I’m sitting here awkwardly, repeatedly playing with my daughters sensory blocks. Stacking them, pulling them apart, putting them down, picking them up, contemplating if I should really process all the feelings. But here I sit…ready to share.
Back in April my daughter received something that could save her life. There’s so many variables here, there’s so many if’s, there’s so much unknown. We signed her life away to science. One day I’ll tell you that story because it’s a good one and it’s a damn miracle. What you need to know now is that: pain is more present than ever and for some reason…I can’t feel it. I can’t put my finger on it because I’m so grateful, entirely grateful for all the gifts and all of God’s faithfulness. I just feel incredibly overwhelmed, when I do feel. What if the unknow miracle doesn’t pan out? What if it was all for not? I put my soul into getting her treated. All of my soul. Trust me when I say: I give God all the glory for this but I about killed my self and completely lost myself in the midst of the hustle. Can you relate? After something big there’s always a let down? Right? I’m waiting for more bad news, I’m used to bad news, I do bad news. I’m callused to pain because it’s become our normal. That’s my problem.
The brutal truth is we’re more of a mess than ever. Our finances are destitute, our marriage is so broken, our mess is endless, our patiences are strung so thin, my husband had some minor health issues that could turn bad since we can’t pay for his medicine, our house is in constant chaos, and all the while; we don’t care. We’d rather numb the pain with ignorance and manage the feelings. The numbness of it all had caused us a great disconnect. Do you know what I mean? It’s all a heavy load. It’s to much to process, so we don’t. It all makes you believe you’re alone and encourages the lie that you’re, in fact…alone.
The thing is: numbness is okay, for now. It’s okay to make it through another mundane day, exhausted, and at your wits end, it’s okay to be in this place. In this place, God is present. In this place, God is all you’ve got and that’s good. Even though I try to run away; I drink the wine, watch the shows, eat the food, sleep it off, escaping doesn’t make God farther away from me it makes me believe I’m farther away from Him. God isn’t far from me though, ever. Even when I mess up. Even when I’m an absolute diseaster, creating destruction at every turn. Even when I cannot feel the feels, He’s the one that gets me through the minute, the hour, the day. Leaning into Him in the pain and numbness of all the little things takes all my effort. It’s knowing I can’t do this, I’m not doing well, I’m so done, and so alone. It’s about placing the anxious heart in a gracious Father’s hands. And I get the whole father thing, you know? Mine wasn’t great. The whole like; trusting a faithful, good, good Father is actually pretty impossible for me. I then think about all the times He saved me when I couldn’t save myself. I think about the glourious things He’s done in my life that are unexplainable. I mean, I had seizures for years that were unexplainable and then one day I just stopped having them, out of the blue? I just, I can’t comprehend it. It’s His amazing faithfulness when it’s the last thing you can see in the moment. It’s His strength, in me that I can deal with this Sanfilippo life as I never even wanted to be a mom, let alone a special needs mama. He’s proven Himself to be faithful. I’m owning that right now. Because right now, I don’t feel like praising. I’m thankful but I don’t feel like playing the church game. I don’t feel like putting on a pretty face. I feel like giving everyone the bird. I feel like not caring forever. It’s ok though, I have the memories of faithfulness to forge ahead and that’s enough. Being numb is enough for me at the moment because in the numbness, God carries you. You can’t see it, you won’t see it until you’re through it but you’re on the shoulders of the ever present, always gracious, forever loving: Father. I’ll feel when I’m ready. For now, I’m enough. Being real, well; it’s enough.