Joy cometh

The last few days have been hard. They’re always hard, some more than others. If we’re being honest I don’t even measure my life in days. Sometimes the meter stick is as long as hours but usually it is closer to minutes.

God has been very tangibly near. Again, He is always near, God is close to the brokenhearted (Ps 34:18), but there are dark, terrifying moments when I can’t feel or hear Him. Lately, He’s been speaking. He’s been teaching. He’s been challenging me. Most days I barely have the strength to rise from bed, have panic attacks when I must interact with too many people or be ‘functional’ for too long and the pain gets bigger and bigger. These ‘normal’ things seem insurmountable. Yet, He faithfully gives me the strength to rise to His challenges. They do not feel overwhelming. They feel invigorating. He breathes His life into my dead body. He is doing something… I can feel it…

It’s frightening to say that, for a number of reasons. I know that soon I will descend into the oblivion that is agonizing, horrifying pain. God’s work will not cease but I, again, will not be able to see or feel it. I also shy away from the desperation of those who love me to see “progress.” It feels like pressure to “get better.” This perception in most cases in probably entirely unfair but, there it is.

Even in the dark there have been smiles the last few days… moments of true joy.

My beautiful Isaiah lights up my world. Frequently he, in his innocent way, reminds me. He reminds me that this world is not my home. He reminds me of Damon, of happy sweet memories. God knew what He was talking about when He talked about childlike faith. I love how his assertions of truth come seemingly out of nowhere. There is no preamble, no hedging, no ‘let me prepare you for what I’m about to say.’ He just says what’s on his heart. Listening to him talk to God soothes my soul. Today he asserted confidently that we should NOT call our house ‘home,’ we should call it our house because heaven is our home. I agree wholeheartedly.

This morning my husband serenaded me with “Baby’s got her blue jeans on.” My man is a born and bred Texan. He is country through and through and I love it. He is also the most brilliant person I know, sometimes annoyingly brilliant. He remembers everything he hears or reads and can recall and explain just about any biological concept. You may not believe me but I tell you the truth when I say it was his mind that I first fell in love with. He challenges me. I positively melt when he throws a twangy “I recon” in the middle of a description of cellular respiration or the beauty of the Taipan. So when he crooned “aw the girl can’t help it” with a hand on my knee and his patented crooked smile my heart burst open with joy.

These moments are like bread crumbs, glimpses of God’s promises. He is showing me that even in the face of the most horrible thing I couldn’t imagine He is faithful. Joy cometh (Psalm 30:5).