Healing. . .

It doesn't come easy. Anyone who's suffered knows what I'm talking about. . .those moments when you just rage at a God you can't see, the Father you don't feel, and the questions that have no answers at all. It's a dark place, a void of sorts where reality is suspended and all you know is pain like you've never known before. THAT place is the place He takes you to just before healing begins. And if you aren't willing to go there, you'll never experience healing.

I'm there right now. It isn't fun, and it's pretty damn miserable. My heart breaks on a daily basis, sometimes by the hour. A song plays on the radio and tears start running down my face. I hear a baby cry in Walmart, knowing that sound won't ever be heard in my home again, and suddenly I can't breathe. I am in the doctor's office weekly at this point, cursing my wretched reproductive system and wishing I were a man. I am almost at the place where I think it would be better to be completely childless than to be a partial mother.

And yet, even in this place of misery and darkness, light peeks in. It comes in the way of that still, small voice urging, and whispering, "Come, worship Me today." It comes by way of the people who understand the grief I'm experiencing, and willingly walk alongside of me in the midst of it. It comes from "sisters" who have also travelled this road, who know what's behind the tears and the fake smiles. God shows me His hands when I become willing to see them.