Today was a good day. Today I woke up in significantly less pain, indulged my boy in several silly games, went out with him and some friends to a gorgous play place for kids, and paddled, splashed, ate, giggled and got sandy all day.
I felt human. I felt like a mummy success.
And then the night drew in, and the loss hit again, and the tears came back.
And that’s ok. This will be the case for a little while. It’s ok to be grieving and broken for a bit. It’s ok when success is simply managing to play with your child all day, and fully engage with him, and enjoy being with him. It’s ok not to acheive world peace, and still have the time to finish the washing up.
And that’s what I tell myself, but I’m going
to be honest. It’s not what I really believe. I want this to be a tidy process. I’ll grieve in this space, and then I’ll get back to being superwoman. Immediately, if not sooner.
Tonight, my lovely curate brought round communion for Sam and I. Our insane work schedules mean we’re not at church every week, and I really wanted to be able to take communion before next week. I couldn’t really articulate why, but I think I’ve got it now.
I think it’s because at Communion, we get to see Jesus at His most broken. Reading the acount of the last supper always makes me cry. The man who was Love, about to be broken and tormented and cut off from His Father – sharing and praying for and loving his disciples. Walking willingly into that pain.
Walking willingly into it.
The service tonight helped me to pour out some of the pain and the tears to God. And that was really needed. But taking Communion helped me do something else. It helped me shift my focus a little. From my brokeness to His. My broken body to His. My tears to His.
But the brokenness isn’t the end of the story.
First comes “Good Friday”.
Then comes Easter Sunday.
The pain, and brokenness, and suffering, all redeemed and made whole and perfect in the risen Christ.
And I get to share in that.
And right now, I can’t see that. I feel a little bit like the disciples. All the promises and the hope and the wonder – and now, the wtf (well, the Hebrew equivalent) Now, living in the shadow of broken hopes and dreams, and an empty body and an empty heart, and those voices that keep telling me I have to be Power Lizzi. Yesterday.
But I’m thankful to know the whole story. Easter’s coming.