Longing for Reunion

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A movie was on TV tonight.  “Man on Fire” with Denzel Washington and a sweet, talented 9-year-old Dakota Fanning.  She gets kidnapped and Denzel goes on a vengeful rampage in search of her.  It’s bloody and gruesome and at times too much for my sensitive soul and I turn away.  In the end, Denzel finds Dakota and she is returned to her grieving mother who’d been told her child was dead. (See video clip below for the beautiful reunion scene.)

The moment the two are reunited is surreal and beautiful and satisfying because a wrong has been righted.  A child who’d been taken away was returned to her mother’s arms.  And what better place is there for a child than in her mother’s arms?  And the relief, oh what relief that mother felt in seeing, hearing, holding her daughter close once again.

In watching their sweet reunion, I cried deep tears as I longed so badly for my boy.  For my Rami.  What sweet relief I long for.  On this earth, my longing will never be satisfied.  But oh, how I do hope with all my heart that the promises of the Word are true… that when I am finally called home there my sweet boy will be, first to greet me… arms open… surreal and satisfying… seeing, hearing, holding him close to me once again.

A longing fulfilled.
reunion video clip from Man on Fire 

There is no oil if olives aren't squeezed...

No wine if grapes aren't pressed... 

No perfume if flowers aren't crushed...

Yahweh is just bringing out the best in you.

Another twist of the knife

You may not know that G and I recently lost a pregnancy.  It was twins this time, and I was 3 months along.  They never formed properly, and instead of watching them grow in ultrasounds over the weeks and months, we watched them in their stunted attempts to develop, followed by shrinkage into little masses of nothing inside my womb.  My doctors were concerned that I was experiencing something called a "molar pregnancy".  This is a pregnancy in which the tissues which should form the baby will never actually become a fetus, and instead have the potential to become cancerous masses which later will either be removed or given birth too.  Had we not been through Rami's stillbirth, we would not have been having ultrasounds done so early, and would not have caught this strange pregnancy in it's early stage, possibly leading to further complications for me.

In November, it was confirmed that the twins in my belly were not growing, that they were in fact doing the opposite - they were shrinking.  I would need to have the pregnancy removed in a procedure called a D&C.  My hormone levels were so high from the strange pregnancy I was going through, that I was extremely emotional and physically exhausted all the time.  I was scared of the procedure, and feeling numb inside about having to go through yet another loss.  I had the procedure done in mid-November, and later learned that I was not having a molar pregnancy - so I would not have to worry about the potential for cancer to develop as a result of that pregnancy.  I have, however, been strongly advised to wait to get pregnant until a later time so that my body can regain strength and balance - and I think my mama heart needs that too.  So here I sit, perfectly ready for motherhood, with a husband also longing to be a father... and we wait.

I've just learned that yet another friend in my life is pregnant, and with that joyous news comes the all too familiar twisting of the knife in my heart.  Why does it have to feel so bad to me?  I should be happy for her, right?  News of a pregnancy or a birth SHOULD be happy, but for me it always brings other emotions.  I can hardly even feel a smidgeon of happiness with each new pregnancy announcement, and when those beautiful babies are born, I can barely bring myself to even peak at a photo of them, let alone make the effort to go meet the little bundle of joy.  Looking at babies feels like an assault on my eyes and a battering of my already wounded heart.  This has happened many, many times since we lost Rami 16 months ago.  Every time it comes up, I wish I could feel differently, but I don't know how to.  I kick myself for being so negative and self-absorbed.  I "should" myself about all the things I should be doing, saying, thinking, feeling... Well the truth is what it is, and what I feel is what I feel.  The best I have known to do is avoid those in my life who are newly pregnant or new mothers... and I miss them from afar, from my isolated post in the land of the bereaved mothers ... and I wish for my baby boy ... and I long for the chance to be a mother in this world ... but I will not "should" on myself with all those shoulds I keep thinking of.  I will be gentle with myself, and I will honor my process for what it is and where I'm at.

If you think of me, please pray for my wounded heart, and the negative weight of my jealousy, and for peace with the lot I have been dealt, and for trust in God's timing in my life.

~T

The bull is my life and the dancer is how I maneuver it. 

 Praying for strength, balance, grace, beauty and endurance on this crazy ride of life...

Maneuver: Perform or cause to perform a movement or series of moves requiring skill and care.  I do a lot of maneuvering these days.  I don't know how successful I am on average, but I do believe I'm getting better at it.  I've been overworked and under rested and I am frazzled, but trying my best.  I had the chance to sleep in today for the first time in over a month.  I slept 11 hours!  Most of those hours were spent in bad dreams... of being insufficient in basically every area of my life... being a wife, a friend, a believer, a mother, a business manager... you name it, I am insecure.  I want the strength of the woman in this photo, the strength to maneuver anything with grace and confidence.  What I want more is to have a life less like the reckless black bull and more like a peaceful white dove.  Thankfully, in my moments of greatest despair and need, the Spirit shows herself to me and gives me the peace and confidence I need to keep going.

The winds of the heavens dance between you

But let there be spaces in your togetherness and 

let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another, but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

~ Kahlil Gibran

The Paradox of Grief and Joy

I recently wrote to a friend of mine who also has experienced deep loss in her life.  Three years ago, her dad was killed in a collision.  He was biking on a country road outside the city and a negligent driver hit and killed him.  My friend was completely devastated by her dad's death and remained that way for some time.  In the past year or so, I have seen a change in her.  She has allowed the sadness and bitterness to melt away, and developed a vigor for life, a hunger for joy and an ability to savor life intensely. She has found ways to challenge yourself, and she has an amazing drive in her. I admire these qualities of her character.  I wrote her to ask how and when she was able to feel joy again, and when that did happen, how was she able to fight the guilt in feeling joy after such loss.  She wrote and talked about giving oneself permission to feel whatever it is we are feeling, to be patient with ourself, and to be intentional in our healing.  The following is part of my response to her, including some new experiences of joy in my heart...

Thank you so much for the wonderful response you gave me in my questions about grief and joy and healing from big loss.  It feels so good to hear from you, who've been through deep loss, that I have permission to grieve AND to feel joy. I have been living in both these days, and what a strange paradox it is.

The other night I think I felt joy, true and pure joy, deep down and settling, for the first time since our son died. It was no momentous occasion, no height or achievement or delivery of good news that brought on my joy. It was just one of life's simple moments, peaceful and satisfying to my soul. I would like to explain it.

As you can imagine, I've been way too busy these days with teaching and helping Ghaith to run our food cart business and manage things at home... oh, and not to forget the difficult but essential work of healing my heart from our loss. At the end of my long days, what I want most is to sit with my husband, close and cuddled, and just be. Maybe read a book, journal, watch a movie, whatever. He rarely gives me that, what with his parents in our home and his mind almost constantly in business management mode. He comes home most nights with no energy left for me and he crashes. Well the other night when he got home, he didn't crash. He sat with me and we talked and drank wine and dreamed out loud together. And I felt good. Deep down, I felt rested and settled and happy, and for whatever reasons, my happiness in that sweet moment was not immediately followed by pain, or bitterness, or regret, or even guilt over being happy. I took notice of the contentment in my heart, and I mentioned it to Ghaith. It was a familiar and welcome feeling, but one that's been so far away from my experiences in daily living for so long. And then I realized why I was able to feel that happiness so deeply, and from that deep place came the tears. It's because I have come to accept that our sweet boy is not here with us. I've finally learned how to love and accept him the way he is; fully our son and fully not here with us. I have learned how to love him from afar, knowing that I will never know him in this life, and simultaneously believe that he is with me always.

So, joy has snuck its way back into my being, and I have welcomed it's subtle yet significant arrival.

With love,
Tiffany

Life is one big jigsaw puzzle

I see life as one big jigsaw puzzle, which I can see only parts of, but which God above can see in it’s entirety.  I wander through life, picking up pieces as I go, figuring out how this one I’ve just stumbled upon fits into that one next to it, which I put into place two years ago, which is connected to the one below it, which was put into place long before I even realized it was there.  This has been my view on life for a while now, and most of the time I’ve been content to go along with the game.  Sometimes I’ve enjoyed it more than other times.  Sometimes the discovering of the pieces has been pure joy, even magical in essence.  Sometimes, it has felt like pure hell, being handed a piece I didn’t ask for and never would have imagined for myself or my life’s journey. 

Lately I am wearied by the game, which for me has lost it’s luster.  I am scorned, and the finding of the pieces doesn’t give me the same thrill it once did.  Some days, I question the whole game all together.  Does God really have it all together?  Does he see the big picture?  The ultimate plan?  I am tired and put out by the not knowing, the questions, the vagueness of the picture from where I stand.  Just this evening, I had a talk with God.  It went something like this:

God, why can’t I be moved to a better vantage point?  I want to see the big picture.  I want to know why you allowed that to happen and not the other.  I want to understand what significance certain pieces of my life’s journey hold.  I think I’d be able to handle things a bit better if I could just understand why they are happening, just gain a bit of perspective.  I want to know what your plan is.  I want to see it and understand it.  It seems unfair that I am made to walk this unpredictable, sometimes elating, sometimes torturous path I call my life in a fog of confusion while you sit on your throne with all wisdom and understanding.  Please Lord, a bit of perspective here?

And this was God’s response to me.

My sweetness, if you could see the big picture of your life’s journey in it’s entirety, you would not be able to handle it.  The grandness of the highs and the darkness of the despair, the incredible joys and the debilitating lows would be too much for you to take in all at once.  My wisdom is far too big for you to take in.  Each of those pieces I give you along the way has significance in and of itself.  The wisdom you gain as you fit them into place is enough for you right now.  I give each of them to you as a gift, because you have followed me and sought me and you continue to seek me, even in your greatest pain.  That big picture you long for… trust me my dear when I say it would be too much.  Please, don’t worry yourself with thoughts that are too big for you in your present place.  I give you my word and my word is enough for you.  Use it as a lamp unto your feet, lighting your path one step at a time.  In the end you will see clearly what now you only see through the haze, for your day is young and your journey is not over.  What you now see in part, you will later see in full.  I will make your path straight, and soon enough you will arrive, and in that place the Son will burn away the fog, and your eyes will be opened.  For now, you must just trust me and believe and persevere.