Monday, June 9, 2014

The Song My Husband Wrote for My Weary Soul

Sometimes the most beautiful things are found by sifting through the muck and mire of our life's story.

That's exactly how Job Song was crafted. As a 24 year old and 29 year old couple, we were desperately grappling with a new journey of infertility. 

It's a road no one assumes they'll walk down. In our minds, the natural progression of life was high school graduation, college, wedding, babies. Sometimes in an alternative order, but all taking place none-the-less. 

I wasn't ready to deal with the chances of never being pregnant. I had dreamed of those moments since I was in high school. It was the one thing I remember vividly telling my friends over and over again, I can't wait to be pregnant and feel a life growing inside of me. It was weird, admittedly. But true. 

The thing about infertility and pregnancy loss is that no matter how long a woman struggles through it, it's her version of eternity. Some women have suffered and mourned decades longer than I. And while our pain is never the same, the sting is familiar and the length way too long. 

For two years I took dozens of tests, had two miscarriages, went to discouraging doctor's appointments, and every 33 days, my heart smashed at the reality that my story might never read, And she was with child. Day after day, week after week, I devoured God's words for some life-ring of hope and comfort. I needed my God to do something -- anything -- because I felt myself spiraling down a staircase of questions, doubts, and distrust. 

I was the church girl who had all the right answers and always loved God above all. I didn't doubt God. Never. Ever. Yet there I was, penning the words, Is this some kind of sick joke? Do you really see me where I'm at? Of all the things, you had to take this? What kind of Father are you that you would taunt me with a good thing and then take it away so violently?  

For the first time in my life, I was doubting the goodness of my God. 

I was ashamed of that entry. I never wanted anyone to read it. It was ugly and ridden with guilt. How could I doubt what I'd known for so long to be true? 

Later that night, while I clung to my journal in one hand and my husband in the other, he asked gently, Can I read your journal? 

No way, I responded.

Please babe, I need to know what's going on inside your head. I need to know how to help you. 

He was right. I couldn't explain what I was feeling in a tailored and polished manner, but the least I could do was let him read.

It's not pretty, I wept as I loosened my grip. My heart was about to be exposed. The severity of my wounds were festering in the pages of that journal and my wrap job was falling apart. 

And it was from that moment in time that The Job Song was birthed. 

My husband put words and passion and music to what my soul was already crying out. He gave me a voice when mine was worn out. 

The Bible says, we are comforted by God so that we might comfort others and we are loved by God so that we might show His love to others (2 Corinthians 1).  We can have a voice, when others have none. (Click it to tweet it) We have a pen or a paintbrush or passion, when others have none. 

Who, right now in your life, do you need to speak for? Write for? Sing for? Create for?

They need you to do it, and do it urgently.

"Don't look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too. Encourage one another and build each other up." (Philippians 2:4, 1 Thessalonians 5:11)

Pain is never meant to be endured in vain. Suffering is redeemed in sharing. (Click it to tweet it.)

Community is fortified in helping make something beautiful from the ashes of our lives. 

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^^^Opinions, two-cents, questions and ramblings are welcome. And go above. Go ahead. Try it.

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