This week has been craaazy! I’m in the middle of moving into my own place after 8 months of trying to find what felt like home in the midst of an emotional cyclone. I was hoping to feel excitement and peace, but I just feel uuugggghhh!
I’ll try to be a bit more articulate. This is a good move for me. A beginning (and an end). A clean slate of sorts. Solitude. Rest. But, I’m having to dig through so much death to get there. I’m having to pack up my old place that I’ve spent barely any time in over the last 8 months and the process feels like taking a shower in rusty water. (Yeah, you may have to sit with that one for a minute…I’ve done it, so the association was a snap for me :-)) Bottom line, this is not fun! It’s supposed to be an exciting time but I’m just being constantly reminded of all the pain that has gotten me to this place of freedom. Is this the thorn that keeps you humble? Will I always have to look the death square in the face? Is this the trade-off for freedom, for joy?
I’ve been telling people who stuggle for what to say to me at this time in my life to tell me, “congratulations”, since this is a good thing for me. But today I’m giving that a second thought. Congratulations aren’t in order when so much has been lost, hurt, broken and crushed. Thank you to all of you who feel sorry and wish things were different. I too wish things were different. But they aren’t. And since they are what they are, this is the best I have and it is awful and it does hurt and suck! Thanks, Unc, for calling me on this one tonight.
I’m learning that I don’t have to be ok and hold it all together and put on a brave face for others to accept what’s going on in my life. Accept it or not, it’s awful and it’s good, at the same time. I don’t want to feel like I have to choose or pretend.
The cross was awful, bloody, painful and terrible; and it was good. I don’t have to pretend like Christ was having the time of his life to accept the glory of his sacrifice. Despite his suffering, we rejoice in the cross. Death, the price for life.
But I also thank all of you who know quite well the depth of my pain, who do rejoice with me as you watch me and walk with me as I come alive. What a ride!
So, instead of “weeping with those who weep” and “rejoicing with those who rejoice” (like they’re different people), I appreciate all who are weeping and rejoicing with me all at the same time.
Rusty showers: refreshingly tainted.
I long for home.