Facing Hard Things

All of us, at some point in life, will face hard things.  And by hard, I mean life-sapping, crushing, painful-beyond-imagining, hard things.  At times like these, we can look around at others, feeling bitter and angry that life’s cruel lottery has dealt us this hand and others, one that makes much better reading on Facebook.  I faced a hard thing, when my daughter, Grace, was still born at 25 weeks of pregnancy.  The road I’ve walked since has been one of doubt, hesitancy, small steps, more questions, moving forward, moving backwards, moving forward again and getting to a place of fragile healing.

I was not naïve enough to think this would be my lifetime supply of ‘hard things’ and sure enough, more have come knocking – pounding down the door, in fact – in recent weeks.  None of the ‘hard things’ are yet my story to tell; they are bound up and interwoven with the lives of others, whose confidence I will not break.  It will suffice to say they are hard, life-stripping, anxiety-causing and fear-inducing and are doing a good job of trying to drown out a more hope-filled, life-affirming voice, which I’ve had to train myself to heed in rough waters.

The key word here is ‘try’ – because they’re not succeeding and they won’t.  I’m a different person now, to who I was seven years ago, when my first real exposure to a painful trauma sent my hope and faith scurrying into a deep, dark cave.  The process of coaxing it out again has been long and painful, but I know some of the lessons I’ve learned through it are helping me in this storm – and will do in the next…and the next!

I am writing this for me, to remind myself what I have learned and to give myself some things to anchor me, to remind myself that, though I may be tempest-tossed, the enormity of the waves will not leave me drowning with no hope or help.

1. God is still God and He is still good and He loves me.  It’s the first certainty that goes, I think, when trouble strikes.  It’s the first question we ask – “How could God…?”  I’ve read my share of books on the subject (Philip Yancey’s “Disappointment with God” and Jeff Lucas’ “Faith in the Fog,” are two I would recommend).  None of them answer the question fully.  They can’t.  Life and God will remain a mystery this side of eternity.  What I’ve settled on is this: we live in a fallen and decaying world.  Bad things happen because of this.  They are not orchestrated by a cruel God, arbitrarily doling out happiness to one, misery to another.  They just happen.  Sometimes God intervenes to change things.  Sometimes He doesn’t.  What he does do, is grieve with me, walk beside me, count my tears, hear my soul-wrenching questions and doubts, comfort me like a mother and give me hope that, whatever happens, one, final day, it will all be more okay than I could ever even begin to imagine here and now.  When I take “God how could you…?” out of the equation, my path through the storm is lit in a way that it was not before.

2. Other people are a gift to me in difficult parts of my journey – but I don’t have to take every piece of advice they give or go in every direction they suggest.  Their approach may be full-on and confrontational, whilst mine may be gentle and gradual – or vice-versa!  Being honest – painfully and brutally honest – with a close few, is essential.  If we can’t express our deep and heartfelt distress and questions, we will never grow.  But we don’t have to keep everyone in the loop.  It’s completely reasonable to give a glossed-over version to some who cross our paths - or no version at all!

3. There will be oddly ordinary – and even funny – moments, as the storm rages all around.  I can’t exist for the whole of the storm, fully focused on it and miserable because of it.  I can smile and laugh and carry on with a slightly altered version of ‘normal’.  I can talk about the weather or my washing powder or the bargain leg of lamb I bought yesterday.  In fact, these may be the perfect thing for me to focus on and discuss in that particular minute of my particular storm.  In the three days (Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day) between discovering our daughter had died and giving birth to her, there was horrible, soul-crushing sadness.  There was also: a walk in the park with my toddler and his grandparents; amusement at the Christmas toilet roll my parents had even remembered to pack in the mayhem of ‘Operation Bring Christmas to Us’ as we couldn’t come to it; and laughter over a remote-control helicopter battle with my husband, where a stray propeller sliced down a rather nice Christmas decoration! There will be lighter moments.  I will embrace them.  I will enjoy them.  They are a gift.

4. It is still possible – in fact essential – to worship in the midst of horrible situations.  I am an authority on this. I’ve done my share of sulking with God and feeling unable to lift my voice, never mind my hands, in worship, longing for church to be over, yet knowing I needed to be there.  This time around, I’ve found power and peace as I’ve sung “What a Faithful God Have I,” “I believe that You’re my healer,” “God of Miracles…” – even when I’m not feeling it.  Something changes, something shifts, something grows.  A smouldering ember bursts back into life and I’ve got the spark I need for the next day – or hour, or minute.  Worship and declaration of truth bring life and hope, even when circumstances don’t yet appear to have changed.

5. Being positive and hope-filled doesn’t necessarily mean the outcome you desire will happen – but it’s a better approach than assuming the worst.  If you hope for the best and the worst happens, it’s painful.  If you fear the worst and the worst happens – same result! So whilst my hope and prayer for miracles in my life and those of my friends and family might look like denial of hard realities – to me it makes sense.  Why not keep hoping, as long as there is breath in our bodies and hope to be had? If you don’t pray for a miracle and don’t get a miracle, you avoid disappointment.  But what if…just what if?! So my stance is: believe for a miracle and have the courage to face hard questions and harsh realities in the meantime.

 

So the storm rages on; it will continue to do so.  There will be difficult days and hard realities to face.  But this time, from lessons learned in the school of hard experience, I can trust that my anchor will hold.  I know that, somehow or other, my God will guide me through.  I resonate with the new-testament writer, who expressed his confidence that he would be “hard pressed on every side but not crushed, perplexed but not in despair…struck down but not destroyed.” I know this has been, is currently and will be true for me too.