Thursday, November 15, 2012

Sidewinder

The lights were snapped off early yet there I lay, sandwiched between fleece sheets, fresh off a whispered conversation with Cory, already asleep beside me.

Exhaustion etched my eyes, knots throbbed in both shoulders, my ears rang. I flipped onto this side, then the other. I climbed out of bed and felt around for a pair of socks. So tired. I flipped again, pounded my pillow, wedged it into the crook of my neck.

I did everything but sleep.

The morning had veered off course, I'd spent it at the hospital, me and my boys. I thought we'd be in and out in an hour. (I thought wrong.) Hours later, we walked out with 2 new appointments, 3 new meds, a trough of potential side-effects, and a promise that this was officially a "flare up". (And a Rubik's cube. But naturally.)

How could he be flaring? Just yesterday he played soccer until his hair hung wet. He went to his book club. He bossed his brother and teased his sister. He's strong and smart, feeling fine.

The whole drive home, all I could think was, "Oh, right. This. This is part of my life, too."

This is just one reason why the best year of my life was one of the very worst.

I wish sometimes that my life was more take-it-easy. I wish all the time that my son wasn't sick; that he didn't have to miss his favorite school lunch (French toast) or Officer Janett's visit just because he's got a stupid rash.

I wish I could make myself believe right this minute that everything is fine. Show me some sand - quick. I want to stick my head in it.

I want Robert to find God at my kitchen table, not in jail.

I want my sister on my couch, not in India.

I want Becky's life to cut her a break. Beth's, too.
 
I want my move, my lifestyle, this right here to be supported, not polarizing.

I plan parties, get haircuts, move furniture, simmer dinner. I drive and write and wring my hands. I layer and lunch. I gripe and yell. I start the day smelling like a clementine and end it wearing the scent of poverty.

This life wraps around and around, holding me tight then choking me out and doing it over again.

I was promised that it wouldn't be easy, so it's no surprise. I'm not supposed to make sense of it all. I understand that He is sovereign, but what will it cost me and can I ever truly believe it?  I say I can, but words are free and life leaves blisters.

I cry in my kitchen and Silas scratches my back, "Poor, poor Mommy". Can this be gift enough? Can I look past this hurt and see the miracle right beside me rubbing circles over my shirt?

Low tide surges forward, clearing the crud away.

But it'll be back. I know it will.

This is the charting of a life. I want to believe that I can want it all. I want to know all over again that my course was long decided; my rescue already promised and plotted.

I kiss their necks. I kiss that jelly-bean lymph node that shouldn't be there at all. I tuck blankets under chins, whispering "I'm so proud of you"s, carrying tonight's Bible story down the stairs and into my heart, my marrow, every cell and fiber, massaging it in until it can't slip off or fall out.

"It isn't how strong you are or how many swords and spears you have that will save you - it is God who saves you! This is God's battle. And God always wins his battles!" - *The Jesus Storybook Bible

I can almost feel the five smooth stones in my palm. Tonight, I plan to sleep.


*I cannot recommend this kids Bible highly enough. It is fantastic in every way.