learn to trust that God has grace for me? How can I know it in the core of me? How can it be true, when I know better, and I can see my sin, that he still looks on me with compassion of a father to a child still learning.

Instead of falling into the embrace of this Father, the one who has already made me one of his own, I find myself hiding, withdrawing. I run and hide from others, believing that my humanity is too much, too messy, that no one could want to love me if they could truly see my sinfulness. I hide from the God I want the most, believing that he is too disappointed in my constant failure to accept me as his own. Although I already am.

I already am.

You wanted me at my worst.

You loved us when we were your enemies.

How can I not believe you then when you say I have nothing to prove to you?

It speaks of how little I know you, how wary I am of trusting you, if I cannot abide in the depths of your grace.

I am learning. Fighting the feelings of shame that Satan brings when I can't see grace. Trying to move past my own, to be able to share and be to others.

This is where I am after a year a half, much in the same place. Still needing grace, still needing you. Still living daily in the present and the unknown future.
Still being loved by you in small nudges and big graces.
Still being awed by you.

I am still Yours.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Avery's Birth Story

This is our firstborn, our daughter Avery's birth story. While I believe every birth story is beautifully full of pain and joy, I understand that this might be hard for some people to read, so I wanted to just give a heads up: This includes beautiful photos of our little girl, who was stillborn. I am going to share the details of her birth, which even for living children, can be a bit much for some to read. It's written haltingly, in mere facts; my thoughts and commentary may come in other posts, but this is mainly to tell a story. This is a story of life and death. This is the story of an immense love, a profound loss, and a good God. Yes, He is good even in this. Avery Michelle. I was 29 weeks pregnant. My pregnancy had been relatively normal. I have Ulcerative Colitis, which had flared up at 5 weeks pregnant, and I had been pretty sick off and on during the 6+ months I was carrying our baby. We had been nursing my UC with prednisone and enemas to keep thin...
4 comments
Read more

“This concludes our time together”

We raced to the gravesite after the funeral. Late, because of my absentmindedness: I forgot we needed to bury your body. My brain still hadn’t realized you were dead.   My wee infant screamed the whole five minute drive, because she woke up from a long nap in my arms, and I had disturbed her to buckle her and she was super hungry. Because I didn’t feed her before. Because of my absentmindedness: I forgot we needed to bury your body. My brain still hadn’t realized you were dead.   I nursed her tiny body in the front seat of the car, in the blistering heat, both our bodies sweating in this foreign heat. He corralled the two toddlers towards the dark tent where the family was gathered to bury your body. I could see all of them over there, across the sunny cemetery, huddled under the tent trying to grasp every bit of shade, waiting for this tiny stomach to be filled. I had forgotten what time they wanted to start. Because, I forgot we needed to bury your body. My brain sti...
Post a Comment
Read more

Our Second Child.

There is no way to talk about the joy of our second baby on the way without explaining a little more of the events leading up to this pregnancy. I begin this post with deep love and prayer, knowing our joy has the potential to bring pain to those who are not in the same place of joy. I write this with a new level of sensitivity, knowing that pregnancy announcements can bring up a myriad of emotions. To those who are longing for their own pregnancy or missing little ones they had to say goodbye to, I write this with all the love that I can. I do not know why God allows us to go through those pains or feel those longings; or why it is so different for each of us. But, this is the story God is writing for us; and we will speak it openly with joy, for he deserves all the praise for this sweet story.  As you most likely know, our daughter Avery was stillborn on August 21, 2018, when I was 29 weeks pregnant. The loss of her life was, and is, the most painful thing I've walked ...
2 comments
Read more