The weather is so fresh and cool here for this time of year. I guess it is going to be September in a week but that seems so crazy. Last night and tonight I went out and took a walk--not very far and certainly not enough to make a difference in my health. But it felt so good to be outside and to be silent while my mind tries to sort out so much brokenness from the past many months.
Many times I have bragged to people how I cannot see even one of my neighbors' houses from my house. I certainly do like that about living where we live in the countryside of hilly eastern Kansas. During the past several months though it has felt somewhat lonely, not so much in my neighborhood, but in my soul. I'm not really sure any human could stand to deal with all of the thoughts, concerns and flaws that are warring in my brain most days. So I take them to Jesus often. Other times I eat my cares in the form of a favorite food. I know. It feels like the worst kind of sin because there is no way to hide it. On other days, I hide myself in front of the computer and just try to read my way through not dealing with all that is in my heart and mind.
Right now I think I can almost empathize with parents who have lost their child to death. That seems very bold to declare and if I am way off base please call me on it. We've been through such a long and weary road of difficulty. I'm sure that most people think we are near the end of our trevail and they have gotten busy with their lives as they should.
School has started. Summer activities are put aside for the more serious business of work, studying and family life.
Everyday I get up and am reminded that my 27 year old son is living in my dining room. We still do all the pill taking and wound dressing and drain flushing. A nurse still comes by a couple times a week to draw blood. Strangers still come in and out of my house to do physical therapy and occupational therapy. We will be making our third trip, in as many weeks as we have been home, back to see doctors in that place where so many unhappy memories lie.
It is lonely.
And it makes me think of a friend who lost her husband not quite 2 months ago. Or the sweet family who lost their precious toddler boy just a couple weeks ago. Not to mention my neighbor whose husband died suddenly soon after they moved into their home just up the hill from me years ago.
I think, 'What can I do for them?' I can barely haul my tired self into bed each night".
But here is what I can do. When I see them I can ask them to tell me what they miss most about their loved one. I can remember that the person that is missing from their lives lived and loved them and that I haven't forgotten that it has left a huge hole in their lives. Because if you feel like everyone else has moved on and you are still in that place of heartbreak and exhaustion it is so lonely.
Maybe that is the very lesson I needed to learn in all of this.
My heart aches for my son. He longs to be back at work, go out to eat, even just to go anywhere besides the hospital. To see people other than doctors, therapists or nurses and especially his parents! And most of all, I want him to be missed by others. That sounds so needy. But I know that is what people who have lost loved ones want as well. To know that their family member is missed and remembered.
This is just one of the many thoughts jumbling around in my heart and my brain these days.
I heard a song Sunday morning on the way to church called Broken Hallelujahs. It ministered to me because I want so much to praise God through everything but I struggle. I've had the sacred privilege of leading worship with our church's band for some years now. When I sit at that keyboard and sing with the congregation I long for them and for me to meet God somehow in the music, the quiet, or the message of the morning's service.
But I realize that many of us there, perhaps most of us are like one-winged birds who are longing to fly into the heart of God in worship. Some weeks all we can offer Him are broken hallelujahs.
That's where I am in my life right now. Aside from the trials of Adam's illness I have other things going on in my life, too. They are all my broken hallelujahs.
I'm thankful that whatever I offer to God--He can make into something I could never dream about. I guess I'll go to bed and try to let Him sort it out.
Psalm 139:1-18, 23,24
O LORD, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my every thought when far away.
You chart the path ahead of me and tell me where to stop and rest.
Every moment you know where I am.
You know what I am going to say even before I say it, LORD.
You both precede and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to know!
I can never escape your spirit! I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there; if I go down to the place of the dead, you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans, even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night--but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
Darkness and light are both alike to you.
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous--and how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.
You saw me before I was born.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
How precious are your thoughts about me, O God!
They are innumerable!
I can't even count them; they outnumber the grains of sand!
And when I wake in the morning, you are still with me!
Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts.
Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life.
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