Pain

Pursuing Love In The Valley

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment

This week marked 14 years of marriage for Hubby and I. Though as a young bride I couldn’t have imagined the victories and valleys we’d share youth made me sure that we’d conquer both together, victorious.

I remember hearing of longtime, happily married couples whose lives had been shaken with grief and loss so powerful it was as if it had been an earthquake. A perfect “10” and the aftershocks had left their marriage in the rubble. I’d also heard of happily married couples who’d taken that rubble, and rebuilt something stronger, and more beautiful out of the pieces that were left. images (18)I often wondered what had happened to the latter. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Hubby and I would not cling to the one person under the sun who knew us best. After all, we’d experienced hardship and loss before. We are so very different by nature that where one of us had been weak, the other had been strong. Those strengths and weaknesses had complimented each other and served as tools to help each other through.

But what happens when you are both weak? When neither of you have any strength? When both of your plates are full to overflowing with grief, pain, loss, stress and worry and your cups are empty? How do you help your spouse balance those emotions when your own plate is dangerously close to dropping? You can’t.

I couldn’t. This last year we experienced our own perfect “10” and what I found was that my cup was empty. I barely had the strength to balance my own plate, never mind relieve some of Hubby’s burden. I could not lighten his load. I could not cure our children. I could not pay the mounting medical bills. I could not give him peace and comfort when I struggled just to save myself. So I prayed to the One who could.

Isaiah 40:29

29 He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.

Father, please take this from me! But if this is Your will, please fill my cup and give me the strength to bear it. Please lighten this overflowing plate.

Ah, but He already did.

And He was patiently waiting for me to remember that He himself would carry the load. Would give me His strength. Had already offered to fill that plate and cup with His bread and wine!download (1).jpg

As I surrendered more to Him,my burden became lighter (Bread is rather light) and He filled that cup with strength born of hope. And made me aware that I needed to love Hubby. Not the feeling, that was still there. But the action.

Father, I don’t know how to help Hubby, Please give me the strength, wisdom, and knowledge to love him the way he needs right now. 

I was reminded of a message years ago images (14)by our pastor in which he shared praying for God to help him see and love his wife as He does. This ended up being to make the bed,but I was sure that wasn’t the answer for Hubby (Though I’m ALL for expressions of love that include a tidy bed). I was really sure that Hubby was going to need a lot more. So….

God, please give me Your eyes so I can see. Help me to see him and love him as You do.

images (13)

That’s it? It does not seem like enough. Not for this.

But when I kept my focus on meeting Hubby where he was, as he was, being patient and kind, and praying continuously to see him as Jesus does, and love him as Jesus does it was a powerful thing. I became more aware of his pain and suffering, which was hard, but it naturally evoked more patience and kindness. And in return, lightened his load and opened his heart towards me and towards God.images (16).jpg

Yes, love is God, and God is love. And, our love is stronger and more beautiful now after pursuing it in this valley than it ever was before.

My cup overflows…..

images (15)

So Close

/ bobbiblanchard / 3 Comments

When your life unfolds like a heart wrenching drama. When you get that phone call at 2 a.m., those test results come back, a uniform shows up at your door, your loved one shudders their last breath and the curtains suddenly close on that life you had and the lights fade to black. You can be sitting in that theatre surrounded by people, completely alone. And the One your soul is crying out to is silent.

I’ve talked with so many people who have walked through suffering and have recalled the same thing. During their darkest moments, biggest trials in life, God’s silence seemed to echo louder than the beating of their broken hearts. During my own darkest moments I’d pondered things I’d heard. The Footprints in the sand poem and “The teacher is always silent during a test”. Neither sat well with me. Partially because neither seemed to have any Biblical backing. I wanted real answers. Real truth. Where was He and why couldn’t I see Him, feel Him, or hear Him when I’d needed Him the most?

I recently read Ann Voscamp’s One Thousand Gifts. And I was blown away by her thoughts on a piece of scripture I’d read plenty of times before but now has been rolling around in my head for weeks.

Exodus 33:22

22 When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by.

What if, when it’s the darkest, you feel the most alone, you could have been so close to the One you needed, you could have practicallyimages (3)

Reached out

And touched…

Holy

Wait. What?

Yes, what if during those loneliest, soul wrenching, heart breaking, moments.

He was passing by

images (4)

And placed you in a cleft in a rock. Mercifully covering your eyes until He passed.

But wait, it gets better.

Exodus 33:23

23 Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.”

Then, when you’ve exited stage left of grief, the curtains open again to slowly reveal your new normal, and you can see. You can see His perfect timing, His masterful weaving once He’s gone by. He’d been there all along. Closer than He’s ever been.

When it had seemed like the world’s worst cliffhanger, you hadn’t been hanging to the edge of a cliff at all, but been carefully placed in a cleft instead.

And if you’re currently in the dark, achingly silent, loneliness of that cleft, patiently waiting for His glory to pass, for the chance to see, feel and hear Him again, know that He is SO CLOSE.

Blessings,

Bobbi

Hope

/ bobbiblanchard / 4 Comments

I have spent the last three days in a place too closely resembling the dark. I’m sure the details of which will come pouring out in a later blog, but for now, I thought I’d take advantage of the insomnia and a brief moment of clarity while treading water to share a small, yet significant, light bulb moment.

I have discovered, unfortunately, that there is something about pain and loss that makes me incredibly near sighted. Not the kind of near sighted I had fixed by a gifted ophthalmologist a few years ago, but the kind of near sighted that makes it virtually impossible for me to see past my own haze of pain and loss, to the world around me and the kingdom above me. Let me see if I can string enough words together to explain.

There is the kind of pain that explodes into your life with such force that you can’t believe that people within a two mile radius didn’t feel the reverberations. That makes you surprised that everywhere you look, people are just continuing on about life as if the world hasn’t actually slowed to a near stand still. They are going to work, buying groceries, and watching TV as if the searing hot white blast that is still causing your ears to ring and the breath to leave your lungs never happened.

There is the kind of loss that creates such a Huge void in your life that it sucks down with it things like laughter, days of the week, people’s names, prior commitments, and the ability to multi task. You stand at the edge of this vortex desperately trying to keep hold of your sanity with a white knuckled grip on HOPE. And sometimes that pain, it’s sucked down with the loss for awhile too. I believe it’s called “shock”.

But that HOPE I’m gripping? It’s not truly in my hands. It’s in the hands of my Savior. Or rather, at the foot of His cross.

This past Sunday, our message was titled, “Christ Centered Hope”. And I was blessed with the reminder of this message today. I’d like to say that my brain was functioning well enough that I remembered it myself. But alas, this information was in the fuzzy area obscured by pain and lost somewhere in the void. No, when I frantically searched for a piece of paper to write down our latest diagnosis and testing appointments, this conversation guide was closest at hand. Thank you God!

DSC_0488~2.jpg

Colossians 3:1-2New International Version (NIV)

3 Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. 2 Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.

So, where is my HOPE? Is it centered on the transient things of this world like finances, relationships, and health? Or is it focused on the HOPE in Christ?

Today, I am struggling to remind myself where I need to place my hope. I am struggling to see further than the pain and loss. Today, I am incredibly near sighted. But I’m also incredibly grateful that He is meeting me where I am and occasionally breaking through that haze to remind me that this is not my home, and my hope is not in my hands, but seated at the right hand of God. And He is with me.

For anyone reading who is struggling through the near sightedness of pain and loss, to see further than the grief:

Psalm 119:114  New International Version (NIV)

114 You are my refuge and my shield;
    I have put my hope in your word.

Isaiah 40:31  New International Version (NIV)

31 but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.

Alibaster Jar

/ bobbiblanchard / 9 Comments

For six weeks I had struggled out of The Dark. Mercifully, I had emerged, battered, exhausted, on the shores of grief. Though waves of despair still licked at my feet, I was no longer immersed in the cold, dark, pain of my loss. My mind, body, and heart, bore the effects of the experience but I had started to sleep, keep food down, and my brain had started to function past survival, past my next breath.

While in The Dark, I had experienced whispers of thoughts that had drug me back under. But, my fatigued, desperate, mind could only focus on my next breath. Now that I had a little breathing room, literally, occasionally these whispers became thoughts and I became aware of a new battle. One being waged within my soul.

I was after putting the kids to bed. Still struggling somewhat with focus and getting to a new “normal”, I was standing once again in the kitchen. When, in a panic, I couldn’t remember if I’d given our daughter her new medication more than once! I knew this meant I would be sleeping once again on the trundle bed in her room awake and worrying all night. I was overwhelmed. This is what it’s going to be like. Medications, appointments, specialists, and worry. I backed up to the refrigerator and slid to the ground. Down to the beautiful hard wood floors Hubby had reclaimed off of an old job site, hauled home, installed, sanded and refinished for me. I sat there in a daze, looking at all of the perfect imperfections in that floor, and I saw it. My heart, shattered into a million, razor sharp pieces scattered throughout my kitchen. The same heart He had so gently and faithfully removed the barriers to, until it was soft, trusting, pliable, and vulnerable. And then He broke it! Silently sobbing on that floor, feeling betrayed, alone, and bone soul weary, I felt as if there should be crime scene tape and maybe a chalk outline of where my heart had been.

image7.jpeg
Why?!

He doesn’t love you.

No, He has been with me through it all, helping me through! I’ve seen Him in this! He died for me!

He’s punishing you. For those sins. Punishing her for your sins. It’s your fault.

No! I have been redeemed! He set me free!

You don’t look like you’ve been set free. You look broken. And your daughter looks sick.

He doesn’t love you.…

I grabbed my cell phone to take comfort from my “light” photos. I had quite a collection by now. And I had an event reminder. Come, Abide, Beloved.

Months prior I had been blessed with the opportunity to attend a Retreat through the Women’s Ministry at our church. At the time, worn down in both body and mind, I rejoiced at the thought of time to remove myself from the distractions of home and focus wholly on His word. However, at just six weeks “post diagnosis” I was literally surviving my days moment by moment, hour by hour. And at this particular moment I was sure I couldn’t manage to go. That I just didn’t have it in me. I was so incredibly raw and now keenly aware that I had some major things to work through.

And then He met me where I was. With encouraging texts from friends privy to my private struggle. With a ride from another sister in Christ. With a Hubby that reminded me that they would all be okay without me. And I put one foot in front of the other and decided to go as I was, where I was. I slept fitfully that night after scattered prayers for guidance and energy and courage to do something that even at my best was so very out of my comfort zone.

He met me in the car on the way up, with the generosity of the beautiful woman who came bearing coffee and a necklace inscribed with the word “courage”. I can’t even make this up!

He met me in the conference center with one of my favorite fragrances in the diffuser. Where these women had worked tirelessly to create an atmosphere so womb like and comforting that I couldn’t even be upset that they made me do 30 minutes of “speed dating” to meet the other attendees.

He met me with the most amazing cabin mates who filled my night with genuine laughter (some of my first in a while) until I forgot my discomfort with all the new faces and names, with an unfamiliar bed, with worries about home, medications and the struggle deep inside.

So I rested. In fact, I slept all night. One of only a handful of nights I’d gotten more than a four hour stretch. And I know He was preparing me for the day ahead. The cold sun rise brought with it the glaring clarity that light often brings. And when I stepped into the conference center again and started to worship I knew there was work to be done here today.

My mind was clearer, but my emotions were no less raw, no further from the surface. I cried through beautiful songs of praise and worship, speaking of God’s love for me and His pursuit of my heart. And as our gifted speaker spoke of Luke 7:37-38,
image23she painted a picture with words of a desperate woman, living a sinful life, risking rejection, glares and PAIN, to get to Jesus, and break her most prized possession, an alabaster jar of expensive perfume to anoint Jesus’s feet. She wept openly, wetting his feet with her tears and wiping them with her hair. She came as she was, where she was, with her brokenness and her sin, and weeping, left them at His merciful feet. I could almost see her desperation and pain! But she let nothing stop her. What was stopping me?

With desperation and pain my soul cried out to Him for Truth! Slowly over the last year He had stretched me and helped me to trust. Not just Hubby and the kids, the ones that initially broke the barriers on my heart, but over time a whole community of believers that had helped bring His truth and love and light into my life. And with each layer removed, each anxious step, He had made it good. I trusted Him! But how was I supposed to start all over again and trust Him again? Because this hurt too much. And the temptation to listen to those evil whispers, to return to the “safety” of a hardened heart was at times, at my weakest moments, so very strong! I felt everything but strong.

We broke for our personal devotion time and I went into the crisp autumn air thankful for the cold. Hoping it would numb some of the torment. And I opened my packet and started to work through it. Years of counseling and a remarkable therapist had helped me gain insight into my sins, the motivation behind them, and the detrimental effect they’d had on my life. I had confessed these sins, wept over them for the pain they’d caused me and others, and the barrier they’d placed between me and Christ. So, I fairly flew through half my packet when I was blindsided by number 16.

16. What do you desire more than Christ?

My earthly family. Whole, healthy, and happy. My daughter not sick.

They are my alabaster jar!

We were instructed to take our pieces of alabaster and write on them what we had been holding onto as more precious than Christ, image24then bring them to the cross and lay them at the feet of Jesus.

Could I do it? Could I trust Him with my family? With my heart? To be perfectly honest, I faltered. I sat holding that stone, hot in my hands, mind and heart racing and realized….I was still praying! I was desperate, broken, and looked for Him in everything, every person I came across, every piece of scripture He gave me. And I knew. I knew that I would walk to that house of the Pharisees, past ridicule and shame, and bring Him my most prized possession, my alibaster jar and all of my brokenness. Every sharp, painful, ugly shard. And I did.

Oh, there was so much pain in the offering!!! But as I laid my piece of alibaster at His feet and cried desperate, broken tears, I saw Him pick up those awful broken pieces and knew image11He made them new. That I was nowhere near complete, but He would make it good. I went to the safety of the prayer tent but instead of ridicule and shame was met again with His grace and love through another sister in Christ who once again gave me the words to pray when all I had left were tears.

image20.jpeg

The Retreat was part of His plan, His perfect timing. And though I left exhausted, I left with renewed faith and trust in Him. I left strengthened in Him to battle the doubts and fears that still sometimes work their way into my head. Though they surface in my weakness, His strength lights my way and they no longer pull me down, broken, onto my kitchen floor.

I keep a piece of that alibaster jar amidst the chaos of my purse, my life, to continually remind me who I’d given it to.

DSC_0166~3.jpgMy alibaster jar

 

 

From the other side of the podium, the same side of the cross, please visit:

Invisible Love, Sisterhood

The Dark

/ bobbiblanchard / 18 Comments

It had been over a year. Over a year since I’d noticed the tremor in our seven year old daughter’s hands. Over a year of testing, waiting, worrying, doctors, appointments and watching her develop more symptoms. Over a year of praying for answers while He faithfully placed me in a position to receive them.

I was in my kitchen, twenty pounds lighter, bruised heart and body, too much hair lost in the bristles of my hair brush, clutching my cell phone in one hand and my budding faith in the other when the lights went out. It was a genetic disorder, degenerative, untreatable and incurable. My stomach turned over and I struggled for breath as my mind struggled to process the words pouring through the phone. I knew from countless hours of research what the sympathetic, clinical, voice was trying to explain. This was not life threatening. There were 29 other types of this repeat disorder and this was not the worst. It was considered “slowly progressing”. We wanted answers, and we now had them. But I knew our now eight year old daughter had approximately 15 years of mobility. That we would slowly watch her lose coordination, and the ability to walk. That the prognosis includes vision problems, swallowing and speech loss, tremors and cognitive problems. I couldn’t move. My feet rooted to that kitchen floor I somehow ended that call and stood, dazed, and listened through roaring ears to my three children playing downstairs. I honestly don’t know how long I stood there before the front door opened and Hubby walked in. The door closing somehow opened the flood gates of my eyes and as sobs and words came pouring out he held me until my tears wet his shirt and air started to fill my lungs again. I could hear the rain pelting the front door and recognized the sounds of a squabble downstairs and knew our privacy was at an end. As our tear filled, red rimmed eyes met, we both knew I had to go. So he stayed, and I ran. I knew it wasn’t fair but I also knew that the kids couldn’t see me like that. That I would take one look at them and fall apart.

So I left, into the rain, still in the dark. Wondering to where I was running. A year ago I would have had nowhere to go. But over the last year God had been faithfully positioning me for this moment. Slowly breaking down the last of the walls on my heart, stretching me and forging new relationships with wonderful, Christ following, beautiful women and a newfound church family that at the drop of a text, dropped the project they were working on and held me, cried with me, and prayed with me. I caught a breath. Long enough to return to my family and my kitchen.

Over the next few weeks I was like a novice swimmer caught in a raging sea. Pulled under by life’s tides I struggled to breathe. The darkness was so all consuming, the water so cold that my mind and body were numb to anything but pain. I searched frantically for a ray of light to break through to find my way up, to the surface. My prayers were more of an SOS than anything. Because I could barely form words, never mind sentences. But over the next few weeks He mercifully answered my cries for help. Slowly, He met me where I was, unable to sleep, eat, or put hands and words together in prayer, with the light I needed to get through. Lungs bursting, I’d catch a glimpse of His light penetrating the darkness and surface long enough to draw breath to sustain me through the next wave of grief.

He met me that first day with the arms of the husband He gave me. He met me in a room across town as two beautiful women breathed Truth and Love into starving lungs.

He met me a week later, in my bathroom, as Hubby, typically short of words and the first to panic at the sight of my tears told me, “She’s going to be okay. He gave her to us for a reason, and I know He made you the perfect mother for her”. Other people had said similar words, but hearing it from him, whose faith was in such a different place than my own, and knowing the pain he feels seeing me cry and unable to “fix” it? Another breath of Truth and Love!

And the next week, after our third appointment with different specialists I was driving home, overwhelmed with conflicting information when truthfully I still struggled to even pour a bowl of cereal without getting distracted, never mind processing statistics and genetic terminology that would make your head spin. But, through exhausted, tear filled eyes, I looked up! And there, breaking through the clouds was a ray of light that broke through the fatigued, scattered thoughts in my mind. With absolute clarity I KNEW that not one of those doctors knew our daughter’s future. He who made her, was still holding her,and her future, in His hands. And He loves her!! I claimed that ray of light as my own and it followed me all the way home.

He met me in my therapist’s cocoon of an office where she had gently encouraged my faith over the past eight years. As my body wracked with soul wrenching sobs in the safety I’d found in that room, she prayed for me, with me. Putting the words together that my tired mind couldn’t connect. And reminded me that He knew my heart and He loved our daughter more than I could comprehend. More Truth, more Love, more Light.

He met me in His church, with His church. As the pastor spoke of resting in He who does not slumber and I sobbed through songs of praise and worship wearing wrinkled clothes that had been sitting in the dryer for two weeks, hair that hadn’t been washed in two days and makeup washed away almost before I walked into the safety of the worship center, I KNEW that He was talking to me, was with me. Even during the darkest hours of the night when, afraid to leave her, I laid awake, heart pounding, mind racing, stomach turning. It was time to rest. In Him.

So He met me in my two year old’s room at nap time. Curled into the fetal position, wrapped around my bundle of energy, watching splayed lashes over sweetly rounded cheeks, chubby hands clutching his favorite blankie,  silent tears wetting his soft hair, I miraculously matched my rapid breathing to his quiet rhythmic breaths, and sent out a silent thank you prayer…and slept.

Countless times He met me in those first few weeks, in the dark, where I was. With Truth, and Love, and Light. Until I was no longer struggling for every breath, but treading water. There were still moments, sometimes days, where the waves would come, or evil would twist my thoughts, even scripture, like living seaweed wrapped around my legs and pull me back under, but He, ever loving, ever merciful, ever faithful, had prepared me for it and blessed me with so many people, pouring out Christ’s love through texts, Facebook messages, food, hugs and prayers, breathing His word into my life’s lungs,  that I KNEW there was hope. There was still light, even if I couldn’t always see it.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

John 1:5