I’m quite certain I’m not always the easiest woman to live with– or maybe it’s more often than not lately with sleep deprivation and deadlines and a new job and a book launch – all good and noble excuses but that’s all they are really – just excuses. Things I fill my time with – things to replace those annoying people who want so much of me: physically, emotionally, and intimately – leaving no time for the really important issues in my life.
I’m a difficult, twisty, complicated, opinionated woman.
I’m not always all of those things at the same time, and I think I even have a few positive traits, but I’ll own those four adjectives most days. I have lots of issues and idiosyncrasies– some resulting from my past, some I’m sure from my childhood, and some I’ve been forced to own as a grown woman. I occasionally suffer from near panic attacks – especially when someone I love is sick. Years ago I had a full blown episode that landed me in ER, and it took hours for my body to stop shaking involuntarily against my will. This occurred during an incredibly difficult period. Also, once upon a time, I made an appointment with a neurologist as I was absolutely convinced I had a brain tumor because of headaches I had been suffering from. He humored me with an MRI and then gently told me that although it was completely understandable that I would suffer with worst case scenario brain issues, I did not have a brain tumor.
These experiences have made me who I am – a woman who doesn’t easily shrink from hardships or keep my mouth shut very well. I sometimes blur the line in my marriage between respect and leadership and my own wants and desires. I’m not even entirely confident where that line is exactly as a Godly woman – the line of respecting the headship of my husband but not allowing myself to shrink into obscurity by staying silent and suffering from a slow soul death. An idea positively terrifying and worse than actually dying for someone whose entire life motto is to live each day to the fullest. I feel like I have to speak or the rocks will cry out! Or something dramatic like that… If I don’t speak there are these angry, bitter bubbles in my soul that threaten to spew evil junk at any moment and nobody wants spewing stuff – that would just be another mess to clean up – something I certainly don’t have time for right now. I don’t have to speak about everything or speak often, but when I feel that something (a relationship or a situation) could be improved by speaking words into it or around it or through it (I’m not picky) I need to do it to move the situation into a more positive direction. I need to take control and fix it.
People ask, “How can you be so honest?! Do you not have any pride?! What will people think when you write these words?!”
I think my problems often pale in comparison to what other people have going on behind closed doors. I have absolutely no pride in airing my stuff because we’ve all got it. I believe that we only help one another through our honest stories, and we lift each other up through transparency. Only then are we able to form authentic relationships with those we love. I’ve never had a saving moment through another’s “I’m so blessed” story. Sorry, if that’s offensive. No- the only moments that have saved my soul are those moments deeply drenched in pain and suffering and faith in spite of all of the outward circumstances. The only stories that have saved me are those where God’s sunlight burns through the darkest of nights to create something miraculous. Something life changing.
Life has been difficult for a while now. I have questioned many good things during the past year and have threatened to destroy it all if people don’t get in line and bend to my will. Pretty picture, huh? In spite of the hurt, in spite of the confusion and pain, people have continued to humble my prideful soul and reach out merciful hands to hold my head above water for one more second, one more hour or one more day; giving me just enough breath for the moment and just enough manna for the day. Hands I don’t deserve. Hands of the Almighty himself.
My husband’s hands gave me three hours of peace today. Three hours I didn’t deserve because of the spewing that occurred yesterday. He wrangled the monkey child and brought her to Walmart and Lowes. Got our weekly groceries. Picked up carpet for our wooden steps so that the baby doesn’t wake up so early any more with the kids clamoring down at 6:00 am like wild hyenas. His hands graced me with a quiet stillness; a stillness I haven’t had in a long time, a stillness I savored with a reflective walk which turned into reflective words. Three hours of peace to remember; to remember His faithfulness, remember my husband’s faithfulness, and remember it’s just a moment – a moment I get to choose and that choice is a gift; a choice of bitterness, anger and destruction or instead love, mercy, and thankfulness. Love Won.
Thank you honey for your hands in the midst of me at my worst. Thank you for rising above your feelings and loving me in spite of my ugliness. Thank you for providing me with manna for the moment.
Just keep livin!