Crashing Waves

Friday morning, before taking the girls to school and heading into the church I closed my bedroom door and cried.

It had been a somewhat trying morning getting everyone out the door, but nothing so out of the ordinary that it warranted the tears.  The thing is it keeps happening, at any given moment one small thing can push me to the brink and a nudge can send me out of the room to compose myself.  The only real way to combat it many times is to go flat, not allowing much in the way of emotion to cross my face, but that concerns people.

I know it’s obvious that I am not okay.  I appreciate people when they ask how I am, and there was a time when I would have just said, “yep fine,” plastered a smile my face and held it all in check.  The problem is I’ve lost that ability it seems, even when I think I’m holding it all together I’m not, people notice and either ask me or follow up to see how I am and while I appreciate it, I hate that it happens because it’s just not what I want people to see or remember when they interact with me.

In all the stories of life that I envisioned, the one we are now living is not the one that I expected.  I keep looking at what was, and what is and what I think should be and the disconnect is huge. There is so much that has to be done, so many responsibilities, so much that weighs on me.  Even typing this I feel guilty for putting me in all these sentences, there are others who have problems, others who’s needs are huge, me being upset and overwhelmed and frightened just doesn’t really fit.  Others need strength, leadership, tenacity, and understanding from me.

Our church is in this time that things are getting better but they are not better enough.  Growth is happening, offering is up, austerity is happening all around, God is giving the increase but my faith is getting weaker and weaker in the timing side of it. We are where we belong. I am doing the work I was designed to do but the fight is long, and the issues are hard and…

Our family is fighting what everyone knows we are fighting.  The fear and anxiety of possibly losing this fight with cancer never leaves my mind, especially when I hear of others who didn’t win.  The girls are getting older and with that age comes a host of worries on my part, BRCA genes and family history and the list just goes on.

We own this house in Ohio that is not being taken care of properly, the house payment is paid consistently, it’s frustrating to pay for two families to live, especially when one of them seems content to just let everyone take care of them.

I get what the Psalmist is saying here.  I ask the question every day, the problem is I don’t get many answers.

rustic-cabin-reference

I fall into bed exhausted only to lay there many nights wondering, praying, trying to hold it together, trying to be what everyone expects of me, trying to be what I expect of me.

I know the Jesus answers to the issues, I understand the promises I have from scripture, the care I have from friends and family.  It’s all there but it just doesn’t help, it’s just not enough and telling people that is rude and harsh and just wrong, but here I am telling you because if I don’t it just keeps getting bottled up.

I have spent weeks on the phone dealing with insurance companies for J’s cancer, as well as for the car that was stolen.  I’ve fixated on getting the car replaced, and I know it is driving J a bit nuts, but I also know that getting the car replaced, has a beginning a middle and an end, all of which are manageable, all of which have a mostly positive assured outcome.  A vehicle that will replace the one stolen and allow us to move forward and away from one of the horrors of this past summer, so I press forward with it, making sure to include her even though she isn’t into it, because it will be a task that can be completed.

There are so many other tasks that I can’t complete, that have no foreseeable end but that I must be diligent about, and so I close the door, to our room, to my office, to the car, to the bathroom, and I cry…

Thanks for reading.

 

 

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