I have
never known what it is like to be at an utter loss for words – those of you who
know me may laugh; those of you who don’t know me – know it’s a highly accurate
statement. I love words. I use words. I enjoy using words intentionally – to
say exactly what I mean to say, nothing more and nothing less.
Words carry
power – perhaps more power than anything else in the entire world. After all,
words are the driving force behind every battle, the catalyst to life-long
loves, the quieter of anger, and the medium connecting past to present, and
present to future dreams. Words give expression to our very existence, making
us a part of our broader community, cementing our roll within that community, and
alternatingly growing and damaging others and ourselves. Words carry power –
power to heal, power to excite, power to destroy.
And so I
have spent a great portion of my mental energy over the course of my life
understanding words – learning how to use them well, priding myself on my
ability to articulate thoughts and feelings concisely, and enjoying the
challenge of creatively using my words as I’ve developed my writing.
But the
past 3 months have brought me to a new place – a place where words have no
longer been enough, where my vocabulary insults the depth of my emotion, where
attempts at expressing the unexpressable only end up demeaning my true self and
leaving those who have listened with only two options – trite answers or
silence. Over the past months, words have failed me.
A thing
happens when words fail – ears begin to open. Ears of the heart and ears of the
soul begin to open. When the mouth and mind fail, the heart and the soul
expand. But be warned, the heart and the
soul will expand with whatever is in them – be it sadness, joy, mourning, hope,
or overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. The mind and mouth are good at
deceiving – especially good at deceiving themselves. But the heart and the soul
never lie. So, when the words fail, and the mouth and mind stop fighting for
coherence (whether it be out of weariness, or willingness to purely be), the
soul and heart can finally be heard.
I haven’t
had a picturesque life, but I have had a beautiful one. I didn’t have a
traditional childhood, but I would never trade the one I had. I won’t ever be
made up of just one place, but I am increasingly comfortable with simply being
made.
This year has…well, I’m at a loss for words. And when I let
my mind and words rest, the heart and soul swell – and this is what they say:
I have known sadness – but now I know sorrow
I have known loss – but now I know grief
I have known pain – but now I know suffering
I have known impermanency – but now I know uncertainty
I have known the reality of my humanity – but now I have
embodied it
I have known anticipation – but now I am learning hope
I have known belief – but now I am learning trust
I have known strength – but now I am learning courage
I have known patience – but now I am learning perseverance
I have known happiness – but now I am learning joy
I have known rest – but now I am learning peace
There are
feelings too deep to express. And I think they always contain an element of
sadness, mourning, or loss. Even Mary, the mother of Jesus, treasured things in
her heart – things too deep to share; and I think they were beautiful things,
but I think she treasured them with an element of sadness – knowing they were
too beautiful to remain untouched by pain. When we experience feelings of
elation or joy too deep to express, I think we still try. There’s no risk in trying
– if others can’t fully understand, it doesn’t detract from our joy or elation.
But if we attempt to express a deepness of pain and sorrow, and it is missed or
mishandled by others – we are wounded more.
And it is
for this reason (plus many practical ones) that I’ve been mostly silent the
past 3 months. But now, it is time to state the facts – and let the words do
what they will.
We’ll be
moving back to the US before the end of this year. We’re not exactly sure when,
though sometime before Christmas. We’re not exactly sure where, though we’ll
start out in Sacramento and visit LA. We’re not exactly sure what we’ll do,
though we are making progress on the job hunt. We’re not exactly sure why this
year has gone so badly, though we do know it has gone so badly. But we
are learning hope, we are learning trust, we are learning courage, we are
learning perseverance, we are learning joy, we are learning peace.
As I’ve
allowed my heart and my soul to swell these past months (more out of exhaustion
than bravery to face my self) I have been overwhelmed. I strive for purpose,
for meaning, for my piece in the bigger picture – we’re constantly seeking to
define ourselves, to find our reason for existence, our purpose in the future. But I realized this – unless I live my
moments with the deep belief that I was created exactly for this moment, I will never be satisfied.
When my
children are both screaming, and dinner is burning on the stove, and my husband
is late walking home from work, and I know there have been armed robbers
targeting commuting pedestrians – that is the moment I was created for. And, in
that moment, created for only that moment. To have patience with my children,
realistic expectations of myself, and trust in my God.
When my
friend calls in tears, and it happens to be during my only solitary hour of the
day, when my list of things to do could easily take hours – that is the moment
I was created for. And, in that moment, created
for only that moment. To let priorities re-align, to have ears to hear, and
selflessness to support.
When my
husband comes home, needing a place of rest – and I’ve cried throughout
the day – hidden in the bathroom away from tender and easily scared small eyes
and hearts – that is the moment I was created for. And, in that moment, created
for only that moment. To let sorrow and strength co-exist, to offer
encouragement not out of my own largeness but out of my equal smallness and
subsequent safety in my God.
When series of small trials undergo a metamorphosis and emerge as a substantial problem, demanding some sort of substantial life change; and I realize I have no reserves left with which to make a decision, because I've spent all my strength on the small trials - that is the moment I'm created for. And, in that moment, created for only that moment. To allow God's strength to be perfect because I'm completely weak, to use the mind I've been given to consider the information I know, and to sacrifice the seemingly stable and reasonable for the truly important and valuable - despite the fear I may feel.
When my 7
hours in bed has been interrupted by 6 wake-ups from 2 children, and I almost
literally collapse from the exhaustion, and that little 2 ½ yr old boy cries
out for the 7th time – that is the moment I was created for. And, in
that moment, created for only that moment. To have patience, to muster physical
strength, to pray for rest, and to comfort little hearts that have no other
comforts.
When the
thought of publicly sharing what can only hint at a year full of loss – loss of
dreams, loss of ideals, loss of self-security, loss of being limitless - makes me hide for weeks, and want to
literally run away to the mountains – this is the moment I was created for. And,
in this moment, created for only this moment. To face my own reality with
dignity amidst brokenness. To share our uncertainties with confidence, because
I know God has never left our sides.
And when there
are dozens of ‘good’ moments every day – moments full of beauty, full of love,
full of grace - those are the moments I was created for. Little arms squeezed
tight around my neck, little heads leaned peacefully against my chest, little
squeals of delight filling apartment hallways, tender glances from a husband
full of strength and courage, words of encouragement from friends near and far,
Kenyan sunshine streaming across the parquet floor, warm breezes perfectly
touching skin, smells of Kenyan summers in early October – and in every one of
those moments, those are the moments I was created for. And, in those moments,
created for only those moments. To savor, to breathe deeply, to feel joy, to
celebrate with others, to heal from the painful moments.
My last
entry talked about how motherhood is all about living fully in the now, because
the now is of paramount importance to the future. But I think this truth extends
to all walks of life. Now is of paramount importance, now is why we were
created. And if we live fully in the now, with acknowledgement of who we strive
to be and where we’ve come from – we get closer to realizing our future, and
minimize the chances of regretting our past.
During a
commercial break in a show I was watching earlier this week, a notice popped up
that read, “content will return shortly”.
On one level it seemed like a humorous parallel to my life – content will return shortly. But, in
reality, the content never stopped. Yes, the big picture is much less clear.
But the content remains – in snippets and moments, many of them too deep for
words. Moments I was created for.
