This year, Palm Sunday service at Willowdale Chapel was extra special as the Willowdale Kids sang “Oh Happy Day” on stage with the worship band. They were all in their “Sunday best,” vying for position so they were seen, waving to family. Some were intently performing the hand motions, others a beat or two behind, a few losing concentration completely, several scared but bravely standing and counting the seconds until they could be done.
Everyone in the congregation was grinning, clapping, and singing along, taking photos or videos, waving back – the kids’ joy and cuteness was just contagious.
And I, like everyone else, was smiling, but tears streamed down my face. A wave of sadness and grief overtook me and caught me off guard. I’d never reacted to kids singing in “Big Church” like this before, but there I was fighting emotions and spiraling thoughts.
I was hit with the realization that in all likelihood I would never have a child of my own singing up front. The years are passing and there is no man in sight. A choice is being made for me purely by biology. Something that seems to come so easy to most – find a spouse and have children – has eluded me.
This then led to untrue, yet very real and painful thoughts like “I’m unlovable.” “What’s wrong with me?” The ever present “Why?” and “How long, O Lord?” If I just knew that marriage and children were in my future, I could hold on to hope. Living with this desire I feel is from the Lord and yet hasn’t been fulfilled is hard. I have often prayed, “Please either take away the desire or fulfill it because this in between is too painful.”
I don’t share this because I want pity or sympathy. This is not a “woe is me” reflection. I’m not trying to be dramatic or pessimistic. I’m not asking for answers or advice. I cognitively know that besides marriage and biological children there are other avenues of having children and starting a family. I understand that God could perform a miracle. I’m not discounting these things, but my heart, oh my heart, sometimes speaks louder and at times feels like it’s breaking.
I really didn’t want to write about this for those reasons, among others. It’s spring and I wanted a fun, light, easy topic. But God kept bringing this back. So here we are. And I am pouring out some of my deepest thoughts, feelings, and longings because I think a lot of you can relate. Are you in the in-between? Feeling like you have a God-given desire that hasn’t come to fruition? Finding it hard to even pray because it feels like it’s not doing any good? Waiting, praying, crying, hope dangling by a thread. Wishing for a sign of something changing…anything to cling to.
I might not know you or your situation and I can’t completely say I understand, but I see you. I get how silly it can feel to grieve for something you’ve never even had or experienced. I recognize the tension between having faith and trusting while having very real feelings of being forgotten and wanting to give up hope. The guilt of recognizing all God has given you and being grateful yet wanting more. I can relate to the smiling face while choking back sobs.
And just to be real, I don’t have the answers. I wish I could tell you there are three basic steps to renew your faith and hope or a surefire way to relieve the heartache and answer the questions.
What I do know is that God wants us to come to Him. He wants all of us, even the ugly crying, doubting, angry parts of us. In our moments of deepest pain, when we can’t even reach out, He draws near. He’s not surprised by our struggle or our feelings. And He waits like the patient Father He is. He listens as we pour out our hearts and when we finish emptying our hearts and lay like an exhausted toddler at His feet, He picks us up.
He speaks truth into the lies (Psalm 25:5; John 8:32).
He strengthens us with His word (Isaiah 41:10; Isaiah 40:31).
He renews our hope (Romans 15:13).
He puts a new song in our hearts (Psalm 40:1-3).
Left to my own devices I’d remain bitter, resentful, and discontent, but He restores me and my faith and trust. He brings me back to a place of surrender, of arms open, hands up. Though sometimes it’s only a whisper, and often with tears and pain, I can declare “Christ is enough for me.”
He has proven over and over again that even though the in-between feels lonely and at times neverending, He is there. He sees you, He sees me, and He doesn’t turn away from what He sees. Instead, He says “Daughter, I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior; you are precious and honored in my sight, and I love you.” (Isaiah 43:1-4 – Dani paraphrased)
ABOUT THE BLOGGER:
Danielle (Dani) Rupp grew up in a small town in Ohio and is a true Buckeye fan, though she tries not to be obnoxious about it. In 2011 she came to PA to earn her Master of Social Work degree and has since made Kennett Square her home. In her free time, Dani enjoys going on mission trips/traveling, reading, and connecting with loved ones—preferably over coffee and a sweet treat.