there is new hope for me.  for the first time in a long time, i relate to the psalmist in a deep and connected way.  i get the pain, anger, tears, intermingled with faith, hope, and praise.

i was driving into town to do the weekly grocery shopping, while confronting God again with some new information from my husband.  i was a bit demanding and definitely adamant.  how could He do this?  what does He want?  why does it continue to happen?

especially frustrated with forming new meanings to our situation and grappling with it in new ways, yet everything remains seemingly as before.  i am given to thinking, "okay, Lord, i'm getting it.  so, can we get out of it?"

maybe the corners of your mouth are slightly curved upward.  you also know what it's like to want to get out and feel like you've learned from your situation.  thanks, God, i'm changed.  i'm different.  i view You differently.  i view life differently.  thank You.  now, can we go back to normal?

i feel like my questions broadcast my inability to completely process the journey.  it shouts my state of nonsurrender.

and yet, i feel in good company.  the psalms record such prayers:

I say to God my Rock,  "Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?"  My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me, saying to me all day long, "Where is your God?"

Awake, O Lord! Why do you sleep?  Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever.  Why do you hide your face and forget our misery and oppression?

maybe it sounds sadistic in a way, but i am glad that others cried out to Him, had crazy-mixed up emotions, and questioned Him  simultaneously recentering and praising Him, including in the same psalms:

Put your hope in God,  for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.

You are my King and my God, who decrees victories for Jacob.

In God we boast all day long, and we will praise your name forever.




all i know is that i have to keep running back to Him. 
     there is no one else to hope in. 
             no one.



we wait in hope for the LORD; He is our help and our shield. psalm 33:20

so, what do you do with a good day? 

with his symptoms at bay and energy up, feelings of guilt chase me around as i enjoy a "normal" day. 

guilty feelings for questioning God, guilty feelings for frustrations past as i lived as a single parent at times, guilty feelings for not knowing better.

why must i feel bad for enjoying working around the house with my husband?  i relished watching him get up and feel like working.  not for "what" he was doing, but that we were doing life together... what i viewed as "normal" life.  how good it felt.  how wonderful to feel it.

the emotional roller coaster of disease is brutal and unforgiving.  it knows no mercy.

thankfully, God does.

and as He invites me into His presence, His mercy wraps me up and whispers, "enjoy."

because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. lamentations 3:22

it's been a mess of a journey now for the past... hmm... year.  our road regarding my husband's health has never been paved with gold, but we've managed, you know?  we are and have been thankful for our incredible marriage and family and the ability/health to do what we can.

but the last year to year and a half has felt like a wringer... pressing, crushing, quashing.  at times, i cannot lie, it has felt like our very lives being wrung.  but mostly... usually, for me,  it is my faith.

and as i have questioned God, experienced deep anger and disappointment towards Him that I somehow circumvented these nearly 20 years i've loved Him, i have found that He is not intimidated by my pain or my questions.  my anger does not force Him to back away.  but instead, He moves in.

closer to me.  closer to my pain.  closer to my unanswered ideas about Him.  and He stays with me there. 

He is.

and that's beautiful.

moreover, recently reading 1 peter.... "genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine..."  i will say this about my journey thus far in the wringer of my faith... it remains.  though i have had messy spots, though i have experienced deeply troubling times... it still remains.  and the fact that it is genuine comforts me greatly and affirms my relationship with my God.  it carries me, albeit shakingly at times, to tomorrow.

i will never let you down, i will never walk off and leave you. hebrews 13:5

driving to a new doctor's appointment today, i seemed to literally "feel" that warmth of spring and the hope that piggy backs in on green leaves and sunshine.  this morning's spring's emotions represented the hope that grew in my heart for the impending doctor's visit and what new perspectives she could bring to a stale, tiresome situation of my husband's health.  o! what i wouldn't give for some "spring rain" - and, yes, even a down pour - on this dormant ground of his health.

i walk away with mixed emotions.  i walk away saying to God, "here.  here's all of our money.  we still have no answers.  and i still have to trust You."

and i do.  ultimately, the other choice of not trusting Him is not only completely despairing, but absolutely wrong.  and i choose Him.

so i recenter my emotions... so as to not get hope from the light spring drizzle mingled with sunshine, but from the Rain-maker Himself, the Sun-birther.

i would have lost heart, unless i had believed that i would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.   psalm 27:13

last night, as i tucked amia into bed, i turned out the light and whispered to her what i do every night...

"Jesus loves you.  and daddy and i love you." 

and every night she asks me to say it "one more time."  and, i do.  however, last night, after the second time, she stretched out her little arm and wrapped it around my neck saying, "snuggle with me a minute."

and as i nuzzled my nose into the side of her head and breathed deep the magic of her love, the world stopped.  all that mattered was being close to my daughter and soaking in this moment that i knew in a blink of an eye would be a distant memory.  so as i struggled to etch this instant into my forever dreams,  i felt the invitation to "snuggle" into God.

as i struggle with all the emotions that go with the territory of having a loved one with a chronic, life-altering illness, i need reminders to "snuggle" into Him and rest.  i spend a lot of time busy taking care of the day-to-day things which occupies my mind.  when i have quiet moments i occupy my mind with mindless activities so as to not engage in my own pain.  but i often feel the invitation... to  acknowledge my pain and snuggle into God's presence, letting His nearness comfort me.  sometimes i accept.  and those moments are the moments that give hope to today.

may your unfailing love be my comfort.... psalm 119:76