I wasn’t planning to write anything today – it’s not on the schedule. In fact, we’re intentionally trying not to overload you with posts that make you say, “Enough already – I don’t have time to read twenty posts a week!”
But this morning Annarose got in a car with two other college students and began the long drive to San Diego where she’ll spend the next ten weeks.
Fear grips my heart as I think of them careening down interstates, blithely thinking they are safe from all harm – fearless.
Last fall, grief grabbed hold of me and hasn’t let go. My days have been gray and slow and heavy.
I know, it sounds like depression, and I’m not saying there isn’t a bit of that going on, but while grief and depression look like identical twins, they aren’t necessarily related.
In the days following our accident, I was stunned by the realization that we are not safe in this world. It’s not that I thought we were safe all the time, but I had a general sense of safety.
Accidents happen – to other people. Children get cancer – in other families. Marriages crumble – but not too closely to ours.
I was living in a sweet spot of safety I no longer have, and yet, I also know God has complete control over my life. I don’t know what to make of that.
Which brings me to this morning. I don’t want to be a mother paralyzed by fear – the one who hinders her children from seeking adventure. How do I let them live fully while not lying awake at night, my heart pounding and tears streaming down my face?
I don’t know yet – I haven’t figured it out. I only know I love Russ and my kids so crazy much, and the thought of losing another one of them shreds my heart. I don’t think I could live through another loss like that.
And as I type those words I feel the need to say, “Jesus – I’ll do whatever you ask me to do, I’ll accept whatever you bring to my life – I’m not shaking my fist at you. You are God. I am not. But please have mercy on me. Please.”
So here I am, pouring out my heart, the best (and cheapest) form of therapy I know (and yes, I know I need some real trauma/grief therapy too).
Thank you for reading, friends, and for praying for our family all of these years. You are a gift to me.
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