Ache

I have tried to take an observer's stance to myself as I have spent the last several months wading through some of the most difficult and painful emotions I've ever experienced.  They haven't all been terrible, but they've nearly all been difficult.  And tonight I pulled out my good headphones for the first time in too long and listened to old music and new music and let the tears just spill.  My shirt is still damp and my journal writing is surely garbled.  But in my music it is safe to feel.

My observer's eyes see how much all this holding back and trying to be tough and strong is taking its toll.  I'm not so strong.  I don't want to be tough.  I ache for softening and love and am too hurt and too scared to relax into any of it.  I hate seeing the damage in myself.  It makes me feel ashamed because I've always wanted to work toward greater health and strength and a greater capacity for love.  I'm ashamed to see that I've moved backwards, welding plates of armor together to try to keep my squishy guts from spilling all over the sidewalk.  And it's not working anyway.

My observer's eyes are seeing how easily my heart feels hurt now.  My observer's eyes see this hunger for joy and ease.  My observer's eyes want to turn away from the humiliating desperation in me, but I see it and no turning away will erase that.

I'm grateful to the musicians who write songs from God's point of view.  Those songs, those lyrics, open the door to my heart in a way that doesn't often happen when I sink myself into scripture.  But the music touches me.

I long for safety and know I can only count on it in One place.  And part of me is angry about that.  Legitimately, really, largely angry.  And also grateful.  But angry, too.  Because I'm good.  Because I've given and tried and asked and cried.  And I don't understand why this is so hard.

The observer in me is worried.

Not Sleeping

Nora's bedtime ramblings (imagine these interspersed with kicking her heels against her mattress and banging a toy on the bars of her crib:

"Jonah eat it.  He's an idiot.  No, he's not.   Blitzkrieg Bop.  Let's say prayers, guys.  Spacekrieg bop.  Let's just say prayers, guys.  I dropped my guy, can you get him?  Those kids are quiet.  They not allowed to quiet. .... I farted.  You gonna eat it?  Pleeee-oh pleee-oh pleee-oh.  Brush your eye!  Cheer up!  Cheer up!  What are you doing?  Can we play with you?  Nope!  Okay!  Smelly.  Yeah.  Look at my butt!  Look at my butt!  I'm a crazy butt!"

Now she just yawned. I think she's done.

#pregnancy

It's not my fault.  

Refusal

When your baby won't come in the house.

Bakery

Decorating cookies with my loves.  Can you guess which two rows are mine? 

In other news, I'm allergic to my own house or something. 

Oh, and our roof is leaking.  Fun times all around. 

But in six minutes, cookies. So it's not all bad.  It's never all bad.