A friend and I were talking recently of the dangers of small talk. We imagined what life would be like if just maybe, one of us or all of us could unhinge a cabinet of regret, remorse, pain, and panic into a place of zero control, and just let it all land on understanding ears. Or just ears that would clear away the static of their own sense of control and just listen. What would life be like? What would the church be like?
I haven't sat to write in weeks, perhaps because what floats just beyond the surface of my life is hardly worth journaling. In many circumstances, journaling brings a certain sense of relief- the peace that follows simple processing can often times be unmatched. And then sometimes, processing is of no use because human emotion against reason is senseless. That is how I have felt lately, in this still new place, with this new baby on the way, in a marriage where I find myself completely- honestly, certain it is where I'm supposed to be, and yet I am still navigating what it means to be faithful and steady even when I'm confused. He has his baggage and I have my own, added to that we are one in the same {So God says}, and all of it together can feel like a cyclone of uncertainty- except as I mentioned, the certainy that it's all meant to be.
Then, there are the kids. I can hardly sleep sometimes for fear they are not safe. Is there anything more right in my life besides my kids? I have justified it this way: I bring glory to God by celebrating these gifts He has given me. Although I find myself wallowing on the floor at times, drenched in my own tears, asking Jesus to help me put Him first and not my kids, as it is all too clear to me how little control I have. Oh, Jesus, that I would serve You first, make it so. This all comes at night. During the day, I am tripping over my own sense of entitlement: to keep my house clean, to stay glued to the iphone, to not have kids rambunctiously leaping from one furniture piece to the other, to feed them what I have available and feel appreciated for that, and for God's sake, let me rest- sometimes all of these at once- some justified, others not so much. My goal for an entire day is to take time to notice them at least once, to pull them aside and let them know, Mommy is having a sad day, but I love you, and you are precious to me- quite literally the reason I found the strength to get out of bed this morning. I am asking God to help me stay strong. If I'm the reason you're having a hard day, ask God to help both of us to be strong.
I've known it was coming. That my husband would notice this is all too much for me- the dishes, the laundry, this being stuck indoors 85% of my life. The pelvic pressure endured just to move across the room. That I can't seem to homeschool consistently. That I'm homesick for 3 different places. That even I don't know what we are doing in Texas, though I have found contentment here- as content as someone can be when left beneath a sopping wet towel of loneliness. I have begun to make friends, but feel completely stalled in my attempts as I grow more and more pregnant, and less able to be involved in social functions.
So he finally said it, "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep letting you have kids when you are struggling so much."
Is it freeing to hear that? A little. It makes it his decision, and not mine, that feels freeing. Then I wonder why life is supposed to be easy? Who said that we should stay within our comfort zone- or even stay careful enough to not toe the line of hardly surviving? I'm not saying that I think we should go on having more children, or if at 39 weeks pregnant I should even be pondering those sorts of decisions. Ultimately, I find myself wondering what any sort of applied wisdom looks like versus a life radically reliant on an unseen God that is faithful. I know my husband worries about me in this season, wonders how tomorrow will even be lived out. I wonder the same. I have to believe that nothing is beyond my doing because God tells me it isn't.
Yet, I feel in the storm, far from the eye, far from peace. I know it would be there if I would just stop....stop. STOP. What would I see but a thousand undone things? That is how I feel. Hiding away in my room for the two hours alone I am alotted each day while the kids are drawn in by the television, I don't know how to make either shame go away or peace to envelop me. I know Christianese provides the purest of answers: God loves you. There is, therefore, no condemnation in Christ Jesus. He has a hope and a future for you. All things work together for good for those that love the Lord.
And yet, none of these truths are a substantial balm beyond comfort, which my life is quite consumed with by way of media and sugary foods.
But these three things remain, faith, hope and love. I love this, perhaps the most overquoted Christianese I could conjure. Yet, this promise has tied itself to my ankles and drug me through the mud and muck of recent trial. I am learning that despite what I've always believed about knowing God, that mature Christianity is not about being ok, but being utterly wrecked and still embracing faith, holding onto hope, and navigating the art of both receiving and giving authentic love. And sometimes, in some weird twisted way, we can love by faith, find hope in love, and love others through circumstances where our faith and hope have been dashed. I've never doubted once God's genius. It is here that I can begin to thank God for myself not being ok. Of course, I'd like to, some 75 years down the road, look back on my life and sigh a great sigh of relief, admitting, "That wasn't so bad," but then I might be afraid to crossover to the other side. Instead, whether my time is tomorrow or 75 years, I know exactly whose arms I am running into- they are so familiar to me, I can close my eyes now and imagine resting in them. That's where I'm going. I know that because my life is hard at times, broken, and shattered beyond what I can repair on my own. It's a mess, and it's exactly why I became a Christian. The new state in which my family resides, the new questions my husband and I have asked one another about how the heck two people so different wound up together, the new baby, the tribe of children we already have, and the constant lack of stability we have found ourselves in has all come by way of faith, hope, and love. It got us here, and it's pulling us through. It can be frightening as all I have are these intangible tools, but apparently, at the end of it all, that's all that will be left- for me and you both, friend. I usually like to have some sort of conclusion to my blog, some proactive suggestion for all of us to take away, but for this one, it's this: Sometimes, we can be the "friendliest of friends" with God, and life is still hard. But the alternative is separation from Him, and that is called Hell. You can recide there, a place of perfect peace, or somewhere in the middle where by His grace you can sort through your humanity day by day and bring Him glory in a place that it truly matters towards the great and final harvest. I hope in some way that my honesty, and still, absolute adoration for God is some sort of contribution towards that.
For now, I plan to sit back, watch a television show of my own, and by faith believe that my upcoming birth will be blessed. Then, hope that my husband will find himself in this season of transitioning from home to a state that is not home [just yet]. Now, and always, I will stay consumed with love- for Jesus, for the bravest guy I know, Paul, and my precious treasures Jacob, Sonora, Courage, and Trinity. I can began to understand very much why these three things will remain.
