Angie here. Remember me? Once upon a time blogger?
Gotta just take my own advice here and do SOMETHING to re-engage.
Here's my disclaimer: I don't really have any idea what to say.
And here's my safety net: Just because I sit down here today to make a start I have to let myself off the hook for more than this one post today.
Because if I try to anticipate or plan for more my heart beats hard and my face feels flushed. (Although ... hot flashes.) My stomach gets butterfly-y and I just want to shut off the computer and turn on Netflix. Again.
I feel like I've been on a year-long submarine ride. It is dark and the air is stale and every time I felt like I could maybe come up for air the periscope spied something scary (real or imagined), and down I dove.
It's so weird. The deep dark sea feels safe and predictable, but really it is not. The danger is creeping, it's internal, and what's going on at the surface feels irrelevant and unreachable. So I sit in my fake safety and do constant battle with the incessant negative ever-looping messages playing in my head, listening with shame, hanging my head in defeat.
Blah blah blah. Lots of "always" and "never." All or nothing. Everyone or no one.
So much drama lives in the dark.
And apparently I've spent the better part of the last year making sure the stupid submarine stays submerged and if it dares sneak toward the surface then all the alarms go off - DANGER - and down I dive.
Lots of hiding - from predators, yes, but mostly from the LIGHT. And other LIFE.
[Clearly I was prepare for a long voyage and packed plenty of food because I have not suffered a bit in that regard. Oh wait. I thought that was funny, except that I constantly feel guilty because I gained a bunch of weight. Gee whiz.]
Ok but here is what I really want to say. I've come up for air. The sun is out, chasing away the darkness and all that comes with it.
I hear my Heavenly Father's voice again, beckoning me near, reminding me that he is especially fond of me. I weep now, not out of desperation or depression, but out of thankfulness that no matter how deep I dive he is with me. If I can't hear him, he is with me. If I can't see anything good, he is good. If everything seems terrible, he is my redeemer. If my situation doesn't get better, he won't waste my pain. His lovingkindness is everlasting and constant and is always there, present and active, no matter how I feel.
And that even though I have not leaned on all these truths while I was in the submarine, that does not make them any less true and I am longing for the time when I am aware of every bit of this and all the other things I should never forget even when I am diving.
It's baby steps, I must take my own advice. Today, I will be thankful. I will post this.I will sit in the sun next time it comes out, eat something that is actually good for me, and maybe, just maybe even do some kind of exercise in the not too distant future.
I had surgery on my hip again last week (WHAAAAT? Yep it's my third hip replacement. On two hips. I guess it's that New Math.) It went well, and recovery seems to be on a fast track that I no longer thought was possible.
I've got a summer full of grandkids and Nini Camps coming up, and I'm excited. Some cool stuff is happening with my book, "Peering Into the Tunnel, An Outsider's Look Into Grief." A couple of organizations have picked it up to use as a resource, and possibly there are a couple other really exciting things in the works. Right now it's available on Blurb (search my name or the book title and it pops up), and I'm working on getting it over to Amazon as well. (Anyone know how to do this? It's like a foreign language. But I'm determined.)
Wish I could say I climbed out of the submarine and blew it to smithereens, but I'm still retrieving my life from its bowels - the parts of it that are worth hauling up, that is. It WOULD be impressively fun to watch, though, so when I'm ready to do that I'll let you know so you can get tickets.
Watch for me here, if you would. Check in, if you can. It helps me. Let me know where you are, what you wonder, how we can live this life engaged and free. Join me in the journey.
Out of the darkness,