Leakage

I am feeling really drained lately. I’m not sure where the leak is or in what direction the trickle is headed or what the fluid is that’s being siphoned from inside of me. I just know that something is pouring out of me and I don’t know if I want it back or if I need to just go ahead and move forward without it, even if I’m only half-fueled.

Sometimes I think I have nothing left to say. Surely I can’t just keep writing about songs that make me cry and movies that make me cry and things that my kids do that make me cry and how my heart feels like it’s either being clamped or being ripped from my chest and how my endless pursuit of peace seems more like a war most of the time and how this river keeps moving me farther along, sometimes tumbling me violently over jagged boulders and sometimes letting me float for a while, but mostly getting me very, very wet. And coffee. I write about coffee a lot too. I am tired of writing about these things. And sometimes I think that people who read these things I write about might not know that I am actually a pretty happy person, deep down. But alas, I can think of nothing else. It seems it has all been said already.

I think that life has slowly but surely pushed me into a new chapter. And I’m not sure if it’s one that I can write about. The last chapter was writable. I found a great release in writing, actually. But now I am finding that although there is much going on, the things that I am able to say are limited. My kids are getting older. They read this blog sometimes. They are beautiful and complex, each of them uniquely made by a creative and loving God. And the energy required of me to navigate these waters is huge. It surpasses whatever I had in reserve that was driving me to come out of my shell for a little while.

I am realizing that my moments are less and less my own these days. And in those rare moments, I am having more of a desire for solitude than for openness. I’m not even finding much time to get the camera out or work on music these days. And the truth is, I’m really tired of talking. I feel like I’ve talked more in the last two years than the whole rest of my life put together and now I’m ready to quit. Only I don’t really have that option. Because there’s a lot that must be said. If nothing else, I must continue to respond to almost all sentences beginning with “Mom….” And I will respond to most of them. Late into the night. Even though I’m so tired.

I guess all moms everywhere go through periods where they are intensely aware of their capability for destruction and the responsibility can sometimes seem impossibly overwhelming. I guess that’s when I’m really thankful that these precious lives were never really mine to begin with and I can move forward with confidence in the only One who really knows what He’s doing around here. And I am moving forward. Even if it’s by a strong current that’s not giving me any choice. It just keeps bouncing me along, pulling some loved ones toward the ocean with me and leaving others farther upstream, allowing them to enjoy their own refreshing water without me. And still others have passed me and gone on ahead, around the bend and out of sight. And that’s okay. The less people that are around me, the less I’ll have to talk.

I just wonder if there’s a way to stop the leak that I seem to have sprung and refuel.

  1. #1 by Mom on February 13, 2008 - 10:21 am

    I almost can’t breathe reading this post. The memories are still fresh. Wanna play Scrabble?

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  2. #2 by ERIN INMAN on February 13, 2008 - 11:30 am

    have you heard of the macdowell colony? it a place where artists go to find solitude. each one gets a cabin out in the middle of no where, away from internet, phones, computer etc. and they can stay there for a couple weeks or a few months. meals are delivered quietly at the door and you can spend time with the other artists at dinner if you want. every minute of the day is yours to refuel.

    let’s go there. we’ll leave the kids and the dogs with the husbands. we’ll stay for a few months. and i won’t even talk to you.

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  3. #3 by Leslie on February 13, 2008 - 12:35 pm

    Wow. Did you just call me an artist? That’s like the biggest compliment ever, even though it’s a bit of a stretch. But I’ll take it. A cabin sounds nice. So does a beach.

    Mom, your comment reminded me of memories of my own. I don’t know why this is the first time that I am thinking of this, but I am remembering when I used to have babies and toddlers. I always thought of those years as “The Drowning Years.” I couldn’t even stay afloat. I guess I’ve always thought of my life in terms of water even before I started this blog. And it’s encouraging to realize that at least my head’s above water now.

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  4. #4 by Pilgrim on February 13, 2008 - 1:30 pm

    I am just coming out of a period like this, Les. I was so weary, in every area of my life. I was starting to find it difficult even to muster the strength to WANT to be holy and vibrant and “on” (much more to actually DO IT). For me, however, I know that I only grow despondent and apathetic when I am trying to rely on my own strength to carry me through, my own personality to make me endearing, or my own holiness to make me right with God.

    But last week I let go. It’s not me. I don’t know how many times the Good Lord has to teach me to be dependent on Him and trust Him to offer me the rest and peace I need. But apparently a lot.

    That was totally a tangent of my own, and may not speak to your situation at all. But there it is, my little sermonette.

    I love you and am really hoping to be able to see y’all in July.

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  5. #5 by Leslie on February 14, 2008 - 1:17 pm

    Pilgrim, I love hearing this from you. I love the sentence “But last week I let go.” It’s a good one that speaks more to me than you know. Letting go…..thank you.

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  6. #6 by Kirsty on February 15, 2008 - 3:49 am

    “The drowning years”, I am just coming out of those. Now I am in the “swimming hard up stream years” but seem to be getting nowhere. I keep running into rocks and sunken logs and watching others float along past me going the other way peacefully.

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  7. #7 by Mom on February 15, 2008 - 1:00 pm

    Hey Kirsty, did I ever tell you you’re cute and we loved visiting you in England? Maybe you’ve hit the culture wall. They say the stress is greatest where the two cultures are similar but not completely alike. Whaddya think?

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  8. #8 by Kirsty on February 15, 2008 - 4:42 pm

    ,I am sure that is somewhat true. But, mostly I was thinking about my parenting skills. However, I do feel guilty every time I drive to school instead of walking!

    We really enjoyed having you guys here. Can you come back soon?

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  9. #9 by Mom on February 18, 2008 - 10:31 am

    Yes. That’s the short answer. The long answer is “I hope so.” The real answer is “probably not soon.”

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  10. #10 by knauerflower on February 18, 2008 - 7:42 pm

    I just feel like my life is in the toilet. One crazy/bad thing happens after another. So, you can come swim with me in the toilet, just dodge the floaters!

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  11. #11 by knauerflower on February 18, 2008 - 7:43 pm

    that sounded really gross, I apologize, it sounded like I meant something I didn’t, I need coffee and sleep! And by the way, coffee is worth talking about!

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  12. #12 by Tonia on February 18, 2008 - 9:07 pm

    Duct tape works for everything… 🙂

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  13. #13 by Leslie on February 18, 2008 - 9:15 pm

    🙂

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  14. #14 by Leslie on February 18, 2008 - 9:16 pm

    Swimming upstream, dodging floaters in the toilet, duct tape…let’s work it all out over a cup of coffee.

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  15. #15 by plunky on February 21, 2008 - 8:21 pm

    Like

  16. #16 by Leslie on February 21, 2008 - 9:16 pm

    Oh my gosh, Plunky (or should I call you Plungy?). You are seriously out of control.

    Like

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