Holding Onto Faith: Processing the Hard Days

Last fall was a trying time for our family, which I shared about in this post. Holding onto faith after hardship was proving difficult. 

But honestly, if you would have asked me how I felt about my faith the first two months, I’m not sure how I would have answered. 

Was God still good? For others, yes. For me (us), it didn’t seem like it.

It was an exhausting time of trying to manage the kids’ emotions and reactions, figuring out how best to support Jason, starting our homeschool year, finishing up the gardens, and starting and finishing the fall beef harvest on the farm.

Then there was deciding how to notify business customers that there would be a major delay – all on top of the normal day to day “mom” things. 

There wasn’t much bandwidth for quiet time, let alone my morning walks with God in the woods, which has always helped ground me.

Many days, I was happy to put the kids to bed without breaking down in front of them (doing it in private felt safer.)

For a while it felt like blow after blow. 

While Jason was in recovery after his surgery, I heard the dreaded words no one wants to hear. I was anticipating them since surgery went longer than expected. But it was still a sucker punch to hear, “I’m sorry, unfortunately there was more damage than we thought.” 

The room tilted as I held my breath, realizing I would have to be the one to break it to Jason when he woke up. Not one or two, but four tendons had been severed, which explained why he could only move his thumb. Some of them rolled back quite a ways, so the incision went farther up his forearm and wrist than planned. 

The removable pins portion of surgery went well and everything was stable there.

Therapy was required and would start after the soft cast came off, with an anticipated recovery of six months.

Now, Jason works with his hands in just about every aspect of life. At his regular job, he works with machines and does machinist things. His side business is custom wood working. We live on a farm with animals, in an older house. Hands are a necessity.

It was hard to imagine what life, let alone finances, would look like with this setback.

As I struggled to process the eight million things going through my mind (normally just one million), there were a few things I found helpful.

It’s Ok Not to Have Words

I became really good at saying something to the effect of, “I’m not sure.” As a logistical planner, who thrives on organization and researching to have sound answers, this was completely new and hard for me.

Our lives were filled with so many well intentioned people, who truly cared, that questions became inevitable no matter where we went. 

But the honest truth was – I didn’t always have an answer. 

When would daddy get better? Why did this happen to daddy? Why is daddy groaning? What is this discharge? Should we go back in? Is this a normal reaction to antibiotics? When will the orders be ready? How will these outdoor projects get wrapped up before winter? What happens if the short-term disability doesn’t cover monthly costs?

At first, I felt guilty not having solid information to share. Especially to the kiddos who were looking to me to have it together, to help them process, and to say everything would be ok. 

Would it all be ok? Yes. I just wasn’t sure when or how.

Somewhere along the way, I came to grips with not having all the answers. Once I let my desire to be in control and know the plan fall to the way side, providing vague answers stopped bothering me as much.

Even so, I eventually became burned out and withdrew.

It’s Ok to Withdraw – For a While

As a mom and wife, I felt a certain sense of pressure to always be on/available, to maintain the status quo in the house. 

As a Christ follower attending church, I gave polite, standard answers. Yes, we were doing fine. Yes, we’re thankful it wasn’t worse. Yes, we’re managing. 

As a family member, I shared more information, but it was usually about Jason and the kids. 

As a friend, I didn’t have much energy left, so I began avoiding tough (for me) conversations and deflecting. Then, I started giving them the same rote replies I gave others. 

Withdrawing for a time is helpful – if it’s done thoughtfully – but I was on the verge of the opposite.

It took a couple of weeks for me to realize I wasn’t balancing the withdrawal well. Soon, my plain Jane answers were being given to everyone, even the kiddos.

Two of my close friends were the first to notice. Pulling away from the safe space they offered was rather silly. I didn’t have to pretend with them, have all the answers, or look put together. I could just be and they would accept it.

So why was I withdrawing from people who just wanted to lift me up?

In a way, I think I was in some sort of self-preservation mode. 

But I was also re-learning how to take my heaviest emotions to God.

Feelings to God First

On the scant mornings I was able to get a walk in, they looked extremely different. 

Gone was the litany of praises, seeing God in nature, tears of joy, praying with the cattle, and coveting the whisper of wind in my hair.

Instead, angry words filled the air, tears of despair fell, prayer felt flat, and the inevitable gloomy skies on those days wrapped me like a cloak.

I had a lot to tell God.

The accident itself was enough. So what was with the continuing fall out? 

Lord, don’t you remember I had a conversation with Jason literally the night before his accident that I wanted our lives to slow down? That there was too much? That I needed a break?

Some break you gave me!

There was the gut wrench when the soft cast was removed and we saw the lacerations along with the incisions for the first time since surgery. A railroad track is what came to my mind.

Then, the right pin on his finger got infected. After going back and forth for a few days an antibiotic was prescribed. 

The antibiotic made Jason extremely sick. He lost what energy he did have along with 10 pounds in two days. 

When that one seemed to clear up, the left pin got infected.

Therapy was progressing slowly. 

Finances grew thinner.

Why God, why?

In my exhaustion and frustration, I had forgotten to talk with God. Sure, I was “talking at” him, but I was often too spent to pause and listen for a response. 

What I shared with God was ugly and raw. I’m so thankful He’s a gracious, forgiving and loving Father. I’m also thankful I didn’t spew all those words to anyone else.

In the following weeks, as life developed a new cadence, I was able to squeeze in more walking and something started to change.

I’ve been through enough counseling to know it’s not healthy to hold things in. 

And God knew what my heart was really feeling anyway, so why hold back?

The more I was completely honest with God, the easier the conversations became. They slowly turned from angry lashed out words, to desperate pleas for help, to noticed surroundings, to offers of gratitude. 

Once I got to the point where I could see God’s provision for our family, my relationship with Him made new strides.

Things were not wrapped up with a pretty pink bow yet, but it was easier to trust God again. 

With that, the real rebuilding could begin.

In the final post for this story, I’ll share what God taught me. I won’t say healing is complete yet considering how my body has reacted to just writing these posts. 

However, God is good and I have faith in Him and His timing.