Trying to Trust

Yesterday I was laying in bed reading, my huge fluffy duvet tucked under my chin. It was morning, and Scott had taken the kids so that I could take a break. I was warm and listening to the cat purring loudly and the banging of toys, toddler giggles and gentle reprimands in my husband’s baritone. As always, I wanted nothing more than to be out there with them, and exactly where I was, both at the same time. Ben stomped down the hall with his glowworm and asked him seriously what it was that HE dreamed about last night. Sometimes I am so tired and sometimes I am just trying to figure out why it is so hard to keep enough food in the kitchen, because my toddlers are secretly a football team that devours pantries in the night. Sometimes I am distracted and in a mild amount of pain and frustrated by laundry. But most of the time I am breathing in these moments of clarity, where there is nothing else but a beautifully glowing “right on, sister” resounding in my heart and my mind and my soul. Right on, sister. This is a good life. You did well. You had no idea how you would get here and it all seemed extremely unlikely that you could ever be so lucky but you are and you did and IT IS.

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Twelve years ago I was driving around my college town on my way back home to my wonderful boyfriend from somewhere doing something that I can’t remember now. A somewhat cheesy but beautiful and haunting love song came on the radio and suddenly I was struck in the heart. I pulled over and just listened. I stared up into the beautiful, late afternoon sky where a huge bird was soaring in circles, hanging on the air currents by enormous strong wings. The voice inside me that I had been hearing for so long, whispering daily over the past two years, was suddenly screaming at me. Something was on the horizon and I was going to rise up to meet it and I didn’t know what that meant. All I knew was that this song was about a relationship that was coming to me, and not the one I was in. These moments are what calls me back to a faith that is rickety and human and flawed. Just when I am feeling a bit disconnected from a greater force outside myself, I have no choice but to trust in this call and in doing so, I am tucked back into a sense of sweet surrender.

But sweet surrender in this case always comes after a period of confused obedience. I went home to my beloved, supportive boyfriend. A wonderful man who I didn’t even realize how deeply I loved until I just couldn’t stay with him anymore. It was nothing he did or didn’t do. I can come up with reasons why it likely would have unraveled anyway, but that wasn’t really the reason I left. I endured his suffering and I endured my desperation to go back to him and all the awful things that I did because of these two forces. I broke my own heart, I broke his. It seemed so stupid to get out of the cozy, warm and loving apartment and go back to my own dark lonely room and just lay on my bed miserable. I chose to do that and it felt insane. I listened to music and tried not to call him and failed. I tried not to see him and failed. I tried not to email him and failed. And eventually we both figured out how to live without each other over a great deal of time. There were a lot of moments when I really thought I had made a huge mistake. Mostly, though, my gut was clear on this being the only road I could take. The one out into the sun all by my lonely self. To say it sucked would be an understatement.

I can’t tell you how alone I felt at the time. I was giving up my warm heart home for a quiet few who supported me more than I realized at the time. Looking back now, with the perspective of time, I can see clearly how many loving people I had quietly surrounding me, supporting me as much as they could. I was so down in a dark place it was hard for me to really appreciate that then as much as I do now.

But then the quiet magnetic force of my husband arrived on the scene, and despite all the other roads I was busy exploring, I was pulled into his orbit instead. This was not a clean, easy, happily ever process. It just always felt right. Although I was very confused and not sure and was asking a million questions, that voice rang out like a symphony with the song that had been calling us together in my soul. This was the path, that would lead who knows where, but somewhere I was supposed to be. The voice was deafening in it’s righteousness.

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I always want the answers. I want to know that ultimately my decisions are good ones and that they will cause me and those I love the least amount of pain and will lead us all to amazing places full of validation and acclaim. But the truth is, a lot of my best decisions and the relationships that gave me the most were steeped in poor decisions and suffering. My husband and I have an understanding of each other that is easy but an intimacy that is not. We struggle to remain close, to keep sharing, and arguing and saying the hard things because when we say the truths that scare us, we get the most out of this life we have built together. It’s sometimes messy and we don’t always agree, even about the big things, and that is so scary. But we agree that this is what we want most and we struggle toward each other.

I am hearing that voice lately. It’s rumbling about change and new opportunities and scaring the pants off of both of us. I am loving this city and our home and our life like I loved that sweet boy in my past. He gave and gave and gave and I loved him. And then I had to go and it was so awful and I could give no good reasons. It was probably clearer than that to those around me but I was twenty one and couldn’t see past the nose on my face. I wish I could say I had more answers this time, for my family of four. We are headed toward something together, us four, and I really, desperately wish I knew more than that. I am looking to the horizon, trying to calm my nerves about what might pop up, and trying to trust.

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Conspiracy Theory

I am seriously convinced that the world is trying to steal Christmas from me. I have been doing nothing but hiding in my house, trying to relax and like, you know…. create Christmas joy and magic and cocoon-like, comforting family feelings and failing miserably because alllll the thinggggsssss.

I aM thinking that more experienced parents out there start to learn how to prioritize and keep all the complicated mess out of the house. Or maybe they just get used to iT. And if I hit that damn caps lock one more time… I think I have shopped for everyone and done all my wrapping, and then I remember- Ben’s school has a book exchange. Oh and teacher gifts. God. I love me some teachers but this is new to me. And then they want us to supply 40-something tiny things for a tiny price for goody bags. Temporary tattoos. Check. Is that okay in a churchy town?

And how did I forget a whole PERSON. He is only a baby but still. Definitely a person and the only one so far of the kids we adore without a wrapped gift. The very thought is giving me hives.

I have to come up with an automated system. Or try to do less. Or something because December makes me feel like I’m in a car that is hydroplaning all over a freeway at high speeds. By the way, Susan I think I ended up with your pillow. Found it in some newborn things the other day and felt SO bad. I feel so disorganized. 2014_11_25-100629a

Parenthood has caught me up on a lot of things. Like why people always fight on the holidays, why everyone works out in January, and cleans their house. And makes ridiculous resolutions. It is all making total sense to me. December leaves us with a desperate need to get a friggin GRIP.

Okay. Back to the joy and the feels. I want those, and they aren’t hard to find. It’s just the peace of mind that seems to have gone missing…

 

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