Gingerly
I feel down the length of myself
Like an animal after a tumble
Which critical parts am I missing?
But I cannot feel
And I cannot tell
My house is silent
Three big children off to school
Two toddlers who were with us, and are not
One baby sleeping
My head aches while my heart stands cool
Empty
Shell shocked
Riddled with child-sized holes
There is less confidence than there was a year ago
And more fear in dark places
A rough edge of paranoia
There is more quiet
A calm I did not foresee
I am so still
That the things unmoving swirl about me
Air, conversations, time
There is time
Though I do not remember the rules for how to use it
Slump
Went my days
And I went to bed late and got up late
And made lunch late and forgot to plan supper
There was no one to scream at me.
There is pain in my body
There is much I just say or go mad
And much I will not say
Believe me when I tell you
You will not see it all
Everyone says honest
But I am least of all the people I know
And I don’t remember those rules either
Too much? Too little? and
I have learned to smile.
I have walked through darkness
And found the unblinking eye of the heavens
I have lain down before it as in the last great sleep
And had nothing in my hand but pain
And been nothing in the world but a prayer
May my fear melt into the cauldron of his love
And new confidence be forged in him
Hello world.
Nothing but pain and a prayer–is that not where Grace begins? I am sorry, Shari.
At the end of your post, it says “This entry was posted in Uncategorized . . . .” I found that more fitting than a tidy label or two slapped on. Pain is such a slippery beast, hard to pin down, impossible to stuff inside a box. Who can say where it begins and ends, how long it will stay, and why it lingers?
May you fall into the cauldron and come forth as gold.
Stephanie
Thank you, Stephanie. <3
I’m glad you’re back.
I assure you that I, like so many other people, love you here, just like this.
Love you too. Come see me.
You fill me with fear just reading this. Will be praying for you! We are new foster parents just into our second case and I wonder and tremble at what you may be going through. May you find God’s grace to be sufficient and His strength made perfect in weakness.
Please don’t worry. There is plenty to stress out over, but you are right: God is gracious. He has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
There’s a lump in my throat and all I find to offer is a hug … and no words. ❤
I am so sorry.
We have two foster kiddos & I fear that they will ever need to be moved on. It’s so hard to love and then say goodbye. We’ve done it before.
May God hold you close.
I’m so sorry. Thank you for loving. I think they will always carry emotional memories of your happy home.
I will pray for you. We are planning to say goodbye to one of ours on Monday. There’s no way to really make coherent sense of all that goes on inside.
Thank you. I will pray for you too. 🙁
You’ve been often on my mind and in my heart. May Jesus be ever nearer.
I hurt for you, sister.
grace and mercy be upon you. Love you!
I like your post, I read it like ten times, slowly. It reminds me of my depression that comes and goes.
Loss and depression can look and feel very similar… God bless you, Joyce.
Aching and tears and hugs for you.
I wanted to talk to you on Sunday about this writing. The vulnerability and thoughtfulness along with the writing style speak deeply, giving me insight into your world while enlightening my own.
Thanks, Carla. I would have loved to talk. 🙁 I had four children and one grown-up in tow (without Ryan) and Jenny would NOT sleep all morning… so we made a quick exit. Sigh. I love you.
I.get.every.last.word.of.this.
We should get coffee sometime.
Sending a hug. <3
I would love that!