I’m up to the letter C on my alphabetical journey through my iPod. When I started this journey almost a month ago, I had no idea how seasonal it would be. But I’ve come to realize that the alphabet has its own order just like everything else in the universe. And there is definitely a different feel to the songs that I’m listening to, depending on the letter that they start with. I didn’t so much pay attention when I was in the A’s, since it was the start of my journey and I was not yet aware how things would change. But as soon as I got to the B’s, I noticed a difference. Songs that start with the letter B feel so much better than songs that start with the letter A. They’re songs that start with the word “Baby” or “Be” or “Beautiful” or “Beyond.” I mostly breathed deep through the B’s and rested.
And now I’m on the C’s. Songs are starting with “Can’t” and “Chains” and “Change” and “Cold.” So far, they hurt. A lot. And I’m hurting with them. A lot.
I’ve got some things going on in this, the eleventh month of the year two thousand and eight. I’ve been trying to figure out how to express them. Or even if they need expressed. There is definitely a sense of fullness and pain that goes along with the unexpressed. Fullness isn’t so bad, really. For now, I am just living it, hoping it will be absorbed, rather than expressed. The swelling will eventually go down, right? I like the thought of absorption, actually.
The leaves are finally changing colors here in North Texas. They fly through the air in the autumn winds and they flutter to the ground, sometimes thinking they are lighter than the air and floating up again, but eventually they always come down. They come down because they’re dead, never to live again. In their death, they are kicked around by pedestrians, jumped in by children and eventually mulched into oblivion by lawnmowers. I love that there is so much color in the death of this season. There is a lot of color in my heart right now as well. The language of my heart is especially colorful. More colorful than the language of my mouth. Hopefully, my heart is not dying like the leaves. I have to trust that it’s not. Right now, I’m simply trying to revel in the beauty of this broken heart. What was it that you said, Lord? Your yoke is easy and your burden is light? Can I float upon it for awhile? How about the rest of my life?
I realize that I’m not an easy person to be around. I don’t make people feel comfortable. People often apologize after being around me because they feel like they’ve upset me. I rarely feel upset or even if I do, I try hard not to show it. But something about me exudes upsetness, I guess. I love people but I think I need to hug people more. I want to hug people. I think I put off a “don’t hug me” aura. Next time you see me, hug me anyway. I need it. I’ll take a holy kiss as well. I loved being around the beautiful people of France that I met a couple weekends ago. I wished we kissed each other like that here more often.
I completed another year of life this month. I’m now thirty-six years old. I wonder how old that is in dog years? I never thought that fourteen years into motherhood, I’d still be so unsure about it all. I’m always second-guessing myself. Sometimes I’m pretty sure that I’ve caused irreversible damage to my children. Will I still feel that way when I’m thirty-six years into motherhood? Will I be a grandmother then? Will that be just as hard?
We’re changing churches. We’re changing. I’m changing. Change. The letter C.
I am not piecemeal. I am wholly made. My heart was not randomly picked fragments found on some street corner and fit together like a make-do jigsaw puzzle. It was wholly created, together with my body, mind and spirit. I am whole though I feel broken. I can live with that. I was wholly created and I am wholly loved by a holy God. I am alive in that.
Thanks for reading. Happy November.
* Warning: The above song (Changes Come by Over the Rhine) contains one explicit lyric. Please use discretion if children are present.