Candidly

One of the great encouragers in my life encouraged me to write with less object and more journalistically.  This idea scares the heck out of me because I'm not exactly sure what's going to happen at the end when I start at the beginning, nor am I convinced that the overflow of my heart at this very moment will encourage any one else very well. 

And this is my goal with this blog.  To somehow walk together with others, or at least have others walk with me if they never talk to me, as this life unfolds, and to see-together-that God is faithful and that his arms, indeed, surround us.  With the route I've been taking, I'm only writing every couple months.  That's not exactly walking together.  Maybe a more candid approach will allow me to write more easily and frequently.  I don't know.  I'm worried that things might take on a more sad tone, because that's how it is a lot.  Or an overwhelmed tone.  Or a stressed one.  But even if it does, I'm hoping that the clear message of a loving God shines through.  And an inner joy, peace and hope.  That's what I hope and pray for anyway.

So where do things stand?  Today, this week, is a strange one.  Last week saw us anticipating a phone call announcing that Annika would have surgery on her heart.  The phone call amounted to, "Wait.  Not now."  We received the call in the middle of a 12 1/2 hour drive, one which usually takes 6 1/2 hours but was long, long, long because of Thursday's mudslides which blocked off California from itself.  Or at least rerouted all of us to the same small route.  It was grueling.  And the way home, when we expected to zip on down the beautiful coast and get home early, we traveled the wrong direction for a while and than realized that our gas tank was empty.  No problem?  Right.  We scooted around Monterey searching for a gas station and after visiting three, all without power, decided to head south a bit more and hope for power there.  But no.  Not there either.  Ultimately, we heard there had been a power plant failure and so decided we were stranded just where we were, in Carmel-by-the-Sea.  I laughed at this crazy life and didn't think it was all that bad.  The kids rejoiced and ran in the surf til their clothes dripped and studied the properties of sand and water as they built a sand castle meant to outlive the waves.  We made it home by 11:00 pm.

Most days in these last two weeks I've had to gather them all and frenzy feed and dress and brush and clip and tie, and toast and pour and wipe and punish and say the same old 5 steps to each of them individually more than once and get them out the door early.  And I've barely come home until just before James.  He beat me home today and found a kids' breakfast still on the table.  It's been a running sprint marathon.  One day this week, we stayed home.  And I made certain that we stayed home!

So in all of this, I've felt a little bit crazy.  I mean, not just that it is crazy, because it is, but a really me kind of crazy.  As in, I am.  Or am I?  Or...wait.  What?  That kind of thing.  I told my husband that I'm touching a psychotic place I've never been and am relating to people I never could relate to before, and he didn't really deny it but pointed out that I've never been in this place of stress before.  The fears and the waiting to find out if my little girl is going to have surgery on her heart....to have it sprung on us so unexpectedly, to be told it was probable, and than to swing the other direction of doing nothing and the fears that go along with that (is it okay to wait??), well...I've once again found myself prey to fear everywhere else.  I used to be fun, but now I fear.  I see the worst case scenario when my kids play and try to protect them.  Every little symptom in the household might possibly lead to death (and WebMD confirms it).  I live at the Dr's office.  In fact, even today a lady at the pharmacy whom I don't know said, "Oh, how nice!  You don't work here any more, but you still get to be here all the time!"  Should I have not brought her in for that double-ear infection?  Or, the other one, three times in the last month and a half for her three ear infections?  Is my paranoia real?  Or is my reality making me paranoid?

I've learned my own stress signs.  My hands go to my face.  I breathe out slowly.  Multi-tasking becomes difficult.  And when it's really bad, I hyperventilate.  I'm at the face/breathing stage these days.  That had passed.  But it's come again.

I guess that's how it goes with life.  You never get past the struggles.  This fallen world is too trouble-full.  It's learning to cope with them.  Live in them.  Blossom.

Jesus give me strength!  Walk with me as I walk with you.  Fill my heart with thoughts of you, especially when fear comes knocking.  Let your word be the word I turn to, and not the advice and thoughts of people.  May your peace surround my mind and heart.  May my thoughts and words pour out to my husband and children and neighbors and friends as an outpouring of your love.  I read these words that I've written and feel the whining, complaining cry of my own heart, but Jesus, make it yours.  Use it for your glory.  I don't understand always why and how you direct, but, Father, I do trust you.  Use this weak, broken vessel as you will.