Anger is usually a secondary emotion, right? I was so so angry. But really, I'm realizing, I was grieving and disappointed and afraid.
While I can look back and see that I was doubting, I don't think I had admitted that to myself. I was just mad at God. At the God I knew. He wasn't fulfilling His side of the contract that I had imagined with Him. He wasn't 'blessing' my sacrifices. He wasn't making life easy on behalf of the risks I had taken for Him.
And so I was afraid. I couldn't yet admit that maybe the God I had fashioned for myself didn't actually exist. That was too scary.
A few months after the death of our precious baby girl and the death of my dreams of her in our family, I read a book that has made it possible for me to continue to journey with God even when the days came during which I questioned if He was even a reality. The book is called Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb. There was so much about the book that spoke directly to my struggle- but one thing he emphasized over and over again has stuck with me for over 3 years now. The idea is that we daily long for our comfort, our ease of life, our 'happiness' over knowing God- and God, knowing how much we sacrifice to settle for those things, sometimes uses deep pain and discomfort to bring us to the end of ourselves so that we will learn to want Him far above all those lesser things.
I admit- if I could have easy kids, no grief, lots of money, no pain... I would snatch those things up and run! I wouldn't look back to see where God was or if He had a different path for me. I would just run. Why? Because all of that sounds easier and far more comfortable than the opposites of those things. Without God getting in my face and proving to me that no true joy can be found apart from Him, I wouldn't look further than those and other 'nice' things to just be happy.
So I clung to the things I learned in that book.
And, I started to recognize my doubt. I started realizing that who I thought God to be- He wasn't. The fear that that created in me was sometimes almost crushing. I couldn't imagine a world without God- but I knew He wasn't who I had always thought He was. And, the more I tried to figure out who He was, exactly, the less clear He seemed. There were many times that I would weep as I tried to express my fear and doubt to Jason. I would feel a life-threatening fear that grabbed me at my core. I was so afraid of a life without God- but no one had ever told me how to believe in a God I couldn't define.
I won't tell you that there has been a resolution to this. I'm still seeking. But God has given me a sense in my soul that He is and He's always been exactly who He is- even when I thought He was someone else. Even when I can't understand. Even when I find out things about Him I never would have believed before. God is God.
This shift in thinking has opened my heart to accepting others in a way I never have before- because one thing I'm still sure of is that God loves me. He loves. He is Love. And if He is in me- than I will love too. The people I have met and the stories I have heard over the past couple of years have convinced me of His love and of His desire for me to love as He does. His love is my desire and what I cling to- even when I am sure of nothing else about Him.
In spite of my doubt, His love overwhelms.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
In Spite of My Doubt (Part 2)
Ironically, even after our children did finally come home from Haiti- even after I got what I'd been begging God for- my faith did not 'go back to the way it was.' I continued to struggle. I continued to feel disillusioned and hurt.
We were blessed with a honeymoon period with our new children. Adopting older children means bringing home kids whose hearts have been shattered by the losses in their lives. They don't have the emotional maturity or the language to talk about their massive grief, nor do they trust that anyone in their lives is safe to share with, so their pain comes out in their behavior. We didn't start to see how broken their hearts were until about 4 or 5 months in. And then- as they say- all hell broke loose.
Because things had gone so well at first, I had decided to believe that our kids had withstood the trauma in their lives with more strength and maybe even more of God's protection than many other kids. I thought that maybe, since the waiting had been so hard on me, God was giving me a pass on parenting kids with difficult behavior. So when their behavior took a nose dive I was thrown off guard and once again surprised that God would allow so much pain and difficulty along a path He had called us to walk down. And I felt even more disillusioned and wounded by God.
At the 6 month mark we received a phone call letting us know that our Haitian children's biological sister had been relinquished to the orphanage. She was available for adoption. Would we bring her home to her siblings? I was emotionally exhausted. It seemed like too much to ask. And yet, I had held that sweet girl on my trip to Haiti to bring our children home. I had pictures of her with her brother and sister. How could we not say yes? We prayed about it and sought council and wrestled with the decision for days. And then we said yes. Yes, we would allow that sweet baby to grow up with her flesh and blood. And in spite of my weary heart and massive fears, I immediately loved that girl with everything in me.
We are a helplessly hopeless people, aren't we? And so I hoped. I hoped that this adoption would go more quickly. And that this girl, since she was coming to us so much younger, would have fewer hurts. I hoped that God would use this process so show me how He was redeeming all of my pain. I just knew that He had led us to our first 2 children because ultimately He wanted to use our family to bring these 3 siblings together and that we were going to see the miracle of that take place.
I was completely leveled then, less than 2 months later, when we received a phone call letting us know that our baby girl had died very suddenly in a hospital in Haiti. I could not have possibly known that I would feel so much grief. I desperately wanted her. But on top of that, I grieved the hopes and the dreams I had. I grieved the unmet expectations that I had for all I believed she promised for me and for our family. I grieved the added wound that her brother and sister had piled onto their already shattered hearts.
Ulitmately, as so often happens, my grief rolled into anger. I was furious with God. Isn't He all knowing? Isn't He over all? Doesn't He ultimately control all things? He knew this was coming, right? He knew. And yet He still asked me to say yes to her. He still allowed her to die. He didn't intervene. He didn't save her. He didn't save me- from the pain, the disillusionment, the gut-wrenching grief.
Before deep pain happened to me- when I was ignorant and had fashioned a safe God for myself to believe in- I would have had trite answers for others whose lives were falling apart. I would have been confident in explaining it all to them- how God had a plan and that He works all things together for good and all that stuff. I wish I could remember and apologize to each and every one of those people. I have no doubt that, in spite of my well-intentioned ideas, my words were completely shallow and inexperienced and they poured salt into already festering wounds.
The kids' behavior continued to deteriorate. And my behavior, fueled by hurt and anger, created an incredibly unhealthy mix. In fact, at some times, it might have been a miracle that I didn't physically hurt them.
We were blessed with a honeymoon period with our new children. Adopting older children means bringing home kids whose hearts have been shattered by the losses in their lives. They don't have the emotional maturity or the language to talk about their massive grief, nor do they trust that anyone in their lives is safe to share with, so their pain comes out in their behavior. We didn't start to see how broken their hearts were until about 4 or 5 months in. And then- as they say- all hell broke loose.
Because things had gone so well at first, I had decided to believe that our kids had withstood the trauma in their lives with more strength and maybe even more of God's protection than many other kids. I thought that maybe, since the waiting had been so hard on me, God was giving me a pass on parenting kids with difficult behavior. So when their behavior took a nose dive I was thrown off guard and once again surprised that God would allow so much pain and difficulty along a path He had called us to walk down. And I felt even more disillusioned and wounded by God.
At the 6 month mark we received a phone call letting us know that our Haitian children's biological sister had been relinquished to the orphanage. She was available for adoption. Would we bring her home to her siblings? I was emotionally exhausted. It seemed like too much to ask. And yet, I had held that sweet girl on my trip to Haiti to bring our children home. I had pictures of her with her brother and sister. How could we not say yes? We prayed about it and sought council and wrestled with the decision for days. And then we said yes. Yes, we would allow that sweet baby to grow up with her flesh and blood. And in spite of my weary heart and massive fears, I immediately loved that girl with everything in me.
We are a helplessly hopeless people, aren't we? And so I hoped. I hoped that this adoption would go more quickly. And that this girl, since she was coming to us so much younger, would have fewer hurts. I hoped that God would use this process so show me how He was redeeming all of my pain. I just knew that He had led us to our first 2 children because ultimately He wanted to use our family to bring these 3 siblings together and that we were going to see the miracle of that take place.
I was completely leveled then, less than 2 months later, when we received a phone call letting us know that our baby girl had died very suddenly in a hospital in Haiti. I could not have possibly known that I would feel so much grief. I desperately wanted her. But on top of that, I grieved the hopes and the dreams I had. I grieved the unmet expectations that I had for all I believed she promised for me and for our family. I grieved the added wound that her brother and sister had piled onto their already shattered hearts.
Ulitmately, as so often happens, my grief rolled into anger. I was furious with God. Isn't He all knowing? Isn't He over all? Doesn't He ultimately control all things? He knew this was coming, right? He knew. And yet He still asked me to say yes to her. He still allowed her to die. He didn't intervene. He didn't save her. He didn't save me- from the pain, the disillusionment, the gut-wrenching grief.
Before deep pain happened to me- when I was ignorant and had fashioned a safe God for myself to believe in- I would have had trite answers for others whose lives were falling apart. I would have been confident in explaining it all to them- how God had a plan and that He works all things together for good and all that stuff. I wish I could remember and apologize to each and every one of those people. I have no doubt that, in spite of my well-intentioned ideas, my words were completely shallow and inexperienced and they poured salt into already festering wounds.
The kids' behavior continued to deteriorate. And my behavior, fueled by hurt and anger, created an incredibly unhealthy mix. In fact, at some times, it might have been a miracle that I didn't physically hurt them.
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