Last week I wrote about God knowing before I was born what my life story was going to be. Including what would “break me open” and what would “build me back up again.”
That same week a friend who is also a fellow writer and fellow bereaved mother asked this question in her blog:
In the midst of a trial are you aware that it’s a refining experience?
Do you care?
The more I think about these questions, the more it strikes me just how profound they are. And how difficult to answer. The worst trial I’ve experienced in my life, the one that broke me open, was losing my younger daughter. But there have been other trying times – the loss of each of my parents, a miscarriage, a divorce. Also, much less devastating instances, but still ones that taught me a lesson or knocked me off my pedestal a bit. Like losing a job or not getting the promotion I applied for.
But I know my friend is not asking about experiences that bruised my ego or delayed my career plans a bit. She’s talking about gut-wrenching, walk-through-fire trials. Experiences that changed my life. That in hindsight forged me into a different person than I was before.
Still the question is, did I realize in the midst of these experiences that I was being changed. It’s really hard to answer. On the one hand, the moment I learned that my daughter was dead, I knew that my life was going to be different than I had planned. And I had made lots of plans. What our family was going to be like with a new son-in-law in it. And possibly more grandchildren in the future. Holidays and celebrations at our river house with folks kayaking, tubing, piling into bunkbeds. Maybe we needed to add another bedroom onto the house!
That idyllic life I had so meticulously planned out was destroyed in an instant.
That was the beginning of the trial. The moment I became a grieving mother. I know for certain that for a long time I did not think of my daughter’s death as a refining experience. It was not making me a better, more enlightened, more thoughtful person. I was angry, hurting, and self-absorbed for a long time. Definitely not refined. Changed, yes; but not in a good way.
At some point I started to smile more often – not fake for-the-camera smiles, but real unbidden smiles. Because my youngest granddaughter climbed in my lap for me to read her a book. Because my husband took my hand and led me out to the porch swing to watch the sunset. The refining and renewing of my heart, soul, and mind had started. But I’m not sure I was really aware of it at first.
When I did realize that life was still worth living … That I could hold grief and joy in both hands together … That God wasn’t necessarily punishing me, but refining me … I cared. I cared a lot!
I pray I never have to go through a trial again as painful as losing my daughter was. I also pray that if and when I find myself in the midst of another trial, I will be aware of its refining moments. I care. A lot.
Laura
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