I’m really enjoying my women’s small group on Wednesday night. Last night was our third meeting. There’s only about 10 of us going but for the book we’re doing I think that’s the perfect number. Some of the things we share would be hard to share in a bigger group.
Last night was a rough one for me. We were on chapter 4 Wounded. The chapter talks about the ways that life wounds us and how God wants to heal those wounds, but we have to let him. I knew it was going to be a rough one when A started by showing a clip from “Hope Floats” – the scene in the movie where they go to the nursing home to visit her father – who has alzheimers and can’t really communicate any more and the father and daughter end up dancing. Serious punch to the gut. I sat there watching that scene and missing my daddy and wishing I had the chance to dance with him one more time – and part of me was hurting and wishing that I had had the chance to say goodbye – his death two years ago two days after Easter was completely unexpected and Devastating. So I pulled it together after the movie clip and settled in to listen to the other’s share about their wounds, b/c I had a pretty normal childhood and not really any wounds that I knew of to talk about – or at least compared to the big ones some of the other girls were sharing – nothing I felt worth sharing.
I made it through most of the group keeping quiet and then at the end A asked for prayer requests and one of the other girls turned to me and asked if I needed to share something – she apologized b/c she felt like she had done most of the talking and maybe I hadn’t had a chance. The dam just broke then. I said I didn’t have any wounds – but that I would like some prayers b/c I’m really feeling myself start to struggle right now. This will be our second holiday season without my dad, and I miss him so much. I kind of ended up moving into the role of strong quiet one that he always had b/c my mom fell apart after his death and still hasn’t completely pulled it back together – she can be very needy – at least to me. Not so much with my sister and my brother, but I often get several calls a day. I don’t mind it, but sometimes it’s hard to be the strong one when your heart is still broken. I’m feeling it doubly hard right now with us gearing up for another go round of IVF in January or February. In everything we went through to have our WeeMan – my dad was this quiet strong force. I didn’t talk to him a lot about the procedures – but he knew what was going on – and he was like this pillar behind us. I knew he was praying for us and pulling for us in his own quiet way. His strength gave me strength. My mom is all for IVF and she is supporting, but it’s in a different scattered overly defending me way. I need my dad’s quiet calmness – it soothed me. Hubby’s family is not behind us. They often say “If Becky would just relax, you’d get pregnant” or the famous, “Well maybe God only meant for you to have one baby.” or how about the ever popular , “It will happen when you stop thinking about it” Not exactly the kind of support we were hoping for. So I guess my wound is my infertility – not sure that’s what the author meant, but that’s my wound. I thought it was better bandaged and healed – I thought that this second time it would be easier to deal with and process because we had been through it before and I had finally given my trust to God, but it’s not really easier. It still hurts and I’m still struggling with envy with my friends that just got pregnant so easily. (Isn’t it funny that I don’t feel that same envy for my friends who have struggled the same way we have and are now pregnant?)
So that’s what’s new in the state of my heart – quite a ramble, but I felt the need to write it all out.