Words

Exercise: “Breaking the Sound Barrier”
Prompt: Jump right into the middle, and do not explain yourself.

And now we come to the part where those who love Shari are anxious because the words do not come. Some of those people, not in touch with her daily life, say, “Are you writing another book?” Some, closer to home and aware that she is most definitely not, drop suggestive remarks in diminishing levels of subtlety: “Just know that when you write again, I’ll be happy to see it,” and then, “Looks like that would make a good blog post,” and then more boldly, “When are you going to start sharing pieces of your college work?”

And so today I am going out to the library to try some typing. I do not call it writing.

I cannot live without words. When I am not displaying them, I am sticking them into hidden Word documents and my journals grow fat. I have continued to generate thousands, but only a few worth sharing. Words are everything, and nothing.

I have always wondered how people receive a “word for the year.” How do you know what the year is going to be? How do you magically hear a word, one word, on cue? But as we began this year of 2024, I experienced it, and there was no mistaking. The word He gave me was COURAGE, which I interpreted to mean, Buckle up girl, it’s going to be a wild ride. In the first five months of the year, we received diagnoses among my family members of juvenile idiopathic arthritis, head concussion, ligament damage, pinworms, autism, and mono. Six different family members. Three of them within one week’s time. No easy fixes on any of it except for the worms, which are vanished into the abyss where they belong.

Adoptive moms talk about the all-hell that breaks loose around adoption time. They are not joking. Our new fridge went on the fritz repeatedly. An outlet shot sparks at me. We received crazy, unbelievable, heavy news. Someone threw up every other day. My new children pitched meltdowns to end all meltdowns, the worst of which, a four-year-old descending naked and feral from anesthesia, I would rather re-experience childbirth than, if you can hear what I mean in this sentence here. We have been in and out of doctors’ offices. Our support team still brings us a meal every week and a date night at least once a month, and in between they listen and pray. I have caught vomit and wiped poop and cleaned blood and some days I am too tired to move. So many other days, I am full of joy. This is the life I wanted. Want. Still want.

Most days I do not have time to write, and other days I have no words.

I have three adopted children, newly Zooks, all ours: bless God for his goodness. This is my family and my whole heart is here. I am lying. Most of my heart is here, and the rest is slightly broken, like before. Broken can be okay.

Hello again.

Credit for header photo: My friend the honored and generous Shaunda Stoltzfus.
How have you been keeping?