taking the time to die

photo credit: I_Believe_

Although my mind has not relented, I guess I may need to accept that a new level of fanatical wildness just may be the way things are now. 
Is this just part of getting older?
I swear the turbulence is picking up with every mile that passes.

As of late…

• we walked through the five year marker of losing sweet Eliot.

• traveled to Ukraine to meet our daughter for the first time- the one we are trying to get home.

• celebrated Hazel turning 3- although I am admittedly in denial of the fact that she is aging.

• watched Alabama go down to LSU  (Okay, this one doesn’t belong, but Ginny was sure acting like it did….just kidding.  no I’m not.).

• checked our phones more frequently this week as one of each of our parents spent unforeseen time in the hospital.

I haven’t even mentioned the beloved daily grind of work or raising toddlers or marriage.  Those very things that were once the biggies seem to now serve as the breaks.

I catch myself scheduling in coffee dates with no one or always trying to carve out time to think.  Because, truth is, a byproduct of this madness, for me, is a sort of emotional numbness.  I cannot tell you the way I feel about things- which, for me, is like not being able to breathe.  About all I am good for is being able to articulate my feelings toward this or that.  Take that away from me and I am little more than eye candy.

That was a joke.

When all efforts are spent to to keep up with the pace of life, little is left in the tank to do the hard work of sifting through the mess and seeing it for what it all is.  Beautiful.

That is why the work is worth it.  It is only with effort that I am able to see the light shining through the cracks of the world that is breaking all around me.  I don’t know about you, but my default is not joyful optimism.  It requires time allotted to sit, to think, to discuss before I ever come around to find the good in this messed up world.  But it is there for the taking, and never available to the those too busy to find it.

And this is why weeks like this scare me to death.  If it gets too wild for me to see it, I am closer to being the old, crotchety-man that just endured.  Praise be to the one who says I can conquer instead; if I’ll just let Him do the painstaking work of killing the crotchety one within.