Right Where I'm At

I read a blog post where this thing was mentioned called Right Where I am. It's about where I am today, not where I was, not where I'll be tomorrow, but where I am right here in this moment. Of course my fellow blogger added a date on hers - the days that have passed since she lost her sweet daughter.
I was going to write a date on mine, but I can't remember how long I've been undiagnosed (something like 2 and a half years.) and I haven't gotten a diagnosis yet so I can't count the days that have passed since I got my diagnosis. So I'm not going to have a date, I'm just going to write where I am.

Right now I'm somewhere in the middle of the stages of grief.
I'm somewhere in this storm of grief. I'm grieving the loss of the girl I was, and trying to adjust to this new life - to this new kind of normal. I'm not quite sure which stage I'm at, maybe anger, maybe depression, maybe somewhere between the two. Not acceptance, which was where I thought I was a month ago. Whenever I thought I'd dealt with everything and was moving on, another piece emerged, like bits of wood floating up to the surface that only hint at the shipwreck below.
I got bloodwork today, and the rain seemed like a good soundtrack to my day. It wasn't sad, but hopeful. It was calming and peaceful.
As the mist washed over the farm land, I remember thinking there was something so magical and precious wrapped up in that moment.
When I was a kid I thought that rain was God crying. On a particular drive home from a family vacation, as we drove through a thunderstorm, I remember me and my cousins making up all these things, like rain was God spilling his waterbottle and thunder was God playing the drums and lightning was God taking a picture and we would always try to smile out the window right when the lightning hit. And I remember the summer when I was 12, releasing my wish balloon in the pouring rain and my dad saying that, in literature, rain was a sign of renewal.
Today, I think the rain meant a lot of things for me. This morning, on the drive to the hospital, I think it was a sign of hope. And this afternoon, with a heavy heart, I like to think like I did when I was a little girl, that rain was God crying and that he understood my heartache on this day. I like thinking like that, like God knows how hard this is, and He understands when everyone around me doesn't, and He's crying along with me.
I'm also reading this book, Where You'll find Me by Jenny B Jones, and I can't say exactly why I relate to Finley, the main character, but I do.
Today, I got an email from a very special friend, encouraging me. I complained to her (I'm getting tired of complaining!) and she graciously helped me think through everything. I am so blessed to have this wonderful woman in my life.

So that's where I'm at right now ~ 2 and a half (?) years being undiagnosed. And I know no amount of editing this post will make it perfect, and I know if I read over it I'll probably delete it.
Where I'm at: Finding my way, grieving into God's strong arms but still trusting, Still hurting and angry and confused and exhausted. I'm not at my best, and I'm trying to be hopeful. It's not a big success some days. I am also so thankful I have a God who is willing to meet me right where I'm at. And I believe someday I'm going to make it through this, and I'll come out on the other side very different then when I entered but also the very person I'm supposed to be.

"Sometimes when we were stuck, we'd stop for a minute to rest, regain our strength and let the waves take us for awhile even when we weren't going anywhere, it was still sailing"