Almost. Not yet.

by Matt Mooney

Sometimes I write for you.
Sometimes I write for me.
This is most likely the latter.

It’s been quite a season in the Land ‘O Mooneys.  Many of you know that while on our trip to Michigan, Ginny re-injured her back.  And so her vacation headed more toward Purgatory than Petoskey.

 [That ole trick that we first learned two years back whereby the disc decides to come out of place and push on the nerve and Ginny winces and leans over and keeps mommy-ing even though she is in a lot of pain and on a lot of meds.]

 Last time she was able to therapy and stretch and wait her way back into normal, but this time there has been no such luck.  And we’ve kept it out of the social public eye because we’ve grown tired of ourselves.  After a certain quota of crises, it just begins to feel like we’re yellin’ “it’s the big one, Margaret!” to any passerby that will stop and pat us on the back.

sanford

We’re tired of trials.
Bone-weary of sympathy.
And tired of being reliant on others favors, prayers and meals.

So many people have so many things so much worse ….that’s the whole point.  We want community, but we wanna be the givers and it seems that over the last 8 years, we have shifted to the permanent status of recipient.  And I am not yet ready to take the high road and say it’s all fine.  I know it’s my pride.  I just don’t care enough to hide it from you.  There it is- take a look around.

It seems that for too long we have weaved in and out of the latest-greatest episode of the soap opera that it us.  And I just want to say to our friends and family that I am sorry that the weight of our friendship has been so heavy.  Other than stashing away a plethora of content for a series of books, I can’t pinpoint one other advantage of the drama we’ve found ourselves in.  It’s like showing up for college only to find out all 15 hours of class for all 4 years is dedicated to learning the alphabet.

WE GOT IT ALREADY!

I’m really starting to think it must be us.  Maybe we are those people….the ones feeding on drama, needing the next thing just to carry on.  We don’t fancy ourselves those folks and actually have distanced ourselves from the theatrics of others at every turn.  And yet at every fork we have faced our own weakness.

And so a week from today Ginny will have surgery.  And from there, for her 6-week recovery, our crew will man the stations they have become so familiar with.  Some will feed us, some will write and others will just make us laugh.  And I know- though I do not want to admit it- that God will show up through them and I will know Him more on the other side of this, and I will look back and read this post and be embarrassed at His goodness in my weakness.

I’m just not there yet.

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