It is well

My life has several defining instances. You know before this and after this. You walk into the situation one person and leave an entirely other. Your entire existence as you know it has a seismic shift. We rarely discuss what precedes birth. It is death. The ushering of a new thing means the loss of the old. The life of a marriage is the death of our singleness, school graduation cues adulthood and responsibilities. At times it creeps in slowly the loss in order to embrace the gain. Gazing at your newborn lovingly. Knowing they are the greatest gift you’ve ever known. Time passes. You continue to look at this infant with unconditional love but inwardly secretly grieving the person you used to be and maybe if we are honest even parts of the life you used to live. Other times it hits like an earthquake and you scramble to see what remains after the catastrophic shake. These events are great and mark you forever. The blissful innocence before the rape, the formidable family before the divorce, the unbreakable bond before the betrayal. You fill in your blank. Loss will take various modes of transportation. When it arrives in your neighborhood and at your doorstep the results are much alike. There is the devastating death of a loved one, the detrimental death of a dream and the disillusionment in the death of what was but never fully became. These are all unique and still in each instance one is left mourning, picking up the pieces and forced to live out a new path than initially hoped. What is to become, when all that remains are ashes?

My papi, my forever and always hero. I knew unconditional love, total acceptance and unwavering support through him. It was my tradition to write in every one of his birthday cards “ I pray you live to be 100 years old”. He had survived the things of legends. He came out always triumphant. With an emboldened testimony and fierce tenacity. But this… wait. What was happening?! The very foundations of my life were shaking. The moment felt something between a poignant movie scene and a moment in time that would forever be etched in my soul. This… a defining moment. My father knew what I did not. The cancer had advanced. The prognosis was bleak. He spoke with an intensity, an assurance that sent shivers down my spine. It was a blessing and a benediction he gave me all in one. This mattered. He stood and looked at me. The room stood still. He spoke with intent, intensity and intimacy. Although I did not understand at the time why such depth was coming from him to me. I knew enough to hang on to each syllable and hide them in my heart. Those words continue to carry me today. That would be the last time he stood in my home. He was gone in less than a year. That time would be marked by depths of sacred suffering to levels that I did not know were possible. Both his physical and all of our emotional. It all ended. A period was put on his life. Just like that. In a moment. A flash. He did not see 100. What do you do when the one who held you is no more? When the answer to your prayers crushes your very soul.

We traveled the journey from college to early adulthood and marriage in community. We did life together. We shared engagement rings, wedding rings, purchasing our first homes and raising kids. Great friends through and through. A solid sisterhood we shared. Here was another milestone. A new chapter. This time felt no different. Two blue lines appeared. She called, shared and we celebrated. A new baby was forming in the safety of her womb. I asked for due dates. We talked about what would be, could be and should be. It all progressed as pregnancies do. Hitting all the radom fruit and veggie comparisons. Your baby is the size of…. insert random food item. He hit them. With flying colors and suddenly. One day. A phone call on her way to the emergency room. This felt significant. The room stood still. Sweat dripped from my brow. My stomach ached. My chest tightened. I prayed. I prayed with everything in me, I begged and pleaded. He was so close to birth, so close to life. So close to breath. So close to being. Being a brother, a son a much deeply desired beloved. This was not the phase of quiet pregnancy that flies under the radar. This is the point when your family, friends and fellow coworkers all anticipate the arrival of your bundle of joy. She entered the hospital with desperate prayers and left with only remains. Literally remains of what was but never fully did become. The other mothers rolled beside her caressing newborns. Her arms were empty. Dreams shattered. Her suffering both from birth pains and a broken heart. How do you labor and not hold your baby? How could what was so close to being, suddenly be no more?

There are moments in life where it all lines up. Day to day life can feel random but at this intersection. It made sense. My skills, gifts and passions all intersected at this new possibility. It presented as a job of sorts but I knew it was a calling. This was it. The work from years past, the hopes to come. It all made sense with this open door. I was ignited with new purpose and passion. I woke up daily feeling my life and life work were bigger than me and making a difference. It was simply amazing. The people group I served was near my heart. We were feeding, teaching, equipping and helping hearts toward healing. All the right elements were in place. I saw lives change and hearts transform daily. All of the sudden some health concerns rose to the surface. I found myself in a hospital bed. I remember the moment. I spoke to my employer. A couple weeks I thought. Just a couple weeks. Those weeks turned into months and months into a year. I was expeditiously replaced. How did what seem to be perfect for me slip through my fingers? How could I be more use in a hospital bed than working my gifts? Why was this good thing snatched from me? Would I ever find that level of fulfillment in my life’s work again?

Within the New Testament of the Bible stands the book of Philippians. Paul wrote this as a prisoner. Let that sink in. In the midst of confinement, flogging and literally being shackled they were praying and singing. Let’s pause here. This is not where I tell you to sing and smile when life spits in your face and stomps on your dreams. I’ve been through too much to offer you fluffy albeit sweet platitudes. There is much however to be gained in this ancient book for our here and today. Paul at no point denies the affliction. He is thankful for good that has come as a result of them. Not an easy place to arrive. He moves from pain through perspective, to purpose, contentment and highlights joy. The reoccurring theme in this book is joy. A couple months after my sister passed I found myself sitting on a familiar couch of my therapist. I was discussing life now. After my sisters death. All I was unearthing. How nothing was what use to be. My therapist looked at me and said, she gave you a gift. Your sisters death gave you a gift. I seriously considered attacking my therapist for this seemingly callous remark but cooler heads prevailed. I let that sink in. It was done. She was gone. I couldn’t undo what was done. What if Paul was not making light of his pain but searching for perspective and purpose in the rubble of it all? What if this perspective is what lead to a bold posture of contentment. My fathers passing forced me to live wide awake. With greater intent and purpose than ever before. My shattered dreams were truly just an end of it this way and a shift to that. I gained skills and hands on experience that is invaluable and transferable my friends baby… she wrestled in the dark and is embracing the truth. Her desire to mother on a larger scale all the babies that are not being held. Sometimes pain draws us closer to not only recognize but reach out to others in need. Our own problems often propel us to become a solution. It too can be well with your soul not through denial or cute platitudes but with pain turned in light of an eternal perspective and Through the hope of a greater purpose. I hope your posture can be contentment. It is well, with my soul.