I don’t know what to say, but I still want to say it. I’ve pushed an emotion quite far down for the better portion of a week, and now, in the quiet of the living room tonight, it’s all welling up in a big way. I feel vulnerable–more than I’m comfortable with, and uneasy–more than I’d like to admit.

What do you do when someone you love so much…someone who has always been strong for you…is suddenly frail? And not in a way you can ignore, but in a way that breaks your heart as you face it? It’s inevitable, with time, and you knew it would be. But for all the years you leaned and shared and laughed and cried and dreamt and honored and admired, this time–this season, isn’t one you ever wanted to admit would come.

It’s not that there isn’t hope, or that medicine and time can’t heal. I know they can. But age is still age, and the more things change in this case, the less they stay the same. My whole self is aching, and I just don’t really know what to do with the wave of frustration I have for my inability to do little but pray.

Pray.

It feels like a small thing right now, when I know that it’s the very biggest thing I can do. And I know that God will hear me and that He’ll answer in His way, but when there’s hurt or wavering hope, it’s just not as easy as we’d like it to be sometimes. At least for me, tonight, it’s not.

I’m not saying much–not being specific, because I want to protect the situation at hand and the people I love who are close to it and hurting, too. But I still needed to share tonight that there’s a little bit of air working its way out of my spirit–like a balloon with a pin prick of a leak that’s hardly visible, but impacting nonetheless. I’m not deflated, yet certainly unwell and uncomfortable in what has always been a very safe and secure part of my heart. I don’t like it. I won’t. It feels like nothing can fix it right now…

So there is discontent. A bit more of a distraction than I’d like to admit, although I should. There’s worry where prayer should be, and discouragement where hope should set in. I’ll keep working towards a different set of eyes for the situation–for peace and/or resolution to come swiftly for the people I love. And for me. Somehow it’s so much easier to imagine that peace when it’s someone else’s story, someone else’s family, someone else’s heart.

I hate how I’m feeling, but then again, God knew that before I did. And He sees me. Sees all of us. Thank goodness.

processing,

mm