Hope for Heavy Days

 HOPE FOR HEAVY DAYS

Because I like to maintain an account of our family’s daily life, I keep a One Line a Day journal. With each dated page providing five spots in which to jot down a few lines about that day in each of five years, there’s just enough room to record the happenings and highlights of the day (or, if more appropriate, the lack of happenings and lowlights—if a lowlight is even a thing).

One day in April 2020, before I wrote whatever it was I planned to write, I noticed the entry from the year before on that day: Elyse’s MRI was normal. This would be good news—if she could walk and was getting better. She’s being referred . . .

I looked at the next day’s entry: Today felt very heavy. I made six appointments with four practitioners for three ailments for two girls.

THE MYSTERIOUS LANDSCAPE OF CHRONIC ILLNESS

2020 was the year our family walked into dark, unfamiliar, difficult, and unwelcome terrain. Our trail had taken a sharp, steep turn into the mysterious landscape of chronic illness. Our older daughter developed chronic regional pain syndrome [a condition also known as complex regional pain syndrome CRPS)] after slipping on the ice. That same month, our younger daughter was diagnosed with hidradenitis suppurativa, followed by the sudden onset of irritable bowel syndrome; additionally, her immune system seemed unable to even stand up to the common cold.

Our days felt heavy because they were heavy. Is there hope for heavy days?

Every evening when our family sat down and joined hands to pray before dinner, I dropped my arm onto the table and my head heavily onto my arm, exhausted by the rigors of the day: learning to live a new life and speak a new vocabulary, keeping the appointments and making the decisions, experiencing (vicariously) unrelenting loss and pain, managing my grief.

When I realized that the dinner-prayer-head-resting ritual was a nightly occurrence, I added worry to my weariness. I wasn’t just worried about my girls. I was worried that I was doing this whole thing wrong (that is, maybe I wasn’t navigating it by faith; maybe I was carrying it all in my own strength rather than relying on God).

WEARINESS, FATIGUE, AND TOO MUCH INFORMATION FOR ALL THE DECISIONS

While searching for a Scriptural answer to whether my weariness resulted from trying to walk this road on my own, I came to understand that the presence of fatigue didn’t mean I was doing it wrong. It meant that the terrain was tough, and the daily dousing from the metaphoric fire hose of Too Much Information for All The Decisions had taken a toll on my mind, heart, soul, and strength.

The days were long, and by night, I was spent — but, every morning, I started fresh with new mercies, enough to last until evening. I was given enough strength for each of my days (Lamentations 3:22- 23 and Deuteronomy 33:25). Eventually, the exhaustion abated, even as the intensity of our circumstances (as well as the number of appointments and adaptations) increased.

Each day was a step into the unknown. Life, like our girls’ pain, felt out of control. Our perspective about the future was bleak.

Maybe that sounds familiar — but there is hope for heavy days.

A LOT CAN CHANGE IN A YEAR

In 2020, I couldn’t imagine that life would ever be any different, that simple things like the touch of clothing or a gentle breeze would no longer bring my girls pain, that their symptoms could be brought under control — that diagnosis, more good days than bad, or even remission might ever be possible.

Today, I can picture a different future.

When I saw those lines in my journal, I read them to my daughters, and we laughed. We laughed because so much has changed — in ways we could not have envisioned all those months ago. We laughed because, regardless of the current situation or our perspective on it, navigating tough terrain together had shown us pretty clearly: a lot can change in a year — and that gives us hope for heavy days.

PRAYER

Dear Father, on the days when it feels like there is no hope, help me pray the prayer of Lamentations 3:22-23. Because of Your great love, Lord, I am not consumed. For Your compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. Thank you that there is hope, even in the heavy days. In Jesus’ Name, amen.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION

• Recall some days or times when you have felt hopeless.
• As you recall these times, can you also remember a day or time when God gave you just what you needed at that moment or time?
• How can you remember to rely on God’s strength in the midst of the heaviness? Take a look at the printable, Where Do I Discover Hope, for some ideas.