"God is never a god of hopelessness..."

I've been writing more in my hardcopy journal lately than my blog. I seem to go in spurts from one to the other. But lately I just haven't felt much that I thought appropriate to share with the world.

There's so much to mourn in Mom's situation. Suffice it to say that there's a lot more involved in that situation than I've felt at liberty to share online. But so many memories for her...19 years of good memories are suddenly painful. And decades of future plans are gone. There are wounds that will never go away. And the future is now naked, appearing as it always has been, entirely uncertain. I admire her so much for having the courage to get out of bed in the morning. It's so overwhelming.

I've decided I'm in mourning. Other than the physical tension that's made singing almost impossible recently, I think I seem pretty normal on the outside, and I usually feel pretty normal. But when I'm alone, I feel the darkness and churning inside. It's like all the emotion is staying beneath the surface. I'm aware of it and I acknowledge it, but I can't seem to tap into it and bring it to the surface except rarely. Maybe I feel unworthy of feeling the emotions because they are so much more acute for Mom and she is being so strong, even though she's broken.

Last night, I was reading a short devotional before bed. Lyn Klug wrote, "God is never a god of hopelessness. Even if God does not change the situation, He can change us."

This applies to so many things in my life right now. Mom's painful journey, Eric's abusive work situation, and other less noteworthy things. And maybe that's the nature of mourning. Giving up what was to accept what is. Giving up past security and situational peace and taking an involuntary leap of faith into God's waiting arms and His unconditional peace. And the growing pains that come from the heat of the Refiner's fire.