I’m sitting here wide awake at 2:30 am. Frustrating… because sleep has been evading my son for a while now and just when he finds it, I lose it. I’ve been on the verge of panic mode, that’s why I can’t sleep in these wee hours of the morning. Usually I can shove the fears out of my mind and replace them with truths, but right now they haunt me. And I realize I need to take them on. To allow each one a platform so I might be able to deal with them individually, to deliver a sentence that lasts instead of turning around finding one or more of them have retrieved a ‘get out of jail’ card and are wreaking havoc on my life.
The truth is, I’m afraid.
I’m afraid I don’t have what it takes to do this. What happens if this is true? If I most certainly crumble and there is nothing left of me but an empty shell? What if, despite all my efforts to evade depression and grief, sorrow and heartache take over and they are all I’ll ever feel again?
What if… What if the only thing I will have left is you, God? All else is gone. My whole identity of who I am in this life, my dreams, my everythings.
What if? Because there are days it feels entirely possible.
I keep mulling that around in my mind. I’m terrified by it, to be honest. That road feels too painful. I cry… that classic ugly cry. I beg for Him to change things. I can’t do this… I can’t give Him everything and allow Him to take away if that’s what He chooses. I can’t. How would I live in such an empty shell of life? No breath, no sustenance, no control.
There is still YOU, God.
And in that moment, all I will be able to see is You. Nothing else to filter you through, nothing to hold as leverage, nothing to put blame on or put my faith in. It is only you.
And because I believe You love me and have great plans for this pain my family endures, I know in my heart I wouldn’t just be surviving. I’d be thriving. A flood lamp beaming deep into my soul, through every part of me, only You. Your goodness, your love, your peace, your “fully enough”.
I find myself reminded once again how small I am. When I start to grasp this concept, I start to live and breathe in the very fullness of Him. If I try to live in the means of my physical body, my control, I will surely suffocate and succumb to despair, depression. But if I can live within the means of His Spirit, working in mine, my very lungs expand when all around me says they should be constricting. I’m pulling new breath in places I shouldn’t be breathing at all.
It occurs to me that this might sound heartless. How can I so easily write off all that fills my life now and accept that even if all is taken, I could still be full?
It’s not an easy write off at all. My heart has been filled with so much love – because of my boys, my husband, my family and friends. And that love source comes from God. He is love. He doesn’t just have love… He IS love!
I have two choices, the way I see it. First choice, I could choose to grasp tightly to my worries, my fear and need for control, which in turn is really putting two hands around my throat and squeezing tight…
I can accept this incredible gift of love God has poured on me. And when the day comes in my life when all that’s left is Him, I still have love. I have not lost. And I know the same promise of love is extended to my sweet boys, my husband. I could never provide that kind of everlasting, thirst quenching, joyful kind of love to them out of my own means. It is of Him. And so I find myself waiting in anticipation…
Anticipation is a funny thing. It can be exciting or it can be anxiety kingdom! We just recently planned a trip to go see some dear friends. Originally I was going to make it a surprise, but my anticipation of the trip was so big, I couldn’t hold it in. I had to share. In turn, I gave them the gift of anticipation. We anticipate things all the time! I just learned about a term called anticipatory grief. It’s a term attempting to define a complicated combination of emotions. For those of us caring for terminally ill loved ones, we grieve daily at what has been lost while simultaneously trying to leave room for living in the moment, enjoying the now, taking in whatever we can before all is gone. And we do that all while we wait for the end to come. It can become quite the merry go round. I need something, someone rooting me… A firm foundation in the midst of the crazy cycle. I need anticipation of what God will do.
He doesn’t expect us to live these lives, full of hard, with no promise of redemption. No! Rather, he uses all things for good, redeems it all! What anticipation I have of what God is going to do through our story, through our sufferings.
So I come back round to my fear – the one of losing all. And I’m reminded that we won’t lose at all… In fact, we will gain! The day Titus leaves this physical world, he will be in the arms of Jesus! I imagine Jesus meeting him with a big, black, shiny train engine and letting him drive it and pull the horn. I can see my son, able to run, dance, talk, shout with joy! I love to imagine my Gramps and my sweet Grandma Naomi there to greet him, perhaps getting in on the train ride themselves. What anticipation I have for what God will do.
I imagine embarking on a journey to fight Batten disease and, along with many other amazing families, joining the fight to find a treatment or cure. Could God use us in this way? Oh the anticipation I have for what God will do.
I imagine lives who feel dark and lost stumbling upon our story and seeing truth shine through and love broken free. Perhaps they would see just how loved and treasured they too are by our God. Oh the anticipation of what God will do.
Let me tell you, I wouldn’t have written our story this way. But I’m here to say again, “Yes, Lord. I will go…” Wherever there is. Thank you for this gift of being Titus and Ely’s mommy. As fear rises and my perceived control slips away, my throat constricts and tears run hot, may I be reminded that I will always have You and I can wait in great anticipation for the wonderful, good things you will do.
Thanks for listening…