In October I thought I about posting pictures of our trunk-or-treat trunk. We had monster noises coming out of our speakers and caution tape everywhere...when kids would get close enough we'd make sure they "were really ready to see the monster," and that they "didn't scream so loud that they would scare the younger kids," and then we'd slowly draw back the curtain stretched across the back of our vehicle to reveal....Hashbrown. Looking harmless and a little depressed. Most kids rolled their eyes. We, however, thought it was hilarious.
In November I thought about posting how we lost our jobs. Both of us in the same meeting, on the same day. I thought about writing about shock and raw pain and rugs getting pulled out from under you and your plans.
In December I thought about posting about what real friendship is, and love, and family. I thought about posting what it was like to be betrayed by those you never thought would hurt you. I thought about posting all the stupid and cruel things people can say. About all the kind, wise, healing, wonderful things people can say.
In January I thought about posting how insulting life appears after death. What it's like to watch things, people, places go on without you. What it's like to start walking on the path God has set you on, though you don't want to. Though you would sit at ground zero forever because it's all that's left of something you thought you needed. Though you don't want to move on or hope or heal but you do.
February, and it's love. The love of a faithful God. And book reviews! Oh how I've wanted to post book reviews. How I've wanted to just retype whole books on this blog so I'd have them forever and those words would be mine and you could read them and be changed like I was (though, you'd need Novemeber I suppose, to be changed by February). Bittersweet, by Shauna Niequist. One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. Hinds Feet on High Places, by Hannah Hurnard. Add to these book reviews the transcriptions of a hundred beautiful conversations with intelligent, wise, faithful people. I didn't know until now how many incredible people I know.
March. I would have posted about marching. Dreaming again. Hoping. Trying. I would have told you all the stories of how things are working out. I would have told you it's still painful. I would have told you it still doesn't make sense to us. I would have told you that there is some peace coming up from the ground like my one red tulip by the mailbox.
But it's April now. And here's what I'll post. I'm sitting in our sunny sunporch writing. Before I started writing, I was reading. My sweet puppy is curled up beside me. I can hear the music Phil is writing as it comes up from the stairs and out the door. I'll tell you that we are okay. We weren't taken out. I'll tell you that every day I'm learning what it is to forgive. To repent. To find my people and not to turn on them. To carry each other. To comfort myself. To rest. To soak in the love of a God who suffers and dies with us, for us, and rises. Lives that we might live with him, for him. I'll post that there are birds singing. There is new life. I'll post that I am grateful beyond words.
2 comments:
I met you when you were at the bridge and i still attended. 1. Glad you guys are doing well. 2. Thanks for always being a smiling and genuine face. 3. Hinds feet on high places helped me get through one the darkesy places of my life. Take care.
As I read this I thought of when Job's friends came to comfort him and spent the first week just sitting on the ground next to him day and night, "for they saw that his suffering was too great for words." Of course then they ruined it by blabbing, but the point is that they came and just sat there with him. I am sure during his hay day he had more than three friends but these were the guys who showed up when the crap hit the fan. I wonder why they did. I wonder what enabled them to get it. Mostly I want to be that person, the one that gets it, that can just sit in the pain with my yapper shut.
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