Lamenting

We moved. It was perhaps one of the most chaotic things I have ever planned.  In fact, nothing went as I planned- imagine that. I cried. Multiple times. I literally felt by the end of the weekend that I had been run over by a truck. So by the time Tuesday rolled around I had done a bit of processing and I found myself sitting in my counselors office lamenting about the woes of moving, of disappointment. And how following this crazy season of life my margin for rolling with the punches is much thinner.
(I realized about a month ago that in all reality I am just not okay after our scare with Emmaus- and so I needed to talk about it. Dan and I had previously seen a great counselor- so I called him up and bam. Here I am again sitting in his office every Tuesday.)
Lamenting.
What does that even mean? That is what he has challenged me to do. Lament. (It means: To express one's deep grief about. Or to express deep regret or disappointment about something considered unsatisfactory, unreasonable or unfair)
So I lament. Holding with one hand the very truths I believe so deeply- God is good, He loves me, and He wants good things for me.
And with the other I scream aloud. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

And you know what? I don't feel like it's okay. I am sure I will find my peace again with the life I have been given, with the reality that my daughter has tuberous sclerosis and that life is often just hard. But right now, it just isn't okay.

I like things to be pretty, to be smoothed over. And so even when things are hard I like to be able to focus my heart on hope. The good. The way God has provided- cause my has He ever provided for us.
So learning that I can have a heart of thanksgiving- and still truly wrestle with these things and not have it be smoothed over feels hard. It is raw and rough and ugly.

So although I have always strived for my blogs to be honest and real- they might not be so pretty for a while.

Because it just isn't okay that my daughter has tuberous sclerosis. autism.
It is not okay that pneumonia almost killed her.
It is not okay that the med that helped her progress had such horrible side effects. And now isn't an option.
It is not okay that she cannot talk to me, or tell me her needs, her likes or how her day was.
It is not okay that she has seizures.
It is not okay that appointments, medicines, and therapies fill her day.
It is not okay that I have to explain to Shiloh why Emmaus can't talk. Or hear her pray that "Mae Mae would have no seizures"
IT IS NOT OKAY. IT SUCKS. IT IS BROKEN. AND UNFAIR. and my heart is broken over it.

But. God is Good. He loves me. And He wants good things for me (And Emmaus!). And in my lamenting- I will never cease to believe or say that. Because it is all I know for sure.