hiatus interruptus

Monday, February 27, 2017



It's been my goal to write here more for the past 6 months, but instead, I found myself strangely quieted during the past 6-8 months. Partly grief-induced, partly illness-induced, partly God-induced. I've been doing more heart work, and for the first time in my life, I haven't felt free to verbally process much of it with anyone, much less here, in semi-public. 

The things I've hidden away in my heart during these past months have been painful and hard. Truths about myself, about my family, about the world. I've been in a posture of discovery for longer than feels comfortable to me. What I can say is that 2016 did bring me to my knees in a lot of ways - in repentance, in praise, in pleas for mercy. I cried 'uncle' more than once during the past year, and honestly, those prayers weren't answered. Glimpses of grace, yes. But relief? Not so much, in spite of my begging.

I spent a lot of time feeling angry and resentful that I had to deal with big-ticket identity problems as an individual and as a family at the same time as big-ticket circumstantial problems. As if the world should stop, and I shouldn't need to think or parent anymore just because our life was complicated.

I spent a lot of time encouraged and empowered by new thoughts and ideas, and then simultaneously fearful and reluctant because of what they might mean for my life.

I spent a lot of time reading. Praying. Writing a bit. However, I would say the thing that most characterized my last 6-8 months is listening. Listening to God, listening to my children, listening to other voices that I have not truly heard before. The more I learn, the more I realize I don't know. As much as I wish I had been called to something sexy like activism or teaching about these things I'm learning or writing books to educate and encourage, at this very moment, I'm not sure I'm released from that sole posture of listening. I know, as do most women of my age and nationality, exactly what it feels like to be disregarded, to have your feelings diminished, to have your voice silenced, to not be listened to. I am determined to not make that mistake with others, particularly my children.

I'm hopeful for the year ahead. The current quote in our mudroom/entryway is a gem from Zora Neale Hurston: 
"There are years that ask questions and years that answer."

I have done the years of questions at this point. I'm ready for the a year that answers. May this be that year, and may I be faithful to tell about it when it happens.


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