one of those days
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I like to make cheerful posts. I like to be able to post about remission and other marvelous topics. I like to put up silly pictures and anecdotes about life with a zany husband and two unpredictable little ones.
But I also like to be real, so this post isn't going to be about any of that.
Well, except remission. However, I'll be adding the word "not" so that makes it a downer too.
Today:
In Jolene Philo's session at the special needs ministry conference I was at this weekend, she talked about ways we can support families as they accept grief and battle guilt when the dreams they once had for their child are changed through disability, illness, or death. One of the sweet points she made is that we - as a culture and in the church - aren't comfortable with allowing people to be sad.
And we need to get over that.
I am sad right now, and I'm okay with that. Our friends are sad right now, and I would have some very strong words for anyone who dares to say that their sorrow is wrong. (I'm not joking, girl. If you get that sort of response from anyone, you let me know. I'll take care of it.)
The words below are from Angie Smith's amazing, phenomenal book, I Will Carry You, about the pregnancy and death of their little girl Audrey. This passage from the book (which I reviewed here) is about John 11:35 (which, as the shortest verse in the Bible, says “Jesus wept”).
But I also like to be real, so this post isn't going to be about any of that.
Well, except remission. However, I'll be adding the word "not" so that makes it a downer too.
Today:
- I scheduled a liver ultrasound for Wednesday. Two sets of labs have shown that my liver isn't very happy right now and that it's pretty surprising that I'm not looking yellowish (and this is after the liver failure issues I had in the summer/fall, which now the docs think might not be related to the medication we stopped back then). We don't think this is related to current medications, so if anything comes of it, it's more likely that we have a whole new condition that we're dealing with.
- Two finger joints are now red and painful and swollen and stiff. Yep, that rheumatoid arthritis remission I blogged about? It's not here right now, though I'm hopeful that it'll come back once I'm not sick anymore.
- I woke up with a sore throat and runny nose. Might be allergies, might be tonsillitis. I won't know for a day or two, probably. Regardless of the root, I just don't feel good. (And, to explain the last sentence in the previous bullet point, my arthritis is autoimmune in nature, so my immune system thinks that the lining of my joints need to be attacked. Whenever I'm sick, my immune system has to step up its performance to fight off the illness, which is a good thing...but that also means that the dysfunction in my immune system steps up too and wreaks more havoc on my joints.)
- And precious, dear friends of ours found out today that their third child died sometime in the last two weeks and that her body will be miscarrying this long-awaited child soon. This, after their first child also passed away at this point in pregnancy.
In Jolene Philo's session at the special needs ministry conference I was at this weekend, she talked about ways we can support families as they accept grief and battle guilt when the dreams they once had for their child are changed through disability, illness, or death. One of the sweet points she made is that we - as a culture and in the church - aren't comfortable with allowing people to be sad.
And we need to get over that.
I am sad right now, and I'm okay with that. Our friends are sad right now, and I would have some very strong words for anyone who dares to say that their sorrow is wrong. (I'm not joking, girl. If you get that sort of response from anyone, you let me know. I'll take care of it.)
The words below are from Angie Smith's amazing, phenomenal book, I Will Carry You, about the pregnancy and death of their little girl Audrey. This passage from the book (which I reviewed here) is about John 11:35 (which, as the shortest verse in the Bible, says “Jesus wept”).
I want to share a beautiful distinction I came upon months after Audrey's death as I poured over these verses. At first glance it appears that Jesus, May, and Martha were sobbing together, but the original language of the text reveals that while Jesus was weeping (dakryo), the women were wailing (klaio). While Mary and Martha were crying out in agony over the loss of their brother, their tears moved Jesus, and He began to weep. This is the only occurrence of dakryo in the entire New Testament. He isn't crying over the death of Lazarus but rather the hurt He is experiencing with people He loves dearly. He isn't crying because the situation is hopeless, but because He is an empathetic God.My heart isn't klaio wailing right now. It's dakryo grieving, knowing that God's promises are true but that the pain is still real. It's a matter of knowing that a day will come when pain and death are no more and knowing that today isn't that day.
He knows that in a few moments Lazarus will walk out of the tomb.
He also knows they can't see that hope.
And neither can we.
There is a difference in despair and deep sadness over the time that will pass until we can see her again. It is a conscious, daily choice to experience dakryo, the sadness that allows one to grieve with the expectation of redemption.