Peace

In a few weeks, my family and I will pass over the day that marks 2 years since our journey through forced termination & it's aftermath began. What an amazingly difficult 2 years it has been!
In those 2 years, I have cried more tears than I ever imagined I could.

I have hurt so deeply I could feel my soul caving in on itself.

I have moved through my days in the numb fog of disbelief and pain. There are entire stretches of time - days and weeks - that I can't remember clearly when I look back on them now.

I have spent days curled into an emotional foetal position, straining to hear the faint murmur of my Father's heart . . . "I know the plans I have for you . . . plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope."

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And, ever so slowly, I have begun to heal.

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Oh, the pain is still there. I still have days of deep, profound sadness at all we have lost - home, a church body we considered family, confidence, innocence. Yet, more and more frequently, I also have peace.

I've had a hard time saying I'm at peace with all that has happened. It seems like saying that will somehow mean I'm saying that everything that has happened was not so bad. And I don't ever want to say that! It was bad - in fact, it was awful! But the peace is there. Silently stealing in, blanketing my wounded, bleeding heart with a healing quiet and calm. I have a hard time describing it, but it's there.

Recently I read this post on the blog of a woman I've never met. Someone whose own journey of deep pain has been down the path of infertility. She described the peace that she now feels and I thought 'yes! that's what it's like'. Here are her words:

I reflected back over our journey and I realized the kind of peace I meant. It’s not the pansy, pie-in-the-sky, life-is-perfect peace. No, this is the kind of peace that comes after war. It’s the hard-won, show-you-my-scars, didn’t-think-I’d-live-to-tell-about-it, peace. It’s not gentle—it’s wild, fierce, and I’m not giving it up, not ever, because I paid too high a price to get it.

When I realized that, I cried.There’s something beautiful about naming and knowing the place where you are in life. I could feel myself sigh inside and say, “Yes, that’s it.” This peace is mine and I can stay there as long as I’d like. I can eat the food, put my feet on the furniture, and invite my friends over.

It was once the land I fought for and pursued. Now it's the place where my heart lives.
It's good to be home.

If you're on your own journey of deep pain, be encouraged!

There is peace and healing to be found!

The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

Psalm 34:18