The Storm


Has it really been 5 days since I last was here? My fingers are hesitant over the keyboard, the messages from my brain have stopped. The way I tend to live blog post by blog post, revelation by explanation, days catalogued into words and illuminations has dried up. The camera looks dusty. I want to tell you that I am thriving in this challenge. That nearly two weeks of sickness and being stuck at home have drawn up character in me and given me the chance to grow up and behave like a saint.

Yeah right.

Transparency comes easy to me and I can paint you a picture of how weak and pathetic I really am in this situation. It is a storm; a stretch; a building of capacity because my heart's eyes are wide with disbelief at how crazy this is, how lonely, how pointless, how loooong. The longer I am caught in endless days of a secondary gastro-infection that my toddler caught from hospital, the way it has spread despite my best efforts and the emptiness I feel after too many hours giving out, the more I am coming to an appreciation of it.

It sounds ridiculous.

But as horrific as it is, I wouldn't change it for anything. There are just too many things I am addicted to being grateful for.

Hands for one. Imagine I had none.

Fuel in the car.

Money in the account.

Food in the freezer.

Clear days that have been able to be devoted to the care of my young without letting anyone down.

A husband who has not had to travel away lately with work.

Playhouse Disney.

Coffee.

Psalm 91 and the tears of gritty, motherhood-meets-the-road that fall onto those gossamer pages as I absorb words written just for me.

My husband quietly pointed out to me last night, the deeper the well, the cleaner the water. We're digging people, in the stormy times. Each dawn and dusk of fatigue and despair adds a new level and although personally I cannot see a way out yet, I know that I do not work alone. Being poured out, every drop, until we feel completely empty is delirious, painful joy, for surely it means that we will have to be solely dependant on the source of all life to give us the strength we need to collect ourselves and for me, keep in a word, sane.

This is not meant to sound sanctimonious. Nothing has been achieved. There is nothing to brag about. Nothing but a mum at her wit's end relishing the chance to hang on by the skin of her teeth. My mind wants to balk at this, say it's too hard and that I have drawn the short straw. But really, it is the longest straw. I may still be in my pajamas with disgusting hair and no makeup. I may have no dinner made yet, an hour from tea time. It is possible that there is still washing in the machine needing to be hung out (in the rain) and someone's mattress needing to be scrubbed. I might have forgotten that there is a world out there beyond the letterbox. I might be so tired I think I might be writing this in my waking sleep.
But at heart I realise I am able to breathe. To inhale deep enough to keep the gloom from capsizing me and realise that there is enough of God to keep me afloat.
A weary thumb-sucking girl has small feet wrapped in a blanket on my lap, and the littlest one's tiny hands pat sticky on my face, the curtains are drawn and the heater is on. We are safe, together and weathering the storm.
Our boat is crafted from the tree, nails that pierced once now hold together. Masts of peace, ropes of patience, sails to catch the breath of love, the hull a haven of grace. Starboard is joy. Port is kindness. The rudder is truth. We will come through this. One wave at a time.

Gail  – (August 14, 2009 at 4:57 PM)  

Hi Amy, both praying for you and thinking of you. I feel your exhaustion .... what can I do to help?
Your gratitude list is fantastic. Things like Playhouse Disney (we don't have, but have freeview TV6 which is similar - very G rated)... they are little things God sends us.

Your tent pegs are being stretched. I pray that the sun will shine on your tent this wet weekend!
Love Gailx

Megs  – (August 14, 2009 at 5:13 PM)  

Beautifully written, I can feel you breathing.

A hug coming your way, and of course a prayer.
Megs xx

Kelly  – (August 14, 2009 at 11:28 PM)  

Amy, your writing is beautiful.

The deeper the well, the cleaner the water.

I'm going to remember that. I have a feeling I may need it.

Cassandra Frear  – (August 15, 2009 at 1:02 PM)  

He is a song in the longest night.

God Bless You.

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