We went back to church on Sunday for the first time since Christmas Day. We decided when Asher's side effects were so bad from switching epilepsy medications that we wouldn't make him go around other children for fear that they would point out the obvious differences that weren't yet obvious to Asher. I don't know if it was the right decision, but it's the one we made. On Saturday I thought, if not now when? If we don't go back this Sunday, we may as well never go back because this is our new normal. I told you all of that to set up what happened during worship.
***
Starting out that day, I felt like I had spent year after year, hard experience after hard experience, looking for hope in the wilderness. I was resigned to it, but all of that seeking had me dying of thirst and all I wanted was water.
MIRAGE
something that appears real or possible but is not in fact so
Mirage after mirage.
I began to let the thrill of the hope of hope be enough to sustain me in between terrible times and I began to think that true hope just wasn't possible for me. I didn't always realize that's what I believed, but my actions--my thoughts--proved differently.
Then came Sunday's worship, during which I entered into a prayerful hug with a friend and I saw the glint of water on the horizon. I looked at it awhile, afraid to trust what my eyes were seeing. But this time, the vision of the water came when I wasn't seeking the evidence of hope--I was seeking God. For someone else. For the friend I was holding onto. I wasn't ever great at hoping for myself, but hoping for someone else came so easily.
So God came to me within that hope. He met me where I was. In an embrace.
In my mind, suddenly I took off. The thrill wasn't in the running this time, it was in what I was running toward. Hope wasn't in healing or diagnosis, it was IN JESUS. This was different. It's what all of my blogs, all of my writings, all of my experiences have been leading me to. Every revelation, every time I experienced God, every answered prayer, every prayer that God said no to, every single hard and glorious thing in my life. To this.
As I got close to the edge of the cliff, I saw that it wasn't a puddle of water I was running toward...it was a ginormous oasis.
OASIS
something serving as a refuge, relief, or pleasant change from what is difficult; a haven; a shelter, serving as a place of safety or sanctuary; an area in the desert (or, ahem, wilderness) where there is water and trees can grow
A giggle erupted out of me. The closer I got to the edge of the cliff, the more aware I became of the heaviness all over me, so I dropped my baggage, pulled off my boots as I ran and stripped down to the bare minimum.
Light as a feather and without thinking, I jumped right off of the cliff at the edge of the wilderness. Leaving every mirage of hope behind, I gleefully cannonballed into an oasis of living water. A body of water that can never run dry. It consumed me in peace and contentment until I laughed out loud and whispered to Jen, "I'm not scared anymore." I realized in speaking it out loud, that I actually believed it. I felt it!
I breathed out heaviness and I came back into myself.
It wasn't depression or even blatant fear that was causing the heaviness, more like an overwhelming oppression that came from watching Asher suffer and be so different. Having to be on high-alert for seizures. Saving his life time after time.
It really does something to you to watch your child retreat into himself and lose the ability to form words due to medications and seizures. Constant vigilance can breed a living awareness of what ifs. And in our life, what ifs become real. All of the bad stuff becomes real.
That oppression left on the arc of my laughter.
In that moment, I let it all go and just kind of felt...normal again. Or not normal, I hate that word. Just more like the Courtney I lost when we started the second medication and I watched Asher slowly fade away. I think I tried to retreat like Asher did so that I could find him and bring him back. A mother's desperation doesn't always make sense.
That heaviness was drowning me out and I was letting it because at least pain felt familiar. I could feel in my own body what it looked like Asher felt. I owned his pain and lost myself.
I took it all in and thought, oh I'm back. I know this woman. It's me! I came out of the hug a different woman than when I entered it.
My first act as post-hug Courtney was giving my children back to the Lord--and I felt the weight of responsibility fall off of my shoulders. I get to just be their mom. Making the "right" decisions and caring for them and administering life-saving medications and homeschooling and making appointments and figuring out how we're going to pay for it all and living the medically complex life suddenly wasn't at the forefront anymore.
Jesus was.
Behind him, Isaac.
Standing tall next to Isaac, strong Zoe Moriah.
With her head on her daddy's shoulder and arms around his neck, sweet Willow Gracen.
Dancing around them all, doing his signature moves--the robot, the hip shimmy, and the worm--our hilarious, 90s hip-hop loving, Lego building, go with the flow, slightly naughty, "mommy, look at me!"exclaiming,
Asher Stephen.
Everyone was smiling and looking like they'd been waiting on me to come home.
God is at the head of my family.
He holds onto and leads us all-no matter where we are.
Of this, I am sure.
Come what may, we are safe in His embrace.
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