A Spring of Joy

There are different types of hardship. The hardship of broken relationship is different than the hardship of learning how to live in a new marriage. The hardship of pregnancy and childbirth are different than the hardship involved in learning parenthood. The hardship of lupus is different than the hardship of cancer. The hardship of treatment is different than the hardship of recovery. The hardship of expectations is different than the hardship of learning a new normal. The hardship of fear is different than the hardship of discovery.

These past weeks have been beyond hard. The exhaustion in my life is palpable. I’ve had nothing to give and when I needed to give, adrenaline kicked in and got me through.

Overwhelmed is an understatement.

While we’ve moved into a home I absolutely adore, my project list is growing. They are simple projects, like painting chairs, but the thought of getting out all the paint supplies exhausts me. And my discouragement grows as long as my list.

CT scans, doctor’s visits, pain, consume my life… but I don’t want them to ruin it. Unexplained pain leads to another biopsy. A clear one. And we breathe huge sighs of thankfulness. But the pain remains. Unexplained. And my discouragement swells with along with it.

My children go to school, and my Bear comes home longing to have stayed with me all day. My Asher comes home, a child with no guile, who believes everything his classmates say, and I stand on the precipice waiting to fall into hurt feelings with him. Ready to catch him when it happens. I cannot be there. I cannot help in classrooms like I want. I cannot attend every function. The fatigue overcomes, mentally and emotionally. And my discouragement deepens.

We have plans, events, parties, guests, on top of just living life. And I think, “It’s over. Cancer is gone. I can do this.” So I forget for a while that I am not well, and I make ridiculous dives in volleyball games and dance like a crazy woman at wedding celebrations and laugh loudly at potlucks and invite people into my home. Then I sleep for days afterward, soothing the achy joints with warm baths, and I am reminded that life is different. Discouraged that I am not what I once was.

Discouragement. Meds that cause depression and nausea. Needles that can’t find veins. Bloodwork that comes back anemic every. single. time. Pain that keeps me awake at night, all the while knowing that sleep is what I need to feel better. Endless.

It seems the song of my life has become a dirge.

And I long for it to not be so. I beg Him for patches of Godlight.

And He comes.

See, here I am. In all you do.

–The marriage vows between two people I love dearly, a true taste of the wedding feast to come.

–Friends who surprised me with a two-year celebration… who have walked every step of this journey with me.

–Another mom from our school giving me no choice but to let her clean my house so I could rest.

–No cancer! Clear scans! Clean biopsies!

–A sweet friend who brings us supper every Monday just so I can have a break.

–Heart smiles from my Bella: “Mommy, I love Jesus just a tiny bit more than I love you.”

I drink deeply of these glimpses. For in a world where little joy is shared, but hardship seems to always be headlined, these God sightings remind me that He is still working, and He is enjoying life with me here until I can enjoy life forever there.