Keep On Keepin' On...

The past year and a half has been insane.

It seems I come back to this blog every 6 or 12 months, write a synopsis of what's going on and then dive back into the insanity. Well, here's to hoping I can get this up with more regularity.

But, back to why I started this back up.

The past year and a half has been a marathon, and it boiled down to how many times my heart could get busted and still keep moving. From becoming engaged to a man I thought was the one, to having to abandon that process 3 weeks before the wedding because he literally ran back home, to losing at least four toxic friendships, to trying to remain single and what struggles come with that, to my Uncle unexpectedly passing away a few days ago…I have been in one of the darkest places I’ve been in a long time.

I was sitting in the back of a minivan yesterday, listening to two separate conversations going on, and not being able to contribute to either…but the topics of the conversations just seemed to keep pressure on the seeping wound, the theme that can all be boiled down to: “You are Alone”.
And I just sat in the back and wept, silently.

A mental image came to me, when I thought I was going to go mad from the swirls of hurt and anger and loss and frustration…I’m on my knees, stretching from my ribs, holding my bloody hands up to the sky and just throwing my heart into my words, screaming  “DADDY!” over and over and over.

My skin is gone in patches after the wrecks I didn’t see coming, road rash covering my exposed areas and I can feel the platelets oozing trying to get everything congealed. I feel so empty, I want to shove cotton, or a blanket or something into my chest to make the cavernous cold seem less so. I want God to step down off his throne, come running to me like a daddy for his toddler who’s been hit and have that sense of panic need to get me as close to his body as possible, to protect me, to hold me. I want him to feel like what I imagine a daddy would feel like, if they really cared about their kid.

And…I have to just imagine it. Because I am still on my knees, in my soul, pouring disinfectant on my wounds and hissing out the pain like a tire with a screw stuck in it. I’m the only one who can patch me up, I’m the only one who sees this big ham-burger-ish mess and I’m the only one who can grab the tweezers to get the gravel and shards out of these invisible lacerations. I grit my teeth and settle in to watch the patches heal, closing from the outside in, like a pond freezing over. I watch the lacerations seal up, puffy and red, then white, then fleshy toned again…criss crossed over layers and layers of old, white scarring and puffy careless suture scars.

I sit, tired, pieces of my progress lying about me, like confetti from a first place loser in a race. I thought I was making such progress. I thought I could let somebody back in to be safe and love, and I was wrong. I thought I was making progress in health and understanding my body, and then the depression deepened, nightmares came back and insomnia started up. I keep trying to walk forward, hoping that the next step will hold on this path, but when I think I’m enough to step forward on, some big “Wipe-out” type creation comes along to pound me into the ground again.

And I get tired. I roll over onto my side, and close my eyes, legs pulled up to my chest and my hands covering my heart and my throat. I’m weary of this constant piecing back together. I feel like Sally from the nightmare before Christmas, sometimes. Trust, whip stitch that back on; faith, add another layer of duct tape to the joints; courage, apply more gorilla glue to the tears.

I’m trying to travel down this road without the baggage of my past, but sometimes I know I look like Howl’s moving castle. I get to where I’m just the rickety platform on two legs, and then something comes along to take the boards away. I hang on, I watch, I land wherever I land, and watch the sky; wanting to know when to stand back up. Wanting a reason to roll back onto my knees and get up.

And he gives me songs. Songs I wake up with, or that come to me when I’m not sleeping. And I meditate on them. I try to see what he’s trying to tell me. When I’m lying in the dark, praying to try and sleep, and one of these songs comes to me, I imagine him pulling me into his arms, holding me like you would a small kid who can’t sleep, and rocking while singing them to me. Softly, gently, telling me things will be okay. That Dawn is coming and there is more that needs doing. I go to my cubicle and stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness and pray for oxygen and hope. And they come. Slowly, and surely, the peace seeps in, like a heavy, warm bath being filled around me.

And I know, that it is Grace. Sustaining grace is giving me the oxygen I need. His hand is spoon feeding me Hope, much like the animals in Narnia trying to help prince Tirian by giving him small sips from their cups which “refreshed him much more than a quaff from a regular sized cup” (paraphrased of course)…it took time, it took care, it took effort but they did it, despite the threat of danger, to come, get close to him and aid him. God doesn’t care to get his hands dirty when he lifts his children out of this world’s duress. He hasn’t taken me out of this world, or my problems, but he has loved on my heart and made sure my bandages were clean and ready to go for this next step in the journey…and he knows where I’m hurting. 

I will keep walking, and I know he’ll be there to either catch me, or will be there shortly thereafter with what I need, when I need it. And that’s enough for me.