I almost never title a post until I'm done with it. It's late. It's after two in the morning and I know we have to be up in six hours. My heart is hurting. My facade is shattering. I'm terrified. I don't want to go to worship tomorrow. He'll be there. I haven't had to see him yet, so it's very, very unreal to me. You know, in a very I can't sleep, can't eat, would like to run away kind of way. But I haven't really been able to break down yet, and I'm sure that is coming tomorrow. I'm thankful that my husband is home. If you're up and you read this, or you read it before morning, pray that his pain will ease so that he can make it to worship with us in the morning. I really, really don't want to have to do this without him. I'm afraid of a lot of things. I know I just want to disappear.
My heart hurts. Angie Smith wrote a post one time about shattering a piece of pottery as a form of therapy after losing a child. And I thought then that it was a good idea. And I've thought about doing it several times. Tonight, I realize how appropriate that would be. Although I have lost a child, this isn't what that grief is about. That's a whole 'nother post all together. Hmm.. Maybe I'll share that story someday. But for now, my pain, my crises, my groans that can not be uttered are about my childhood. My hurt. My fear. And I feel as though I have been shattered into a million pieces and there isn't any way to get it all put back together. I don't think I want to do it alone, though. I think I'll have 'S', 'A' and 'C' and 'P' help me do it. I don't know, we'll see. They're really the ones putting all the pieces back together in my life, anyhow. Anyhow this was just a random last minute post.
I'm terrified of tomorrow. People say I have so much more strength than I know, and maybe I do. But it really feels like I've just put a wall up. And it feels like going to church tomorrow, seeing him, being there, it's all going to be so real, and I'm terrified of shattering. Please pray, if you're the praying type, that I can just get through this, and that my husband will feel well enough to go and help me survive the initial shock. I am so thankful for all of my wonderful blogger friends. I love you all so much more than you could know. I know I've been kinda quiet and kinda absent lately. I just want you all to know that I am so very grateful for you, and I would LOVE to hear from some of you, sometime..
Okay, I haven't really slept in days and my sleeping meds are kicking in, quick. Now lets just hope I can actually sleep. And not be, you know, paranoid. I hope you're all well.
I'm a wife. I'm a mom. I'm a photographer. I'm a lover of Jesus. My house is a mess, my kids are dirty, we eat take out more often than not. My life is loud, busy and crazy. And that's okay with me.
This is Eric, the man you've been praying for. He's a paramedic. He quilts in his spare time. No, I couldn't make that up :) He has NASH (a form of liver disease, non-alcoholic) and diabetes, but those things don't define him. He's a man of God, an insanely wonderful husband, and the best daddy in the world.. Just ask these guys..
Our daughter Ali, she's 9. She's fiercely opinionated and strong willed. She's a Daddy's girl, but the umbilical cord hasn't but cut from me, either. She's a gymnast, and proud of it. She spends more time upside down or turning flips than she does walking. She's crazy smart, and absolutely sure of it. She is my insufferable little know it all.
Our son Dylan, 7. We lovingly refer to him as Chubs. Or Chubby. Or fat boy. Ahem. He is all boy, as you can see by his crazy wild energy. He has the highest pain tolerance of any child I have ever met. He plays soccer and does gymnastics, but truly he is a gamer, a nerd. He is an avid reader and loves to climb. Not to be outdone by his sister, he's a drama king, but to him, I'm the best mommy in the world.
I'm here to use my voice. So many people can't. In a world of darkness, I just want to help God's light to shine through. I pray that my words are His, and my love is His, as well. This is my journey through the darkness. To start are the beginning of the story, click here.