Onions and J-O-Y

Trying to get back in the swing of things is hard. I think about how much more difficult it will become as we absorb the responsibilities of our "usual" life. I am exhausted and have a low threshold for things that bother me. Poor Allan, it's like he is dealing with pregnant me. He was hoping to not have to do that I suppose. I want the broken or the breaking things in our house fixed NOW. If it's annoying me, I want it taken care of. I find I just don't have the extra energy to expend on that "fluff". (Drafty windows and a new roof isn't "fluff"', but kids stuff everywhere, a broken phone, a not functional storm door, and clothes that don't fit right could be considered as such).

The little reserve I have is to go into the ladybugs flitting around the house. They will usually stop for a hug and an 'I miss Ava'. Their regular conversation these days consists of: 'Look at the picture I'm coloring. I'm coloring in the lines. We used to have 5 kids and now we are back to 3. These are yummy mashed potatoes.' Sometimes I can deal with it OK. Today it's like little daggers in my heart.

I always wanted to have four kids. I've given birth to 5 wonderful little bugs, but I so wish that I had the opportunity to raise them all. When we found out we were expecting Ava to say we were surprised would be an understatement. We were thrown for a loop thinking that our family was complete. I went through a lot of processing to come to terms with having another one right now. When I was younger I wanted 4, when I came to terms with the surprise, I still wanted 4. I really think that we would have done a great job that the craziness of 4 would provide. I hate that I will never know now.

It's those thoughts and feelings that are piercing and raw. Every time I peel a layer of that onion my eyes sting and burn as I get closer to the heart of the matter. I can't look at the whole thing all at once. I think I'd blow a gasket. I keep saying that I can't do it anymore and how much more can I take. Yet here I sit, still doing what I feared the most and still taking it. Sometimes way better than others, none the less, taking it.

Allan and I were noticing that this time around we feel way more present in life than we did when Eric died. That is a blessing. We have to be. We have three active, wounded, and still happy ladies that we have to care for and nurture.

My soul is nurtured by God. I need someone to nurture my physical being. My body is sore, my mind is dull and my heart is so very broken. It is amazing to me how a simple (tongue in cheek) task, like taking 3 kids to church, and eating lunch can take all I have out of me.

I find that I am trying to rush each day to get to the next. The next holds the same loneliness and sorrow, but as the song says, "His joy comes in the morning". I keep looking for the glimmers of that joy so I can hold on and get to the next step. Sometimes it's so very intentional. We have a huge JOY sign in red on our front lawn. In the center of the "O" is Mary, Joseph and Jesus in white. Whenever I leave or come home it's there, in my face. J-O-Y and why we can have it. Sometimes it has to be blatant to be effective.