Forgive me, Lord when I complain...

When I find myself wrapped up and swallowed by the difficulty of living with a child who is not--and likely never will be--whole, I tend to wallow in the muck of self-pity and disappointment. I get cynical. I question. I doubt. I allow some measure of dispair to take root in my soul, even though I know that this is not my burden to carry alone. I've mourned the loss of how things should have been with this child from the very day of his birth. There have been times when I felt "over it". Or at least as over it as I can be. And yet still, some days, the tenticles of struggle reclaims me. The hurt of motherhood. The disappointment in acknowledging the chasm that exists between what I want for him and what he will be able to achieve. The brokeness of his body that places limits on him that even my unwavering belief in him can not erace, no matter how I try. I know it's wrong to wallow and something I should find repentance for more often. I know in my heart that the God of the universe made Julian just the way he is for just the parents he has. At least, I know that on good days. On days that don't feel so good, perhaps they are not-so-good because I have lost sight of that.

The path to a downward spiral is not a slow one for me. It's more like a super-tall, super-steep, super-shiney slide at the park. Once I sit my backside on the crest and scootch off the flat part, the ride to the very bottom is fast and furious. I've been there many times and it's an ugly, dark place. I get there fast and stay there too long. Those are days that I have allowed to be stolen from me and I find that to be a disgrace. Dis-grace. {a place where grace does not abound}

And in the midst of my disgrace, the still small voice of the Savior speaks to my soul, through the gentle beautiful words of a blog, no less--the blog of a woman who is sharing her heart's story on becoming the mother of another broken child--a child more broken than mine, if our brokeness has quantitation.

And suddenly, I can't help myself. The looking inward selfishness becomes focused and I feel I must cry for her. And I cling to her hope when says "but my Jesus is the same." (I've taken up this phrase. It has many uses.) Why does becoming a mother so often bring so much sorrow and hurt? Why? Because in the sorrow, we see our need for the strength and peace of the Savior. Brokeness magnifies need and the only One who can meet that deep need for beautiful grace. The utter disgrace sounds the alarm for the giver of grace to meet his daughters right square in the muck of their brokeness and dis-gracefullness.

from Psalm 147

Praise the Lord!
It is good to sing praises to our God; it is good and pleasant to
praise him. The Lord rebuilds Jerusalem; he brings back the captured
Israelites.

He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their
wounds.

He counts the stars and names each one.

Our Lord is great and very powerful. There is no limit to what he
knows. The Lord defends the humble, but he throws the wicked to the
ground.

Sing praises to the Lord; praise our God with
harps. He fills the sky with clouds and sends rain to the
earth and makes grass grow on the hills. He gives food to
cattle and to the little birds that call.

He is not impressed with the strength of a horse or with human
might. The Lord is pleased with those who respect him, with those who
trust his love.

Lord, let me trust your love today.

Angie's Blog