Wednesday, March 20, 2019


(I have children. Of course Cars 2 would be my reference for fragile.)

I had promised to blog more in 2019. I had promised a lot of things. I have a compromised immune system now. Lots of things are harder. But what I didn't expect was that the hardest part is not the things I can no longer do physically (I really did like mowing the lawn myself), but the emotional pit falls I keep stumbling into. In the past, I have been terribly judgmental of people whose bodies are failing and how they didn't keep up with the changes emotionally. They didn't accept their failure with grace. I now understand (a bit more) how difficult that is. I'm not accepting my limitations with grace. I'm snapping at my children for not picking up their rooms because in the past, I could have helped. I'm spending all that time lying down reading (which isn't, in itself the problem) except hardly any of that time is spent reading scripture. Instead, I am reading escapist books because I don't want to confront my anxiety about my fragility. I am broken in ways I can no longer hide.

I do not have the spiritual gift of faith. I have friends who do and they encourage me a great deal, but I have an average faith. It maintains itself intellectually out of habit but often feels like it fails me when I'm in an emotional ditch. How do I maintain my faith when it blossomed from going to church 3-4 times a week for services and bible studies and fellowship when now, it's a good week when I can manage, physically, to go once? I have volunteered with our Youth Ministry program for years and now can barely attend one meeting in 7. What do I do now? How do I live like a disciple essentially from my bed?

If you know me, you know my children are on the autism spectrum. Which means we live a life full of procedures and routines, because there is comfort for all of us in that. But, lately, I find that I crave the routine even more than they do, because it means I know what to do next. I was a good student in school because it was easy (sorry; I came out that way) and because it gave me a concrete path to follow of what to do next. I enjoyed pleasing my teachers the same way I enjoyed pleasing my parents. When I worked outside the home before I had kids, it wasn't much different. Then they were small and home all the time, and I had plenty to do. But now, they are away at school much of the day (except this winter, when someone was home sick, with me, at least every other week) and I have to spend most of my day resting anyway and the silence is oppressive. Shouldn't I be doing something?

I have a feeling the next year or so, I will be finding new ways to do things. I'm not sure I ever wanted a contemplative life, but here I am, with one shoved in my lap. I will never believe God doesn't have a sense of humor.