confession.

so there is this blog that i  LOVE.  i feel like this lady gets me-or would get me if she knew me.  like we would share coffee or wine and laugh and cry and laugh again.   in my head i have carried on conversations with her and even thought {i know this will creep you out-and it isn't my confession-that come in a minute} if i just emailed her she would realize how much we need to be kindred souls.  so instead, i just continue to watch her "status" on facebook and read every blog post.   she has marry two words into one that perfectly describe my life-our lives.  in the midst of the wave of devastation of peter's disease we can find a ripple of blessings in its wake.  yep. one powerful word to say all of that!  it is such an amazing use of 8 letters.  i am envious at her brillance.

but then...her beautiful life has taken a bit of an ugly turn this past few weeks and she has been very open about it.  i mean how else would i know, right?  and then i became obsessed with reading her every utterance and have spent pointless "me" time moments attempting to decipher the hidden message in her words.  more honestly, i was trying to figure what she had done wrong to cause her life to come all undone.

in this search, i realized she doesn't like people to use her invented words and phrases.  i was sure i misread but then went back to reread. yep, she loathes when others use her "invented" words.  well, how dare her place that little gem out there in cyberland and then say "you can look, but don't touch".  i had touched that word so much it no longer autocorrected on my phone.

okay.  so, here is the confession:  having found she doesn't like to be "copied" made me want to use the word over and over and over and over again.  and send her an email with those 8 letters strung together a gazillion times and sign it mama "8 letter word" bird!  how dare her throw that word out there and then say its all hers!  i know what you are thinking.  mama bird, you are a complete bitch. not the female dog kind but the backbiting hussy type we all know and hate.  but it is also my opinion...we {all her cyber friends} should be allowed to embrace the "ugly blessing" word and use it and all her other sweet colloquialisms all we want and she should feel SO very complimented.  darn her.  but then i realized when bitch and opinion meld together as one, it too can be a perfect marriage.  bitch+opinion=bitchpinion.  okay, so it took me 11 letters, but now i somehow feel like i won.  she can take her 8 letters and covet them, but tomorrow {in the light of day} i will shout it from the mountain tops.  will you join me?

feel free to use bitchpinion to your hearts content.  no one has ever {never ever}wanted to copy me before so i would be forever complimented.  maybe i will email her now and let her know i am a fellow wordsmith.

prayer...

 

growing up, we said a prayer each night prior to dinner.

asking God to bless the food to our bodies.

this was easy-the food was right there in front of my "God believing" eyes.

the thanks came so natural because i already had the blessing-

even if it was just kraft mac & cheese or spam {yes, my mom served that}.

 

i have held those same hands so dearly as i ask God to heal peter.

i grasp them tight some mornings,
hoping when i say "amen" and open my "God believing" eyes-

the blessing will be right there in the palm of my hands like the mac & cheese on my dinner plate.

 

i realize by turning to God and asking him to "fix" it all-

i am confessing it is so broken, so beyond repair in fact, i no longer believe it can fixed

until peter goes home to be with God.

 

i am angry, like take all the glasses from the cabinet
and smash them into shards upon the concrete pool deck kind of anger.
i am angry doctors gave hope yet we still failed.
i am angry i can't proclaim the miracle i adamantly prayed for.

i hate to pour out my indignant heart.

i hate to admit the miracle is in knowing God in spite of the brokenness.

i hate that my "God believing" prayers of healing went unanswered.

 

i fear bold honesty with you and God.

i fear claiming defeat and giving up.

i fear if you only half-heartedly believe in God,
 when i give life to these words,
you will decide believing in a God that didn't heal proves He truly does not exist. 

 

i trust God to guide us thru this time as a family-

allowing our vulnerable, hurt selves to shine God even when peter is broken and unhealed.

i will continue those prayers of thanks

even when my "God believing" eyes cannot see the blessings in all of the broken.

 

 

 

 

 



he doesn't mean what he says.

peter stumbles around when he converses.

his brain has tossed aside so many words,

much like a piece of chewing gum that no longer has a hint of flavor

smashed on the sidewalk in front of a movie theater.

 

he doesn't mean what he says.

 

he says...when can i drive my white truck again?

he means...i want to work.

provide for my family by using my hands.

construct a building that will house a company that allows others to work and provide.

 

he says...lunch was glorious.

he means...spending time with construction buddies brings back the "glory days".

those days when work & words were so fluid.

one upmanship laced with a few crude jokes

leaves them laughing like preteen school girls.

 

he says...he is a crook.

he means...knowing my wife & family are taken care of has always been my motivation.

not only have you not held up to the agreement you wrote,

but you have stolen my wife's peace of mind

while i am sick.

only a villain would take advantage of me like this.

 

he says...you are a strong man.

he means...sweet brown eyes, daddy isn't always going to be here.

as you know, son, my mind is fading.

nine year old boys are not built for this-but you, my son are.

your task is to carry on the legacy of our family-

honesty-honor-humility.

please, make sure the doors are locked at night.

 

he says...you are beautiful.

he means...i see, chrissy, how busy you are managing so much &

you still wear mascara and lip gloss.

i see God picking up where your tired soul leaves off.

i know we are broken-but i am trusting God to tend to my family

because i an no longer capable.

 

he means so much more then those sloppy words that tumble from his month.