This week you’ll get to hear from an old friend from my undergrad days at Harding University, Kelly Wiggains (I knew her as Kelly Duncan back then). I am grateful that we have kept in touch over the years, as she is not only a talented writer (she writes about words, books and beauty over at kellywiggains.com. You should definitely head over and explore her blog…you’ll love it! Go ahead and subscribe to receive her posts by email. While I’m thinking about it, you can subscribe to receive mine as well. Go on…I’ll wait…), but is a wise and godly woman who is also a beautiful wife and momma. Read on and enjoy her beautiful wisdom!
We read and talk about the “storms of life,” those times when life is pelting you with thunder sleet or hurricane force winds. That metaphor makes the trials of life exciting and eventful. After all, those kinds of storms even get their own names. Sandy, Rita, Ike. To talk about the trials of life as the same as experiencing a hurricane, well, that just sounds dramatic.
But the more I experience trials in life, I feel more like I’m slogging through ankle-deep mud in the middle of some random field.
Like I said, storms are exciting. Eventful. We expect big rises and falls, epic rescues. Live coverage at 5.
Slogging through mud doesn’t get a rescue, kind of like that family in the book We’re Going on a Bear Hunt. Every time the family faces an obstacle on their journey, they say, “We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. We have to go through it.” The oozy mud is no exception.
You take a foot out of the gross.
You stick it back in, only a few inches ahead.
Now the other foot. Out.
Day in and day out, you make snail-like progress. You hold a hand if it’s offered, and you plod your way to the other side. It’s tedious and exhausting. There’s a lot of waiting and standing around. There’s not much else to do until you reach better footing.
“We’ve gotta go through it.” Squelch. Squerch.
Trials in life involve lots of plodding through the mud.
Currently, my mom is battling breast cancer. When her diagnosis first hit, my family felt the blunt winds. We drove in the middle of the night once, racing to the hospital as my mom’s lungs unexpectedly filled with fluid. We shuffled my kids to relatives once a month, so that I could go help as much as I could at treatment sessions, doctor’s appointments, test results. We had updates and reports. We wrung hands and added her name to prayer lists. It was dramatic! Highs! Lows!
But lately, we’re in the mud. My mom tries a new hormone therapy. She listens to another doctor. She tries a new medicine. We get mixed reports: good news and bad news. Squelch. Squerch.
I know those winds can pick up again at any time. Cancer is a big bully, taking cheap shots at my family when it gets a chance. But right now, we squelch. We squerch. We take a step and then take another one, realizing there’s not much else we can do or control.
We hold hands. We pray. And we look to the horizon for dry land. We know the dry land will come. That’s the hope that keeps the squelching and squerching going. If you feel stuck in the mud, know that there’s beauty in those inching steps. There’s fight and there’s victory. Small steps, yes, but progress nevertheless.