It's getting harder to write blog posts. I feel the need to be somewhat upbeat and not let my friends think that I am sinking into the pit of despair so I try to be very careful about what I write while at the same time staying real. What good does it do anyone to write what isn't true?
I find that the normal disappointments of everyday life are harder to bear when grief is so heavily looming. I'm sorry to say it, but at one time a friend walking out of my life would not have been but a blink on my radar. Now, it's like a bomb. Another explosion in my heart.
I think the lack of sleep is starting to wear on me. It must be getting better, though, because I think I'm up to a solid 4 hours at a time...sometimes. Roughly once every week or two I skip a night altogether. I'm starting to feel ancient.
Of course I've known other people who have suffered the loss of a child's death. I've watched and marveled at how they were able to cope. I've even gone so far as to be "impressed" with how they leaned on the Lord through such trials. In my silliness and pride, I've even had the audacity to think to myself that I was strong enough in my faith and loved the Lord enough and trusted Him enough to walk through any trial He gave me. Ha. This test has taught me that I am not strong. Far from it. I am the weakest of the weak. It has taught me that I have no faith except what He gives me. And I do not love and trust Him purely and unreservedly. I question His love, His goodness, His motives, His promises.
And yet, somehow, through all of my doubt, my anger, my distrust...He carries me. His love washes over me. He pulls me from the brink and does not let me be overtaken. He patiently waits as I learn to trust Him more fully. Oddly enough, my time with Him suddenly seems sweeter, richer, more full. Maybe it's because I need Him more desperately than ever before...