To Testify

The concept of testimony boils down to one word:  evidence.  Evidence for the things that you've seen.  Evidence for what you've heard.  Basically, whatever you've been witness to that bears testifying.

Saturday, at STBSIL's Bachelorette party, I had the opportunity to share part of my testimony.  It wasn't something I had intended to do, but the opportunity presented itself so I didn't shy away.

Today, I just keep thinking that I was able to laugh through so much of what I told her and believe that PCOS may be some distant dream in the near future.  But what I can't explain are days like today.  Days when it feels like the nightmare will never end and you're stuck trying to find the quickest way out knowing that exits are blocked.

But these days are as much a part of my testimony as my belief that God is good.

What I wonder more than anything is how those testimonies affect perception.  If I were to tell you that I've spent the last 6 1/2 years longing for a child only to lose one and I still believe God is good would that cause you believe I'm more of a Christian than if I told you I'm not sure the last 6 1/2 years have been worth it, I can't see what God is doing and I'm afraid He's not listening to my prayers?  Because each of those things make up my reality on a given day.

When I testify to my belief that God is truly good, I don't want people to believe that I've got it figured out or I never struggle with being in limbo.  (Or even the concept that limbo can be a permanent place?)  There are a lot of days when I would rather pull my blankets over my head and pretend I don't have people who depend on me.  Actually, there are some days when I don't get a lot of choice in the matter.  Physical movement probably isn't going to be possible.  But surely those things don't mean that I don't believe He's good?

If my life is meant to give evidence to the fact that He is good, I fear days like this:  days when I may seem less than grateful, less than capable of showing the beauty that can come from ashes.  But then I also wonder if these aren't the days when that is most apparent.  How can beauty be appreciated if the ashes were never visible?

Maybe what I should testify to is the limbo.  Right now, I'm standing in the middle and I can see ashes on one side and beauty on the other (and hope the latter will be the permanent reality).  But that's not what every day looks like for me.  And I think I would testify to lies if I told you I had this whole thing figured out and I'm at a complete place of peace.

Though, it is what I hope for.