Nothing

Yesterday was hell on wheels. I have no other description that aptly describes it. "Hard" doesn't touch it. It was truly an emotional and mental day made in hell.

In the midst of the emotional and mental chaos, a friend and I tossed a few sharp darts at each other, and when the "how dare you's", "you have no clue's", and "let me tell you a few things" were done, I felt pretty good about life, how I am doing as an individual, and how we are doing as a family. Defending the ground I have helped me realize how much progress we have made.

But while the darts were flying and the emotions and doubts were raging, I sat in my shower floor while hot water pounded down, and I cried.

I don't know which was fatter, the hot drops of water falling from the shower or the hot tears falling from my eyes.

All I knew--and know--is the feeling of failure that comes when nothing I do is right and everything I do is wrong, and yesterday, everything I did was wrong.

If I left the children to go for a walk, I should have been home.
If I chose not to leave the children, I was suffocating them and needed to let them breathe.
If I took a class I enjoyed, I should put the kids first and be with them.
If I chose not to do something for me, I wasn't taking care of myself.
If I went on a trip, I was neglecting the kids.
If I didn't, I was controlled by guilt and needed to get over it.

NOTHING was right. NOTHING was good enough. NOTHING!

So finally that is what I chose: nothing.

Nothing to say. Nothing to share. Nothing to let people give their opinions on. Nothing...
...to find out what a failure I am
...to find out how inadequate I am
...to hear all the ways the details don't line up with others' opinions

...to run through the filtered experiences, feelings, and brokenness of others.

I have amazing friends. Even the people that I have struggled with the last six months are amazing. They are also filtered.

We all are.

And the fact is no matter how much love, compassion, or good intention fills our hearts, our humanness is filled with our interpretation.

People interpret my marital separation depending on their background, religious beliefs, or own marriage experience. People interpret my mom's death and my response according to loss of loved ones in their lives or how they responded...or the lack thereof.

The fact is most of these amazing people are strong Christians whose hearts are to serve and love God, and in turn, His people. Some have even been where I am at various times, and believe me, they know exactly what I need to do to get where I need to be, and if God had the same destination in mind for me that He had for them, we'd be fine. However, I'm finding that there is no cookie cutter plan.

In the Bible David took one road to kingship while Joseph took another, and Esther had a different one still. Peter was called to be a disciple from a fishing boat, and Paul was called from a religious mindset. All of them had one purpose: to glorify God. That is where the commonalities ended.

Life hasn't changed much in a few thousand years.

God is still blowing away boxes, doing things that seem insane, and taking us along for the ride. Those of us in the midst of it look like we are from some other world, and maybe we are.

Maybe I'm doing everything wrong in the eyes of people because only God knows what it will truly take to get to the other side of this whole and healed. Maybe I look crazy because the cracks in broken filters make the progress too fuzzy to see.

I don't know.

All I know is when I don't listen to the voices, I am at peace. I can identify goals, determine strategies to reach them, and move us forward. I feel good about the progress we are making, and I know we are moving toward healing, toward being whole, toward God's destination.

When I do listen to them, I end up a sobbing mess in the bottom of my shower wishing I had the option of not even getting out of bed...until I have to defend where I am and realize I like it. I like how we are doing. I like the joy we have. I like the connecting we are doing. I like the laughter that rings through the house. I like lying on the trampoline and staring at the stars.  I like...waking up each morning and knowing it's a great day and we are alright...and we will be alright.

This morning my friend said honestly, "I can't help you with this. I'm biased, and I can't see where you are in it." I smiled. I had noticed.

So we talked about other things, like the day's plans to go to the Science Museum, maybe head to Tyler to see the leaves, my need to do laundry because I have no clean socks. Before we got off the phone, I said, "Thank you."

"You're...welcome?"

"For being a great friend, a great sounding board, an amazing encourager, and a voice I can trust."

Because you know when it is best not to speak at all, and you are okay when I know it is best for me not to listen.

To me, that is a big deal, but then, maybe between friends, it's really nothing.