I've been feeling anxious lately. And there are a lot of good reasons for it - I just quit one of my part-time jobs (not my job with InterVarsity) and I'm taking classes at the local community college so I can become a nurse. I am pre-nursing, as they say.
It's a lot of change: quitting a job I had since before my mom was sick, getting back into school. And the last time big, potentially hard, change happened it wasn't just bad. It was earth-shattering, life-altering, your mom is going to die bad. So me and change aren't really good friends right now.
Today I went to my classes, and the world didn't implode. So that's a plus one in the pro column for this going-back-to-school change. But when I got home from class I was still feeling anxious. Overwhelmed. Like I wanted to sit on my floor with lots of tissues and cry my eyes out. (Which I might be doing as I type.)
And then I realized. Today is August 19.
Three years ago, to the day, my mom had her stroke, and my world DID implode. Everything did fall apart. I was able, with the help of family, friends, and Jesus, to put it back together again, mostly. But three years ago today the worst change I've ever experienced happened.
So I guess that's why I've been so anxious. Why this smaller change of going back to school has felt so big. I think that's a pretty good reason for my freak out. It makes me feel a little more sane.
What are the chances I would start school on the same day my mom had her stroke? Sometimes the universe has a funny sense of humor.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
God Our Mother
Today, I'm reflecting on this:
The description of this album is: "Created in honor of Mother's Day, God our Mother is a liturgy that explores both the scriptures that speak of God in a maternal context and the limits of human language in describing an infinite God. "
God is infinite, vast, greater than our human dichotomies. And I don't have an earthly mother anymore. So I need a heavenly mother, a forever mother, just as much as I need a heavenly father.
The rest of the album is found here: theliturgists.bandcamp.com/album/god-our-mother
Tracks 1 - 3. Those are for me today. May they bless you too.
The description of this album is: "Created in honor of Mother's Day, God our Mother is a liturgy that explores both the scriptures that speak of God in a maternal context and the limits of human language in describing an infinite God. "
God is infinite, vast, greater than our human dichotomies. And I don't have an earthly mother anymore. So I need a heavenly mother, a forever mother, just as much as I need a heavenly father.
The rest of the album is found here: theliturgists.bandcamp.com/album/god-our-mother
Tracks 1 - 3. Those are for me today. May they bless you too.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Is it okay?
Yesterday I asked my mom if it was okay that I don't think about her all the time. I asked her if it was okay that I don't cry ever day anymore, that I don't miss her every moment, that I don't always think about the hole she left.
And she said, "Of course. I want you to be happy. I love you."
Because I don't - I don't think about her all the time. Not that I don't miss her - I do, a lot. But I don't think about it every second of every day anymore. I've finally come out of the haze of grief. Grief doesn't have the same hold it once had on my life anymore. Grief isn't taking over my days. Grief isn't the first thing I feel in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night.
I can look at her picture, conjure up a memory of her, be reminded of her and feel sad - but not overwhelmed. I can move again, I can dream again, I can smile again.
And I know that makes her glad.
Yesterday was a good day. Today has been a good day too. And even though I say this now - that I'm not slammed by grief, that I'm not overtaken - I know that some days I will be. So today, I reserve the right to be fine, to be happy. Tomorrow, two weeks from now, two months from now, I reserve the right to be whatever I feel like being.
Maybe grief will take over again for a little while - and that will be okay. But today, tonight, I just imagine her smile.
And she said, "Of course. I want you to be happy. I love you."
Because I don't - I don't think about her all the time. Not that I don't miss her - I do, a lot. But I don't think about it every second of every day anymore. I've finally come out of the haze of grief. Grief doesn't have the same hold it once had on my life anymore. Grief isn't taking over my days. Grief isn't the first thing I feel in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night.
I can look at her picture, conjure up a memory of her, be reminded of her and feel sad - but not overwhelmed. I can move again, I can dream again, I can smile again.
And I know that makes her glad.
Yesterday was a good day. Today has been a good day too. And even though I say this now - that I'm not slammed by grief, that I'm not overtaken - I know that some days I will be. So today, I reserve the right to be fine, to be happy. Tomorrow, two weeks from now, two months from now, I reserve the right to be whatever I feel like being.
Maybe grief will take over again for a little while - and that will be okay. But today, tonight, I just imagine her smile.
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