“I see you dressed in deep aqua that flows like liquid with every movement, every breeze, flowing around you as you twirl and dance to unheard music in a desiccated, barren desert. The parched air and hot sand do not seem to phase you as you sway and spin to the quiet orchestra beating in your heart. Heather, God is teaching you how to dance in the desert.”

I smiled as tears slid down my cheeks. Once again these words were said over me. “God is teaching you to dance in the desert.” The friends who had shared these same words over the years did not know one another, the timing was not even close together, there was no scheming or secret planning, this was just God’s beautiful way of reminding me, “I see you. I know you. I am good to you when life is hard. I am good to you when life is easy.” 

Dancing in the desert sounds romantic, adventurous, like a movie scene or a good setup for a music video. Realistically it would be beyond hot, painful to the skin and eyes, not to mention your hair would end up looking like a frazzled hot mess as you twirled and swayed as the wind ripped around you, threatening to embed sand in every possible crevice of your body. Yet, here those words were again and hope filled my heart knowing that I was seen, knowing that God was showing up again to remind me that he is with me, teaching me to listen to his song, teaching me to dance in the most impossible circumstances, reminding me that his plans are always the best plans no matter how challenging they may be or how ridiculous they may seem. 

I had spent the previous two years recovering from caregiver burnout and in February of 2020 I felt the most normal I had felt in years. I was ready to have people in our home again. Any size gathering had been put on hold for over five years as our life had taken a major shift when our baby girl was diagnosed with spastic quadripligia cerebral palsy. We were scrambling to learn from therapists and educate ourselves on the diagnosis that had been thrust upon us. We deeply desired to help Finley which meant lots of therapy everyday. We were learning to communicate to doctors and therapists and to one another and to friends and family the weekly flow of information and additional therapies, exercises, special diets, vitamins and supplements, and possible experimental therapies to try. After almost six years, I had finally caught my breath. I felt like after two years of intentional rest I was ok and we had systems in place to help life feel manageable-Finley was in a great school, we had friends who were doing yearly fundraising for Finley’s needs, we had a great caregiver to help take her to some of her therapies, we had trained volunteers at church on how to help Finley during Sunday school, and our extended family had found a rhythm of taking Finley once a quarter to help Matt, myself and our three older kids have intentional rest. It seemed we had found a sustainable rhythm for this impossible life. I remember thinking, “Maybe this is what dancing in the desert feels like-hard but beautiful.” 

Enter worldwide pandemic. It was March 2020, just one month after I was beginning to think we were ok, and just like every other parent, our kids were suddenly home full time doing remote learning. Our older kids adjusted as best they could however Finley was mad. She is a girl who loves to go and she is a girl who adores school.  She cried and whined and yelled like she was getting paid to. I was so caught up in helping the older three get set up and adjusted to remote learning while trying to keep Finley’s home and clinic therapies going I completely lost track of Finley’s remote learning. She spent many hours with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse as I tried to keep her quiet so the older three could have their google meets and attempt to learn Finley basically did little to no school from March-June 2020. Like so many parents around the world, we were trying to survive…again. From March-June of 2020 the kids came home full time, our dog had puppies which we were so excited about however our dog who is maternal to humans wanted nothing to do with the puppies. We bought a heat lamp to keep them warm and were bottle feeding them every two hours. My dad even drove up from Atlanta to help. After a week of bottle feeding them they slowly began to die. The kids were devastated. We buried three puppies over the course of two weeks. The veterinarian called it “fading puppy syndrome.” Very rare apparently and nothing particularly causes it. After the third puppy died my lips blew up into the biggest cold sores I ever had. Ever since I was little I would get cold sores on my face towards the end or after a stressful time. As an adult I get them less frequently as I have learned to identify my feelings, recognized when I am stressed and built practices of writing and talking about what I am going through. We had one puppy left. The vet said he was perfectly healthy. We sold him to a wonderful family only to find out a week later they were having to put him down. Their vet had found fluid on his lungs that was increasing and he was slowly drowning. We were devastated. We refunded their money and prayed for a miracle. A week later we heard from the family that Scout was gone. 

“I never want to do this again.” Paisley cried as I held her. 

“Never ever again.” I assured her. We were heartbroken. 

Soon after the puppies died our caregiver announced she was moving across the country. Matt immediately posted an add on care.com for a caregiver. Because of the pandemic there was little to no movement on the site. The hard work of recovery was crumbling around me and I felt as if I was slipping back into the mental and emotional place I had fought so hard to get out of. I was scared. I was broken. I felt like a complete failure and like I had wasted time trying to recover. “ What is the point of all that hard work just to end up back in the same place.” I would think to myself. 

“I am back in the pit.” I shared with two close friends over the phone. “And I am so angry that I am back here.” Tears spilled down my cheeks as I sat on concrete steps by the Chicago River. Matt had sent me to a hotel downtown Chicago for a couple nights of rest. People walked past me as I cried, averting their eyes from the public display of emotions. 

“Heather, God is in the pit with you. It was in the pit that Daniel learned that God was his protector. It was in the pit that Daniel learned that God was his provider.” One friend offered. Stunned by the profound beauty, and honesty of her words more tears streamed down my face, but not tears of anger and hurt, but tears of comfort and permission that it was ok to not be ok. 

“And we are going to be with you, we will hold you accountable when you start to wallow, and we will encourage you as you walk through the hard times,” my other friend encouraged. I took in a deep breath. That conversation will forever be seared on my heart. Like a stake in the ground, I look at that conversation for strength and clarity on where the lines are drawn.This was dancing in the desert, not when life is set up well but when life is difficult and daring, laborious and lovely, strenuous and stunning, wearisome and winsome. It is when we see the miracles right in front of us instead of the ones we wish or pray for. When everything seems to be falling apart and God steps into our mess to remind us that He is with us, He is for us, and though the road is not easy, He goes before us, hemming us in on every side, stepping down into the pit to seal the mouths of lions and bring us out when the night melts into day. That moment everything changed without anything changing. This is the power of perspective-it reminds us of who God is, of who we are and how he is with us through the longest nights and through the brightest days. When the longest night stretches on for years and years, He is there, teaching us to dance with Him in the desert.   

“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Psalms 34:18   

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