It’s a new year, and most everyone (at least outwardly) is full of ambition and anticipation for another journey around the sun. As a dreamer, getting lost in the endless possibilities offered by a blank canvas is one of my favorite things to do!
This year, though, I feel an earnest obligation to link arms with those of you who are somewhat hesitant to dream. Perhaps reflecting on the past 12 months only emphasized that the year didn’t end the way you hoped it would. Maybe sipping champagne was a bitter reminder that starting a new year means doing so without someone who should still be here. If it seems inconceivable to make plans when you still have so many unanswered questions, rest assured, you are not alone. And it is OK to be exactly where you are.
Whatever their root, disappointment and devastation do not dissipate just because the world counts down to midnight.
The past couple months have been among the most difficult we’ve ever had to walk through. We focused a LOT of time and energy in 2018 anticipating and preparing for adoption. There was an abundance of life happening outside of that pursuit, of course. But bringing home our family was the “big thing”. The thing that determined our capacity, or lack thereof, for everything else.
To bring you up to speed, after an entire year of process, this past November we finalized the adoption of our embryos.
Later that month, pregnancy loss became a part of our journey.
There is a lot within those last two statements that deserves to be (and will be) unpacked, but for now, hopefully that provides you with some understanding of where I’m coming from. It is the scene I prayed would never be scribbled on the messy pages of our story, and yet… here we are.
One of the best things I’ve done over the past year is keep a journal. I’ve never actually filled a journal before because of the immense disdain I have for messy pages. I’d get a few entries in, and give up for frustration that there were too many scribbles, or my words weren’t eloquent enough, or I’d spilt coffee on the cover, or whatever. But a friend had been sharing how her faith was emboldened by the discipline of journaling, and as she prepared to move to Africa(!), she encouraged me to do the same so that I could look back and remember, with specificity, what God was doing in my life. I wanted that type of boldness. I needed it. And so, I wrote about as much as I could… my fears and doubts, my hopes and dreams, my prayers, and the ways God answered them. An entire year of adoption process is represented in the messy pages of the first journal I’ve ever completed; the final entry titled “Loss and Emptiness”.
By December, I found myself once again holding a fresh, unblemished notebook. My fingers ran over the crisp, white pages, and I was certain that I was in no condition to make the first marks. I wasn’t ready for a fresh start! Still in the trenches of grieving the loss of specific life – the same life I’d been certain we would be planning a future with in this journal – so many questions remained unanswered.
When would my heart heal from this blunt trauma? What if moving forward subjects us to more loss and sorrow? How can we plan anything when we don’t even know what tomorrow brings?
It may not have been audible, but the the words of Matthew 6:34 echoed throughout our house in that moment. “So do not worry about tomorrow…” As I entered those words in ink atop the first page of a fresh journal, I wrestled with whether that exhortation was really applicable to me. Weren’t my circumstances special enough for unique consideration?
I craved the simplicity of closing one chapter and opening the next! But doing so was impossible given the devastation we were in the midst of. I desired the ability to make a freakin’ plan! But everything was clearly out of my control. Emotions were running high and stability was impossible to find inwardly and worrying was the only thing that made sense.
There is comfort to be found, though, in resting upon the truth that God’s word does, in fact, NOT change according to our conditions.
Making plans for the coming year just might not be possible right now. It is OK if you’d rather not anticipate where you’ll be in the next six, or nine, or twelve months. If there is anything I am learning as we walk this seemingly unending journey, it is to take things one day at a time – a lesson itself that must be confronted daily.
“Do not worry about tomorrow.” Chew on those words, and allow them to permeate these current circumstances. The exhortation most certainly applies here and now: Do not wait for tomorrow or the answers you long for to find peace and rest in God’s sovereignty.
Lord, give us the grace to face each day, and the endurance to continue walking even though we know not how long the road may be. Use EACH DAY for your glory.
Amen.