Dear Chris Carrabba,

Dear Chris Carrabba,*
*and other doubting Thomases

You don't know me, and I don't know you. I mean, I know what you do, but I don't truly know who you are and your heart. 

Let me introduce myself: My name is Susan, and my husband and I live in Arkansas with our three dogs. I am also the mother of a precious little boy who died too soon after birth.

Last night, I stumbled on a video interview of you, and they asked you a question regarding faith and your music. Your response touched my heart. You talked about wanting "doubtless faith," and having the "freedom to be happy." Later in your answer, you referred to yourself as a "doubting Thomas." I'm not exactly sure when the interview was, but I'm curious if you've found that faith that you said you desired?

My faith is in Jesus, and I have a personal relationship with Him. Life can be hard, and sometimes it just plain sucks. But I agree with you, that my focus is eternity.

Even though I have this faith, and I know the ending is eternity, I still doubt and have questions. I think that's normal. My faith in Jesus doesn't make everything in my life perfect, and I am not happy all the time. I'm still human living in this tough world. 

Believing in Him doesn't make me immune to pain and suffering. 

I love Jesus, and believing what He did on the cross for me for eternity gives me hope and joy. In the midst of my pain and grief, I have hope in Him. Even in my despair, I can find my joy in Him. I know that I can face the day, and even sometimes just the next hour, because of that hope.

Again, my life is far from perfect, and it definitely hasn't gone as I planned, but I cling to my hope in Jesus. 

As I write this, I am still in the trenches of grief a year and a half later, and with that comes anger.  That anger is sometimes directed towards God. I am angry that He didn't save my son when He absolutely could have. But even though I am angry with Him, that doesn't change my hope or who He is. My anger doesn't change His relationship with me. He is still with me through it all. 

He loves me, and there's nothing I can do to change that. 

You might never actually read this, but if you do, cool. If you want to know more about Jesus or want to share your story, the door is open. 

Know that you are being prayed for.

-Susan

empty

My tank is empty.

Okay, it's not empty, but it's probably 1/4 full.

The fullness of my tank depends on the day.

This past weekend was a busy one. This introvert is worn out. This grieving introvert is exhausted.

One thing my counselor told me right at the start of my journey is that my daily normal capacity is greatly reduced because of the grief.  The amount of cushion I normally have isn't there. That barrier is gone, and the rawness of grief is left.  This creates my short fuse, my tiredness or anything else emotional since my filters are thin.

I read a blog somewhere that talked about how much introverts hate small talk, and then how the grieving introvert hates is that much more. Small talk just feels so surface.  It's hard to talk about how I'm doing, over and over again. I KNOW the people who ask care about me. It's nothing against them, but it's just a reality for this introvert with little cushion. It's a hard balance because I really do care about the people I saw this weekend, so I want to talk to them....but it's exhausting.

The strange thing is that I want to talk about Jonathan and how I'm doing, and at the same time I don't want to talk about it all. I feel like this 100% of the time (I told you it's craziness!). I want people to bring it up, but then I don't even want to go there. Part of it is a pride thing. I want people to acknowledge the hardship I've been through and how strong I am. Yep, human nature is so selfish and twisted.  Then the other part of me doesn't want people to bring up Jonathan because it's such a private thing that I don't want to share my heart and pain.  He's mine, and I'm not sharing.

As I've said before, grief is so messy.  And healing is messy.

One thing I need to remember is that this is not about me. Charles and I prayed when we first found out we were pregnant with Jonathan that God would use our child to the best of His glory, and that He will give us our child for however long He allowed - for days or 99 years..... Little did we know when we were praying that. But again, we prayed the same thing before we miscarried in February.

It's not about me.  Even if I feel like I'm running on fumes, I can't sit around and wait until my tank is full before I bless other or pour into others. God can use even a drop of willingness.

Our pastor told me that sometimes we don't have to wait to be healed to help others. We can recycle our pain to help others in need. We just need to get past our selfishness, and remember it's not about us.

This can be easier said than done, especially will little cushion.

But it's not about me.