Hello, Dear Friend,
Our beloved season of Fall is officially over.
These months were swollen with unexpected crisis and heartache. Life took some turns that we never would have expected and the moments aren’t few when it seems that another ounce more will surely break the worn, taught thread so desperately protected.
The fabric of these embodied souls– can they handle any more stretch? Surely with a loud POP there will be a break– a harrowing hole with a reckless running seam racing into the broken unknown.
We laugh on phone calls because we truly have to.
But seriously, how much more can be taken? This is an absurd amount of stress…
Fight and flight and freeze are frequent visitors. We’ve asked each other (and of course our Father who art in heaven), how can one little person carry these loads? How are we expected to heal, be healed, foster a thriving marriage in the face of trauma, while receiving the onslaught of the minute-by-minute, day and night intensity that is high needs parenting?
Scream-weeping episodes in the calm of cars with no ears. Hot, hurting fury tears released like autumn downpours. And then frustration turned numbness, watching the falling streams just make more mud to wade through and slosh around… chunky, earthy, chilly brown…dashing desires for clarity.
Will there be any comfort at all? A far-off voice is guiding, “breathe, breathe…” but can we fight to fathom (or surrender?) and trust that it won’t always be this way?
- Storms do subside.
- The dawn always conquers the night.
- Resurrection absolutely comes after the tomb.
All spoken truths to each other’s weary hearts.
We may not be able to conceive it right now, but dammit…we really believe it, don’t we?
What is this gift of faith that we share? It really is totally.given.
Rain coats and weathered boots peeling off, entering this other home of safety and surety– that is all Him.
Somehow we are still able to see the Beauty…
vibrant mountain leaves
wildflowers resisting winter
cheese and chocolate in our old stomping grounds
a quiet country drive
watching our children wonder
a happy laugh with the handsome ones who asked for our hands
Days, yes, swollen now with heaping heartache, but days also overflowing in signs of Love, grounding Goodness, promise of Real Presence.
Sister, may your winter months be marked by gentle rest and warmth within.
May our seeds of sacrificial love be buried deep.
Lord, let them die in peace in the soon-to-be-freezing ground, and pour forth we beseech Thee all the needed nurturance for your ever-perfectly timed rebirth in us.
Love,
Serra Ann