The way I process

life is through words.  Whether I talk to my husband, myself, God, my girls...talking through things is how I process them, deal with them, am able to let situations and things go and move past them or figure out how to incorporate whatever has happened into the "new" normal. 

But if I can't talk, then I write. 

Have you ever had something so awful, so devastating you aren't sure how to process it?  It is something that will become one of those life-defining markers, you won't just accept it and just move forward, you won't move past it and forget it, instead, it will forever change who you are.  This year has become a year of the slide.  We are on a slippery slope, sliding down a steep embankment and my biggest fear is that we will shatter upon impact. 

This past week held the hardest, most awful moment of my life thus far.  I cannot talk about it in detail, first of all, it encompasses more than just me and my story, but also it is too raw, too hard to talk about.  But still, I find myself needing to process, or at least begin to process everything.  And how I do that is through words, so I find myself tucked into our hallway, early this morning, pecking out words on a keyboard.

I am confused, second-guessing everything I thought I knew as a parent, as an adult, as a follower of Christ.  What do you do when you aren't sure what the right path is?  What do you do when you cry out to God and He won't quiet the storm, remove or take away the awful things you are walking through?  How do you reconcile all the words you have heard preached at you from everyone you have ever trusted and then feel like they are true for everyone but you?  What do you do when God doesn't fix it?  Who else is there to turn to but God?

Well, even in the midst of everything, this week I am sure of one thing.  Actually, I could honestly say this is the only thing I am sure of this week.  There is no one else. 

There.is.no.one.else. 

There is no one outside of God.  But also in this surety, I am face to face with my deepest struggle.  Reconciling the fact that God is God.  He is able.  He is MORE than able, BUT He still may not give you what you ask for.  Even in those sobbing, messy, begging, pleading prayers where you offer up everything you can think of to bargain with Him, He still chooses not to change or remove or fix it. At that moment, when He does not give you what you desperately plead for,  you truly find out what you think of, believe about, and trust in regarding God.  He is capable of speaking - 'peace be still' - to the storms in your life, but sometimes He doesn't.  I don't understand why, I am so angry, so hurt, and so confused because I want Him to fix this.  I want Him to speak to this tsunami in our life and thunder 'quiet you beast', but instead I think He is whispering 'quiet little one' to my heart.  I think He is weaving a faith and trust deep inside of me, and it hurts.  It hurts more than I can express in words.  Why does this have to encompass what I hold most precious in this life? 

Letting go is hard.  Letting go is excruciating.  Especially when every single fiber of your being desires nothing more than to wrap yourself around someone else and shield them, protect them, hold them and you cannot.  You have to lay that person in His hand, step back, and say here You go, I trust You enough to say Thy will be done.  I trust You with what I love more than my own life.  I trust You to be where I cannot, to hold us through the storm.  I trust that Your way is better than mine, even when it hurts more than I thought anything could hurt. 

This is a continual process. I find myself having to say this over and over and over and over again.  Thy will be done.  I let go and I am falling, I trust You are at the end to catch us.