Saturday, February 23, 2013

Emerging from a Fog

Gosh.  Pretty shabby.  Poor blog.

I'll let you in on a secret... absentee blogger = overwhelmed girl.  That has just been life since December.



A personal blog like this is a little indulgent.  I mean, I'm not making money from this.  I do this for personal satisfaction, and because I have ideas I like to toss out there, and because I never want to forget these days of parenting boys, special needs parenting, living-by-the-seat-of-my-pants parenting.  I do it because once in a while a get a note in my inbox from a new parent of a child with Down Syndrome.  Because when we were waiting for Charlie's diagnosis, and in the early days of wrapping my head around what this means, pictures and stories from parents were something solid I could hold onto.  I wanted to know everything would be okay.  I do it because someone told me I was good at writing in 6th grade, and I can't remember if I liked writing so much before then, but for a kid who desired so much to shine that simple comment ignited a fire and I really, well, I can't stop.  Indulgent or helpful, wise or just witty, I am glad you come by here, friends.  Humble, really.  So...

hi.  i'm back.

I'd like to pick up again and get things going around here.  But really.  Where do I start?  Do I go personal?  Do I start with the recurring heart break of our former ministry?  The struggle to figure out where our family, you know, belongs.  Or, I could start with Calvin... how he just amazes me and makes me so full and proud and how I just want to cry when it hits me.  There was the weaning of our baby Miles, and the resultant hormone swing when everything felt so dire.  The sadness that we are not planning more pregnancies (not that we planned any, but you know), and wrapping my head around the close of a significant life season.  There is the feeling that I am maybe, actually, truly feeling, well, all grown-up (finally).  There is Charlie and how he just shines and shines and shines.  The health issues that are getting me down.  The husband who is a rock, even in his own struggles.  I am so thankful for big, strong arms...

Raymond said to me the other day that God is doing something new.  A cutting off of what is dead, a pruning of what will come. 
"He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. " John 15:2
It's true.  If people could have a re-set button, we are there, and it is painful to die to what you thought was yourself, what you thought you were supposed to be.... twice in one year.  But what does He say?  Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. (Matt. 5)  And we are comforted.  We have each other, we have the sweet words of Jesus in our Bibles, we have Charlie who shines, Calvin who ignites, and Miles who holds our faces in his soft little hands.  We have our family (love you family!  sooooo much!).  We have our home group who lets us be all messy and fallen apart and cynical and lost, and still loves us.  We have our community, dear friends who have us for dinner, who call us up to encourage, who literally house us (in an amazing, healing, beautiful home), a big, compassionate, wonderful community in Humboldt that Loves and gives and gives and gives.  The security I have in this real and vast family is beyond any price that could be named.  I would rather have you than any emergency fund, any security stored up in jars.

Boy.  This confessional if vague.  Getting a little rambly, too.  Hence the lack of posts.  A loss of words.  An awkward silence.  Sometimes this thought life is anything but directed, or inspired, or articulate.  My base instinct in times of trouble is to retreat, shut down, check out.  So, more than a confession or an explanaition of absence, this is a thank you to the body of Christ, mostly here at home in our community.  A body that has continued to sew into our lives with kindness, purpose, and selflessness.  People who have stood beside us, given (without recieving in return), loved and bouyed and lifted and not left us to ourselves.  (Did you know you were doing that?)  I feel as if we are emerging from a fog.  It feels as if there is a newness afoot in our lives.  A shred of clarity.  Well, whatever it is, we are learning.  Looking with expectation to Jesus.  Trusting beyond reason.  Keeping faith.  And we are Living in Hope. 

3 comments:

Cindy said...

I'm sorry you've been going through so much. It hurts when the Lord prunes us but can I encourage you to keep your eyes on Him? He has such amazing things for your family. I hope things get better soon.

Anonymous said...

Thank you for sharing. I'll be praying. If you need to talk to someone who is apart from the situation, please feel free to contact me. I don't have lots of answers but I know WHO does! Our Savior will hold you up.
Love, "Grandma Alice"

Anonymous said...

Kim - I'm so sorry you guys went through heart break with that ministry. I prayed and cried and prayed and cried some more when we had to leave, knowing that those left behind might very well suffer similar pain. We tried our best to warn, but it's hard to see truth sometimes when it's blotted out by circumstance and feelings. It has taken us years to work through what happened, and even now sometimes it feels raw. If you ever want to chat I'm here. It might be a bit awkward, and understandably so, but time heals and moves us into new spaces. We were made out to be the enemy, so if that feeling remains then so be it. I will forgive you and I wish you the best, April

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