Every day I feel a little better. Before getting sick I had actually been feeling really good physically and had had some great months towards the end of the year. At one point I’d walked a section of the lake trail by myself and at a fairly normal speed. The lake trail is pretty hilly and rugged, so I remember feeling like to walk it was a pretty big deal. Cardiovascular-wise I still can’t lift too much, but that is slowly getting better as well.

I had a visit with the chiropractor yesterday. I’d taken an “urges” quiz back in November that I hadn’t been back to find out the results of. My two highest urges were creativity and self-expression, and that those two were extremely high. He said I need to find ways to express those, though I’m not fully sure what the difference is between the two. To me, I’ve been needing to find ways to give of myself more to the outside world.

A few years ago I started reading the blog Small Things by Ginny Sheller. She’s a mom of I’m not exactly sure how many, at least 8 or 9 kids, and she recently just had a baby. She’s a catholic mom who homeschools and runs a little online shop with small things she hand makes like dyed scarves or goat soap from the goat they have. I always enjoy reading her blog even though she’s not writing about anything extraordinary, just the normal things of life, including showing pictures of the puzzles she does. I remember thinking that if readers show up to see pictures of this woman’s puzzles, then I’m not going to worry about what I’m writing here and just write about more basic things too.

Thankfully whatever flu illness I had seems to have passed, but nearly two weeks of fevering leaves one feeling quite weak and ill still. So, I’ve just been resting, and have been at least relieved to see sunny skies instead of those dreary grey and dark ones.

I’m needing God to bring some focus or friends or something into my life. I know these things don’t just fall out of the sky and that I need to be proactive, I just honestly don’t know what more I can do. Lord, I really need this one to be a good year if possible.

I saw this snow this morning and wanted to blog. The snow reminds me of writing for some reason. Blogging was always something I could do to capture and share whatever beautiful thing nature was doing that day. It gave me joy to do so and still does.

This would be the year I was sick on Christmas. I felt it coming on for about a week, and then once the 19th hit, I’ve only been out of bed if I had to be. I’m currently waiting for that time of the month to start, and the two combined are like a special kind of agony, particularly of the mental and emotional kind. Everything is more intense at this time.

I’m ready for this year to slip quietly into the past. In fact, I’m ready for many things to do that. I told my sisters this morning that I really need to be a different person this year. I am needing the second half of my life to be different from the first. The first half being marked with too much pain from uninformed decisions and wounds unhealed.

I don’t suppose I’m naïve enough anymore to think there won’t still be pain, that there won’t be new wounds. But the loneliness that has come from a non-communal life, from the almost two decades of living in obscurity with no money, no respect, no tangible sign that what I’ve done with my life has been worthwhile and fulfilling, that is what I cannot do anymore. It’s not that my family did not fulfill me, it’s that I put my own dreams, my own self, my own human needs on hold for too long. I’m convinced that doing so almost killed me, so much that it makes me feel ill to think about.

“Lord, help me go on to have a life after this.” Those are words I prayed earlier this year, when my body was broken in ways I’d never before known. I feel like I have lived such an inwardly focused life, confined to the four walls of whatever my dwelling place happened to be. I want the second half of my life to be marked with outward living. Doing for others, not just managing the immediate needs right in front of me.

I want what I’ve learned in the first half to count for something that makes a difference in the second half. I want the pain I’ve been through to not be a waste, to be transformed by God into a life of healing and tenderness. I want my children to be okay. I want to know that they’re all going to be able to spell and do math. I want to know that the live I lived did more than just break me. I want to know that God heard my prayer.

It was a warm day as far as the normal first day of Decembers go. We had our annual Thanksgiving gathering with my family over the weekend. I was missing everyone today thinking how fast the days seem to go this time. It was an added blessing this year to have my grandmother there. Instead of in Florida, she is living with my parents now.

Advent is usually my favorite time to write. I tend to feel more inspired and connected to the spiritual world. I feel pretty dull for the time being, not depressed, just plain. I dropped the kids off at church tonight and then came back home. The elders were counting on having the boys there for the Advent meal to eat the food. I still am staying home from a lot of church these days. Our particular church does not alternate between any of the services in our hymnal, or do anything different for the special mid-week services. It’s Divine Service Three with communion every time. There just is no forcing myself to be grateful about it. I would go for the hymns, if for nothing else.

As much as my word of the year was “community” (ha!) and my main mind activity/ study this year has been contemplating the body of Christ and the practical applications of the theology of Christ’s body as it relates to the bodily communion and fellowship of the saints, I’ve actually gotten quite comfortable this year with being alone. I still have times where the pangs of loneliness will arise. It’s usually when my husband and I are together but not talking. It’s like inside I’ll just suddenly start screaming, “Pay attention to me! Ask me a question! Be curious about my inner world!” or even just saying, “Can we talk or something?” spurred by the feeling of wanting to connect emotionally.

I’m certain this is a common phenomenon in (some) relationships, which is why I don’t feel like I’m crossing any sacred boundaries by sharing it. The trick, I am learning, is not to indulge that overwhelming urge which can often come out sounding angry, which will inevitably sabotage any chance of obtaining the connection I am wanting. I am usually not this calculating in my actions, but the other day, when we were together in the living room and the feeling came upon me, I simply got up and left the room and went into another room to read. I was curious to see if my husband would wonder where I’d went and follow me. It took about three to five minutes, but to my utter amusement, he did!

There is so much to learn when it comes to living truly, or truly living, in a committed, long-term marriage relationship. My sister and I were talking about marriage today and she brought up how she’d once seen a marriage book written by a girl who’d been married a year. I don’t mean any disrespect to this young woman, and would never want to discount another person has having valid life experience to share no matter their age, but I did have to admit that the idea of writing a marriage book after one year of marriage seemed a little premature. Even after 18 years myself, I hesitate to write about it. Marriage has been such a formative part of my life however, the length of a whole other childhood, that at this point, it just feels wrong to not mention it more.

I have no advice. I operate best, and appreciate best, when I take the time to stop and write down a few experiences or thoughts. There have been things about my marriage that have been brutally hard, and things in my marriage that are and continue to be blessed and wonderful. The good news is that I do think, that with practice, time, and dedication, the things that making it brutally hard can actually improve. I’ve experienced some of those improvements this year, and with that, the hardness becomes less brutal, and more soft. It becomes less about what I’m wanting and needing, what I’m not getting, and more about seeing and appreciating what I have. I’m receiving more, yes, and growing to give more, too.

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It’s hard for me to believe we’re in November already. When I think back on this year, I’m amazed at how time has moved. There were months where I barely got out of bed, and when I did, it was to go rest on the couch or in front of the sliding door. This afternoon I sat in a rocking chair on the back deck, trying to soak up sunlight for my body to use and store for the winter. The sun produces almost an instant calm.

I had a rough day physically. Or a good day, I don’t know. I went to the Y for the first time since the end of last year. I wasn’t expecting to be able to do much, but I wasn’t expecting to slowly swim four lengths of the pool and be done. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to swim longer than 45 minutes, but 45 minutes was easy. This wasn’t even five. At the same time, I was there. Such a thing would’ve been unimaginable months ago.

This health journey has been going on long enough for me to know that I have days like this. I can be going along feeling seemingly normal for whatever the new normal is, and then I’m confronted with my physical limitations again. I’m reminded of how not normal I am compared to what I was before. I cry about it for a few minutes, and then move on. It’s like I’m aware that this is a time of transformation, but it is peaceful, not chaotic.

I wish by now I had the valuable lessons from this to pass along. I will say, that having gone through difficult times before, this time feels much more peaceful internally. There isn’t a ton of wrestling with God. There have been times of deep prayer and a few instances of frightening doubt and crippling fear. But those times pass. I haven’t felt that sense of abandonment by God, almost the total opposite. I feel his nearness.

My current motivation to write here is low. I’ve spent a lot more time lately on my anonymous instagram account, commenting on the posts about godly womanhood that trigger me, or interacting with strangers regarding whether or not Jesus really died for our sins. It is satisfying in some ways. I find out that I really am full of thoughts and even coherent words. The problem is they only seem to be able to come out that way when I have a person who I’m talking to directly. Even though I know pretty much everyone who reads this blog, I’ve never really mastered the art of writing for an audience.

When I was a kid I always dreamed of being in plays. I have an artistic side of me that craves an outlet. I also have somewhat of an exhibitionist streak that craves to be seen. One of my most frequent and repeated dreams as a child was to be standing naked in a store after purposely taking off all of my clothes. I don’t recall there being anything sexual about these dreams. It was just that as soon as I was conscious in my dream that I was dreaming, taking off my clothes was the first thing I wanted to do. If I woke up before I could get them off, I woke up disappointed, like I’d missed out on something.

I also used to pretend I was famous and doing interviews. I wanted to be an actress, and for my mom to take me to acting lessons. There was a fun and animated side to my personality that, in my opinion, never quite had a chance to shine. I had other siblings who outshined me in that regard, and it always felt like I was retreating back into the shadows when in the presence of others, both out of grace and consideration for them (or so I told myself) and also because there can only really be one star of the show. I never quite had enough confidence on my own to shine. I had to reflect something.

And I’ve always felt the compulsion to hide somewhere, and simultaneously, to show up somewhere, to see how long I can play the games of hide and seek with myself, to see how long I can go without saying a word, to come back and say something because I can’t bear the silence of being missing, of being gone, of being voiceless and lost and and non-existent and uninvolved anymore. The stars are too far away to be seen up close, and the planets maddingly walk their own path. One light rules the day and the lesser light was given to govern the night. I’ve always been more of a moon than a sun.

Today I was thinking about whether or not I miss the days when my kids were young, as in, thinking back to around the days when my oldest was 8 and the rest were younger. These days the youngest is 8 and the rest are older. Every day they grow up a little more.

I have regrets about wasted time back then. One of the devices we had was a Kindle. Often times the kids would play with it to take pictures and movies. On more than one occasion, the kids are playing on the floor and in the background is me on my computer. At the time, it just felt like they were doing their thing and I was doing mine. When I see it now, it feels like they captured a moment when I was not paying attention.

I really don’t miss those days too much. It’s not because I didn’t enjoy them. I enjoyed those days as much as I was able, and then some. But along with the joy were also the days that were lonely and hard. But even as I say that, it’s a memory that’s faded.

These days when it comes to my kids, I tend to see the present even with rose-colored glasses. I love my days with them, though it’s mostly the mornings that we’re spending together. At night I try to connect in some way with the older ones, though I admit I feel the sadness of too many nights gone by without going downstairs before going to bed. I feel the tiredness of letting the tiredness win, and joy for how God blesses me anyway.

I prayed for God to help me be productive today. I’ve got the feeling I have when there’ve been too many Saturdays of something going on. Josh and the most of the kids are at a confirmation retreat last night and today. I’m over the days of expending myself to clean to the house by myself. One of the boys and I went for a walk earlier. I swept the upstairs floor and folded a few loads of laundry. I journaled and also did some yoga.

I prayed and read from a book and an old journal. I complain about the excessive alone time, and yet I truly am grateful for the time God gives me to be by myself. He gives me a chance to feel all my feelings, think all my thoughts, and face the days knowing I am seen and loved by the grandeur of God. I also called my grandma this morning. Josh’s grandmother died earlier this week in her sleep. My grandmother is the only one left.

My son and I walked up the beach steps, the second time I have done that this year. There was a point where I truly didn’t know if I’d ever walk the ground of this camp again. Physical health is truly and blessing and gift from God. The boys and I spent every day we could in September down at the beach, and it was grand. That’s the second time I’ve used that word, because there is no other word close enough to describe it.

The boys and I started piano lessons back up again today. One of my New Year’s Resolutions for this year was to play the piano more. With everything that’s gone on this past year my piano resolution became something akin to a dream from a past life. But a few weeks ago in church, our organist played Jesus loves me from the piano, and my heart was so moved by the song’s beauty that I asked her after church for lessons.

I talked with a local pastor’s wife this morning. I find myself almost panting to get back into church life, longing again for some sort of creative community where I am no longer existing on a diet of scarcity when it comes to spiritual and communal nourishment. I don’t just need the food myself, I need to feed others. I need to create and be continuously recreated, over and over. It’s how I am made to exist in this world.

It’s a beautiful fall day outside. The front porch area needs some sweeping and decorating. I need to pull up the pumpkin plant that faithfully produced it’s fruit for the joy of others, and now gets to rest and return even closer to the ground. The sun of September and October is perhaps my favorite sun. It’s hard to choose favorites in these beautiful life cycles. The month I love is always the one that reminds me of joy.

The boys and I went for a walk this morning. The past several days I have felt a little braver in terms of going further on the camp grounds. Walking on land with hills and grass is different than walking on the gravel camp road. The walk went well and I even left the top of the hill to get closer to the boys so I could take this picture. I’m telling you, these are the gorgeous moments of life that I live for, that keep me ever in love.

The big kids are keeping busy with high school. They leave about 7:20 in the morning and get home around 5:30 after cross-country practice. It feels completely normal now, and I am thankful for the ways they are both adjusting well. Josh keeps busy with his work. I haven’t quite figured out if it’s him or just the nature of church work, but there never really seems to be a weekend, and the days can start to feel like they’re blurring together. We have always lived at the same place where his job is, which I’m sure has something to do with it too. It’s something I’m just used to now.

He’s been grocery shopping for me again ever since that crazy game. If I continue feeling as good as I’ve felt lately, I could probably pick it back up again next week. I’ve spent several hours my life over the past two weeks trying to write book reviews for my goodreads account. I’ve read probably 30+books this year that I haven’t recorded, all because I want to write a book review for them. But even that is proving to be perhaps not the most fruitful use of my time. I will end up not publishing anything because I am never quite happy enough with what I come up with, and don’t want to just throw something out there. Then I don’t like that I take so much in, but don’t produce anything in terms of output.

I’ve told God that it’s okay, that I don’t need to write now. I can wait until the kids are older, until I’m a little less pulled in all my different directions. I pray and ask God for a place to write, sometimes forgetting that there is nothing stopping me from writing here. I recently finished reading the apocryphal book of Tobit, which was mentioned in another book I was reading about the dark night of the soul. One of the characters, Tobias, is guided by the archangel Raphael on trip to meet a woman who is oppressed by a demon. The demon has killed seven of her husbands, all on her wedding night. Tobias ends up needing to burn a fish heart in order to free his future bride from the demon. This was supposedly symbolic of burning away the heart’s attachments, so that the heart is free from all that hinders it from love.

I know the attachments have been worked on this year. In many ways it feels like I’m having to let go of what’s no longer serving me, whether it’s mindsets or behaviors or ideas or memories. I’ve also had to let go of the things I have not been able to let go off, because they are more than just attached, they are part of who I am. And it’s had to occur to me that maybe some things about me aren’t meant to be changed. There are certain things I just can’t fight anymore, and I have to wonder why, through all this time, have I tried to?