So, this has been one of the most difficult seasons in my life. Actually, I may go far enough to say the most difficult season of my life.
Jenny Simmons album, The Becoming, has become the soundtrack to my heart these days. Specifically, the title song, The Becoming.
I’m just one month into the process, but leaving the mission field to come home has felt like an bomb exploded in the middle of my life. I’m exhausted. All my emotions are ready to spill out at any time. I am leaving behind one life, full of people that I love, while restarting an old/new life full of people that I love. Important decisions loom around every corner.
Then the second bomb went off. The one where my bladder isn’t staying in its proper place. The one where the consult with the doctor involves discussions of middle aged issues and whether or not I’m finished with my uterus. The one where my “bopping through my thirties” comes to a sudden halt as the age “38” takes on new, medical significance. I’m nervous about surgery and uncertain about the trustworthiness of my body in general.
There are habits to forge and tasks to complete, but now that I feel so shattered and raw, I find myself still searching for my confidence, as though It is lurking in a hidden pocket in a suitcase that I haven’t unpacked yet. We’ve unpacked our things and started moving forward in the necessary logistics of restarting our Arkansas lives and I realize, as I type this, that the process of unpacking all that is in my heart hasn’t really begun. This is a new way for me to frame that discussion with myself.
As I sit here, I’m at the beginning of 48 hours Chris and I have set aside for me to be “alone.” Before we left Argentina, I had this sense that I just needed some time to be alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my emotions. Alone with my Jesus. See, once we realized the best decision for our family was to step off the mission field and return home, there was a flurry of activity, emotions, good byes, decisions (all the stuff I’ve already been talking about, only both sides of it, the leaving details and the returning ones, as well.)
I wanted to cry at the thought of leaving Argentina, leaving our wonderful Pastors and Ashley, leaving our precious church family, leaving our young missionaries during their last month on the field. I wanted to cry with relief that we would have some time to rest and refocus on our girls. I wanted to cry at the self-doubt that came because I was relieved at stepping away from our ministry, at least for a little while. I wanted to cry tears of regret for the things I didn’t do as well as I wanted to. I wanted to cry because I knew that re-entering would be painful. I wanted to cry about a hundred things small and large that I can’t even articulate. I wanted to cry.
But I couldn’t.
Once I had such a heavy list built up, I worried that if I gave in to myself and cried, really cried about all the things on my heart and mind, that I wouldn’t be able to stop or put myself back together again in time to pack us up and get us out of Argentina.
So, it’s time. I’m taking time to pour out my emotions to my heavenly Father and let Him put me back together again. I’m willing to trust His timing even if it means that I don’t feel all put back together as soon as I’d like. I’m fairly certain His timetable won’t be a neat and tidy as I want it to be, but I do know His timing will be perfect.
So bear with, people! I’m a work in progress and I finally realize it to the depths of my being.
(In keeping with the idea of “work in progress” and because blogs are prettier with photos, I’m including a photo of my current crochet work in progress.)