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Sunday, July 19, 2009

In Good Hands

It's been a long, long year. I'm pretty sure the longest of my life. We've gone to some dark, scary places that have caused my heart to {almost} faint with fear and where the burden of pain has pushed me to the very edge of despair. For the most part I haven't taken anyone to those dark places of grief. It feels uncomfortable to expose people to it. I'm mostly afraid that rather than holding my hand down that path they might try to convince me not ever to go back there. But, they don't understand that going there isn't a choice for me.

Working on healing my broken heart has reminded me of Dante's Inferno - the deeper you go down the rings of hell, the more awful and scary it gets. I haven't enjoyed going to those heavy places. I dread it, in fact. I put it off, I avoid it. But, I went there this week. I had to. And, maybe for the first time I wanted to. As hard as it is to go deep into the painful crevasses of my heart and relive the births and deaths of our daughters, I want to be flooded also with the reminders of the sacred, the beautiful, the perfect moments we had with them. To remember one part is to remember it all. For now, at least. Maybe that will change with time.

For the last three days my heart has felt heavy, I would almost dare say more broken than it did this time last year. I wasn't expecting that. I thought I had been feeling stronger, I thought the healing I'd found felt more permanent. Revisiting my heart, going a little deeper than normal, I see the wounds are healing... and while that is something to rejoice in, it's clear that the gaping holes remain. Evidence of my two little girls. Their absence is felt. Daily. The burden of losing them is ours to carry. Daily.

{I wonder sometimes if the empty holes are only magnified by our childless state. I wonder if it would be different if we had other kids to focus on. Maybe or maybe not? Not that it really matters anyway.}

People of all different levels of expertise have offered to fix me; in most cases that has just meant a shortcut of some sort through grief. I'm sincerely touched to know there are people who love me enough to want to take away my sorrow. Feeling such love, even from some who don't even know me, has strengthened my assurance of one very important fact - if some imperfect human being feels that desire so strongly, then how much greater that feeling must be for one who is perfect.

There is a certain Head Physician I've come to know a little bit better in recent months. Not only does He accept all patients with all different maladies, He knows each one perfectly. He knows me perfectly and He loves me perfectly. I sense that of everyone who is pained at my pain, it is He who feels it most. I feel confident in His hands, knowing that He is the only one who can truly heal me and fix the hurt I feel. I trust He knows how {and when} to best fix me. I've learned that He is always available... for me. Even in those dark, scary places I've had to go through, I've found Him there. I've recognized that He has gone much deeper than I have or ever will, He has carried a burden much heavier than my little bundle of pain, He knows the loneliness of the path much more poignantly than I can ever imagine.

Because of all of that, even on my smaller scale, He knows how much I need Him in those scary, lonely moments. And, even though I sometimes question if I'll ever find Him there again, I have learned of His consistency. He always is. For me. It's as if I'm the only one He's there for, and yet I know there are throngs of others seeking the same healing from His hands. Still, I feel His concern and awareness of me on such an intimate level.

I've wondered lately how it would be possible to know Him, to really know Him, if I didn't have to pass through any heartache. It's that precise heartache that makes Him available on a more personal level, and more importantly makes me aware of my need to make myself available to Him. How can I be disappointed by my broken heart and shattered dreams, when the result is the chance to walk with Him? I don't want to miss that opportunity, even if it means I have to meet Him along the painful path that leads to true healing. 

I have my heart bundled and bandaged, handing it over and trusting in the care of an omniscent God who loves me as His daughter. If His love is anything like the love I have for my girls {which I'm convinced it is and then some}, then I have nothing to worry about. I'm in good hands.

Elder Maxwell said it best: "To go to the very edge is possible, of course, only when we believe in an omniscient and omnipotent God. When we understand that all things are present before His eyes and that He knows all things past, present, and future, then we can trust ourselves to Him as we clearly could not to a less than omniscient god who is off somewhere in the firmament doing further research."

5 comments:

kam said...

I know I hardly ever comment anymore (on anyone's blog) but I just wanted you to know that I think about you often. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Lots of love.

Becky Rose said...

Megan, This post is perfect for our SS lesson we had today on Joseph in Liberty Jail. When reading your posts 2 thoughts came to me. Did he really come in those furnace times? Did you really get to know him as you say? And 2 :It rings true that we know him because of our heartache, because of him fixing us.

All I can say is You will be compensated for your loss. You will be. He has to do that, or he would not be a merciful God.
I want your pain gone away and many children in your arms- for you and so many others too. It almost makes me scream knowing of babies that need families and families that need babies and it not coming to pass. There must be a way! We need to find a way! We all do, for them, for you and others like you!

Kate said...

dear Megan . . . oh how my heart aches with yours . . . for yours . . . but I agree . . . how can we wish for whole hearts when it is only through our extremity that we are allowed to find the Master Healer so clearly . . . so closely?
and to answer your question in parenthesis . . . no . . . I'm sure you'd feel the loss just as keenly as you do now even if you had children in your home. I know that I do not grieve the loss of our own little one any less because I have a 9 year old . . .
*HUGS* and prayers to you . . . I know that there is no short-cut through grief . . . but I do hope that your road to healing in Him grows easier with each day . . .
you are loved

Deetsgirl said...

Thanks again for sharing. I don't believe that God ever wants us to force ourselves out of grief. No matter what He will love us through it.

Michelle said...

I'm glad you wrote this post, Megan. You expressed so much of what I myself have felt but was afraid to share because I didn't think I could do it in an uplifting way. You managed to do that.
It's such a conundrum for a grieving parent--it hurts so badly, but you don't want it NOT to hurt, because the pain is so much a part of feeling close to your child(ren). When I was at the cemetary this past Sunday, I felt the sharper ache again for the first time in a while, and started to cry. At the very same time, I felt grateful to feel so much again, and the thought came to my mind: "Blessed be the pain that brings me closer to you." It could also be "closer to You," I think.
Your words make me think of the survivor of the Willie handcart company who said that the price they paid to come to know God so intimately was a privilege to pay.