Alan Rickman died early this year. I knew then that it would be a bad year, but I didn’t know it would be this bad.
I think I’ve written before about how I don’t handle disappointments well. This year has proved that to still be the case. I’m sorry I’ve been off the blogosphere for so long; the thing is, we were trying to foster. Trying.
We began the process in January of this year and went through 7 months of training, paperwork, background checks, references, home-studies, personal essays, support group meetings, prayers, and just general angst. And in the end, I was denied, because of my history of depression and self-harm.
In retrospect, I should have expected it, but I was so full of hope and so certain that something as noble as fostering had to be God’s will for us and therefore He would make a way. Well, you know what they say about assumptions.
I’ve always wanted to adopt so this news hit me and hit me hard. I’ve always wanted to be a mom period and after two years of trying to conceive, fostering really did seem like the path we were meant to take. Now it’s looking increasing like motherhood is not what God has for me. Trouble is, I never planned for anything else… so if not motherhood, then what is the point of me?
I got my first clue when I received some difficult news. I have several siblings and I get along better with some than with others. Well, one of the sisters I’m not particularly close too (as in we fight each time we talk) just became pregnant with her first child. And she’s due on my wedding anniversary. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as betrayed as I felt by God the moment I got this news.
I didn’t know what to do with myself. At first, I tried to pretend I was fine and went along with my business, determined not to break down. Then I decided it would be ok to cry a little; after all, who would see? Then I had a funny thought…
Why don’t you praise God for this?
Well, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I’ve heard testimonies of mighty men and women of faith who could praise Him in trying circumstances but I know my heart, and there was no way I was spiritual enough for that.
I didn’t want to. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I felt like God had forsaken me and turned His favor on someone who had hurt me and those I loved countless times. It’s not fair. What was there to thank Him for?
So I did. I hit my knees, I raised my hands, and God met me there, instantly. It was messy, sloppy praise – ugly-cry type praise – but it was so rich, so unnaturally joyful, exuberant and victorious. For a solid hour of my existence, I was overjoyed with my King and His love for me. For a solid hour, circumstances didn’t matter, and He was enough. I think that must be what heaven is like.
I’ve heard it put this way: “Praise is the most meaningful, when it’s the most painful.” I can now attest to that. And it’s given me a clue as to my ‘point.’
I may not be called to be a mother, but I am called to be a daughter. His daughter. And I’m called to love that. I’m called to revel in and rejoice in that. I’m called to love my Daddy, even when I’m hurting. I’m called to be His daughter and to let that be enough. And sometimes, that’s really hard.
But that only makes it more beautiful, more meaningful. It struck me just this morning what an honor it is that the Lord would let me hurt, let me struggle. He could answer my prayers the way I want Him to. He could give me a baby, fellowship, fulfillment, and many of the other things I’ve been prayer for and longing for this year. He could have saved me so much disappointment.
Instead, He chose to trust me with the disappointment. He’s given me the assignment of praising Him in the storm, of singing to Him when it’s the more unnatural thing to do. He’s trusting me to show the world that He is good simply because of who He is, not only what He gives. He’s trusting me to show that He is enough by letting Him be enough in my life.
I get to be His daughter, first and foremost, and I get to praise Him even when it hurts.
And I feel so blessed.
Though He slay me,
I will hope in Him.