The pain is taking me under again. I'm finding myself wondering how I'll make it through this week and do anything productive. I'm feeling tempted to just quit my jobs and hunker down and somehow survive. I need time to cry & breathe, to gather the shattered pieces of my heart together and somehow be strong for him.
***
I'm not strong. My bravado was the bravado of someone who'd never really suffered. All those hard things I thought I'd gone through? Not really hard. And now I find myself faced with a reality that thousands of other spouses face all the time and I don't have any idea how to make it through.
He's everything to me, and yet he's ultimately not mine. In not very long I have to somehow let him go and still manage to survive. Tonight I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to paste on the smile, say "see you later," and carry on with my life. I don't know how I will get up, go to work, or even how I'll go grocery shopping. I just know that everything hurts right now. Right now my heart is broken in a way it's never been broken before. I know this makes me the weakest, the lamest. He's not dying. He'll be back. He loves me desperately.
***
This is the trial that will prove what I'm made of. If I allow it to do its work, if I face the pain, if I face it head on, I believe that God will make me new. Up to this point in my life, I've always had my own strength to rely on. I've always been able to cope, always been able to survive. I've had "tough" things happen, but they were never like this. Now the reality is exposed. I don't have it in me to face this. I just don't. People tell me I'm strong, and they're so wrong. I'm not strong at all.
I'm completely and utterly broken. At this point, I don't have any idea how I'll survive. Lord, have mercy, I don't have it in me.
Lord, have mercy.
***
When I pray, I'm no longer praying for the pain to go away. It may be sick, but I need this pain like I've maybe never needed anything before. As hard as it is, as much as I can't bear it, I have for maybe the first time in my life truly lost myself. I want to follow Christ wholly, and up til now I've not ever been able to jump fully into his arms & let him carry me. I've always walked alongside him as a stubborn child refusing to admit that I can't do it.
And now I can't do it. There's no part of me that's able to say goodbye to the man who completes me. There's no part of me that's able to face that pain without breaking down entirely. God, have mercy, I need You. Break me down further if that's what is necessary for Your will to prevail. Even now I feel my rugged persistence coming back, as the tears dry up, I am tempted to think I can maybe do this on my own.
Remind me to come to You for everything.
Don't let me fall, Father. Take these things I have always believed about You and make them real in my life. I know it won't be easy, but I want to follow You more than anything else in this world.
Ultimately, more than my relationship with Justin, more than my mental sanity, more than anything in this world, I want You. Teach me to despise even my own life.
Even my life.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Monday, September 22, 2014
shattered poetry
Just when I had thought my last tear was finally spent
Just when I thought maybe I was strong
Reality shatters all my defenses
Love & loss
Sorrowful joy
Reunions and goodbyes
The not knowing how I can survive
Not knowing how to be strong
The knowing that I need to be.
God, be my strength, my portion, my endurance.
Father, be my Rock, my shelter.
I can't carry on
So carry me.
Carry me.
Please carry me.
The tears fall unstopped,
I long since became powerless against gravity.
Pooling and spilling down.
I'm weak more often than strong,
Shattered more often than complete.
Nothing left.
So find me here.
Find me here.
Please find me.
I'm broken at your feet, Daddy,
in a way I've never been broken before.
Gone are my defenses,
gone is my strength.
Gone is my emotional health,
my coping mechanisms.
I'm shattered,
I'm broken,
I'm unable to carry on,
unable to see the light.
I need you.
Give me purpose in this season.
Give me joy in the sorrow.
Please don't take the sorrow because the sorrow is a reminder of love.
Each of these tears are precious,
They pull my heart out with each drop,
but they remind me that the love I have has meaning.
I would change these circumstances,
but if I did, I wouldn't know the strength of this love,
and so
I wouldn't change a thing.
Even in the darkness,
I wouldn't change a thing.
Just when I thought maybe I was strong
Reality shatters all my defenses
Love & loss
Sorrowful joy
Reunions and goodbyes
The not knowing how I can survive
Not knowing how to be strong
The knowing that I need to be.
God, be my strength, my portion, my endurance.
Father, be my Rock, my shelter.
I can't carry on
So carry me.
Carry me.
Please carry me.
The tears fall unstopped,
I long since became powerless against gravity.
Pooling and spilling down.
I'm weak more often than strong,
Shattered more often than complete.
Nothing left.
So find me here.
Find me here.
Please find me.
I'm broken at your feet, Daddy,
in a way I've never been broken before.
Gone are my defenses,
gone is my strength.
Gone is my emotional health,
my coping mechanisms.
I'm shattered,
I'm broken,
I'm unable to carry on,
unable to see the light.
I need you.
Give me purpose in this season.
Give me joy in the sorrow.
Please don't take the sorrow because the sorrow is a reminder of love.
Each of these tears are precious,
They pull my heart out with each drop,
but they remind me that the love I have has meaning.
I would change these circumstances,
but if I did, I wouldn't know the strength of this love,
and so
I wouldn't change a thing.
Even in the darkness,
I wouldn't change a thing.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
when it all falls away
I don't know how to write this with grace or with tact; I don't know how to put into words the hard truth. These people are beautiful, this community we have is beautiful, the souls that are connected to me are beautiful. Each of them in their own ways, each of them with their own stories. Wrong has been done here, but so much right just is.
And yet, I don't belong here. I never have, really. There have been brief moments when what existed was beautiful and I had a place in it all, but generally this has not been the case. Each to its season, I've been the new girl, the feminist, the old one, the leader, the newlywed. And now it has all fallen away. Everyone surrounding me is beautiful, and yet, the people who made my life beautiful here are gone. Some have moved, some are gone for a season, others have fallen away of their own choosing.
Tonight I felt the wreckage of what once was, what never really was anyway. I felt the weight of the not-belonging, the heaviness of knowing that I don't fit, that however much I may be wanted, however much I may be loved, however much I may want to fit, I just don't. I'm older than them, I'm different, I'm hopelessly academic and out of place in this world of submarines and not-very-tasteful jokes and banding together against the world as if to prove that in so doing we're right.
I'm alone here. My husband is gone on deployment and that leaves me with the stark reality of my situation. There is nothing. There is no one. Some care, some reach out, some love me, and I'm still alone.
She left me behind, she knows, and yet the tide has shifted and it's pulling us irrevocably apart. Fateful or fatalistic, I'm not sure which. He's deeply racist and doesn't know it and it tears at the fabric of everything without anyone even sensing it. She's hopelessly young, just beginning and full of promise, yet for me impossible to relate to on a deep level. Each of these people are my friends, my brothers, my sisters. And yet, I'm alone.
There has to be more to life than this.
Has to be.
And yet, I don't belong here. I never have, really. There have been brief moments when what existed was beautiful and I had a place in it all, but generally this has not been the case. Each to its season, I've been the new girl, the feminist, the old one, the leader, the newlywed. And now it has all fallen away. Everyone surrounding me is beautiful, and yet, the people who made my life beautiful here are gone. Some have moved, some are gone for a season, others have fallen away of their own choosing.
Tonight I felt the wreckage of what once was, what never really was anyway. I felt the weight of the not-belonging, the heaviness of knowing that I don't fit, that however much I may be wanted, however much I may be loved, however much I may want to fit, I just don't. I'm older than them, I'm different, I'm hopelessly academic and out of place in this world of submarines and not-very-tasteful jokes and banding together against the world as if to prove that in so doing we're right.
I'm alone here. My husband is gone on deployment and that leaves me with the stark reality of my situation. There is nothing. There is no one. Some care, some reach out, some love me, and I'm still alone.
She left me behind, she knows, and yet the tide has shifted and it's pulling us irrevocably apart. Fateful or fatalistic, I'm not sure which. He's deeply racist and doesn't know it and it tears at the fabric of everything without anyone even sensing it. She's hopelessly young, just beginning and full of promise, yet for me impossible to relate to on a deep level. Each of these people are my friends, my brothers, my sisters. And yet, I'm alone.
There has to be more to life than this.
Has to be.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
You Are Not Alone
My Daughter,
I know that life has never felt worse.
You are not alone.
I know you feel completely abandoned.
You are not alone.
I know about all the tears that fall.
You are not alone.
Like Hagar in the wilderness,
You are not alone.
Like Joseph in the den of lions,
You are not alone.
Like the thief on the cross,
You are not alone.
Like the woman who touched my garments in desperate search of healing,
You are not alone.
I am the God who sees.
I am the God who heals.
I am the God who reconciles.
I am the God who blesses.
My daughter, you are not alone.
Even when all the lights go out, when no one sees your pain,
I see you.
You are not alone.
When you cried yourself to sleep,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When you for the first time in years just wanted to go home,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When life was too much,
I was there.
You are not alone.
Take heart,
I see you.
I love you.
You are not alone.
When all else fades,
I AM.
I know that life has never felt worse.
You are not alone.
I know you feel completely abandoned.
You are not alone.
I know about all the tears that fall.
You are not alone.
Like Hagar in the wilderness,
You are not alone.
Like Joseph in the den of lions,
You are not alone.
Like the thief on the cross,
You are not alone.
Like the woman who touched my garments in desperate search of healing,
You are not alone.
I am the God who sees.
I am the God who heals.
I am the God who reconciles.
I am the God who blesses.
My daughter, you are not alone.
Even when all the lights go out, when no one sees your pain,
I see you.
You are not alone.
When you cried yourself to sleep,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When you for the first time in years just wanted to go home,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When life was too much,
I was there.
You are not alone.
Take heart,
I see you.
I love you.
You are not alone.
When all else fades,
I AM.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
on the hope beyond institutions
Growing up, I knew, as surely as the sun rises, that my church was the best church in town. Just like my high school football team was the only team worth rooting for, my church was the only one with good doctrine and sound teaching. We believed the right things. We taught the right things. We were right. Even today if I went home to visit, I'd have a hard time overcoming my prejudices and stepping foot in another church in town. After all, they're all dead churches in my mind. Or at least inferior.
And now, from the sound of it, my church is dying.
I'm not there, so I watch helplessly from the sidelines as it all crumbles around them. I watch as person after person makes the tough decision to leave, to maybe never return. My heart is broken. If I ever go home to visit, I might not be going back to the same church. Those people who were my world growing up have disintegrated. It seems that they're fractured from within, even if they still are cordial on the surface.
I'm not sure what to make of it all. I am not there, and I don't know who's right and who's wrong. And it really doesn't matter to me. None of it matters.
I want them to love each other. I want them to not forget the years, the decades, the lifetimes of investment in each other's lives. I want them to stick together, even if it's messy, even if it breaks hearts. I want them to look to Jesus.
But mostly, I want them to remember that when the dust settles, when the flames burn down, when everything is lost or everything is found, that then, God will still be found. God is above and beyond institutions. God doesn't need Brooklyn to reach that community. God doesn't need that building or its rich heritage of faith. God doesn't need its carefully written by-laws or its place within the denomination as a whole. God doesn't need its tradition of weekly Sunday School, even in an age where most churches have abandoned such an antiquated practice. God doesn't need a Bible-believing-and-preaching pastor, he doesn't need a faithful elder and deacon board. He doesn't need the children's ministry or the missions fund. And he certainly doesn't need vacation bible school.
God will be faithful regardless of the outcome for this particular institution.
I am praying, though, for reconciliation, for unity of the true body of Christ. The body of Christ goes so far beyond the church walls, and so I pray for my church family to pray together, to eat together, to do life together. I pray for an awakening of community, of love. I pray for hearts that draw near to the Father for every breath. I pray for hearts that stop striving after earthly justice and that strive after Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ will judge; His purposes will prevail. I pray that leaders will step out and up. I pray for women and for men to prophetically speak into this situation, not about institutions or policies, but about Jesus and His mission. I pray for a re-awakening, for a transformation. I pray for a sifting, for a harvest. I pray for revival in the hearts of the people I love. I pray for peace for them, for hope. I pray for soft hearts and quick feet. I pray for hands that reach out to unite.
I am thankful for the way that God used that church, in all of its imperfection, to mold me into the person I am today. I am thankful for its time-honored traditions, for its faithfulness to teach from the Word. I am thankful for the people whose parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents were all raised in that church. I am thankful for the faithfulness and consistency of the people I grew up with. I am so thankful for it all. My church wasn't perfect, that is becoming more clear to me with every year I spend separated from it all. No church is.
I pray that this trial will refine the people I love most. I pray that God's purposes will prevail. I pray for the Gospel to extend far beyond that church building's four walls.
Look to Him, my brothers and sisters. He is near.
And now, from the sound of it, my church is dying.
I'm not there, so I watch helplessly from the sidelines as it all crumbles around them. I watch as person after person makes the tough decision to leave, to maybe never return. My heart is broken. If I ever go home to visit, I might not be going back to the same church. Those people who were my world growing up have disintegrated. It seems that they're fractured from within, even if they still are cordial on the surface.
I'm not sure what to make of it all. I am not there, and I don't know who's right and who's wrong. And it really doesn't matter to me. None of it matters.
I want them to love each other. I want them to not forget the years, the decades, the lifetimes of investment in each other's lives. I want them to stick together, even if it's messy, even if it breaks hearts. I want them to look to Jesus.
But mostly, I want them to remember that when the dust settles, when the flames burn down, when everything is lost or everything is found, that then, God will still be found. God is above and beyond institutions. God doesn't need Brooklyn to reach that community. God doesn't need that building or its rich heritage of faith. God doesn't need its carefully written by-laws or its place within the denomination as a whole. God doesn't need its tradition of weekly Sunday School, even in an age where most churches have abandoned such an antiquated practice. God doesn't need a Bible-believing-and-preaching pastor, he doesn't need a faithful elder and deacon board. He doesn't need the children's ministry or the missions fund. And he certainly doesn't need vacation bible school.
God will be faithful regardless of the outcome for this particular institution.
I am praying, though, for reconciliation, for unity of the true body of Christ. The body of Christ goes so far beyond the church walls, and so I pray for my church family to pray together, to eat together, to do life together. I pray for an awakening of community, of love. I pray for hearts that draw near to the Father for every breath. I pray for hearts that stop striving after earthly justice and that strive after Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ will judge; His purposes will prevail. I pray that leaders will step out and up. I pray for women and for men to prophetically speak into this situation, not about institutions or policies, but about Jesus and His mission. I pray for a re-awakening, for a transformation. I pray for a sifting, for a harvest. I pray for revival in the hearts of the people I love. I pray for peace for them, for hope. I pray for soft hearts and quick feet. I pray for hands that reach out to unite.
I am thankful for the way that God used that church, in all of its imperfection, to mold me into the person I am today. I am thankful for its time-honored traditions, for its faithfulness to teach from the Word. I am thankful for the people whose parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents were all raised in that church. I am thankful for the faithfulness and consistency of the people I grew up with. I am so thankful for it all. My church wasn't perfect, that is becoming more clear to me with every year I spend separated from it all. No church is.
I pray that this trial will refine the people I love most. I pray that God's purposes will prevail. I pray for the Gospel to extend far beyond that church building's four walls.
Look to Him, my brothers and sisters. He is near.
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