"The Enemy Comes Like A Thief..." In Broad Daylight

(This is one I've been working on for the last week.  My words still won't come, they still come disjointedly; my thoughts don't flow or always make sense.  I haven't written much in the past few months.  What I have written, I haven't published.  I'm still just trying to make it through.)

I had a moment last week.  Okay, I had a complete breakdown.

And I am still deeply bitter about its intrusion.

In John 10:10, the bible tells us the enemy comes like a thief "only to steal and kill and destroy."  Some say he comes like a thief in the night--but he does so in the exact broad light of day.  He comes to steal and destroy our joy, our families, our livelihoods--and our very relationships with Abba, our faith, our beliefs, the exact foundation of our everything.  The enemy wants our eternal life.  Stealing our eternal life is the enemy's ultimate win.  Let that sink in.

And ohhh boy, has he come hard.  

For nearly the past year, the enemy has been working on my joy and my relationships with my family.  It's a constant, daily, hourly, minute by minute battle.  He has come with a vengeance to steal, kill and destroy everything in my life.  He's doing his best to beat me down--I'm tired, I'm weary, some days I still can't function.  It's been a long road, and the road isn't veering off yet.

I’ve been trying to concentrate only on Ezra during our Wednesday dates.  When you homeschool multiple children, or have multiple littles at home, it can be difficult to carve out time for each child individually.  This individual time is something we believe to be so valuably important for our relationships.  Wednesdays have solidified themselves as our official date day; we drop Avery at class, then head to the store for lunch, grocery shopping, and to watch the train.  He starts looking forward to these days with me on Tuesday nights, chattering nonstop about the next day's schedule.  

But last Wednesday was Infant/Child/Miscarriage Loss Awareness Day, so social media was full of memorial posts.

While I do believe these losses need to be talked about--it's the only way we, as women, as young families, as couples trying to start and continue families, will help those now, and in the future suffering these losses, know they matter--but I had my reasons for not posting about Grace.

Simply put I want to honor my boys, and by honoring them, I honor Grace as well.  I don’t want Noah, Avery and Ezra thinking they play second fiddle to their sister we have yet to meet.  I know her life had--still has--purpose.  I just want to quietly honor her and her purpose now, you know?  She would be fifteen.  I don't feel there's anything to be gained by continuing to bring her loss up, unless someone specifically needs to hear about her.  I don't want to be that person.  While I will always miss my daughter, I don't grieve or mourn her loss the way I used to--does that make sense, or does that make me sound like a horrible mama?  Instead, I smile when I think of her.  I know where she is, and I look on her life with joy.  In honoring my boys, I'm also honoring Grace, her purpose and the lessons she taught us in her short life.  I won't pretend it still doesn't hurt at times, though.

As if that wasn't enough--as my car's playlist rolled through its songs, I was completely caught off guard when "Well Done," by The Afters, began to play.  This was the song from which I read the chorus at my sister's funeral; oddly, even as often as I use this particular playlist, I have not heard this song since before her funeral.  Not in eight whole months.

Oh man, it hit me with full force, taking my very breath.  

I also resented this interruption into my time with Ezra because earlier in the week, a friend reminded me how our God still provides miracles, and oh, how He meets our needs and the deepest desires of our hearts!  In addition, several family members gave me amazingly beautiful and emotional (not materialistic) gifts.  It was shaping up to be an amazing week--I was flying so high!

Then I had my huge meltdown--in front of Ezra, on our date day.  Yay for mom fails!  As I drove, when I parked, as we walked into the store to order our lunch and I tried to be as cheery as possible.  I choked back sobs which threatened to shove their way out.  I leaked tears, constantly rubbing my eyes with my sleeves.  Ezra knew something was wrong.  This wasn't fair to him, dammit.  Even as I type this out, there are still tears working themselves out.  Admittedly, I've been so angry about the outright invasion of these tears, and the feelings and emotions that accompany them.  I don't want to feel them.  I don't want them.  They are inconvenient.  Grief--and depression--are inconvenient.  Why won't it all just go away?

Sadly, there are some deaths that will always hang like a pall over our lives, no matter what lessons we've been taught and no matter the many things we've learned from our loved ones through their deaths--and their lives; no matter how fondly and lovingly we are able to look back on those we considered our other selves, whether they be friend or family, or even both.

It felt like the enemy was pounding on my door, relentlessly trying to tear it down, convulsing with maniacal laughter over the playground that is my mind, heart and soul.

HOWEVER, John 10:10 also reminds us that Jesus came so that we might not only have life, but have it abundantly.  

What a comfort!

Jesus is always my light, my lifeline, reminding me he has not left me, and I never fight my battles alone.  He is at the forefront, acting as my shield.  He is my comforter, my all in all. 

Even on the days I don't want to like him, even on the days I feel furthest from him--Jesus remains my all in all.

Jesus sees me and he hears me.  He knows and feels and understands my heartache.  He sees my tears.  He reminds me these tears, my feelings are not an invasion, not an intrusion, they are, in fact, cleansing and healing-- a necessary release, even a way to honor the lives I've lost.  He shows me how I even need to have these moments, how I need to show my children it's okay to cry, it's okay--it's healthy, even--to grieve, and how to show my children to grieve properly.  Jesus takes care of me, always.  

Even on the days I don't want to like him, even on the days I feel furthest from him--Jesus knows and feels and understands my heartache.  He sees me and he hears me.  Jesus takes care of me.

Sweet reader, if you are struggling as I am--please take comfort.  Jesus sees you, too.  He knows your heartache well.  He will always take care of you.