While I sifted through posts here earlier today, a place I rarely go now, I caught myself remembering things I didn’t say. I don’t think I was trying to not say things. I do remember I couldn’t catch my breath back when.
I was reading words that I really did mean but there were definitely words not said. There were definitely things I couldn’t say then because I couldn’t see them, think them clearly for the tumult.
I remembered feelings more than words. There was sadness, confusion, fear. I remembered being scared about our future. Fearful about what our families struggle might mean. Fear of failure. Fear of judgment. Stupid fear.
I remember not knowing what to do. Wanting to do the right thing but unable to get to the part of my brain I needed to make those decisions. It took a long time to realize what was happening.
It felt like walking in a dust storm. The wind whipping hair in my face. Dust in eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Stinging eyes and blurred vision. It’s enough to confuse the best of us.
Then the wind would blow a certain way and the air would clear. The energy would change and all felt calm again. I’d slip back into the place I was just before the dust was stirred and hope and think that maybe we were back to ourselves again.
It took a pretty bad crash into walls that no one could see for us to find our way out of that cycle. I feared we’d get knocked down flat and would not be able to get up again. We were all thrown. Up in the air and falling free.
It looked like, felt like that would be how things would be for so long. But somehow we landed well and mending began. We learned to move differently. Learned to speak, listen and play again.
Not everything is all okay. But we are on a road to being okay. We are all walking toward Eden. Whether we all know that or not. And for this I’m thankful. Thankful that God is merciful and faithful and good with a capital G.
It’s not a bow exactly. To say that I thank God. To say that I pray we beat this, all of us, together and that I have hope still. I wouldn’t say there is a pretty bow on it, no. Not when we are still knocking dust off knees and wiping tears from cheeks. Because healing hurts if you let yourself really feel it.
My hands pulled out my knitting today while I waited in the car for one of my loves. I noticed my hands looked so old and sadness came. Not for being older but for having less time than I did yesterday with them. My five loves and their dad.
And now as I type, I let the tears come while the song plays on the radio. The words saying that we are not alone and that God really loves us. And I feel all of it at once. Sadness. Hopeful. Loved. Forgiven. Strong and weak.
The thing is, crisis never gives us time to be ready for it. It slips between the cushions and waits there for us in the dark damp. The clock ticking a sort of count down.
Then when we least expect it and often when we’re already down, it slips out and pulls us in, like a whirlpool taking everything into itself. And when the waters find stillness again, or something like it, we are left changed. I hope for the better.