Murky Thoughts

It's funny how my brain works. I will have a string of serious thoughts, heavy words to chew on, a revelation or two, but then it seems as if I have a need to shut it down, think of fluffy things for a while, and let the heavy stuff simmer a bit until it comes to the forefront once again. I've waded in some pretty intense waters over these past few months, with revelations and insights about my journey, my spiritual growth, forgiveness (or not), and so on. While I joke about lighter fare such as Don's hobby, or think about my kids and their antics, or Mafia cooking, I have also been noticing a slight bubbling in the background of my mind of some other heavier entrees that are vying for attention. If I could paint a picture inside my skull, there are large areas that are full of light (my kids, my friends, my love, my family, good things and good times). Then there is this darker area toward the back, very black yet foggy, like a cave, where I know that many thoughts and emotions reside, yet I'm hesitant to take a peek and see what's there. Sometimes there is an escapee from this "cave," like when reading a book about forgiveness forces me to face that within myself and my own heart. And that's good. Then my feelings about prayer -- which were very hard to admit to -- seemed to slip out and demand attention. That's good too. Yet I know that dark, foggy area is still inhabited by some thoughts, some issues and I know they want to come out. OK, that might sound a little like mental illness but it's not. I am just painting a picture of what it's been like for me to try to get a handle on everything that is going on, and everything that has happened. Clearly the things that we've experienced cannot be dealt with all at once. I guess this is my brain's defense mechanism, letting them leak out very slowly so I can handle them one at a time in small, somewhat palatable doses.

I have recently been aware of two such thought-creatures. I know they are there, I have tried to put my finger on them, but then found myself pulling back. I'm not sure why. Am I afraid of where it will lead me? Am I afraid of the answer, if there even is one? Am I afraid of the feelings that will become dredged up if I allow myself to think about it? I don't know. I'm going to try writing them down and see where it goes.

1. Actually, I have to give credit to Don for being the one to voice what I have been thinking but have not said. While driving home from our weekend trip, Don said to me very sadly, "I don't have any goals or dreams anymore." When I heard those words come from his mouth, I felt my heart break in two. It's so true. I have been feeling that same way. Oh, the dreams we used to have of building up a church! Don almost had visions of it, it was so real, so exciting, so tangible, so life-giving. We used to talk, make plans, dream and then dream some more. And not just of church -- of buying our own home, or building one, or restoring one. Of raising our children with our friends' children. Big dreams and little dreams, goals to work toward. And now he feels completely stripped of that. And I do too. I guess that's why I've been putting my heart and soul into little goals -- gardening, painting some rooms, and now thinking about a new kitchen floor (on my landlord's tab). But to actually voice that, to admit that your goals are no more ... that really is a devastating feeling.

2. I touch on this next one every once in a while but then shelf it back in that dark, foggy place in my brain. Clearly I am grieving many, many losses. But what exactly do I miss about my "old life?" It was not easy being married to a clergyman. It was not easy being caught in the middle of or witnessing stupid-people-games. It was not easy dealing with all kinds of abuse. It was not easy always being by myself on Sunday morning (especially with two kids), while all around me sat nice little family-units, or rarely seeing my husband during Christmas and Holy Week. So what do I miss about it, really? Why am I so upset about not living that life anymore? Do I really think of this period now as "down time," that we'll go back into it again at some point in the future? And if so, why do I want to go back? Or do I even want to go back? I'm not going to get into the topic of being "called" (can you truly reneg on a calling from God?) -- that's another day. Recently a friend shared some of her own personal experiences during a similar painful time in her life, and she too went through rounds of questioning. After years of healing and wondering why, she now believes that perhaps on some very deep level she was ready, that God was perhaps answering some kind of subconscious scream that she, too, had kept shelved in that brain-cave. So I wonder ... is that what I've been doing over all these years? Subconsciously screaming? And of course I know this isn't all about me ... so what about Don? I can't write for him, of course, but what is he feeling? If asked the question, "What do you miss about your 'old life,' really?" what would he say? Why am I so afraid to think about this? Perhaps I'm afraid of what the answer might really be. I'm not sure why I keep putting that back on the shelf. I'll really have to think about this sooner or later.