I came home from work last week and did something I have not had the courage to do for a while. I didn’t immediately turn the TV on.
I know, that sounds pretty lame.
But it took me intentionally choosing silence over my companions for these last few months, my trusty television and DVR. It’s become more than just a love for my new HDTV. It’s become an escape from the reality of my life, an escape from my pain, an easier way out.
I just could not take the silence. (Well, silence, except for the dancing elephants on my ceiling, a.k.a. my upstairs neighbors.) I was afraid of that silence…because the silence gives way to the overwhelming emotion I seem to be face to face with.
Yes, I admit it. I’m hurting.
And I’ve been too prideful to just come out and say it. It took a while for me to admit it to myself, and even longer to actually be okay with it. I mean, it’s been an entire year now, shouldn’t it hurt less, shouldn’t I cry less, shouldn’t I have more good days than sad?
I’d much rather be seen as strong, as having all the answers, of possessing rock star faith against the odds, as overcoming grief or just darn defeating it all together. As my counselor so eloquently put it, I’ve been trying to earn an “A” in Widowhood 101.
And now that the first year of my grief is over, there’s nothing else to “check off” my to-do list and no more “firsts” to make it through. All that is left is for me to feel the deep pain from loving deeply and loosing deeply.
Turns out, there’s no grade to earn for pain endurance.
And there’s no set time frame. And there’s no set way to feel it. And there’s no easy way to just “get over it.”
And swallowing that reality makes me want to very well give up.
But I press on. (Though quite honestly, I tell Jesus often that I’m okay with Him coming back to earth any day now. Those of you reading this who don’t yet know Jesus, I suggest you get to know Him.)
Pressing on for these last few weeks has meant shifting from “doing” to “being.” That explains my silence on my blog. I’ve been focusing on “being” with God, and not “doing” anything for Him. That’s hard work for a Type A, overachiever like myself.
And yet, my God meets me in my being. He comforts me in my silence. He keeps me company while I do absolutely nothing at all, He is in my breathing in and breathing out. He reigns in me being so desperate for Him to meet me in my pain and in my hurting, that my very life, my very next heartbeat depends completely on Him and Him alone.
Silence and being…God’s open door into my heart, into my hurting.
Dearly loved, back to blogging but shooting for a B minus,