"The Fog" is something that I experience every time one of my kids gets sick.
It is a cycle of motions and emotions I repeatedly go through, for whatever reason. Mostly because I have a deep desire to fix that which is wrong, know what lies ahead, and solve the problem at hand.
Simple colds and tummy bugs usually cause a certain level of stress and exhaustion, which is normal for most Mommies. Along with the normal feelings of helplessness, I typically go into a "foglike" state. It is almost as if life itself has stopped and will not resume again until I know that the family is healthy and feeling better. I do not look at the calendar or think about what we will do as a family on the weekend. I live in very short increments of time and only focus on the one task in front of me. It can be exhausting, especially because I have a tendency of forgetting to eat, or will lie awake for hours at night struggling with fear.
Worse than just "The Fog" is "THE Fog". THE Fog is darker and much harder to go through, and thankfully, I've only done it once.
Four years ago Bria had brain surgery. We knew exactly 3 weeks ahead of time that she'd have surgery on the part of her brain that connects her brain and spinal cord together. I realize that no part of the brain is a "happy" place to have an operation, but for me, this place in particular, induces near terror in my heart. This precious part of her body, filled with nerves and intricate, delicate functions that give her body life.
To me, Bria embodies so many of those words.
Precious.
Delicate.
Intricate.
I don't really have any words for those weeks before her surgery when she was only 3 years old. Scary doesn't really cover it. Hard doesn't fit either. There was even a peace from God that is too difficult to explain, since it came to us in our hardest hour.
Yesterday we received the news that I had really, really hoped not to hear.
The Pediatric Neurosurgeon, who is a wonderful man of God and a blessing to our family, told us that he does not think Bria's brain is responding the way he had hoped it would. We have 2 weeks until she gets the MRI that will let us know what the he would like to do.
Obviously we hope for good news, and we know God is blessing us and holding us through each second, minute, hour, and day until we get the news.
Obviously I hope that she will not need another surgery on her brain.
Obviously I am telling God, every 5 minutes or so, that this is what I WANT. NEED.
More than anything.
I am reminded of Jacob, wrestling with God.
In order to be blessed by God, Jacob had to give a part of himself up, become changed. And it hurt him; he limped for the rest of his life.
I am carrying a fear in the pit of my stomach, in the depths of my soul.
Not a fear of the surgery itself, but of the possible consequences. If it were up to me, she would never need surgery, never teeter on the brink of life and death, never walk the invisible rope that divides us from this world and eternity.
I am literally wrestling with God. Every. Single. Moment.
I fear.
I pray for a release of fear.
I feel peace.
I doubt.
I question.
I pray again.
I beg for peace.
And wisdom.
I fear again.
Pray again.
And again.
And again, again, again.
I can't seem to keep myself from fear for very long, because it is a part of me that I feel like I need. If I can fear hard enough, I can strengthen myself for the possible future. Perhaps I'll stumble upon an answer. Maybe I'll become the best version of me ever.....at the age of 28, which would be totally awesome to do so young! Worry and fear make me FEEL like I am accomplishing something, but God assures me that I am not.
So I wrestle with Him. He tries to get me to give it up, I take it back. He tells me He has a plan, I question Him about it. He tells me that He knows the future, I tell Him I have a better idea. I ask Him questions so deep, so personal, so painful that I cannot even write them down here, or speak them aloud.
It is a heavy time, and yet a blessed time. It is painful for me to be bent, twisted, molded out of my current shape into a new form. I never feel far away from God, for I continually reach out to Him and wrestle some more.
Sometimes I cry, sometimes I sing.
Sometimes I forget to eat.
I lie awake in the dark with thoughts so deep that I have no words to express them.
Most of the time I do my usual stuff, with more of a blank stare than usual.
All of the times I am with God.
That is all I can really see right now though.
Just God.
I am in THE Fog.
I cannot see the lesson He has for me.
I cannot see the future He has for my Bria, my little-world-little-everything-to-me-girl.
I cannot see how I will have grown or changed after this internal battle is done raging inside my soul.
It is something like a freefall. Terrifying, huge, unknown.
And nothing at all like a freefall, because Jesus is holding me tightly, and I can FEEL it.
Huge. Known. Everything and Eternal. All at once.
I am so, so very exhausted and completely warped out of all normalcy whatsoever.
Thank goodness that Jesus is. Just is.
Because whatever I am, its not enough.