there have been so many things happening this past month that are hard for me, that i guess i've just turned my emotions off. as if there were a switch on the back of my head. click.
it's apparently a coping mechanism, but i don't much like it. because i feel paralyzed from doing much of anything.
i know what i should be feeling and sometimes i do manage to cry. like last night on the couch. my husband, rubbing my feet said, i liked this sunday. our long walk and the picnic in the front.
i know. it was so good.
and as i said it, it was like a reluctant acknowledgement i had been needing to feel but refusing nonetheless. if i'm not crying, then there's nothing to cry about. so i won't.
but there it was in front of me in his words hanging in the air: this yard isn't going to be our yard for much longer.
i thought about the people of the bible and how they made piles of stones to mark important places where God showed up. where they marked important events. a lot of times where God turned mourning into joy.
Set up road markers for yourself;
make yourself guideposts;
consider well the highway,
the road by which you went. (jeremiah 31)
i thought about this house being just one of the mile markers of God's goodness. and how i will think of it as our very own tangible place of piled stones that tell us to remember when God did this good thing for us. we can drive down this street and say, remember?
hope and sadness all mixed up. i'm sure the isrealites felt that way too. leaving a place they've loved deeply, and going on an unknown journey.
and then my thoughts get sucked back down to earth and couch because there's more. there's always more. working out hard things in marriage that don't resolve overnight. not little fights, real hurts begging to be talked about one more time after the kids go to bed. one more, that really hurt me. and i don't know how to put it away from my thoughts.
there's leaving lila's incredible preschool. i have a strange attachment to any and all workers at this place. they've made us feel so loved and so special. and what will her new school be like?
there's leaving our incredible church in the city to begin a new one in the suburbs. the church where we have both cried in, yelled in, stormed out of, ran into, dedicated our children, regained new life through hearing the gospel preached every sunday from that pulpit on that awful red carpet. will our new church be like this was for us?
but i do try so hard to put all of that away. i think, maybe for a better time when i'm more able to press into them and fight with them and maybe, just maybe, push through them. i know though, there's never a good time to face sadness. as if grief waits around for perfect timing. like death, it shows up when it wants to and asks no one permission to enter.
it's a strange sort of sadness when life is being uprooted completely around you and you're still in the ground just watching. and i'm not sure what to do with it. for now i'll just write it down. little piles of stones made with words that i can revisit later. and laugh that God has done a better thing than i could have imagined. it has always happened this way.
side note! my talk from hope spoken is up for purchase if you're interested. it's called, the story of redemption. all proceeds will fund next year's conference.