Jumping Off

I almost always feel like I’m on a spinning carousel, that’s going too fast and making me a bit ill, with it’s fancy horses, bright lights, and tinny music. Every now and then I jump off, but it’s such a short time of being off, that the spinning never feels like it stopped. You know what it’s like, when you were a kid and would roller skate around a rink for hours and afterwards you still felt like walking was foreign, or when you step off a boat and still feel the waves. So I step off and before the spinning feeling stops, it’s time to get back on.

And here’s the thing, I want back on. Those lights! That music! It’s so much fun! Before it makes me dizzy and sick again.

A few weeks ago the spinning was too much, and I decided to make one small change for a week. I was going to stay off Facebook.

As I write this, it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been on Facebook.

The spinning from my interactions on Facebook had been too much and I’d gotten lost in waves of dizziness. Caring too much about what others thought, about what they said and how they hurt me, about if I was liked enough or good enough or whatever enough.  And I jumped off. But mostly I was hiding out, catching my breath and praying that when I got back on I’d be able to keep out of the fray. I decided it was easier, less messy and maybe necessary that I just stay away for good.

But I had these few hours just last night that reminded me of some things…. what it feels like to laugh hysterically, what it feels like to truly listen when someone is pouring out their heart, but mostly the need to create these spaces to do that. So no, Facebook isn’t perfect, but it’s a tool to connect when used right. Not a place to get likes on your photos, or find funny videos, or get your news (I mean seriously, who thinks that’s a reliable source?). It can be so much more when we use it right.

So I’m jumping back on Facebook… as soon as I post this. And I’m trying to do it differently. Spend less time on it, not let it replace true interaction, and make my own music. And I emphasize trying because I know I’ll get dizzy again and struggle with all that again…. because that’s what I do.

See you there.

How to Survive Your Heart Exploding

True to my last post, we’ve been trying to do more NOTHING. And for the record, we still fail most of the time and still stay crazy busy. But I’m finding more moments to rest, and am taking those moments to just enjoy and focus on our family, and to also think through what my real goals and dreams are- and which of those can be worked towards now, and which of those God may be saying “wait” on. That’s why I’ve been here less.

Sunday we did nothing. Both boys have been coughing like crazy, I’d had a pretty awful week, and Michael was feeling some effects from lots of new medicine. So we did nothing. And as the day wound down, I purposefully took a few more minutes with the boys, first laying in bed with Ben and then going to Drew’s room. He’s old enough that he rarely asks me to lay with him now, so I jumped at the chance when he asked me.

The conversation that ensued both broke my heart and reinforced my plans to spend more days like this.

As I laid by him and held him, I simply asked him how things were going with him. I usually just get one or two words to any question, and have to pry. But tonight I quickly got more.

We made a deal earlier in the day that exchanged some gift cards of his for an iPod (he hasn’t had one for quite a while after sending it through the wash, and I wanted to teach him the value by offering him one, but at a price) and he was upset about it. But not about not being able to spend the money. He didn’t want to lose something that someone he loved had given him. He was worried that if they went missing one day like his Uncle Austin did, that he would wish he’d saved everything they’d ever given him.

I couldn’t breathe for a moment. I thought my heart would explode.

Drew was just two days past his 4th birthday when Austin disappeared. A month younger than Ben is now. He remembers so little of him, but that seems to make it worse in ways, because he wishes he knew him more. He wishes he had more of him saved away.

Losing my brother is hard. But it’s nothing like the pain of watching my son lose him and not be able to give him answers.

I wish there was more than, “we just don’t know.” He deserves more. We all deserve more.

But while I couldn’t offer answers, I did remind him of a box in his closet. One that he never looks at, but I stash things away in. Cards from family, special things from school, and beside the box sits a big green dinosaur. That was the last gift Austin gave him, for his 4th birthday. And we’ll add these gift cards to the box. Not so much as a reminder of who gave him the cards, but of the night I was reminded how deeply he feels and loves, and how important it is to help save memories.

I can’t take it all away, but I can teach him that we never lose our memories or our love. And we don’t need stuff to keep that alive.

But I still won’t be throwing those gift cards away.

giftcards

 

 

 

Come Home

Do you see the same stars and sky tonight?
Are you warm and dry with a friend to make you laugh?
Do you hear melodies that calm your soul?
Are you held tight by one who knows your heart?
Do you long to come home?

Or

Maybe the stars are watched with their maker.
Maybe the joy never ends.
Maybe the songs are true and sweet and full of praise.
Maybe the very one who made your heart holds you tonight.

Maybe you are home.

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These were the words of my heart a few days ago as I was reminded that despite us missing Austin, God knows where he is, and some days that has to be enough.

It’s the very reason that I can be hopeful.

The hope doesn’t come in believing we’ll find him alive, but in believing that God has this. God has him.

Are you in a place today where you wonder if God is there, if he sees you or hears you? I’m there sometimes, wondering if despite His love for me, my hopes and dreams don’t matter as much as others.

But he says this-

Come Home. Rest in me.

No matter where we are, Home is waiting.

 

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Looking skyward from our Home