I still go to bed at night and hope that when I wake up in the morning I will find that all this has been a dream. And each morning when I wake up and see that it has not been a dream I feel sad all over again. I want so badly for my girls to simply reappear to me. To wake up one morning and find them in my arms and start this journey all over again how it was meant to be and not how it is. I hate how it is. And it is hard to accept that it will never be different.
The past few months have been rough. When the girls first died I had a horrible time. But after four months or so I started to feel a little better, I started to see that I was not going to be sad forever. But just when I felt the worst was over I experienced a new low. I spent the past few months in a bad place, a very bad place. I felt hopeless and empty. I felt dead inside.
Few things in life cut straight to the core. My girls' deaths wounded me so deeply that, at my lowest, I could not imagine life ever being ok again. I felt permanently altered inside. I may have looked like my old self to everyone else, but I was a different person now. I would never again be who I was. I was in no way prepared to lose my girls, to be forced against my will to let go of what I wanted to keep forever, nor to live on afterward. How is living possible after something like this? I felt overwhelmed. I had lost my way. I needed help. I needed a miracle.
So I prayed for one. "Jesus, rescue me."
It was a simple prayer but passionately sincere. I was desperate. I needed to be rescued from my grief. It wasn't enough anymore for God to walk with me through this, I needed to be carried. My pain and questions and guilt and anger had left me lifeless. I needed to be transformed. I needed to be made alive again.
I have passionately prayed many prayers in my lifetime, calling out to Jesus in my most helpless times. And I have learned that it is impossible to predict what He will do. He often answers my prayer in ways I do not expect, sometimes in ways I don't even like. That may seem harsh to say, but it is true. When my girls died after begging God to save them I was disillusioned, heartbroken, and angry. Why did God allow them to die? Why did He answer my prayer for their healing in the most painful way possible? It didn't make sense to me. How could I ever trust Him again?
Here is my answer to myself...what other choice do I have? Without Christ everything is meaningless...including my girls' lives and my pain. And I think the only thing worse than living without my girls is living without hope. Hope that God can make right all the wrongs of this life. Hope that God can heal even the most destroyed heart. Hope that God can make good come from something so bad. Hope that I will be reunited with my girls in heaven and our separation will eventually end. Hope that in the meantime God still has a future and life for me and my family. And hope is impossible without trust.
I know God will rescue me. In many ways He already has. Just having hope again has given me strength to hang on one more day. One day at a time...