I’m no shrinking violet. I come from a long line of tough and determined women. Not kidding…I once watched my mama misjudge her foot for the dirt and stick a pitchfork right through it. She looked at me and calmly asked, “Did I do what I think I just did?” …Words failed me. All I could do was nod in shocked disbelief. It was a defining moment. I learned several things: 1. Crying doesn’t fix anything 2. pitchforks happen and 3. I better toughen up if I’m going to make it in this world.
I’ve certainly stumbled on some self-inflicted wounds in my life, but like my mother I’ve done my best to accept it and move on. It’s a strategy a lot of us use…just keep moving. Be busy being busy. Fix it yourself. Hold it together.
Not surprisingly, this has been my strategy of choice for coping with Chris’ deployment. It seems like the responsible thing to do, especially when the kids are watching. I’m going about my routine, making plans and compartmentalizing the year into manageable chunks. Sounds good, right?!? and it works on the surface….But all of this “she-woman” stuff gets thrown out the window when I walk into church.
You see, I know deep in my soul that I am not the ONE “holding it all together.” I can’t fix what’s happening to our family. Being busy will not take away the pain that makes my heart ache. And being tough will just leave me alone, tired and burnout. It’s a helpless and vulnerable place to be. God is stripping me down. I’m on my knees and forced to look up. Not acknowledging Him and my dependence is like trying to hide the daylight from the sun. This is His moment to shine, not mine.
I’ve come undone. The lines to my parachute have been cut and I have no choice but to trust that God will catch me.