It's been a really tough week for me, and it's not even over yet. As some of you already know, my Aunt passed away on Tuesday. And as you might think, it's pretty much all I can think about. Her death was sudden, but at the same time, I knew it was coming. She had been struggling with alcoholism for several years, and it finally caught up to her. She went into the hospital about a month ago with liver and kidney failure. At the time, the doctors didn't know the severity of the situation, but regardless, I knew that she wouldn't last very long. I have been in a slow process of mourning ever since that original hospital stay occurred, but it did little to prepare me for the inevitable.
I am in mourning now, as you would think, but not for myself. I do miss my Aunt. She shared her birthday with me, her favorite football team was the same as mine, and I have countless found memories of her from my younger years. She was always joyful, always laughing, smiling, cracking jokes with the family. She was always the one who cheered loudest for my cousins- her sons- while at their sports games. I will miss her terribly, and our family will always feel the loss of her presence. But my mourning is not for my own loss. It is for the loss and hurting of the rest of my family. For my grandmother, who is now experiencing the first loss of a child. For my Uncle, who has lost his wife of 23 years. I mourn for my cousins, who have lost their mother. My youngest cousin is still in high school, and now will not have his mother at his graduation this summer. I mourn for my Aunt's family who, although I did not know them, I can only imagine the pain that they're feeling right now with the loss of their daughter, sister, granddaughter. I do not mourn for myself, but for all those around me right now who are hurting so deeply, and yet I can do nothing to take away their pain.
My Aunt's service will be on Monday, in her hometown in Washington. My family will be driving up there this weekend, and will be staying for as long as we can. Please, send your prayers to my family.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." Matthew 5:4
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
This post was actually written two weeks ago, in a moment of clarity. Since then, I have been dragging my feet to edit and finally post it, for several menial reasons. I've finally finished it. Today's score is:
Satan-induced procrastination: 0
Let's hope it stays this way.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I’ve done any journaling. This is evidenced by the fact that I have no current journals to write in, which is why I’m writing via the computer. I don’t know what I’m going to say, so forgive me if this is but random bits of nothingness. However, I am going to continue writing for as long as I have time, because I have a nagging feeling that Satan is trying to keep me from writing. Do I know why? Absolutely not. Do I have guesses? Of course I do. However, I will be avoiding speculation and focusing on the act of writing itself, to see what happens.
So far, I’ve been noticing that every time I decide to start writing, other things come up that ‘need’ to be done, like checking emails, browsing yahoo, talking to dad, planning my week. Plenty of things that truly do need to be done, but can wait until a later time to be accomplished. Currently, I have finished my tasks that really do need to be done in a timely manner, and now I have nothing else that is pressing into my writing time. Hopefully this will help keep me on track with this journal entry, even though the entry itself seems to have nothing of importance to write about.
I've learned from experience that lots of times, just the act of writing is the important part, and not the words or thoughts that I’ve expressed. I have no idea what to write about, and in the same moment, I have SO much to write about that I don’t even know where to begin. Perhaps I should start with where it all began, but even that path is muddled and unclear in its origins.
I tend to think that this path began about two months ago, when I met a woman named Lucy*. She attends my church, and she is the mother of one of my friends there. I met her one day, and though the event was nothing special, it prompted me to add her as a friend on Facebook. This then led to me finding a page that she created to promote her blog website, and on a whim, I decided to explore her blog. I read every entry she had posted so far, and I that same day I felt a pulling inside of me to start writing again, for myself. I didn’t know what I would write, I didn’t know how long the desire would last, and I definitely didn’t know what the outcome would be. But I sat by my window, watched the rain coming down in sheets, and the words started forming as quickly as the raindrops fell. I completed the ‘article’ of sorts, and immediately clicked over to my Facebook page. I fired off a quick posting about my recently completed works, citing Lucy for unknowingly inspiring me to write again. This post sparked a short conversation between Lucy and I, which then pushed me to creating a blog website of my own. Again, I didn’t know why I was doing it, what I would write about, or what the purpose of the endeavor was, but I knew it needed to be done, so I did it. In the following few days, I wrote a couple more articles, and each day I felt a freeing confidence I had never experienced before. It came with clicking the ‘Publish’ button when I finished an article, and I believe it stemmed from doing something that was of completely unknown motivation for me. I was doing these things, and writing these articles for reasons that I did not know, but somehow I knew that they were things that I was meant to be doing. It was completely unusual, totally out of character, and absolutely thrilling for me. My husband would come home each day, see the giant grin on my face and quickly come to the conclusion,
“You wrote something today, didn’t you?” he would ask. I would just nod my head happily, and he would do the same, simply stating,
“Good.” At the time, I confess, I was a bit put off at his seemingly disinterest in this new development for me. I mean, shouldn’t he have been as happy as I was? Shouldn’t he be proclaiming his joy and pride at my accomplishments? But I realize now, with more clarity than before- It was not disinterest he was showing. It was a quiet, peaceful confidence that what I was doing was exactly what I needed to be doing, and he had a simple kind of happiness about that.
But as confident as those days were, they were the only ones to come. I quickly fell away from writing, excusing myself from the new project by simply saying, “I have nothing to write about right now.” And this I know to be a lie. My life is not static. It is not stagnant; it is not a string of identical days without distinction, interest, or purpose. Each day there is always something new to write about, because there is simply always something new. Even if the things I write are not interesting to all people, or even to myself, I cannot excuse myself from this project by lying myself into believing that I have nothing to write about. There is, and always will be, something to write about. Everyday, for the rest of my days until I die, there will always be a reason to write. The journey is in finding those things to write about. This is Day 1.
22 "Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:22-23
*Name has been changed*