My best friend from high school and continued best friend used to live on this mountain. I realized if she still did I would have driven up the hills to her house, crawled into her lap, and cried there with her. She would have let me, no questions asked. It's the nature of our relationship. (I miss her..) If I had the money and the time, I'd get in my car and drive the hourish drive it takes to get to her so I could cry in her lap. Maybe color a little bit. Maybe watch some Disney. Maybe eat Chinese food. Maybe we would talk about why I want to cry. Maybe we wouldn't. The point is, she would be there. She would do everything and nothing for me.
And that is exactly what I need right now.
We (speaking in general and not meaning all) Christians like to...do. We like to make meals, and clean houses, and then, we really really like to tell each other stuff. We like to tell each other about God's Plan, and Hope and Peace and Prayer, and how every thing will be ok. We like to remind each other all the things that some of us have heard a hundred million times. At times, yes, this is needed.
But oh my friends, sometimes, I just need someone to sit with me and let me color. Or cry. Or to not think. Or to forget. Or to admit something deep and dark and then just have a hug.
Why are we (speaking in general and not meaning all) so bad at this? (Note: I include myself because I catch myself doing this too..)
We found out about our sons heart defect in October. Since then it's been intense. There was ONE afternoon I couldn't distinctly remember feeling him move and it took all my will power not to go to the ER to make sure his little heart hadn't stopped beating. I lay in bed at night praying that I won't have any more nightmares...they wake me up and I shake and cry and I can't help but replay them in my head over and over no matter how hard I try to forget them. They are realistic and terrifying and have led me to one conclusion: yes, I am scared.
I am. I'm scared. I've been running over the list of people in my head who would listen to me say this without telling me all the other things. My list was very short. At the top of my list was the best friend from high school who lives an hourish away...an hour right now feels like three million hours, the phone seems trivial, and emailing her this is just not the same. I miss her. I miss her silence. I miss her coloring pages and huge box of crayons and her fur babies and her quiet ways. I miss someone just listening to me.
I don't need to be told again that God has a wonderful plan. He does. I'm so excited to see how He will use my son's life as a testimony to Himself! I know (for serious) that people are surrounding us and him with prayer. I know that when he is born and I spend lots of time at the hospital with him during his first heart surgery that Ellie will be loved and watched and taken care of. I know these things. I know these things.
I am still scared. I won't give voice to all my fears, because my fears are worries about things that I can't control. They are, however, there. They just are. They exist. And that is okay with me.
I just don't always tell people because it's not okay with them.
I guess you could call this a public declaration of where I am. I guess you could call this a public cry to Christians to just listen sometimes. We don't have all the answers. We don't always have to, and sometimes, it's best just to be silent. We all have feelings.We don't have to be scared of other peoples feelings. At times we just need to admit those feelings, and have others be okay with them.
Be okay with the fact that I'm a little scared. Be okay with knowing I don't need answers. Be okay with saying "Yeah, the whole things sucks" and moving on.
It's taken me weeks and weeks to write this. Taken me weeks and weeks to admit that this is how I feel. Weeks, because everyone tells me how strong I am and how well I'm handling the whole thing. I'm not really strong and I'm not really handling anything, I'm just living.
That's what we're all doing. We're just living.
And that's okay.
No comments:
Post a Comment