I’m kind of at a loss. Not for words (always plenty of those), but for the right words. What do you say after you’ve already told the story of an event that changed your life and yet you don’t have any clear definition of what that “new” life should look like?
What if you want to be forever changed and pursuing Jesus with everything in you, but apparently, you’re just as human as you ever were? And more tired. With more responsibilities. And more what-ifs.
Once before I got up to speak at a MOPS group (about s-e-x), the leader told the group that the sister of one the MOPS gals had lost her husband in a car accident the night before. Then she turned to me and said, “I’m sorry to share something so heavy right before your talk.”
And I said, “Oh, goodness. If anything, it should put this in perspective for us. I’m getting ready to give you all a pep talk about wanting to make love to your husbands, and this dear wife will never again be able to hold her husband in her arms.”
And from that moment on, I’ve tried to remember that young widow whenever Gabe wants to do something I don’t. Or when he chews food (because even if he does it as quietly as possible, I still can’t stand it. I’m OCD like that.). I say to myself, “Would I rather him be sitting in his recliner eating Doritos or would I rather him be dead?” It’s a sobering question (if not a little funny).
And yet, here I sit, four days after I almost lost him, and I’m cringing at the sound of him eating raw almonds (not even CLOSE to Doritos on the obnoxious noises scale) in his recliner all the way downstairs.
I admit my hideousness not because I want to try to outdo my crappiness confessions with every blog post, but because I’m struggling, and I need you to know that.
This ordeal has made us stronger and more grateful for what we have and more in tuned with God and his mercy and sovereignty, and a whole host of other amazing things.
But it has also exhausted us. And whipped our world out from under us. And opened our eyes to some things that aren’t pretty. And made us question what our future will hold and why we’re here on this earth.
It feels like we’re in a battle, and not one that’s over just because Gabe’s life has been spared. God was responsible for all of that; now we have to keep up the fight. The fight to be healthy, the fight to keep depression at bay, the fight to recover physically, the fight to make the best decisions…
And when I feel this tired after four days, I wonder if we have the strength to keep this up for the rest of forever.
Thankfully, God promises we don’t have to do it on our own. We have him. And we have all of you. Thank you. And we are so, so, so, so blessed.
My prayer (well, one of them) for today is that God will show me how to make this whole heart attack thing all about HIM and not about us. And I’m praying for an extra helping of grace for the times I just don’t get it right.
God, help us to seek nothing but you and your glory.