Just Curtains

A long time ago, back close to the beginning of this story, I wrote a blog about how I had plans and how they all were suddenly changed by Joel. I could go back and check the details, but I'm here now in the middle of this, and anyway, I'm feeling too lazy to bother tracking down direct quotes.

I can remember how I felt back then anyway, regardless of what I wrote or didn't write. And that was that I had entered a sort of "holding pattern." I was NOT cleared for take off. Skies were overcast, visibility was nil, and the destination had been obliterated by a bomb anyway.

Before Joel, I had planned to go back to volunteer work with youth once the boys were past those early years. Maybe substitute teach a few days. I would get back in shape by going for walks in the evening. I would be a listening ear, I would create a welcoming home for other people. I pictured pulling my boys in a wagon to the park, to get ice cream, to the library. The world was full of possibilities. Places to be and things to do. Ways to be useful. Ways to be helpful.

After Joel, at times I felt that my whole life might be completely swallowed up by the "world" of PBD's. It seemed to fill my whole horizon. My son was ill. Then my son started to decline. Appointments. Hospital. Tears. Round and round. There was nothing ahead but a long period of declining, until it all ended with his death. I had entered a new land where the air was often full of ashes drifting down like smokey snowflakes and the air had a bitter tang.

Well, that is saying it all pretty strongly. Yes, there were still happy moments, even then. Even in this wilderness, there were still springs where bushes might grow, and occasionally even a flower.

What I am really trying to convey is the feeling I had about where I was at in life. I felt crippled. I felt like I had taken a bullet to the chest, and it was lodged there. I felt I was dragging myself forward by my fingernails. I felt like I held other people back and brought them down, like I always needed another shoulder to lean on as I limped forward. I felt trapped. I felt a glass cage had been lowered over me where others could watch my slow suffocation.

But I don't feel that way any more. I haven't felt that way for a long time. And I wanted to let you know. My life is not on hold. Joel has not put my life on hold.

Joel's illness was not a door into a windowless room that slammed shut behind me once I entered. I'm not sure how to explain how the horizon opened up all around me. How there are things to do and purpose to find, even while you are sitting quietly and holding your child.

A lot of this has to do with God's work in my heart and in my life. To seeing his hand raise the curtains I mistook for walls. To hearing His voice speak purpose to me.

I'm still waiting for some of those things that I can't do right now. But right now there are things that I can do, that I will no longer be able to do in the future. And I'm glad I got this chance to do those things.

And here is a song, that sings in my heart, you might have heard it, sung by John Waller.

I'm waiting, I'm waiting on You Lord
And I am hopeful, I'm waiting on You Lord
Though it is painful, but patiently I will wait

And I will move ahead bold and confident taking every step in obedience

While I'm waiting, I will serve You
While I'm waiting, I will worship
While I'm waiting, I will not faint

I'll be running the race even while I wait

I'm waiting, I'm waiting on You Lord
And I am peaceful....

Yes, I am peaceful. I am peaceful while I wait. But I'm not in a waiting room, reading an old magazine to stave off the boredom, the worry and the stress while the seconds slowly tick by. Believe me, I've had a lot of real life experience in doing this, and I can tell you that this feels nothing like that.

Instead, my original journey took a detour. The land was strange and frightening and there was and is lots of sadness. For a time I stood motionless in that land, too shocked and horrified to move. I was paralyzed. But I heard the voice of my God through the mist. And I can see there is a path here to follow which will take me to the other side. Yes, it is a difficult journey. Yes, the stones cut my feet, and at times I must climb using both roughened hands and feeling the weakness of my being. But there are discoveries to make. There are things to do, oh yes, there are things to do, and purposes to fulfill. Sometimes I even run down the path boldly. And sometimes the mist clears and even in this somber land, the view is beautiful. Because my God is here with me.