Those things we thought we were holding so lightly, they’re so fragile, aren’t they?
And then if it comes to your worst fears, if your hopes are dashed and your heart is broken, you realize how you’d loved the dream of it all. Maybe you loved a person now gone. Maybe you’d imagined a life not yet there, but it was real to you.
Have you had a dream die, too? Have you seen it crumble and fall through your fingers? Have you wondered
Where are you, God?
How could you?
How can I trust you again?
If you have had to admit and own failure, you know. If you are adopting and you’re forced to change course, you know. If you’ve had a marriage fall apart before your eyes, you know. If your heart is longing for a child and you hope against better judgment month after month, you know. If someone so close, someone who feels like they’re in every part of you, is taken away, suddenly or even if you knew it was coming, you know.
God knows. He saw his dream fall apart, too, his design diminished, his perfect plan spoiled when his first babies turned their backs on him, lied, hid. Jesus knows what it’s like to feel abandoned by God, the God who’d sustained him, the God who had spoken to him, the God who had felt closer than his own skin. Jesus knows exactly how loud silence can be when all you want is the smallest whisper.
But in your pain, it’s hard to believe that God knows. In your bludgeoned heart, you most desperately want to be held by a God you can’t feel, a God you don’t understand anymore.
My heart was shot through last week, too. A dream died, and I think God could have done better with this one. I don’t believe that “it’s all for the best” necessarily, because sometimes it just isn’t. I’m still wrestling with him, swearing at him, beating my hands on his chest, asking him the hard things, the questions that will follow me for years. I’m asking even though I know they won’t all be answered. I’m asking to find peace in the not-knowing. I’m asking and crying because I know he grieves with me. I know he’ll hold me and weep with me. He’s sad for the brokenness that broke my heart, too.
Do you know how I know? Because he showed me. Over and over again.
He was in the hug of a friend I just happened to run into. He was in the messages from people I’ve never met, who have been through it, who are holding part of my sorrow, who are praying for me constantly. He was in the texts and encouragement of friends after I showed them my broken heart.
He was in it when I felt loved, and when their hearts were heavy with me, I knew His heart was heavy, too.
He was hugging me.
He was encouraging me with his Word.
He was making plans to give me something to look forward to.
He was texting me.
Because when they loved me, I could see how desperately He loves me.
I can see how their love — His love — is carrying me even now. I can see how His love will eventually, piece by piece, start to heal me.
I haven’t really talked about it here, but we’re in the process of adopting again, and last week we lost a referral. Pray with us that this sweet child’s future holds more than we could imagine or give.