Oh, how I relate. Cause I'm faithful and true and a diligent and hard worker and busy and industrious and mindful of things, and thinking of what's next and on and on. But I'm concerned. Concerned about all that's not being done and what's up ahead and how I look and what's next. And with 2 little words the High King sets it all straight for Mrs. Beaver. He recognizes who she is, calls her by name, actually dignifies her presence and then, speaks words of power and might, straightens the crooked places by His ruasch, alive and manifesting His strength and vision for her. It's set right in that moment. The fussing and stressing and striving cease and she can relaxe in His presence knowing he's got her back.
I've had a hard time getting there the past many months. I've been grief-stricken and weary and flustered. And it's not that things aren't better than before, it's the process of how they've gotten that way. Inventorying time and materials, thoughts and actions, sorting through possessions that were meaningful because of memories or people, profoundly feeling the loss of family, moving yet again in a matter of months.
I look around at all of the projects and consider how we'll make due this fall and feel, oh so rocked by the waves of the circumstances. The work is something we enjoy, but the amount of it seems ominous, and while dh is confident we'll get it done, it's all in the context of a day job and homeschooling and the living that will take place around it. And I see how we get tired and sore in a way we haven't before. Age, stress, the demands of the year, manifesting themselves in practical ways.
This year, in the midst of the chaos and flurry of once in a lifetime circumstances I've longed for ritual. For benchmarks that say it's this season or that. This is what you do when, the words you say now, the posture you take in response. I've needed guides, markers, mindless actions to go through that indicate time and life go on in a sensible and pleasing pattern despite disruption and chaos and hurt and fear and unrest and inconclusiveness. This is what I was hungry for while reading "Living Kaddish"- the ritual and meaning and confirmation of faith and death and loss and living.
Flower came up to me where I was sitting a few days after we moved back home and said, very quietly, "Momma, the fire scared me." Just so plain and simple and straight forward, but sad and apologetic, like her little 7 year old self should be braver. The very fact of being home again, I think, finally allowed her to say these simple words . I said, "I know, Baby, of course it did." And she crawled into my lap and snuggled against me, curled up like when she was 2 and stayed there for awhile. Later she looked up at me and smiled and gave me a big hug and hopped up and went to find kittens to play with. I'm grateful she could be as little as she needed to be and snuggle up with someone older and bigger and stronger and sit and soak in their strength and comfort until she'd absorbed as much as she needed. And I think, on many levels, I've felt like my little girl and I've wanted to say the same thing; "The fire scared me, Sue's death rocked me, I feel the loss and lost." And I want to feel and hear and know Abba is saying, "I know, Baby, of course. Rest in My peace. I've got you. Despite the worry and chaos and confusion and disorder and house un-done and work ahead, I've got your back."
And He does. I know He does. But the discipline of getting my mind to agree with my faith has been a taxing discipline of late, especially in the wee dark hours of night.