Saturday, May 7, 2016

Old friends, older enemies

Just revisited this blog after considering starting a new one. Man, rereading these posts.... tears for all kinds of reasons. Tears for remembering the fire that first was burning in my belly to write. To share. To remember. To get out what so often wants to come as I learn. Tears for remembering that sweet season that had its joys and challenges with one baby boy, and to realize I had no idea that the Lord would send us another son and a beautiful daughter before I would pick up and write again. As I read the penned words I can remember, so freshly, the excitement I had for what God was revealing. And, with the same freshness I can remember the sting of defeat and frustration of living in a broken world. I can - unfortunately - say that I have lamented some of the same fears and frustrations from nearly four years ago in the past few days.     Today, I pick up my pen again. Not because I'm any wiser; if anything, the farther I go, the more broken I realize I am....  Which I'm hoping ends well because it leads me more and more to my *need* for my Savior.

Lately I've become an over-poster on facebook. You know the kind. Every moment that should be personal - I snap a picture and post it.  I've begun to think of my life in posts. Like, I'm crafting the slashtag (I'll explain that some other time) while my life is unfolding. I've been aking myself; WHY??? Why do you feel the need to write and publish your life, in real time, for a bunch of "not really friends" to see?   In part, it is for me. It has become a scrapbook of our lives; an exchange for the pictures I don't print, the books I don't create, the baby books I don't fill out, and the journal I do not keep. I often look back -- at the pictures, the words and I remember the happy. Another part of it is to document the blessings, to underscore the happy - as if writing that part of our story will cause it to be more imprinted than the horribly off-key moments of struggle and anger and defeat that I never record. Some days are long and hard and lately it seems I can easily think of the struggles and defeat before I count the joy.  Writing on facebook also gives me a place to speak, so to speak, uninterrupted.  (Apparently life with three kids five and under can make a person feel.... not seen, not heard, and completely incapable of constructing and then expressing a complete thought without being interrupted. Recently my  mom was here and I literally yelled at my children to be quiet so I could just talk to my own mom, for literally, one minute!)  It's also quick.  A facebook post is not overwhelming to assemble. A picture with a few words that I can either keep simple or craft as I desire. I'm completing something. Motherhood can feel like a string of incomplete tasks. When I hit "post", I feel this tiniest sense of accomplishment (have grace with me, I see the sadness there).   Then, the question follows - why do I look back to see who "liked" what I posted?  Perhaps to see who is reading - who cares? who understands? who approves?  That's a whole other topic.

With all that being said, I realize facebook is not the enemy. A strategy of the enemy - in *my* life, perhaps, but the actual enemy it is not.  I still love that Grandma is online and can so easily see and comment on her Hannah Iline. I love that I can see an old classmate's new born babe and have an opportunity to reach out in joy. I love that it can connect someone whom I haven't spoken with in fifteen years, and allow me to pray for them and with them.

I'm not really sure what I'm doing here. I think only one person knows this blog even exists, so I feel safe in stopping by. There's certainly a stirring to write. I think I'll try on the old "uniform" and see how it still fits with "Today's Praise", "The Wrestle" and "The Still Small Voice."  Three kids can really change a woman, though, so no guarantees that I won't have to have this thing altered. ;) 

Writing always feels a bit like home for me. A place to breathe a bit as my fingers click over the keys or glide across the page. Baby girl is stirring. I am needed and so I'll go. I think she's having her first battle with teething - I may get to spend the wee hours of Mother's Day holding my girl. Lord, thank You, and help me to hold it with the tenderness I desire.

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