I don't think that Michael Rosen (the British author) could have anticipated how profound his little book would be. It's a fairly common book to gift young kids and to be read/ sung with motions at story times. Yet, here I am at thirty one years old singing it to myself when I feel my anxieties rise and depression is looming.
"We can't go over it.
We can't go under it.
Oh no!
We've got to go through it!"
This season of life, this next big challenge, the heartache, the pain and suffering, the uncertainty, the hardship- we have to go through it.
It's the only way out of it.
I have a friend whose six year old son is dying of cancer. They celebrated Christmas this weekend with him... in the middle of October. Because he won't live to see this coming Christmas.
My sister, on the other side of the continent, is doing life as a single Mom with three kids while her husband is deployed... again.
My Mom is suffering the aftermath of having a brain bleed four weeks ago. We learned yesterday that she is one of only 20% to survive or have permanent damage from what she endured. She will recover completely, but it's going to take months.
One of the sweetest women I know just delivered her full term stillborn daughter.
My friend in New Hampshire is pregnant with her fourth son and just found out that she has stage 4 breast cancer. She is my age.
This month marks three years since my friend lost her husband in a spontaneous plane combustion. My eyes still sting every time I think of them.
When the news hits me, I don't know what to say, or think. One thing I have learned the last few years is that we each process pain, suffering, and hardship differently. It is no competition of whose pain is greater, who is stronger or weaker.
Being away from my parents during this delicate time as my Mom recovers from her brain aneurysm is harder than I would have ever imagined. There are so many little and big things running through my head as I process that emergency flight during the hurricane, my week in Boston with her at the hospital, coming home and having to be a Mom to my kids when all I wanted was to just be a daughter to my parents during this critical time.
I've been learning a lot about my own strengths and my weaknesses these last four weeks. Traumatic experiences will do that. They allow you to flex your strong muscles and they reveal your deeply weak and vulnerable parts.
As my friend Ashley wrote recently (the one losing her son) I found myself agreeing with her bold statement. I can't say that I hate this season of life, but rather, I'm thankful for it. Not in the moment or all the time, but overall, I'm truly grateful to go through this.
My weak and vulnerable parts being revealed are being strengthened and getting some nurturing that they need. So maybe when the next crisis arises (and you know it will, because our world is so broken) maybe I'll be stronger then.
I'm learning new and helpful things on this journey through people in my life, resources and seeing a counselor. I like to think of counseling as learning how to use the tools in my tool belt. Maybe I didn't know I was capable of processing something differently, looking at it from a different perspective. Maybe I need to scrape away the way I've grown to react or handle hard things, heal, and grow. Maybe I need to learn to rhythms, practice until it becomes a habit, second nature.
I just don't want to be the same person I was six months ago when this roller coaster of our life took off. I don't want to just survive the ride while throwing up on the person behind me. I want to find the joy in it and help the person next to me thrive in their wild ride as well.
Over and over again, my soul has cried out these last several months. From one crazy unexpected turn after another, I have felt every bit of this journey. Songs like Though You Slay Me have been sung through gritted teeth as hard parts of my heart have been ripped away, to make those areas soft and new.
While in the hospital with my Mom four weeks ago, I sang the song So Will I. A friend who knows much physical pain and is an avid prayer warrior/ cheerleader of our family called it "Defiant worship- the ultimate testimony of faith during times of stress and hardship." Sometimes, I don't have the words to pray, the tears to cry, or the thoughts to gather, I just need to play worship music and let them wash over me.
Maybe you need to hear these ramblings of mine. To know you're not alone. To know it's okay to say you're not okay. To get help. To cry out to the God who made you. To feel the moments you'd rather ignore or stuff deep down inside... they will come out by the way. I know.
One way that I have been encouraged these last four weeks is watching my Mom cling to hope and joy in Jesus like I've never seen her do before. As I said to someone who asked recently, "she's joyful. I mean, she's in a world of pain, but she's joyful." While we were in the hospital she took every opportunity to share about Jesus with the medical staff. As I sat there in shock, staring at my Mom hooked up to machines and holding my breathe while the chorus of "are we out of the woods yet?" rang in my head. Meanwhile, in the midst of my Mom writhing in pain, she would say, "I'm clinging to Romans 8:28! If all this pain and suffering helps lead someone to Jesus, then it is worth it!"
And can I tell you some really good news? It has. Last week, after sharing deep, hard parts of this journey and my Mom's story, a friend of mine who has been seeking Jesus but struggling to give her life to Him finally made that choice. She told me Sunday morning, and again I was stunned, struggling for words. How good is our God that He would literally draw someone to Himself from this suffering my Mom is going through. How good is He that someone would choose salvation in Jesus Christ after two years of seeking and use this story of suffering and praising Him through it all. What joy in the pain to know that God is using this to bring glory to Himself.
So, yes. Yes, I still choose to worship. Yes, I still choose to praise Him. HE will go through it with me. I can't go over it. I can't go under it. I have to go through it. And by God's grace, I don't have to journey alone.
Maybe you need to hear these ramblings of mine. To know you're not alone. To know it's okay to say you're not okay. To get help. To cry out to the God who made you. To feel the moments you'd rather ignore or stuff deep down inside... they will come out by the way. I know.
One way that I have been encouraged these last four weeks is watching my Mom cling to hope and joy in Jesus like I've never seen her do before. As I said to someone who asked recently, "she's joyful. I mean, she's in a world of pain, but she's joyful." While we were in the hospital she took every opportunity to share about Jesus with the medical staff. As I sat there in shock, staring at my Mom hooked up to machines and holding my breathe while the chorus of "are we out of the woods yet?" rang in my head. Meanwhile, in the midst of my Mom writhing in pain, she would say, "I'm clinging to Romans 8:28! If all this pain and suffering helps lead someone to Jesus, then it is worth it!"
Romans 8:28
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
And can I tell you some really good news? It has. Last week, after sharing deep, hard parts of this journey and my Mom's story, a friend of mine who has been seeking Jesus but struggling to give her life to Him finally made that choice. She told me Sunday morning, and again I was stunned, struggling for words. How good is our God that He would literally draw someone to Himself from this suffering my Mom is going through. How good is He that someone would choose salvation in Jesus Christ after two years of seeking and use this story of suffering and praising Him through it all. What joy in the pain to know that God is using this to bring glory to Himself.
So, yes. Yes, I still choose to worship. Yes, I still choose to praise Him. HE will go through it with me. I can't go over it. I can't go under it. I have to go through it. And by God's grace, I don't have to journey alone.
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