Sep 11, 2010

September 2010

In starting this blog, my intent was to document my journey into a scary and unfamiliar landscape. In order to keep my sanity, I wrote, and it appears, not very often.  I honestly thought this painful season of my journey was coming to an end and I was well on my way back to civilization where I could start a new blog about happy and fun things.  I couldn't have been more wrong.

My time here is not even close to being over. I am still in this metaphorical desert, stripped naked, bruised, bleeding, grasping for a hold on a rocky surface that only wounds me more as I climb up or down or whatever direction I'm heading.  The unanswered questions gather like vultures on dead carrion and taunt me with the certainty that they will only continue to multiply and remain unanswered. Why am I here?  Where is here?  Is there an end to this?  Will I survive?  The loneliness is deeper, wider and more tangible than when I began. 

We are selling our home of 10 years due to the economy and some unwise investments we've made.  Our home, filled with memories of my growing children, is going into the hands of strangers.  My sweet dog of 14 years has cancer.  Next year I send my youngest child off to college. My husband of twenty-five years has moved out and I have no job.

The thought of leaving this house I spent years of my time, talent, vision and love on is devastating.  We'll sell and the endless boxes I've been packing will go with me to a place not my own. I am not ready to leave but the painful memories are choking out the joyful ones and I am willing to rip the bandage off and get this thing over with. The uncertainty of what's next overwhelms me and I cry at almost everything. I don't know where I'll be living. I don't know if I'll be married, separated or divorced. I don't know where or if I'll be working. I don't know if I'll be able to support myself and my 17-year old son.

Some days I am totally devoid of hope. I am struggling to see the most microscopic evidence of goodness, truth and beauty in even the tiniest moments throughout the day.  I am reaching out to friends and acquaintances and risking rejection.  So far, I have found only love, support, compassion and a few good meals. I have discovered who my good, true and beautiful friends are and those who only loved me when my life looked like theirs.

I am learning to speak up for myself and to ask for what I need. I am learning to face fear, embrace pain and to breathe until this too shall pass. I am learning to lean into the tears and cry until I'm done, knowing, that as deep as this pain is, it will not kill me. I am reading more, blogging more and listening to good music.  I hang out with my son, talk to my faraway daughter, enjoy a sip of whisky here and there and laugh as often as possible.

I have found no answers to the questions that panic me, finding instead that as much as I want to trust Jesus, I don't trust him nearly as much as I want to. I have been left empty of anything to offer him and am beginning to glimpse how truly, permanently, profoundly dependent on him I am.   Stripped of all that I thought I was with my heart raw and bleeding, I see more clearly the pain in others.  My heart breaks for the countless thousands of women in the same place I find myself.  And as alone as I feel, I know that I am not the only one clinging to what remains.

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