Thoughts

My husband has no recollection of ever having sobbed in his life, so yesterday evening when I was trying to explain how my bouts of depression felt, there was a clear disconnect in my ability to communicate.

“Have you ever cried really hard? Like where your whole body is heaving?”

“No.”

“Okay, well…. that’s how it felt.”

It was maybe Friday when my body and my spirit felt as if I’d just spent hours doubled over crying, only I hadn’t been. There was nothing to be sad about in that moment, but I felt emotionally drained and broken. Of course it passed. New days bring new feelings, new weather, new blossoms, new hormone levels.

I had a conversation about religion and faith last week. A comment was made about letting kids discover for themselves what they believe.

This weighs heavy on me. It’s been a long, dry walk with Jesus. Sometimes I feel like he’s a stranger in passing, especially in church when I see hands lifted and eyes closed and my voice is jumping between the alto and soprano octaves and my fingers are fidgeting in my shirt sleeves. I don’t feel him like I did when I was young. And thanks to depression and anxiety, I’m learning not to trust feelings. What I feel about God doesn’t change who God is. My circumstances, my mistakes, my perspective, my ineptitude, my hypocrisy, my apathy, and my perversions don’t change Him and they don’t change what He says about me.

I can tell you this: I am nothing without Him and my boys know that God loves them most… more than momma ever could. There will be plenty for them to figure out, but I used to sit by my baby’s crib at night and pray that he was God’s, not mine.

He is life, and I’ll be damned if I don’t teach my boys that they were created with joy and love and purpose. 

Losing people makes you think long and hard. When I die, please don’t say things like, “Well she was a really avid gardener,” or “She had a way with words,” or “She really loved those boys.”

If I busy myself in the garden weeding and pruning, or if I try to make beautiful things with clay, or if I try to help others, it’s because there is beauty yet to come and I can’t stop it. Everything points to it. Everything cries out for it. We are made in His image, and He creates. He makes things beautiful. He helps.

She is Jesus’s. She is adored. She is proven worthy.