Feeling “forgotten” seems to be a theme of mine.
With circumstances being what they are right now, it’s little wonder that this theme is coming out strong.
Nearly 3 years we have been trying for a baby and crying out to a God we have intimately known to intercede on our behalf. I think I always believed that when we are truly desperate for Him, He will come through. Because He’s my friend, my true Father, the Holy One who loves me. Finding myself not only deep into the stress and pain of a troubled fertility journey, but also a year into a “visa process from hell” which was only supposed to take 12 weeks to be allowed to move to my husband’s UK, and AGAIN forced to be stuck on a separate continent from my husband for A.N.O.T.H.E.R. month (and counting) has me crying out to Him like NEVER before.
Yet it seems my anguished cries fall on deaf ears. I don’t know how to reconcile that with the God I thought I knew.
Feeling “forgotten” is putting it lightly. Abandoned. Despairing. Hopeless. Done.
Today I made my way to a coffee shop to try to focus on work. Deadlines loom despite the frantic state of my mind overcome by an Anxiety/Depression I thought I’d finally left behind.
These are not our only circuses right now. We’ve been facing tremendous trauma for the last 4 years caused by family issues I’m not ready to go into yet. And in the midst of all the chaos that threatened to eat us alive, we started losing family members– two to suicide (can you say “traumatic”?), two to complications of old age when I just couldn’t handle the loss of one more thing… It all just compounded. And then when we thought we might be able to get away, step back from it all, and process what had happened with all the bombs going off, the UK Home Office made a dreadful mistake on our visa application, and then another on the actual visa they issued. And here we are, still hanging on for dear life, hoping for resolution, waiting for the Home Office to fix it. Hoping to be reunited sooner rather than later.
I spoke to my best friend this morning– also on the other side of the ocean– and we talked about how far God’s love felt. That it’s one thing to know logically that He loves us, but what a different thing to FEEL His love. How different life looked, how different I looked when I used to FEEL His love! How desperately I need to feel it light me up again…
As I sat with my naughty latte (you know, caffeine being a no-no and all) trying to work, a familiar face approached my table. The youth leader at my childhood church. He’s a man I deeply respect. Humble, but confident. Genuinely caring. Seeks after the heart of Jesus. But honestly, we don’t know one another well. We said hello and he went on with his meeting and I went on with my work.
Then an hour or so later, he approached my table again. I removed my earbuds and he asked if he could ask me something. I told him, “of course,” and made room in my corner. He said, “Feel free to say no,” and then proceeded to say that he just felt he and his friend needed to pray for me, right there, right then.
He asked for more info about where we are in our visa journey, and I shared a bit more than that. He knows a bit about what my extended family has been going through, so I talked a little about the trauma of the last few years, though I left out our fertility journey and the additional anxiety at being forced to be separated in the midst of it.
As we spoke, to my surprise, his eyes began to fill with tears.
Perhaps he was only mirroring my own “choked-up-ness,” but he spoke of my family’s traumatic break-up and how he can’t help but think that God is using me here in the midst of it, and the tears pooled out of his eyes and splashed into his lap.
And I was a bit awed by it.
Here’s this guy who hardly knows me, and only knows my family from a distance too, seeing, hearing and feeling my hurting heart– to such an extent that he sat and cried with me.
And suddenly, he was Jesus, sitting beside me and crying because, currently, my whole life is pain. Like when He joined Mary and Martha at their brother’s grave, He knows this end from its beginning. He knows that He has an eternity of good for me that will erase all of this heartache when the day finally comes, and yet still He’s sitting beside me in my sackcloth and ashes and hurting with me because, frankly, though all of that is true, damn it, this hurts right now.
But I am not forgotten. How desperately I needed Him to show me that today; to remind me that the story isn’t finished yet… and that His love goes with me, sits with me and cries with me in this dark, no matter how long the ache lasts.