Last evening, a phone call with devastating news nearly took me down. Without discussing private family business, let me say, we will get through this together.
The journey will be difficult and tragic. The outcome will not be joyful. But, we will get through it together.
We have weathered severe circumstances before and come out the other side damaged but afloat. We will do so again.
He called me several times today. My Monday morning at the 9-5 was spent battling a weak computer and a new payroll system. Tears of frustration and tears of panicked grief from the news of the phone call last night alternated for a few hours. Finally, I got my feet under me. A large part of my recovery was because he called. He called again. And again, he called.
I realized the reason later as I sat in my car for my lunch break, breathing in fresh air and feeling the sun on my skin. So many times over our many years together, he has seen me crater. He has seen me fall apart at the seams. He has seen me implode.
Sometimes the process is slow and not so noticeable. But, in recent years, he has figured out how to handle me. He has figured out what to do and what to say to keep me from going under with the weight of grief. Goodness knows we have had our share. During one call he simple told me that I can’t stop what is happening. There is no purpose in letting myself fall. I said I have to feel the pain. He said yes, but I don’t have to get lost in it. Not in those exact words. But that was the message.
Such is the risk of love. When the heart is allowed to love another and that other is in peril, the heart breaks. But, the mind and the spirit does not have to break along with it. A peaceful mind and a brave spirit will pull the broken heart up and lay it in the Light of the Son for His Healing. Time is a joker. Only Love truly heals.
He and I walked down to see the muddy water boiling through the gates from the lake into the flooding river bed.
This gushing torrent is pouring from the same serene lake whose lovely face I have shared previously. She is overloaded with rain and bursting at the seams. Not her normal self.
I know how she feels. I have a torrent of thoughts flooding my mind. I recently filled one of my paper journals and switched to a fresh one. I keep hauling around the old one. I have been back through it several times trying to figure out what I am afraid to discard or shelve. Finally, yesterday, while again going over the pages, I realized the whispers of the bigger story I want to tell is started there.
I shared with my friend today my idea of what I want to tell. She had asked me if I have taken classes or is my writing a gift. I don’t know about it being a gift, but, no I haven’t taken writing classes. I haven’t even read many books on the prescribed reading lists from high school or college. I simply write. I have written forever. When the prescribed writing of school days ended, the pen of teenage passion waned, and my babies were big enough to play without constant surveillance, I began journaling. From the first time I heard about the concept of blogging, I wanted to try it.
I always wanted to be like John Boy Walton and write stories. I never felt I had a story to write. I still don’t have a fiction story to write. My cousin encourages me to write the book. I want to tell my story. Every woman’s story. Wish me courage. Wish me discipline. Wish me strength.
I fear letting the story come forth, I will become like this raging river boiling from the depths of the lake. Churning out of control and spilling forth over the banks meant to contain me. The banks of calm rationality I try so hard to maintain. But, dear reader, you know I despise fear. Here is a fear I must overcome and free myself. He will hold on to me when I start to go under. He will not let me be pushed to the bottom of the churning turmoil of emotional energy. He will lift me up to Him in his prayers and we will ride out another flood of life together.