When it’s not ok…

Today should have been a great day.  Actually, I’m writing this from a difficult perspective, so let me be realistic – it was a great day.  Church parade with some beautifully well behaved Brownies and an amazing church so obviously thrilled to see them and encouraging of them – a trip to the in-laws, and time with some of my dearest friends in the entire world.

And then, it hit.  A simple question about babies, and it hit.  And suddenly my mind was back to the miscarriage, and from there, back to that terrible week when we found we’d lost Mina and Sara too.  A little question – and I cried most of the way home.

I am always a little wary when I hear Christians giving their testimonies.  Please don’t get me wrong – when a person is open and honest about their struggles, it makes a massive difference.  My friend Emma, at A New Name , is one example amongst many I can think of where somebody was open and honest about life and faith, especially the less than pretty bits, and it made a massive difference to my life.

But there’s always a temptation.  Because we’re human and we don’t like looking broken and messy, so there’s a temptation to make out that all our problems are in the past.  I found God and then my life was completely and utterly transformed – look, I don’t even get acne anymore!  It’s utter bollocks, but it’s tempting bollocks.

So here’s the thing.  Tonight, it’s not ok.  Actually, tonight it sucks.  My heart hurts and so does my head, and I suspect that if I have ONE MORE broken night from Isaac waking up in the middle of the night for no-reason-what-so-ever, I might explode. A chronic health problem has made me throw up most of my dinner, and so I’m exhausted and in pain. Tonight, I don’t feel close to God.  Tonight, it’s not shiny.  Tonight, it hurts.

I guess though, that’s the reason I don’t just give up, turn pagan, or join the humanist society.  Because, like Annie, with her irritating nasal twang, I do believe that there’s always a tomorrow.  And it’s not because I’m red headed, cute, and the scriptwriters want to make money.  It’s not some platitude I tell myself just to make the crap seem a little more bearable.  It’s rooted in the bloody, torturous agony on a cross in Galilee a couple of thousands of years ago.

Because of that, I can face tomorrow.  Because of that, I’m not going to sink.  Because of that, I can see beauty.  Because He knows.  He’s in it.  And because of Him, tomorrow’s coming.

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