Tuesday, April 17, 2012
One year ago sitting in hot, Haiti traffic if I closed my eyes and imagined our one-year-from now life, let's just say that not many specks of our present reality would have made their way into my daydream. To say we never expected to be in this location with this set of circumstances piled high and heavy on our laps would be like saying Madonna was semi-popular in the 80's.
Yet here we are in what must be the longest running limbo I have known.
Very few life stories are void of sudden shifts and shocks. This isn't the first time the unexpected has abruptly knocked on our door. It's simply the longest this unwelcome guest has ever had the nerve to stay.
A child whose broken soul is falling out all over our house and consuming it. Financial stress. Attempting and failing to balance being a "working mom" and motherhood. Learning to let the laundry pile up and realizing cereal for supper does not kill children or make them fat. At least not immediately. This is my new world. It's like I moved to the moon.
There are moments. Short ones. When I think of my old life. The one with enough money in the bank to never think of it. The one with the tall, yellow house, the shiny car...when parenting was hard but easier and exactly none of my children required therapy. Those memories flash through my mind. Brilliant. Bright. Warm. I'm tempted to reach for them. To run barefoot through the dark in pursuit of what once was. Catching my old life in my hands like a firefly on a perfect summer night.
But I don't. I stand still and lovingly watch that flashing light gently fly away. It's beautiful. Yet strangely...unwanted.
There are only brief moments when I am tempted to feel sorry for myself. Or angry. Those feelings come in waves, but the waves are small, so I simply feel nudged instead of knocked over. In this place of limbo there is peace in what is and hope for what will be.
Even though it seems I must be living someone else's life, I find that I'm happy. Hopeful. I feel creative and alive. There is laughter and focus. I have friends who remind me that we serve a God who is kind and loving. He's at work even when we feel forgotten. There's grace on the days when the most faith-filled action I can accomplish is to keep truckin' along with a smile on my face and a heart that trusts there is a reason for all of whatever this is. And that reason is part of our family's ongoing rescue. It feels kind of nice to not really care to know exactly what that reason is. I have no energy or desire to figure it out, dissect it, or label it. For now, I rest in this: if only good can come from a good God's hand, then this strange place we reside is better than the one-year-from-now place I imagined on my own. It's better than the three-years-ago place too. When I actually find time to look around at this strange life, I am surprised by how overwhelmingly grateful I feel.