In the valley

I woke up this morning in the most pain I have felt to date since my surgery and beginning the Lupron. Every single one of my bones and muscles is screaming. My head is buzzing with the strangest kind of headache and my gut and back hurt so bad from the endometriosis. I an feeling and acting so crazy it scares me. Dan had to go to work, and I curled up in the fetal position and cried my eyes out while he took his shower. Just the thought of having to go through the motions today with Delaney and Danica was too much. I needed to think "I can't" for just a minute.

Of course, I did. I dried my tears and have been up and down the stairs ten times since, sometimes almost crawling, lifted Danica, played Littlest Pet Shops, made lunch, cleaned up lunch, worked on a puzzle . . . Danica fell asleep in her wheelchair and here I am crying again. I can hear the doors opening and shutting around the neighborhood as people arrive to their Thanksgiving festivities. It hurts, and I can't put my finger on it except that I feel incredible loss today. When the rest of the world says grace and jumps on the gratitude bandwagon I secretly slip off into the valley.

I have loved Arthur Bennet's collection of Puritan prayers, The Valley of Vision, since I was a young girl. I have an old Banner of Truth copy that was my dad's, and I treasure it. Recently my dear friend, Angie, sent me a CD of music including the song with the above title sung by Sovereign Grace. I have played it over and over. I have prayed it over and over.

In a season full of expectations to live in the bright lights of the tinsel and the trees and to keep up with the dizzying pace of black Friday and cyber Monday. In a time when we are told to keep ourselves surrounded with people and parties and keep ourselves numb with abundance of food and drink. I am finding the stars that lead us to Bethlehem and our Savior may only be clearly seen in this kind of dark. So I will sit here in the depths. I won't try to fake my way to a mountaintop somewhere. I am learning to find His grace in the valley, His life in my death, His joy in my sorrow, His wealth in my need, that He's here with every breath . . . in this valley.