Never really alone.

After an exhausting year, time and time again I catch myself fighting myself, my husband, my son, church gatherings, strangers, drivers, many others, and sadly, my faith. I have learned that I fall somewhere between extroverted and introverted. I love loving on people, giving, doing, sitting with, chatting, and listening to people, but I have seasons where I just want to be trapped within the confines of my house, I have to hide away and just craft. Or read. Or veg out on nothingness. But in the loneliest moments, the Lord keeps gently reminding me that I am not alone on this walk. That He sees my pain, my past, my struggles and my future. And in the most perfect warmth, meets and comforts me wherever I am. He has placed specific people in my path, and I in theirs. We are given so many opportunities to love each other, to do for each other, and simply be near for each other. I recently found myself struggling with being weak, building a higher, thicker wall, thinking it’s out of strength that I defend myself, but no. I’ve just been hiding from the brokenness. I admit, I can’t carry the burden alone anymore.

And now I stop.

And I’m still.

I have a brief moment of blissful clarity. And I say a prayer. “Lord, please, meet me here. You know my heart, my desires, my doubts, my loves, my disappointments. Forgive me for not loving you better, forgive me for not always trusting your plan or trying to see what you are showing me. Father, please, please, my heart is heavy, will you ease this ache? Let me rest in the warmth of your infinite, genuine love. Let me lay at your feet, my brokenness exposed and ugly. Please put me together again. I love you Lord Jesus. Amen.”

If you are feeling weak because life has been tough, be weak. You do not have to keep holding the wall up on your own. Let it fall. Cry. Pray. Take a break. Call someone. Take a nap. Pray. Delegate chores to someone else. Leave it undone. But just step away. And remember you aren’t alone. Pray.

Advertisements

After the Storm

There’s no one to blame, really. It’s just this thing that happened. Because honestly, who could be to blame?  How far back do you want to go? How deep should one dig? But that’s not living. That’s not moving forward. It’s just an endless search for the defining moments, lost in a twisted perception, that altered generations of existence. And one, who was unwilling to just turn around and take that first blind step.

Where do we go from here?

Forward. Because going back just leaves us grasping for wisps of memories, lost in a sea of fog.

Everyday, my mind wanders into a memory with her. No longer with anxiety. It’s not good or bad. I’m just there, watching the interaction unfold. What she did, what I did. Observing, as the invisible third party. I catch myself judging her. And, judging myself. Knowing there’s nothing I could change or would have done any different.

Year after year, I forced myself to be tolerant, even tender, at times, to her conditions. I would tell her what she wanted to hear, what we needed to hear, just to keep the peace between us, for the baby’s sake. It was never easy being loved by her. In recent years, I have jokingly said, “My mother’s love is like a piano being dropped from a ten story building. In other words: heavy.” But if you never knew her, you wouldn’t get why that’s funny. She was warm and loving but smothering, or could be colder than ice if she was crossed, on any particular day. But, she was kind to strangers and had a way with animals and babies. Nouns that couldn’t hurt her; she was safe with them.

The problem with users is you never know which person you’re going to get. Who will it be this time? Thoughtful or manipulative? Lucid or insane? Manic or depressed? Forgiving or bitter? Cloy or severe? Calm or violent? It’s an exhausting game for the obligated players.

As I have cleaned up rooms in our house, I find items she’s given to my family, gifts for every one of us all along, and I catch myself wondering what’s going to happen once they’ve all been used, outgrown, torn, or broken… what will be left of the remnants of her language? In my house there’s no room for sentimentality. It must be practical, serve a purpose or be gone with you!

I’ve had somber days of recollection, conflicted by how we all left the terms with her. Of course there were signs, but when someone cries, “WOLF!” so many times, eventually, we all just stop listening. Which is probably what she needed most. 

I am assuming you know, audience. I am assuming you have figured it out by now. More than just that my mother has died. More than the expected overdose. There was no note, but not so many unanswered questions either. Instant relief and release from a lifetime of pain. 

I pray that she’s in heaven. That she is at peace. That the Lord was merciful in her final fleeting moments. 

Romans 10:13 ESV

[13] For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

“And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That’s why I hold,
That’s why I hold with all I have.
That’s why I hold.

I won’t die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I’ll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and man so small.
Well I’m scared of what’s behind and what’s before.

And there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.”

After the Storm by Mumford and Sons

This is intimidating.

Seriously. I have started about half a dozen posts, save them as drafts and never finish them. It’s like having a blank canvas. A million and one ideas flooding my forethought all at once, each fighting to be told. So…

Hi. I’m Brittany. Some call me Lane. Others call me Brit.

I’m tired of Facebook. It’s just exhausting and I really just use it as a scrapbook. I will lay my story here. A place for it to call “Home.”

More to come. Toodles!