Wednesday, November 28, 2012
The kind of day that my husband normally would see fit to remind me that it really is okay not to say everything that's on my mind.
The wind has found its inspiration in strong bursts and I feel the need to issue a storm warning; to beat him to the punch.
"My head is to the brim with snarky comments and snide remarks right now", I tell him.
'Just so...well, you know...in case one of them happens to slip.'
I promise him that there are hundreds more that I am succeeding in holding back, and for some reason, I feel it is important to point out that there are many more of them than there are of me.
We are half way through one of Bend's notorious roundabouts and I'm off balance and bracing myself as we angle sharply into our turn. Without notice, our Suburban makes its abrupt and lumbering exit and my top half instinctively shoots away from our lean-in, welcoming our escape.
The children are buckled in behind us as we head to church for a long overdo visit, and I know that it would be a mistake to believe that they are not listening. I know this, but feel like I too might be buckling.
For so long now, rest seems out of reach and I am full of disbelief.
I write words that pinch at reminders of God's steadfastness to make sure that he is still a part of me.
My spirit suffers from the cold burning of his perceived silence, a neuropathy, and I just want to feel him again.
I know that God is not afraid of my mess, or of the thoughts that I struggle so arduously to filter, but where do we go from here? At what point do we arrive at broken enough?
In this round-and-round-and-round-again, which way is the way out?
We are one month shy of four years since Steve lost his job as a draftsman, and even after foreclosure and bankruptcy, two more job losses, and three moves, this year that we have been 'back to work' has felt the most difficult. Our family is now part of the underemployed, and each month I am more keenly aware of how this journey is wearing us down.
This tolerating swallows the hours of my days.
What should be basic--the making of meals, transporting my children to school, my husband to and from his job-- become small crises. I wince when the students in my care bemoan the fact that they have to perform community service at the 'stupid' family kitchen, because the lines of foolish and wise, servant and served, have blurred, and they could not possibly know that they are talking about me--about my family.
Life is just hard, isn't it?
We come to another of our city planner's curious crucibles, and it is as if they are daring me to decide.
Fight or flight?
We are closer now, and there is no other way to get to where I want to be.
The only way out, is in, and through.
I speak the truth and enter in--I press in.
I'm a bit late to the game, but I'm linking up today at The Extraordinary Ordinary for my first ever Just Write exercise. May I encourage you to hop on over visit them as well?
I am also linking up with the Imperfect Pros community and thanking God for a place to speak the hard truths.