Finding Grace in the Battle Scars

Sometimes I feel like God is relentless with me. Actually, more than sometimes. Often! When I look back over my life there are quite a few moments where I ponder the necessity of having to struggle in the areas that I have struggled in. I wish I was one of those people who seem to breeze through life on butterfly wings; riding with the currents and going with the flow. But I am not. My life has been a roller coaster ride of twists and turns and ups and downs. Many times, I have questioned the purpose in the pain. And yet at the same time I am learning to see God's love and light in the hard, dark places.

I have been doing quite a lot of thinking lately, about some of the battles I have faced, wounds I have 'suffered' and the scars that remain. And I realise that through every trial and in all the dark places, God carried me and gave me the grace and strength to keep going. I can see, looking back (don't we love hindsight), that I learnt almost all of my toughest and most valuable lessons in the deep dark desert of despair. Here are three of those battles and the treasured lessons I learnt:

1. A wedding postponed
If you had asked me, after Sean and I got engaged, what my biggest fear was it would have been calling off a wedding. I could have thought of nothing more terrible, more humbling or more heart wrenching. And yet three months before our (first) planned wedding, a day after giving out my last wedding invitation, we "called off our wedding". Sean likes to add the dramatic element by saying we "called it off". I like to say, we postponed. But however you phrase it, one day our wedding date was set for 9 December 2006, the next day it was not. Apart from all the practicalities of telling our guests and cancelling venues and churches, as a woman I felt many deep and sore emotions. I felt ashamed (I did not have it 'together' enough to be getting married), I felt scared (would Sean and I make it through yet another hurdle?), I felt betrayed (God couldn't hold things together long enough for us to make it down the aisle). Added to all this was the fact that we had recently left our previous church and support network, and that Sean and I were still very much engaged and committed but trying to wade our way through turbulent waters. It was hard. It was sore. I was never one to have had my fairy tale wedding all worked out in my head by the age of 5 but still, this was not the way I had envisioned getting married would go.

30 June 2007

And then God stepped in.  He gave me promises that I held to when I felt like I was drowning. Promises from the Bible of new wine and new wine skins, about saving the best wine for last (as in the story of the wedding in Cana).  And our wedding day on June 30 2007 was perfect. In every way. It was a true celebration of what can be overcome and how two very different but totally committed people can be 100% united in love. We are passionate about marriage to this day and about helping other couples navigate the sometimes stormy waters that can rock any marriage boat.  I believe that Sean and I are still a testimony to what it looks like to fight (a good fight) for a great marriage.




2. A down syndrome diagnosis
I would have thought that maybe, after the trial of postponing a wedding, God could have been gentle with me and allowed the rest of marriage and family life to go smoothly. But that was not to be. After being diagnosed with polycystic ovaries I was unsure whether I could fall pregnant but after a few months of meds we were delighted when our home pregnancy test came out positive! My first scan at around 9 weeks went well and we shared our exciting news with family and then friends. At our 12 week scan we did all the big genetic tests, including those for down syndrome. I was only 31 so still young and (in theory) at low risk. However, the first slight abnormality was the nucal fold size (this is the measurement of the folds of skin at the back of the baby's neck). My baby's came in at slightly higher than normal. Not a problem as an isolated sign but we also could not see his nasal bone (another soft down syndrome sign). I then had to go have blood tests done (also routine) and by now was quite anxious about everything we had seen (or not seen). After having all the tests and measurements, most women my age would have a 1 in 'a few thousand'  risk of having a down syndrome baby. My risk came back as 1 in 310. Even remembering the overwhelming fear and emotion that I felt getting that news brings me to tears. Sean and I decided not to have an amnio at the time and to wait to see what we could see at the next scans. But I was shattered. My world felt shattered. Of all the things that I felt I would have to face in life, this was one I was totally unprepared for. After the 12 week scan I remember crying out and asking God why!? And all I heard were his gentle words "He is not a mistake". At our 16 or 20 week scan (I can't quite recall) we had two more soft signs; a calcium spot in the heart and more worryingly our baby only had a single umbilical artery (there should be two arteries and one vein going through the umbilical cord and one of his had calcified). My risk was now 1 in 250. Again we turned down the offer of an amnio. It is more conclusive then the scans and tests we had done but the risk of miscarriage is 1 in 150. And whatever the outcome, this baby was our son and terminating the pregnancy would never be a consideration. So while most first time moms only need space to think about baby clothes and nappies, I was thinking of baby clothes, nappies and down syndrome.

Tristan: only a few months old

Tristan April 2015

 I did a lot of crying. And asking. And praying. And I learnt some of my most treasured life lessons: firstly, our baby was not a mistake. Secondly, my idea of 'perfection' is different to God's idea and standard of perfection. And lastly, our little boy was going to be everything he was meant to be even if it didn't come 'packaged' in a perfect body.  Fast forward to 9:25pm on 29 January 2011 - welcome to the world our beautiful, perfect, healthy baby boy Tristan Louis Michael Krige.


3. The death of my dad
I was always a daddy's girl. I used to dress up in his clothes, I have his love for empty boxes (as well as planning and cautious driving) and when I was 2 years old he was the one who I insisted slept in hospital with me when I had my tonsils out. Later in life, through my parent's divorce, high school years and travelling in my twenties, our relationship ebbed and flowed. I had also become a mommy's girl but my dad held that daddy's place especially reserved in a daughter's heart. Ikey, as he was affectionately known by my cousins and also by my two boys, was never one to live life confined by society's ideas or ideals. Nothing could contain him, limit him or box him in. And he died the same way. Watching him die was possibly one of the most heart breaking , soul wrenching experiences I have faced. Yet I was one of the lucky few. I knew my dad was going to die. I got to see him. I got to say everything I wanted to and needed to say to him while he was still alive. Nothing was unspoken or unforgiven between us. I knew he loved me dearly and he knew I loved him deeply. Although I wasn't able to touch him in the last days of his life (something I still wish I could have done) our father-daughter relationship was as perfect as it could ever be. My dad died in the early hours of the morning on Thursday 4 July 2013. I only heard a bit later that morning (while I was on my way to see him again) but when I heard, I realised I had already known. In the early hours of that same morning I had woken up and had poured out my heart and soul over him in prayer.

Trist and Ikey 2011

Our dad and daughter dance 2007

I have no doubt that was exactly the time he left us. It took me over a year of heart wrenching grief before I felt my heart return to a new normal. I still miss my dad. Every single day. I wish he could see our boys growing up. I wish he could see our new life on the farm. He would love it! But despite all this, I know I am one of the lucky ones. I got to say everything I needed to. I got to say I love you and I got to say goodbye. My lesson in grief has been this: grief is not something to just 'get over'. I don't think I have or ever will truly 'get over' the loss of my dad. I have simply learnt to live with the space in my heart that he left.  This has been so helpful for me in the way I respond to other people's loss and grief. I am grateful for that.  As for my lesson in life... Life is full of final goodbyes.  This is the only guarantee I have. I pray I will keep remembering how it feels to have loved to the last and to have left nothing unspoken. May I always keep short accounts, forgive, let go of anger, say what is on my heart.

And the point in sharing all these (unrelated to our Walkerville Adventure) things? To be honest, I am not quite sure. Perhaps more as a reminder to me going forward that through every dark, scary, confused moment, even when nothing else was certain, I knew that was God was near, His love covered me and His grace would carry me through.

As Matt Redman so beautifully puts it:

"Our scars are a sign of grace in our lives,
And Father how you brought us through
When deep were the wounds and dark was the night
The promise of Your love You proved.
Now every battle still to come let this be our song:

It is well
With my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul".

Matt Redman - It Is Well With My Soul (Acoustic/Live) - YouTube