The circle of life

My daughter has the Lion King soundtrack on a constant loop. I think she's listened to it every time she's gone to bed for the past 6 weeks. I asked her if she was tired of it, and no, she's not. But the "Circle of Life" song keeps coming back to me.

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life (Tim Rice)

We are all on that circle to some degree, and I've been more aware of that this week. A new baby is coming into the family in a few months and he will be given my husband's name as his middle name. It's touching and lovely, but it also breaks my heart because he isn't going to meet the man who had this name first. And my husband doesn't have birth children. He has adopted children, but not children of his flesh.

I've often thought that, when someone loved leaves the earth, there is a new life generated that will come into the world. Not to fill his shoes or to replace him, but to breathe the air that the dead person no longer breathes and to carry on the new generation, the new life.

The circle of life is tough at times. Other times it feels like it's spinning faster than a top. And sometimes it moves slowly and even seems to grind to a halt. Waiting, longing, unresolved issues can all drag things along. Demands, busy-busy-ness can move things to mach speed.

The moment of trauma, upset or loss can make the world seem to stop turning. Everything has fallen. Everything has changed. But somehow things are still normal in the rest of the world. People still give birth, eat ice cream, get their driver's licence, have a promotion at work or lose their keys. Normal things are still normal in the lives of most people. While next door, another person's life has changed forever.

I saw this in Bosnia. It blew my mind. We were there in 1998, and the war had ended, but the repairs were only just beginning (in the physical sense - hard to say if emotional repairs would ever be possible). We went through the country on public buses and, as we drove through small villages in certain areas, it was spine chilling to see one house bombed out or riddled with bullet holes next to a completely untouched house. This was the sign of ethnic cleansing: a family destroyed and drummed out of the neighbourhood. They may have lived there for years and built that house with their own hands, but they were removed. And if they were lucky, they escaped with their lives, and a few possessions. It was unlikely that they would ever be able to return to their home.

Then we saw an old school which had been converted to a refugee camp. Several families were living in one classroom, all lined up in single beds like desks. There was a small gas burner to cook on, and one woman had made traditional bread somehow. I have no idea how. I have no idea how women could give birth (let alone get pregnant) in such an environment. But what other choice did they have? The circle of life was still turning.

On a lesser scale, here we are. It has been 15 months since my husband died, and life has carried on. I still can't believe I've come this far. I have to say, it's been very unwillingly done. Many days I inwardly groan at having to get out of bed, then I take every thought captive, surrender to the Lord again, and thank Him for the gift He's given me of another day.

I had my place, but it has drastically changed. In the last year I have had to accept my identity as a widow, a single mother and a person recovering from trauma. I have had to move past the desire to reject this reality in order to make any kind of progress. I have had to accept the process of grieving in order to work toward being healthy in the future. My identity has changed almost weekly, and it still feels as certain as oatmeal porridge.

Life doesn't stop because I'm not ready for it to carry on. In the first weeks after my husband died, I kept saying how it had been the longest time we'd ever been apart. Now I don't even think about it in that way. I have to force myself to accept the unacceptable.

It all sticks in my throat. The butterflies in my stomach don't go away for long. But I am moving through despair to hope. Finding faith and holding on to the only love I know is constant. The only One who knows me, really knows me, will never leave me.

I'm tired of it all, and yet I know I must keep going. But, I must also resist the temptation to see the circle as a hamster wheel and keep my mind busy so I don't have to think thoughts that are hard to process.

God is not removed from life, pushing the circle around. He is the sustainer and the author. He is also the finisher. He will not complete the work until it is finished. He is in the trenches with me, walking alongside, carrying me when I can't walk. I am tired, but he is never tired or weary. He never grows weak.

It is in putting the mind in the position of hearing truth, knowing truth and allowing truth to renew my mind that I find energy again.