so Christmas. The little (now family 0f 6) is somewhere on the water between here and the island. All is empty and silent. clean. No little boots and coats compete with the jacket and scarf I left upstairs. It's there all on its unhappy solitary own. They drove away in their borrowed mini-van after two weeks of incredibly interrupting my life. Nothing was normal. Every moment mattered. Making eye contact. Being there. Every day. All times of the day. Sharing stories. Asking questions. Sitting. Last words constantly repeated by Arabelle. Abrupt kisses erupting from Timmy. Facts and numbers broken down and explained by Joe. He knows everyone's birthday. And Havalah. She finally came the 26th. My sister was so glad. I couldn't read my bible or get changed in any sort of religious seclusion. I had to teach them to knock. It was shocking and a little offensive to them. Why on earth would I even want to stop them from coming into my room when they KNEW I was in there? Didn't I want them to come in? My bed was their nest for pillows. My computer was only good for photo-booth and their vanity. Bathroom doors always have to be closed because you know who will get in there and start cleaning the house with toilet water. And then they just drove away.
I want to cry the desperate choking way, and bang my fists. I am so sad. I finally have privacy and seclusion. My own schedule to keep. No noisy feet in the morning. No yelling and screaming my name when I come home. No multitudes of toys and fights over toys. No coughing at night. No crying. No more Peanut butter and jam, cheese sandwich please auntie. Ba-ba. NO. Mama. Blanket. I wuv you. Decepticons and Autobots. Shooting, helicopter, truck and sword noises like only little boys can generate. It's all gone. There are still diapers in the bathroom garbage and cereal in the cupboard. I get to eat the rest of their chocolate lucky charm cereal. But there's no milk. It's in Timmy's sippy cup and Arabelle's bottle.
I didn't want to deal with it.
So I went to work. Editing wedding videos. Beautiful and amazing. My heart grows bitter.
I don't want to deal with it.
I want to yell at everyone. Contradict. Correct. And a spider is climbing up my book shelf. What I'm writing is way too honest. And then there is this blog that I read occasionally and it's so honest. Good and bad. Names. Dates. Events. I'm so inspired. I don't know what to do with myself, so I think I'll write myself out of this sad emptiness. I should read my Bible. I should worship, but at least I'm not watching TV or eating to fill the void. At least I'm . . . well, still running from what's hurting and who can help.
He said he'd send THE Comforter. For a lot of years I heard that God was more interested in my character than in my comfort. Then why didn't he send a character builder? Why'd he send his Comforter? And I've met him, but I don't know him like that. He doesn't comfort me. How could he comfort someone running from him? I guess the only way you can know THE Comforter, is to have something uncomfortable happen, even painful. Events and realities that cause pain, thus the need for comfort. The one's who aren't sick don't need a doctor.
Comfort me, Comforter sent for me. I have a sickness and a fear. I need to put myself in a place where you are, where I don't busy and hide myself from your miracle of comfort. Here it comes, the guitar, the book with the words he said. the silence. the submission. Perspective from heaven. Or maybe just presence.
Why do I wait so long to come? Like my niece before bed. Running in circles, trying to find energy and simulate life coming back to her eyes when sleep is what she needs.
I want to cry the desperate choking way, and bang my fists. I am so sad. I finally have privacy and seclusion. My own schedule to keep. No noisy feet in the morning. No yelling and screaming my name when I come home. No multitudes of toys and fights over toys. No coughing at night. No crying. No more Peanut butter and jam, cheese sandwich please auntie. Ba-ba. NO. Mama. Blanket. I wuv you. Decepticons and Autobots. Shooting, helicopter, truck and sword noises like only little boys can generate. It's all gone. There are still diapers in the bathroom garbage and cereal in the cupboard. I get to eat the rest of their chocolate lucky charm cereal. But there's no milk. It's in Timmy's sippy cup and Arabelle's bottle.
I didn't want to deal with it.
So I went to work. Editing wedding videos. Beautiful and amazing. My heart grows bitter.
I don't want to deal with it.
I want to yell at everyone. Contradict. Correct. And a spider is climbing up my book shelf. What I'm writing is way too honest. And then there is this blog that I read occasionally and it's so honest. Good and bad. Names. Dates. Events. I'm so inspired. I don't know what to do with myself, so I think I'll write myself out of this sad emptiness. I should read my Bible. I should worship, but at least I'm not watching TV or eating to fill the void. At least I'm . . . well, still running from what's hurting and who can help.
He said he'd send THE Comforter. For a lot of years I heard that God was more interested in my character than in my comfort. Then why didn't he send a character builder? Why'd he send his Comforter? And I've met him, but I don't know him like that. He doesn't comfort me. How could he comfort someone running from him? I guess the only way you can know THE Comforter, is to have something uncomfortable happen, even painful. Events and realities that cause pain, thus the need for comfort. The one's who aren't sick don't need a doctor.
Comfort me, Comforter sent for me. I have a sickness and a fear. I need to put myself in a place where you are, where I don't busy and hide myself from your miracle of comfort. Here it comes, the guitar, the book with the words he said. the silence. the submission. Perspective from heaven. Or maybe just presence.
Why do I wait so long to come? Like my niece before bed. Running in circles, trying to find energy and simulate life coming back to her eyes when sleep is what she needs.
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