Disease

It's the night time, and the kids are in bed. Glass of wine, fire crackling, me alone on the couch. My fingers are clicking away on the computer. I'm enjoying the quiet, but for the occasional cracking of the fire.

I'm not looking over at anyone on their cell phones, or listening to dogs battling unseen enemies. I'm not navigating fighting children, or making phone calls. It's just me and this laptop.

I'm exhausted. It's such a dramatic word, but it doesn't even scratch the surface of the reality behind it. I feel more tired now than I ever have. I feel more sad and angry.

Feelings can be so conflicting. They can mean so much and so little all at once. I can feel a thousand feelings that mean nothing in regards to knowing things. I know all will be okay. I know I am loved. I know this is not a death sentence. I know God has a plan.

I still feel overwhelmed by it all. I still feel like my whole world is coming crashing down. The glimmer of "hope" has been blown out. The belief that everything-will-be-as-I-want is gone. What's left is the aftermath of a diagnosis I neither expected, saw on my radar, or believed would ever come.

For we walk by faith, not by sight. 2 Cor 5.7

This has been my theme verse throughout the years. Now it seems to be oh so relevant. The loss of the "seen" is staring us in the face. But the walk will continue. It has to. We don't get to stand frozen in space because our eyes are covered over. We don't get to stand still and pretend like everything is gone, because what we want to be there, isn't. We don't get to give in to disease and decay and destruction. We walk by faith...not by sight...

The guilt of the gift of my genes overwhelms me. The guilt of my only son having this aggravating disease. The guilt of the knowledge that it came from me, despite all my good intentions, all my understandings, all my hopes and dreams.

I'm exhausted.

I have to be brave. He's watching me. Every time I cry at the doctor's offices, every time I sob in his father's arms, every time I break down... he's watching. He's looking to me to see how he should feel about this. He's waiting to get his cues about how devastating this all will be, from me. He needs me to be confident, assured, and clear that he will be okay. And he will. Even as my nine year old watches his dreams fade away, he will be okay.

He asked me a question the other night, searching for hope in me.

I told him You can do almost anything that anyone else can. You don't have to give everything up. There will be things you won't be able to do. But most things are just problems, waiting for you to solve. 

He said Problems? 

I said Yes. They're just puzzles for you to solve. How can I do this? How can I be successful at this? And you're the best at solving puzzles. I know you will be able to solve them all.

With those few words, he bounded upstairs and back to life.

It's a lot of pressure, holding the confidence of someone so small, in your hands...

Angry

It's after seven in the morning, America, and I've been awake for over two hours. I've done laundry, cooked breakfast, played with the dog, prayed, and talked with my G.A. I've got twenty minutes until my children come down stairs and join me.

Talidu is currently begging me for a bite of my eggs, onions, spinach, and sweet potato hash. She's whining because she can smell it "so bad" and she "needs it!" I find such comfort in how easily my four legged friend communicates what she wants. I find such sorrow that I am the complete opposite.

I'm angry, America. I shouldn't be. I am so blessed to live where I live, have what I have, to love and be loved in return. I'm blessed beyond what I deserve, and I know it. So many, in other places, are struggling underneath burdens that are miles wider and mountains higher than mine. I know all of this, and I am immensely grateful for what I have. I'm still angry.

My priest says anger is about growth. We can't move beyond our weaknesses, or expose our struggles, if they're never tested. Muscles have to be exercised, in order to become strong. Challenges have to come, in order to learn to overcome. I've got refining to do.

I can't say exactly what needs refined. Peace? Joy? Self control? Gentleness? Goodness? I'm so tired. I'm tired of fighting children. I'm tired of a messy house, that is never clean. I'm tired of rudeness. I'm tired of unending noise. I'm tired of illnesses I can't solve.

Maybe that's the straw that broke the camel's back. I hate what is and I desperately don't want it to be.  The "is" could be so much worse. It could be death. It's not death, at least not in a heart-beat type of way. It is a death of dreams, a death of the picture of what was ahead. And in its "death" new life will develop. I know these things. I believe them. I look forward to being able to see how it comes about. I'm still angry.

Trainees

They sit there staring at me, with pleading eyes.

What's it all really like?
What's your favorite duty station?
Are you happily married? They say you can't be and be in the Army.
Do you care about us?

Every time I see them, something in me is changed. Every time I drive past, my heart aches. I love seeing how they change around their families, the version of them that I am blessed to spend time with disappears, confidence swells and joy overwhelms. America, I wish you could see how these boys are brave. They have a courage that I can't define, and it's simultaneously wrapped up in what-the-heck-have-I-done???

I tell them how much I admire them. They joined knowing that we are at war. There are no illusions in their minds about what they are facing. They know that a fight is ahead of them: fights against their fears, their drill sergeants, their desire to sleep, the enemy...

My husband asked me why it impacts me so. I told him it's because I know what's ahead. I've been to too many funerals and hospitals. I've had a front row seat for too many divorces, and fears. I know the enormity of the task before them, and I know that the vast majority of them will have an extremely difficult time handling it. I know that they will desperately look for someone to comfort them, and then make it almost impossible for them to come anywhere near to their heart. I know the walls that will exist, and I know the effort it takes to tear them down. So I feel compelled. I feel burdened. Pour in as much Love, as much courage, and as much Goodness as I humanly can, in the few hours I spend with them, as those walls are being built up. And I hope that it will stay there, with them, forever.

To know is to Love

When I was younger, I hungered for information. I wanted wisdom desperately. I watched, I listened, I asked, I learned as much as I possibly could. I challenged everyone on practically everything. I had no desire to please my peers, or to seek out their approval. Where I turned to approval from, were people who had achieved, as far as my young person's brain could process: joyful marriages, joyful parenting, PHD's, doctors, etc etc etc. If you were joyfully succeeding in the world, I wanted your approval. Perhaps that's still true today.

My priest asked me who I turn to when I'm in need. The honest answer was no one. The conversation was striking, as I heard myself acknowledging, out loud, that simple truth. My children asked me a similar question that evening (a sign that the lesson really needed to be driven home) Mommy? Who knows you best? "I don't know.... No one."

I don't talk about myself. I like to make people laugh, and I love to listen, but there is oh so little to share, and oh so much at the exact same time, and words are solid. They're concrete. They can't be unspoken. For every opinion I have, there's an opposite. How can I speak words that are evolving? How can I formulate thoughts that are changing? How can I declare anything to anyone when what I "think" might be different in the next moment?

About the only concrete I have is Love. God's Love, and the love I hold in my heart for others. It's the solid foundation that exists, in my brain, in a verbal context. I can Love, clearly, because it's been firmly resolved. It isn't a question, but an action. I do it with the fiercest energy I have in my bones. I hope I do it well.

Atheism

Nature is violent. I don't mean human nature, I mean nature, collective. It is destructive, selfish, and wipes out the weak. Even plants function this way. Nature holds no mercy. A vine does not approach a tree and think This tree is old and beautiful, I will not wrap myself around it until it suffocates. Rather, it destroys it all the same.

Stronger plants destroy the weaker. Most entangle their root structures, others steal all of the resources, and some (like the vine, strangle the plant externally).

Animals are no different. Predators hold no mercy for the elderly, the weak, the injured. The strong prey on the weak. They dominate, destroy, kill.

I don't understand how anyone can believe in human goodness with out God. When we look at the realm of all nature, it is inherently destructive. If we truly deny the existence of God, then we must believe in the natural order of things: the strong dominate the weak. It is the belief in God that turns that perspective on its head. Because we believe in God, we advocate for the weak (I make no blind attempts to pretend as if some people have not gone around using their belief in God to go along wit the natural order of things. Obviously this has happened in the past, and continues to do so today).

I mean absolutely no bashing on those who choose to believe in no God. I simply wish to understand a school of thought that makes no sense to me.

Nuggets,

You're all sitting around the kitchen table playing a game. You're talking, laughing, being passionate, and having a blast. Don't forget this.

Life is going to keep coming (as it is intent on doing), and you're going to fight, argue, and have all sorts of things come up in your lives, but don't forget each other.

Fights

America,

We got in a fight at two AM. The doors slammed, the yelling began, and it was game.on. I'm not afraid of a moment of disagreement. I don't fear his anger, or mine. Why? For starters, it is not often that we come to a point of non communication where it becomes angry. Secondly, because I am thankful that I am safe enough to be angry. I don't take for granted the blessing that I can be unreasonable, or unloving, and the entire foundation of our relationship does not disintegrate. My "happiness" is not the platform on which everything stands. 

I love that we can fight, and the words stay on topic (we have finally learned not to slip-and-slide in to: Why don't we just get a divorce then!?!?! -- Come on, America, are we the only ones to have ever done that!?! ...Bueller??). I'm grateful that I can apologize and have it be accepted. I'm grateful that he can apologize, and I can get a new opportunity to show grace.

Disagreements are beautiful. Out of them spawns so many opportunities for personal growth. They expose and reveal our own flaws and weaknesses in magnificent ways. Last night, as I stewed and raged in my brain to Jesus, my King flipped the anger switch and exposed my own errors. My husband, took responsibility for his wrongdoing, and didn't say a word about mine. What mercy! What might! That the God of the universe fought his battles for him, while he stayed silent. WOW!

I don't like apologizing, America. But I will. Truth is, last night, it was 90% me, and 10% Chief. Truth is, sin still permeates my heart, and destruction still flows out of my mouth. Truth is, that Love is both easy and insanely difficult over and over again.

I am thankful for these moments. I am thankful that it's a new day, with a new opportunity to Love and be loved.