I don’t know why, but I’ve been swimming laps in the pool of grief these past few weeks.
As far as I can tell, there was no clear event which precipitated this, just a gradual thinning of my power to hold things together, until it seemed like the slightest brush brought unbidden tears.
What was that? I find myself wondering.
Who stole all the air?
I text my tribe, I’m drowning here, and discover that it’s possible that our bodies store trauma.
Hear that sometimes, the scales fill and fill and fill until at last, they tip. Uninvited, it comes pouring out, too much to hold in trembling cupped hands. What to do with all the spill?
I can’t seem to climb it away, sleep it away, pray it away.
How must we steward our healing? I only know one way.
We go to the One.
He holds the universe and our one tiny life together, carries them along, inches them forward.
I must believe that He can catch the spill in His own cupped hands. Coax the dead places inside of us back to life.
Keep our one tiny life, until it’s time.
Slowly, I feel this season of sad shifting.
I can hold on, as to a light shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in my heart. (2 Peter 1:19)