Bookended by grief

caroline-attwood-301747 (1)
Image courtesy of Caroline Attwood

O Lord, how long? I wonder silently, busying myself in the kitchen so perhaps it’s not so noticeable to my family, that I am really worrying way too much lately.

“Mom?” The littlest says, “Why are you quiet?”

I’m a quiet person by nature, but at home–he’s right: it’s an overflowing fountain of words of advice, funny songs, silly sayings and all sorts of things that just sort of fall out of my mouth all day. Which, depending upon things, can make me the best mom in the world some days, or the most annoying ever.

Most days, it’s the latter.

I should have known better than to keep quiet. They are so quick, so sharp, know me of course, better than I know myself.

“Mom,” he asks, “are you sad?”

Yes, I think, sucking in a big breath and heaving out a long sigh. I am sad. I am heavy with all the things of this life.

O Lord how long with all this, I pray.

I try to be a good person and a good Jesus follower. But lately, I wonder. I wonder, on days like these, emotional days or bad, bad news especially, if God is with us at all.

A thought, of course, that good, strong Christian people are not supposed to have.

O Lord, how long.

With all the things that have been unearthed. With death. With destruction. Another, another, another. I know better, to look at the news when I’m already tired and worn down.

It’s a new world He’s forming, I remind myself. It’s rebellious, it’s gloriously subversive, it’s a good thing, shaping new things out of trash, out of the utter you-know-what. That’s art if I’ve ever seen it, the true definition of redemption. 

But for the birth pains.

Eventually I will rejoice, but for the pain. But for the marks left on all of us. But for the marks left on my heart by the exquisite pain we’ve had to witness, to endure. But for the grief and anguish and confusion of these times.

It’s a wonder we can hold on at all, as for the sharp, marring edge of the shell we’re breaking out of.

In that, of course, that eventually, lies hope. A great, big hope.

But in the meantime, so much, Lord. I’m feeling bookended by grief upon grief. Anxiety upon anxiety. I forget I’m hemmed in before and behind with care.

O Lord, how I long to remember. To recall deep in my heart that I’m lovingly hemmed in before and behind, looked after. And O Lord, YES, your kingdom come. The sooner, the better.

But O Lord, how long?

Advertisements

Done. And then (another) hiccup.

So–the wall I posted about earlier this month?

Done!

The paper pile in the back? Whelp, that’s never done, right?

0922170803

So, YAY! (To be clear–yay for the wall. The constant influx of paper and things to do (and forget to remember) can take a hike.)

Since I have now decided to add on a WHOLE HOUSE repaint in the midst of, oh, fall, life, school-aged kids with homework, and all the other zillion things like lessons and dishes–you know, small things–I now have a new conundrum: what color to paint the other wall.

The one with nothing but natural light and windows. As the “gray” seen here (that’s really a brown, if you must know) doesn’t work on the opposite wall–it looks like a cave, and not the cozy kind.

It’s always something, isn’t it? Try to change one thing and bam! Something else comes up. I should know better, but here I am, still learning the same lessons. Oh well.

In the meantime, trying hard to hold onto that quote on the wall and hoping my family remembers the wonderfulness of me…as perfection I don’t think is happening anytime soon.

And neither, it seems, is finding the right “gray” for that wall.

1002171146