Fake it Til You Make It

I have heard the phrase "fake it til you make it" many times. I know lots of people who practically live by that. I'm finding that I'm needing to use that at the moment....well, sort of. I'll explain.


As everyone knows, losing Logan was very very sad. I use the word sad because it's basic, it's what people understand when they're on the outside looking in. I think people generally can understand the basic 'sadness' of losing a baby like that. Of course it would be 'sad'. But no one can understand what it does to you INSIDE. To your heart, to your soul, to your spirit. That it can make you question everything, that it can completely shred your faith, that it can fill you with things you've never felt and never wanted to. How you can go day to day and be okay and certainly appear perfectly fine to others and you ARE doing okay for the most part, you are. But when you're all alone, you sob and you wail and it all pours out of you at once and you just let it because you need the release.

When I'm alone, I do that. I cry and I wail and I beg God to just help me, to HEAL me. That's what I want. To be helped, to be healed. This hole HURTS and it hurts BAD. I don't know how to say it any more simply than that. It hurts BAD. And I can't imagine it hurting any less, even though that's what I want. And the smacking you upside the head, that's the worst. I feel like I need to be on guard all the time because if I'm not, it will knock the breath right out of me. Simply driving down the road the other day and I see a Little League field, full of these tiny little boys in their brand spanking new uniforms with their bats and their gloves and I just lost it. I sobbed for my Logan and how I wish to God he was here to wear a uniform like that, for me to watch him play a game, to take him home after, to smell his sweaty little head and wipe his dirty little face and hug him for a win or for a loss. My God, he wouldn't even be OLD enough for Little League, yet these are the things that can out of the blue send me straight back into the pit of grief just when I thought I was at least halfway up the side.

I am at a place right now spiritually where I don't know what I'm doing other than waiting. On what, I don't know. I know I want to be in a different place than where I am. But I don't know how to get there. I don't know how to let go of what's inside me. I don't know how to understand. Because I don't. I don't understand. And that's my greatest fear, that I simply never will. I want so badly for there to be a reason, or even to simply be okay with there NOT being one. But neither of those is true right now.

I want peace and I want understanding. I want to get THERE but I am HERE and I have no idea how to go about moving. So, in a sense I am faking it until I am making it. I'm reading my Bible daily, I'm praying, I'm going to church, I'm making an effort to only fill myself with good things.
I truly feel like I'm open; as open as I know how to be, and I'm waiting. I'm willing to listen, willing to be touched, to be changed. My heart is out there. But so far, I'm still just waiting. I'm working right now on just being okay with that, because frankly, that's all I've got at this point.

I heard a song recently called "Held". It really touched me. I don't know how I feel about it really. Conflicted a bit, comforted a bit, angry a bit. But it does something to me. Maybe I just need to be held. I'm trying to allow God to hold me, because I don't know how much longer I can hold mySELF up in this.



Held by Natalie Grant


Two months is too little
they let him go
they had no sudden healing

To think that providence
would take a child from his mother while she prays
is appalling

Who told us that we'd be rescued
What has changed and why should we be saved
from nightmares?

We're asking why this happens
to us who have died to live
it's unfair

This is what it means
to be held
how it feels
when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive

This is what it is
to be loved
and to know
that the promise was when everything fell
we'd be held

This hand is bitterness
we want to taste it
and let the hatred
numb our sorrows

The wise hand opens slowly
to the lily of the valley
and tomorrow

This is what it means
to be held
How it feels
when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive

This is what it is
to be loved
and to know
that the promise was
when everything fell
we'd be held

If hope is born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our savior?

This is what it means
to be held
how it feels
when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive

this is what is
to be loved
and to know
that the promise was
when everything fell
we'd be held