I'm asked on a normal Tuesday:
"What does Depression feel like? How do you know when it really hits?"
What I want to answer with is this:
"The secret to figuring out life: All is grace. Because God's transfiguring all things for His glory." -1000 gifts.
But.. I have no answer.. only hesitation.
Waiting for the right moment to begin.. still waiting for the wise words to rise.
Instead this is my cold writing without hesitating.
What do I have to say here on paper with dust and with tears.
Whatever did I say to you to make you run away.
Forever in this moment I want to hold you.
Life is the definition of insanity.
Speak freely with love and the anger emerges.
Silence murders those moments we cannot stand to be patient.
What happens when frustration comes from no where.
& all we see is colors swirling in and out.
No pausing
only distant calls
so close
yet never far away.
Stand back and watch as our lives interact.
& you can see a call for emergent fear.
I can not explain.
I can not describe.
I will not become the pain, only bring to the surface healing.
As a child reaches for the security of love.
I will reach for the words to write here on paper.
With dust and with tears.
It has been painful to write.
There are so many loops and turns.
I never thought I would ever explore that again.
What needs to be said is that I have wanted help all this time.
& refused to accept it as well.
Helpful eyes, watch with compassion.
Helpful hands stretch out for unresponsive hugs.
Pain grows.
& before I know it
you can see it in my eyes
in my posture
hear it in my voice.
Paint the sky with stars they say.
See a new beginning and reach for it.
Go the distance.
Put yourself out on the line they say
& then I faint under pressure.
I collapse in a deep sleep
& hope that it lasts a long time.
There is not enough time to sleep.
There is not enough coffee to comfort my throat.
Steam the tears.
There is not enough love food to quench my hunger.
A hunger for what?
What am I dismissing?
Oh there is a deep hunger for God.
& then I dismiss my feelings of frustration.
Assuming that I will be found out
considered a fraud
useless to society.
With a feisty temper
& insane to boot.
Frustration is phenomenal to the human psyche.
You can feel the blood boil, see the colors swirl.
You can be a hundred miles off without a world in sight.
There is blackness.
It is causing you to fall into a far off place.
Outer space is off in the distance.
No sound
no air
it's all gone.
It's too far away.
All alone.
What is the first response?
Shutting down.
& then desperation.
Are you ready to give it all away?
Well then
Hallelujah!
Here we start again.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
January 23, 2012
On this day 5 years ago..
5 candles burned as our voices sang :: off key.
The candles on the ice cream cake sank in
& we all waited with bated breath.
You made a wish for a baby sister.
"I know my wish will come true."
How I wish { just this once } the sands of time would slow..
This year your wish:
Ultimate FX Lightsaber.
10!
Your double digits are something worth the fist pumps
ninja moves & intellectual conversations with Italian soda.
Counting down these next 365.5 days to your favorite day of the year.
Love you.
Ethan Alex.
Happy Birthday.
Location:January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
intermingling with voices, patterns & coffee.
What starts in the morning, swirling steam through the inner thoughts of this space. This writing.
When I say that I am strong, I mean this: I have been broken in a thousand pieces. I have been fused back together by grace.
When I say that I am treasured, it is because I am loved deeply. Completely. Unceasingly.
In the 14.5 years that I have been married, I have said things I should not have said, done things I should not have done. I’ve ripped him with barbed sarcasm; I’ve let anger win over love.
But also, I have stayed in this thing all the way. I have sat cross-legged on the living room floor until we worked it out. I learned how to cook his favorite meals.
Our jokes are getting a little frayed around the edges now, but we still laugh, doubling over in the kitchen over something not-that-funny, while Azaelea runs in circles around us.
Every Sunday night, I want to plan the week’s meals. Healthy meals. Good meals. Recipes I’ve perhaps pulled out of glossy magazines. I want to make detailed grocery lists, painstakingly noting each ingredient. But I have to try.. have this extra effort. Because around four o’clock on Tuesday, the beginning of the week, I realize we are out of milk, lunch was wasted and I forgot to buy pepper, so we have frozen pizza for dinner :: picnic-style in the living room instead.
The kids are hungry, and I am trying to finish reading an article, tweet a blog link, jot down a beautiful sentence. I am always saying “Just a second.” I am always multi-tasking, always letting someone down, always a little bit unbalanced in my priorities.
But I can’t stop spinning the words under my eager hands, because this is my calling too, just as I am called to hold these children, teach them, wipe their tears. I get up when the world is still dark. Start their breakfasts. Pack school lunches. Drink too much coffee. I write imperfect things.
I try to knit with my Grandmothers needles & wool and it looks a little off. The quilt she made years ago will never be mimicked. The squares don’t quite match in all the corners; the hurried seams are coming undone. But a son naps under it anyway on Sunday afternoons, his breath peaceful under this threadbare display of love.
We are drinking wine while the dishes sit, unwashed in the sink. I am sitting with Daryl watching a movie instead of catching up on laundry. And it might seem like the bread of idleness, but I know better. I am learning that what seems like waste is really love.
Azaelea reaches up first thing in the morning, says, “Mommy, hug.” I walk in the kitchen and Kai smiles like the sun, and this is how they call me blessed. Ethan and Asher beam over clean socks & full bellies. Daryl puts his arm around me as we walk, and it’s a thousand words of praise.
When I say that I am noble, I mean this: crow’s feet and stretch marks and orange hair, with strands turning white with age. I mean that my floor is covered in crumbs. I am still choosing the same outfit three days later, still trying not to nap at two in the afternoon. My kids are wearing worn out jeans to school, & they like them that way.
I mean that I am enough.
Just like this.
Just as I am.
When I say that I am strong, I mean this: I have been broken in a thousand pieces. I have been fused back together by grace.
When I say that I am treasured, it is because I am loved deeply. Completely. Unceasingly.
In the 14.5 years that I have been married, I have said things I should not have said, done things I should not have done. I’ve ripped him with barbed sarcasm; I’ve let anger win over love.
But also, I have stayed in this thing all the way. I have sat cross-legged on the living room floor until we worked it out. I learned how to cook his favorite meals.
Our jokes are getting a little frayed around the edges now, but we still laugh, doubling over in the kitchen over something not-that-funny, while Azaelea runs in circles around us.
Every Sunday night, I want to plan the week’s meals. Healthy meals. Good meals. Recipes I’ve perhaps pulled out of glossy magazines. I want to make detailed grocery lists, painstakingly noting each ingredient. But I have to try.. have this extra effort. Because around four o’clock on Tuesday, the beginning of the week, I realize we are out of milk, lunch was wasted and I forgot to buy pepper, so we have frozen pizza for dinner :: picnic-style in the living room instead.
The kids are hungry, and I am trying to finish reading an article, tweet a blog link, jot down a beautiful sentence. I am always saying “Just a second.” I am always multi-tasking, always letting someone down, always a little bit unbalanced in my priorities.
But I can’t stop spinning the words under my eager hands, because this is my calling too, just as I am called to hold these children, teach them, wipe their tears. I get up when the world is still dark. Start their breakfasts. Pack school lunches. Drink too much coffee. I write imperfect things.
I try to knit with my Grandmothers needles & wool and it looks a little off. The quilt she made years ago will never be mimicked. The squares don’t quite match in all the corners; the hurried seams are coming undone. But a son naps under it anyway on Sunday afternoons, his breath peaceful under this threadbare display of love.
We are drinking wine while the dishes sit, unwashed in the sink. I am sitting with Daryl watching a movie instead of catching up on laundry. And it might seem like the bread of idleness, but I know better. I am learning that what seems like waste is really love.
Azaelea reaches up first thing in the morning, says, “Mommy, hug.” I walk in the kitchen and Kai smiles like the sun, and this is how they call me blessed. Ethan and Asher beam over clean socks & full bellies. Daryl puts his arm around me as we walk, and it’s a thousand words of praise.
When I say that I am noble, I mean this: crow’s feet and stretch marks and orange hair, with strands turning white with age. I mean that my floor is covered in crumbs. I am still choosing the same outfit three days later, still trying not to nap at two in the afternoon. My kids are wearing worn out jeans to school, & they like them that way.
I mean that I am enough.
Just like this.
Just as I am.
Monday, January 02, 2012
beginning 2012
The year begins, and something feels renewed.
A memory of the last year with all the triumphs & losses. Life & laughter.
One memory after another. Thankful posts, counting blessings.
I learned that to believe I can let go will be easier than hanging on.
I let go of my feelings of inadequacy to believe that everything will be ok in the end. It isn't the end yet.
But that strength is there, as wind to my back.
Gaining momentum throughout the whole year.
I'm looking forwards to what the next 364 days have.
Last year I started:
walking, yoga, eating more simply, losing weight
& taking better care of myself.
Now I will run. Make an impact. Change.
A quiet beauty in my week is a group of Wednesdays that welcomed me in the times when I felt lost. As a natural introvert who craves alone time.
Praying, eating, reading, fellowship & empathy. So thankful.
I'm looking forward to solo road trips & flights.
But most of all running a race start to finish.
Because truly I would still claim alone time is necessary for me, often.
Happy New Year!
It feels larger than life!
**one more note:
{Friends, please pray alongside us for Azaelea this week. She will undergo surgery Thursday, to correct her kidney reflux.}
A memory of the last year with all the triumphs & losses. Life & laughter.
One memory after another. Thankful posts, counting blessings.
I learned that to believe I can let go will be easier than hanging on.
I let go of my feelings of inadequacy to believe that everything will be ok in the end. It isn't the end yet.
But that strength is there, as wind to my back.
Gaining momentum throughout the whole year.
I'm looking forwards to what the next 364 days have.
Last year I started:
walking, yoga, eating more simply, losing weight
& taking better care of myself.
Now I will run. Make an impact. Change.
A quiet beauty in my week is a group of Wednesdays that welcomed me in the times when I felt lost. As a natural introvert who craves alone time.
Praying, eating, reading, fellowship & empathy. So thankful.
I'm looking forward to solo road trips & flights.
But most of all running a race start to finish.
Because truly I would still claim alone time is necessary for me, often.
Happy New Year!
It feels larger than life!
**one more note:
{Friends, please pray alongside us for Azaelea this week. She will undergo surgery Thursday, to correct her kidney reflux.}
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