Grace that enlightens

"Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer's; he makes me tread on high places." 

Habakkuk 3:17-19

I came across this video last Sunday and it had me in a puddle of tears on the kitchen table. The metaphor of nature is a beautiful one. Just as we accept the good and rest we have been given from the Lord, we must also accept the adversity and the barrenness that is necessary for our roots to reach deep in great thirst for our life source.

These past couple weeks I've hurt. I've hurt bad. I've hurt for our sons. It hurts seeing their desperate thirst for constant affirmation and praise from Ryan. It hurts seeing them seek those needs from other men when Ryan can't be there. It hurts because I know it's Ryan's deepest desire to be there. It hurts when it's so clear that I cannot fill that void or quench that thirst inside them. It hurts seeing them lash out in anger the minute we arrive home after daddy wasn't there for them that day. It hurts when I hear Liam tell Ryan not to leave him every night. It hurts when I hear Liam say that he's scared that he's lost his daddy, and that he has expressed his fear of losing me and Jeremiah too. It hurts when Jeremiah begs me not to cry. It hurts hearing what haunts them in their nightmares. It hurts hearing that they remember every detail of Ryan's event over a year and a half ago. Despite them being 20 months old, time has not faded their memory or their fear. It hurts that I can't carry these burdens for their young hearts.

It hurts seeing Ryan deteriorate as much as he has. Through each shifting circumstance, we are forced to reevaluate our expectations. This summer took us on a journey through our past. I remembered who Ryan was and why I fell in love with him. Feelings and memories came flooding back. As beautiful as this experience was, we're both downtrodden seeing the stark contrast of then versus now. It hurts realizing that certain things just won't ever be the same again. After all this time, I still find myself inwardly resisting our reality. He can't turn into this person! He can't have this hole in his head! He can't have brain cancer! I love him, I miss him, and I need him. Each morning before my feet hit the ground I beg God to meet me in that day. I ask Him to be enough.

This path doesn't look remotely normal because it isn't normal. It's weird! Just when we think we have something down, it changes. But that constant pattern of undoing and relearning, through the power of Jesus Christ, is suddenly becoming doable. I'm realizing to new depths how much this pattern continues to apply in all of life. Nothing on this earth is constant so, of course we are drawn to the One that is! In the void of Ryan and in the midst of his exhaustion, the Lord fills the void either with Himself or with several other people. It could be as simple as someone wrestling with the boys on the floor, or fulfilling their need to be heard and praised, or sitting next to me on a Sunday morning. It is weird, but God makes it weirdly flawless.

There is a deep thirst in me to take advantage of every opportunity, be it pictures, videos, long drives, conversations, or weekend trips. Each moment is a place God can work and grow far beyond what we've limited Him to. It has simply involved taking that step deeper into unknown territory...as terrifying and not simple as that is. It's a daily leap of faith. It's dying to self. It's the difference between death to our hope or the fullness we could experience in Christ. It's the difference between martyrdom and the courage to let go, follow Him, and put store in His Kingdom, far beyond this earth and its suffering. It's a daily choice to keep climbing.  It's daily curiosity of what else He might hold for us in this life. It's a daily choice to keep surrendering that living sacrifice that keeps crawling off the alter. It's living in daily humility that we have no idea how to do trauma, cancer, toddlers, or even death. It's the long haul.

If this summer has taught me anything, it has taught me acceptance and adaptation as our circumstances are more deeply requiring adjustment and grace. Just as I stated above, I still have my moments of resistance, but I admit that, as challenging as this journey has been, this season of barrenness has brought tremendous clarity to God's perfect character and groundwork. I'm hopeful for a fruitful season and a generous harvest.

Thank you for this, Crystal!

"Some days you conquer the world. Some days you simply survive. Some days they are the same thing!"

Please pray for continued breakthroughs with the boys. As hard as it is hearing what weighs on them, their trauma is being uprooted and addressed. Liam ("my stuffer") is finally opening up. Please pray for Ryan's sense of hope. The one thread he was holding onto was that, with the conclusion of chemo, his energy and some mental clarity would rebound. Thus far, that has not been his experience, granted he is only three months out from his last treatment. Please pray that the Lord continues to provide those moments of mental clarity for Ryan, and that we recognize them as His tremendous gift to us.

Copyright 2015 ->Renee Sunberg