I will not let my heartache,
I won’t be treading water waiting on a wave, no, no. I will not let my heartache. (Heartache Releint K 2016) I put a hand to my swollen belly, and as I do I feel a small knee or hand as the baby within me stretches it’s developing limbs. My hand moves from belly to volume control as I turn up the music, so I can hear the lyrics over the back and forth of my wiper blades. I cruise on through the rain, considering what it’s words might mean for me. Fall, cold and wet, has set in as my stomach expands further out. It is almost time for me to have this baby, but I don’t know if it will come early, or late; whether it will be a boy or a girl, or whether I will be a suitable mother to this child I didn’t plan to have. I’d planned to have kids eventually, but I wanted to finish school first, perhaps pursue a career. At the time I got pregnant I was engaged and finishing up my third year of a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in theatre. I was incredibly invested in developing myself as a “Great,” one of those students professors bring up again and again to talk about their success both in their time at university and in the professional world. Stage management was where I would get a chink of the limelight and find the fame and glory I desire, which motivates me more than I would care to admit. The blueprints of my life had been penned by a much younger me: marriage, stage managing a musical production, and graduation. Construction of this life proceeded on schedule. Once this framework was in place, it would be time for kids. It turns out, there was a Divine Builder with different plans. My plans slipped through my fingers like sand, as I grew to understand what the positive test result meant for me, fewer of the grains remained in my palm. Of course, I would keep the baby. Although for a fleeting moment, those false blueprints tried to convince me not to. No matter what fame or glory I selfishly desired, I knew I would have this baby. At times it would hit me, that word, that dangerous, depressing word; potential. I would never be a great. I still don’t know if I will ever finish my degree. If I do theatre again it won’t be for many years. The potential bliss of marital life seemed stripped before it had been fully realized. A result, as I felt my parents were keen on telling me, of diving into the potential of the marital bed before the promised time. Construction was vastly off schedule, and my community knew it. I tried to mourn for my future. I concentrated on everything I was heartbroken about missing out on. I cried. Yet it wasn’t enough to stop the residual “what if’s” from sneaking up on me when I least expected them. It didn’t stop my friends from continuing to fulfill their potential. Continuing construction on their own plans, with seemingly no interference from the Divine Builder. So, I sat, amidst the crumbling framework of my heart, as I tried to focus on the growing blessing in my belly. Even now, the path before me and my growing family is fuzzy. Many days I still think about what I could have been, but they are fewer and further between. I find myself hoping for the future more often now. Hoping in the surprises. I am afraid I cannot fully explain to you what I gained out of my confusion and pain. I know I gained something, I cried out like the psalmist and received something back. It wasn’t what I asked for. It wasn’t what I expected. Yet it came. I could call it forgiveness. I could call it mercy. Grace might even suit it. It is too complex for one name. But without a doubt it exists and resides within me, and I within it; reminding me not to let my heartache. Let me be clear, I think experiencing heartbreak and pain are things we can’t avoid, and that we should face our battles with courage, while not seeking them out. Heartache is the lingering effect of struggle that encourages self pity and wallowing in our sorrows. It is tempting to take part in these emotions, but at some time they must come to an end. We must move out of the condemned building and into a new, renovated suite. So, we fight another battle, this time against self, to make sure we keep moving forward. This new building will become a home, only if we work to fill it with loving kindness. I move forward with purpose. I spent a lot of time aching (in the literal and mental sense) after Joseph was born. I felt like I didn’t have a greater purpose other than being a mother, which I didn’t understand the greatness of yet. Any one purpose, if it becomes an ultimate purpose, has the potential to limit us. I feel I put limits on my identity and purpose when I say, “Oh I am just a stay-at-home mom.” I wish I could tell others all that I believe I still am, but my immediate purpose was to be a mom, so that’s what I share. Now my hands move from my keyboard to swollen belly once again. This second baby was planned and budgeted for. Our first child has just tried to put my headphones down the air vent, so he is ready for a playmate. I cherish my role as a mother, but I know now that is not my only role. The Divine Builder has helped me to renovate the framework of my heart to have more architectural soundness and character. Two things, I am learning from Him, that go hand in hand. The meaning of my life is constructed, with many foundational experiences and different sized beams of heartaches. While I keep living, this house keeps changing, and I can only see the completed parts, not the parts currently being renovated. Maybe this is what I’ve gained out of my experiences, a sense of perspective. A sense that the most difficult house to build, is also the most beautiful when it’s finished.
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Jordan is...A mother, artist, designer and loyal friend. May this blog bring you hope and a normalization of both emotion and logic. Archives
March 2021
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