cats and other metaphors
Sorry to have been a stranger, dear reader, but life has been happening. And by happening, I mean imploding in small bits all around and inside of me, making it very difficult to sign on and say hello and offer any level of encouragement. In fact, as of late, life has felt a lot more like a deep dark ocean I can’t quite swim to the edges of… (with little stinging jellyfish all around me, saltwater in my eyes, and the ever-present threat of something bigger lurking just beneath.)
I won’t launch into a full-fledged pity party, but I will say that I sure hope bad things truly only happen in threes and we are moving out of this recent season of difficulty. Don’t get me wrong: my life is awesome. I am blessed beyond measure, to be sure. We are finally moved into our new house (YAY) and the big important things in our lives – the things that really matter- have stayed gloriously and stubbornly intact. But life has been a bit stormy lately (albeit more like getting caught in the rain and being pelted by pea-size hail for hours than getting all-out struck by lightening.) There’s been a painful health issue to contend with, an exhausting emotional roller coaster to ride, and hardest of all, the terrible aching loss of our sweet beloved weenie dog, Macy-Pie (the love of my life, the snuggler of my soul – my sweet stinky monkey bear that I have squished and loved and spoiled rotten for 16 + years.)
…pause, sob, regroup…
I would love to tell you that in this season, I have buried myself in the Bible, crawled up in God’s lap, and found myself content to rest there. But I did promise you honesty in all things, so I had better disclose that I have not coped all that well with all of this. Instead, I confess that in this season, I have:
- consumed more than my fair share of spicy, oaky reds
- eaten almost an entire chocolate-cream pie for dinner (on more than one occasion)
- inexplicably and inexcusably taken up cursing again
And in terms of my walk, I have been much like a starving stray cat, darting around God’s feet – begging for a scrap, but then trying to scratch his eyes out, should He attempt to pet me while He feeds me.
I wish it were not this way- That I were not this way. I’ve done this Jesus thing long enough to know that true healing and comfort only comes from Him (and the Bible is clear: mess begats more mess.) So I am grateful that even with all my rabid and regressive coping mechanisms, God has still kindly put out the water and food; coaxing me back in, taming me a bit. He has graciously and miraculously given my husband the patience of Mother Teresa. And He has sent some very dear friends to huddle up around me and insulate me until I can fend for myself again.
I am grateful for them and I am grateful for you too, dear reader. I have missed you and I am thankful for your patience as I slowly emerge from the dark mean forest of moving boxes and muscle spasms and spontaneous crying spells.
And while I am not quite ready to write a full piece, think a full thought, feel a full heart, may I leave you with the one tiny glimmer of balming hope that has tethered me? God is good in all things, God is bigger than all things, God is patient with all things; even wild-eyed and feral followers like me.
More Soon I Hope,