Familiar Pain

Bear with me over these next couple of days. I think I'm going to be processing a spectrum of feelings both foreign and familiar. With each loss, I cannot say that it gets easier, rather the mystery of grief unfolds from an ugly caterpillar to a remarkable butterfly, stunning and strong, but won with much effort. My father tells the story of how as a child in his kindergarten class, he had so much joy when his teacher brought in a caterpillar already wrapped up in its chrysalis. As the insect slowly began weaving its cocoon, eager students watched and waited for the covered creature to eventually make its debut as the much-anticipated butterfly. One day the teacher noticed the newly morphed insect pushing and struggling to break free from its cocoon. In agony the teacher and students watched the butterfly push and flit and struggle to break free, until finally she could take it no longer. The teacher took the tip of a pen and gently pulled away the threads that held the butterfly back. The butterfly immediately broke free from its prison, flapped its wings, and fell to the floor. It struggled no more. It had died. What the grief-stricken teacher and students would later learn was that that "struggle" was necessary for the butterfly as it pumped fluid into the wings and helped give it its beautiful colors. Perseverance made it strong, while the interference by others to stop the pain led to its weakening and death.

How true is that of life?

I cannot imagine that if a butterfly was capable of thought and intention that it would convey how much it "enjoyed" struggling to break free from confines and pain. Nor do I find any enjoyment in the painful parts of my journey, but I've been given the gift of understanding that God crafts inner beauty out of pain and struggles. I don't think God creates hardships for the pure enjoyment of watching us struggle so that we can become "better," rather in a sinful and fallen world where bodies are imperfect, we can thank Him for the beautiful creature He is crafting us to be.

Still, my heart cries out to the Lord when horrible things happen. This evening on the Christian women's ministry forum of which I'm a member, one of our "sisters" wrote of a horrifying and tragic turn of events in a long-awaited pregnancy. At 16 weeks, following an ultrasound to find out the sex of her baby boy, her water broke and unstoppable leakage soon progressed and produced the death of her son...two days before her husband would return to Iraq for a full year. My heart aches for her, and maybe even it's selfish of me to assume her pain and reflect on my own loss while my husband was deployed last year. It stirs up a host of feelings, both familiar and new: pain because I know what it's like to lose a baby when your spouse is thousands of miles away--and will stay that way for many more months, empathy because I know delivering her son was even more painful than the failed induction attempted on me at 14 weeks, and sadness because we all--those who have a heart for parenthood--can appreciate how grave a loss is when we've sojourned through infertility for so many years only to have a taste, but the rest ripped viciously away. For a host of other reasons I will never know exactly what she is going through. I cannot imagine holding a perfect baby in my arms that has passed away, hours before my husband would leave for a war-torn country for another year. I am not her, but I know that "God's provision," and other prayers for peace are and would be of no comfort in the throws of grief and pain.

To that situation, other than offering my prayers I can speak no more, but it just blows me away that even in the midst of my private pain and struggle, I'm realizing that I serve a God who deals with this kind of heartache every single second of the day, and He is God enough to walk every single one of us through the refining fire of life. That is amazing and humbling. While I'm crying for me, God is crying for us all, hurting with us at our loss and struggle, holding us in the palm of His hand. What an awesome God we serve.

Signing off for now...ready to find peace in sleep.