A Week of Rest; Weak Rest

Reflection after week one of recovery:

Rest. I thought I knew how to rest. I know many relaxation techniques and many tools for meditation. I have many activities that I consider "restful and rejuvenating", and yet, I have been forced to rest in a whole new extreme this week, when even crocheting on the couch made my blood pressure rise to an unhealthy level. Thanks to my doctor we finally have my blood pressure maintained with the right medication. Thanks to my sister and husband who had a knack for noticing when I was getting too active and needed to lay down on my side, I survived without any complications. 

By Friday I was extremely tired of resting, and I realized I had been skipping the first step in relaxation or meditation: awareness. So, I started to do an awareness scan of my body, and I realized why I had been skipping that move. First of all, my mind was still in disbelief that my womb was now empty, and secondly, at my core I was achingly sad. Most parts of my body were resisting something, and when I imagined a visual of my heart, it was extremely tired and full of sadness. I called Robbie into the room, since we have promised each other that we wouldn't get on the grief train alone, and he held me while I let go of a huge wave of grief. Frustration and anger are still pretty buried inside me, but the sadness and the terror that this is all actually happening flowed out or rather was allowed to come to the surface.

Each day since I've been choosing to do a body scan to help me take a nap, and both my napping and grief have progressed. One major factor we've seen this week is that knowing a lot about grief and prayer and God doesn't put you on some express train to feeling better or moving through the stages of healing and grief at an easier or quicker rate. Our theology, however, has kept us grounded and connected to each other. Even when I did feel the anger coming up to the surface, I didn't know where to aim it. I know I can't blame myself, I can't blame Robbie, I can't blame my doctor, but I didn't want to blame God. And in that moment when I felt the anger beginning to burst, I heard God saying,"Come on, let me have it. I can bear it. Jesus bore all of your anger and pain on the cross already, so let me have it." It wasn't an angry voice like in Job. When I see the sentence now, it reads like a challenge. But when I heard the voice it was very comforting, reassuring, strong, full of knowledge, and able to withstand all the anger and pain I have buried. 

If you're reading this, you've most likely been praying for us and/or experienced this kind of loss yourself. Thank you for your prayers, and for those of you who have been echoing our grief, our hearts break for you, too. May you hear God's reassuring voice as well, and may you feel the freedom to "let him have it."