The Foxhole. Part 3.

Today is the end of my Foxhole series. I mean, it's part 3, people. And if we've learned anything it's that NOTHING is ever as good if it has a 4th and 5th sequel. Does anyone even remember Mad Max 4: Fury Road?

Thought not.

And though the last couple of days have not been easy posts for me I felt them necessary to share with you all.

Today I feel is neither easy nor necessary - but will be done because I'm committed to blogging. Okay, that's a lie. It's because I'm a glutton for punishment.

When we blog we expose a side of ourselves that we get to choose. How wonderful, huh? How wonderful to wake up and think today I will neither bath nor put clothes on - but I will post a picture my husband took of me three weeks ago and no one will be the wiser.

Or, today I choose to expose my patient and "fruit of the spirit" side even though I just chewed my kids out for the 5th time and hung the phone up on my husband.

Or, here's one. Today I will choose to be funny although I'm hurting.

I will choose to make a joke even though I stood in the shower and cried.

I will choose to write about sippy cups and playdates, even though my husband just walked out the door. Again.

Any of these sound familiar?

Today I will choose to write about how angry we are allowed to get with a God who is bigger and better and wiser and greater than we can ever dream of being. Because I am angry. And fed-up. And I feel jilted. And left out.

No, those aren't examples. Those are for real. That is a pretty good explanation of how I really feel. I'm just sayin'. All pretense aside. Today I choose...to be real.

And real ain't always pretty.

I think my biggest fear after losing this pregnancy was what people would think. Can you believe that? I mean, did I learn nothing from EIGHTH GRADE??? Who cares what people think! But I really felt afraid that people would look at me from afar and think, "How much more can she take? Why doesn't' she just give up already? Why doesn't she just quit trying to get pregnant. By this point she's doing this to herself."

I didn't want to be the lady that walked in to the church and people peered at and rolled their eyes at and thought, "Silly fool. Give up. Move on."

But then I decided that if a person did that - they obviously have never held a child before.

Because to hold a child in your arms and know that their nose is your nose. Or that they have red hair like your grandmother. Or that their toes are long like their daddies. Well, if you've done that - then you know.

Am I right?

So who cares who laughs or mocks or scoffs or makes their comments. Let them. They are ignorant.

But me? I am real.

I'm just as real as Job who screamed into the heavens, "But I desire to speak to the Almighty and to argue my case with God." (Job 13:3).

I'm not saying I'm Job. Please don't compare my heartache to his. Besides I've never been one for comparing war wounds, I'm just saying that today in all my realness I long to get 5 minutes alone with Him. I long to ARGUE with Him. Hear His side. Have Him hear mine. Plead my case. And duke this thing out. Job said, "If only I new where to find him; if only I could go to His dwelling! I would state my case before Him and fill my mouth with arguments." (Job 23:3)

Not just for this pregnancy. No. But for the first one, that I waited five long years for.

Or for the second one. That was so devastating that it nearly took my marriage down with it.

Or for sweet Elisha. Who had my nose. And The AG's toes. Who cried when I held him and cooed when his daddy did. Oh yeah - give me a few minutes to argue that one.

Or for this baby, who I thought might be my God-given reward for, oh, I don't know, LIVING through the last one?!?

Oh yeah Big Guy, You and me, five minutes. Alone. Give me just five minutes to plead my case.

But what will five minutes do? Huh?
Honestly, what will pleading my case really do in light of a God who is wiser than I am?
Fairer than I'll ever be?
Full of justice and mercy, exceeding in love.
Do I really think I can outwit, outsmart, outlast?
No. I'm crazy to even try.

Look, I can't explain why this kind of thing happened. I don't know that I really need an explanation. I think I just want someone to argue with. And I know He can take it.

The last thing I am pretentious enough to think is that I can write a post on "why bad things happen to good people" and that it will be just the salve that anyone reading this blog might need. Please.

I don't know why things happen.
I don't know why things hurt.

I don't know why you lose your temper so easily with your kiddos.

Or why your husband walked out the door again.

I don't know why there was a lay-off at work.

I don't know why you're husband won't go to church with you.

Or how your going to pay for that bill that just came in the mail.

I don't know why I can't lose these last 50 pounds.

Or why Arrested Development wasn't renewed for another season.

I just know these things happen. All over the world. All of the time.

And, well, I know that when they do I have someone to turn to. And I want you to have someone too. Do you? (If not, would you please email me? We have so very much to talk about. Please don't be scared. I'm harmless.)

Even in all my anger and all my rage and all my heartache and all my disappointment. Still I go to the One that Psalm 56 says has, "...put my tears in a bottle." That is one mighty big bottle by this point, might I add.

But still I go.
Through every pregnancy - I go.
Through every ultrasound - I go.
Through every tear - I go.
Through every trial - I go.

Oh yeah. I'm angry. Don't get me wrong. I will be for a while.
But even as deep as my anger runs, my love for the Lord runs deeper. Much deeper.

And that, my lovelies, is about as real as it gets.