Before you start reading, I need to put a disclaimer out there.
*There are all of my feelings and thoughts and do not reflect my church, my friends, or my family. No one "made me feel this way", I just simply do. No one made me mad or did anything wrong, this is just how I feel.
For the past couple months, I have begun to really hate Sundays. Sundays put me on an emotional and spiritual roller coaster that comes crashing to a big, nasty halt. The kind that makes your back and neck feel weird and sore. The kind that takes your breath away and you end up sitting on a bench drinking a slurpee to regain composure before you decide to attempt the next one.
Satan doesn't like Sundays either. It's his favorite day to drive right over me.
Sundays involve going to church. At church I see all the people that supported and cheered me on during my pregnancy. The people that screamed and shrieked in excitement that Aiden was coming. The place that threw me a wonderful baby shower. The place I sang sweet songs to my baby in my belly as I swayed to the music. The place I felt God's presence in the context of community.
Now I go to church feeling like all eyes are on me. Feeling like everyone either feels sorry for me, confused for me, or just plain doesn't know how to think or feel. I either get ignored or get the polite "how are you" but you can tell in their eyes that they are scared to hear the answer. NOT THAT I BLAME THEM! I wouldn't know what to say either!
Because of the fact of the matter is... There are no right words.
I have cried every Sunday at church since Aiden passed away. The Lord overwhelms me with His grace, His strength, His conviction, and His truth.
On Sundays my mind slows down long enough to realize how incredibly crushed I am. So of course... I have a breakdown every time the music starts or I hear our pastor speak scripture over us.
And every Sunday I spill my heart out to God confessing all of my hopes, fears, concerns, doubts, and desires.
On Sundays I tend to get angry. I get angry at God for taking my son. I get angry at God for not blessing us with another child. I get angry at God that I'm not pregnant. I get angry at God when I think of all of the pain parents who lose their child go through. I get mad at God when I think about the fact that I'll never get to see Aiden play t-ball.
I get angry at God because I think we'll never have another child.
And then I put on some Biblical perspective and hear God speaking to me and pouring out His love and hope over me. So I surrender. I lay down my anger into His throne room and get lost knowing He is good and faithful and true.
I leave church encouraged, light-hearted, hopeful, and happy.
Then... I go out to eat and all I see are babies, babies everywhere.
Everywhere I turn is a family... a newborn... and I overhear conversation after conversation littered with baby talk and all I want to do is wear a sign that says, "I just lost my baby" so maybe they'll lighten up on the conversations that crush me.
Then I go home and I cry. I cry for the second time in one day and I ended up utterly exhausted. I cry because as soon as I put my heart out there for God to take, He makes me face all the things that hurt me the most. He guts the knife harder into my heart. And I want to crawl back into bed and wish I never had to see another Sunday again.
This may seem dramatic, but I can assure you... it is.
It is a drama-filled, satan-induced coma of heartache that I am SO over.
I don't want to hate Sundays anymore.
I don't want to hate going to church or out to eat or to the grocery store.
I don't want to try to protect myself from God when really He is the ONLY one that can protect me.
I want to be able to trust God.
I want to stop spending my Sundays crying when I should be resting in Him.
I want to see God change me and mold my spirit to lean toward Him.