As Long As It Takes

Last week, after 2 attempts at a cancelled 10-day Hawaiian vacation, and one cancelled trip to a local seaside city (Hi, Covid, you suck), Rich and I got to escape to the coast for 5 days, ALONE. This was our longest time away since before we had Jane, 6 years ago. 

Sitting on the rocks under the gloom of the clouds, watching the water crash against the empty beach, feeling the wind cover every surface, was in every way, healing. The ambient noise of the sea and the air allowed me to think, to feel, to reflect, and was desperately needed. And in all honesty, we didn’t stay long enough for my soul. (But I’m still grateful you watched the kids, Mom!)

In those moments of stillness, of thinking, of feeling, I allowed myself to let it happen. All of it. All the grief. All the tension. All the fear. This wave of all the emotions at once happens from time to time. On the kitchen floor on a Tuesday, or in the laundry room in the middle of the night. But this was like a compounded release that only a week away from your children and Doc McStuffins can afford.  After 6 years of Jane’s life, a part of me sat on the rocks next to the Pacific thinking , “I can’t believe I’m still not okay”. I can’t believe I’m still hurting, I’m still seeking, and I am still in need. In need of time, of refreshing, and healing. 

Three years ago I was in the thick of PTSD, and heavy anxiety. I couldn’t go places by myself, I was ashamed of my mental state, and eager, to say the least, to get back to “normal”. My friend and counselor asked me, “If you were speaking to a young woman in your exact situation, how long would you say she needs to take to get back to normal?” Her  question was obviously wise and profound, and my answer was simple, 

“As long as it takes”

I would extend so much compassion and patience to a woman watching her daughter overcome by seizures multiple times a day. Doing laundry at any hour of the night because of vomiting. Doing everything she can to maintain physical and mental health so she can care for her daughter long term. Meanwhile fostering, loving and trying so hard to esteem her other two children. And oh yeah, throw in a pandemic where you’re forced to entertain and teach and explain something so unfathomable to the mind of a 4 yr old. I would never put a “get your act together timeline” on that person. And yet here I am, three years after my divine revelation, and I am still keeping track of the stopwatch on myself. 

While I have peace that I am not where I was three years ago, I am daily aware that the work is not over. The surrender is not over. 

I’m not a patient person. I tend to cut corners. There are dozens of projects started and not finished around my home because starting is SO MUCH FUN, but finishing and detail work is pretty much the worst to me. Patience does not come naturally. And from what I’ve seen in the last few months while the world eagerly awaits for “normal” to return , I realize that no one is naturally patient. When forced to wait we all get agitated in our own way, and our impurities come to the surface. 

Is there anyone truly patient? Is there anyone who can walk so steadily and quietly by my side, never giving up? Always ready to slow down and take small steps? Always caring and never angry?

“I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:  The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; HIS mercies never come to an end. Great is His faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.”

– Lamentations 3:20-23 (ESV & NLT)

My heart rejoices like the author’s when he says, “Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this”… He will be there as long as it takes. My fatigue and my questions are normal and expected. He’s not afraid of those. He’s ready every morning to pick up where we left off and start afresh. 

And if He is my example, then to the woman on the rocks at the ocean, to the mom hovering over the washing machine at 2am with fuzzy eyes, to the parent in the hospital waiting for the results, I say, you don’t have to feel okay. You don’t have to be “back to normal”. Take a breath, keep life as simple as you need it to be, press on to know God, be awesome when you can, and sit down when you need to. And just keep going – as long as it takes.