When You're In The Trenches

Yesterday, Bella and I drove to Concord, North Carolina, to meet with a new doctor. This was about a 45-minute drive and this was an appointment we had been eagerly anticipating since January. On the way there, she dozed on and off as I listened to worship music, letting my thoughts wander, singing softly, and praying for what was to come. 

We met with the doctor - an incredibly kind-hearted, thorough, empathetic man - who spent nearly an hour with us, learning all about my Bella. He wanted to know about her early days, and then years, in the orphanage; he listened intently as I described the many appointments, procedures, and therapies she has endured; he asked about specific symptoms, about acquisition of milestones, about areas of strength and weakness; and then he got down on the floor and played with her. He observed her and interacted with her, and it was obvious she liked him immediately. I did, too. 

It was during the feedback that he said to me, "I know you're in the trenches. But you are doing a great job of getting her everything she needs right now." 

It took everything I had not to burst into tears. 

Because this is hard. And he recognized, acknowledged, and affirmed it.

Sometimes it feels as though I've been holding my breath since the day I met my daughter in that conference room in China. 

As parents, we want the absolute best for our children. And it is so incredibly hard to watch them struggle and to not know what the future holds. It is at these times that I call out to my Father, again and again, asking Him to hear my prayers. Asking Him to walk alongside us as we face new pathways, new crossroads {He does. He always does. He has been with her, and with us, from Day 1}. 

Having four young children is hard, having a child with special needs can be overwhelming, having the heartache of knowing my daughter wasn't with me for the first 26 months of her life is heartbreaking. 

So, when that wonderfully kind and insightful doctor said, "I know you're in the trenches..." it felt...validating. He gets it. 

And you know what, mommas? I do, too. 

Whether you have one wee one, or four (or more!); whether you stay home and change diaper after diaper and kiss boo-boo after boo-boo, or work full time and come home drained, yet give everything you've got to your babies during those precious evening hours; whether you parent alone or parent together; I get it: 

You are in the trenches. 

Sometimes, the trenches can feel like the loneliest place to be: "Me time" is a gift, one that can be hard to come by. Your friendships may take a backseat for awhile. You may wonder when, Lord when, will things get easier. You may have guilt over what you could have, should have said or done. You may wonder how everyone else has it so much easier. You may feel bad that your patience is thin, your intolerance is strong. And you may wonder if this exhausting phase will ever end.  

You are in the trenches. 

But you are not alone. Remember that I see you over there, knee-deep in tantrums and timeouts, feeling alone and overwhelmed. You have two jobs right now: (1) Survive. (2) Love others, including yourself. 

One day, we'll look around and we won't be trying to claw our way out of the overwhelming. We will have risen above it. It will be a subtle ascension, I think. And when it comes, when we have climbed up from the depleting depths, we'll be able to look beyond the trenches, to finally take a full breath, to see the beauty of the path we have made, to appreciate how much stronger we are for it. We'll look to our littles who, too, have emerged from the trenches alongside us. And we will be grateful to have made our way out together - stronger, braver, and ready to take on whatever lies ahead. 

So climb and claw away, friends. The marks you are leaving behind in your ascent will be well-earned. As will be the climb. 

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Isaiah 40:29.