Shake it Out

I don’t have words tonight. It would so desperately help if I had words. If there was some way I could cut open my heart and make whatever it is that’s running inside there come tumbling out.

Instead I’m sitting on my bed, in complete and utter silence.

We woke up at 3am and drove to the airport. We didn’t really say much. “Have fun in Haiti?” Yeah, no words really seemed fitting. So we just drove, realizing, for the millionth time, that we count on each other. Whether we want to admit it or not, we’ve built something, and every now and then, the waves come crashing in, and the question of sand or rock is approached again.

I cried the whole way home. I felt so dumb, driving through intensely thick fog at 4 in the morning, rain pouring down, and sobbing because things aren’t going how I want them to go.

How stupid of me.

Maybe sometimes I need to give myself a reality check. It could be so much worse. He was right. I spent this entire day in a haze. Mad that I can’t set up the new monitor we got, but Michel can. Mad that today, Levi decided he wouldn’t nap. Mad that I had no one to yell at for annoying me. Mad that I had to walk through Walmart alone.

I think the act of missing is really just seeing what used to be there. Suddenly there’s a lot of space. You notice the distance between your steps, the breaths you exhale as you drive, the way you blink when you’re listening. Missing, really, is just remembering.

When I am really able to focus I remember to be thankful. That if my eyes can view the good, my whole world will be turned around. Gratitude. After the earthquake, four years ago tomorrow, I watched Haitian families kneel down in gravel, and with their arms raised to the heavens sing praise. Praise. Tears of gratitude striping their faces. Home, gone. Sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers and wives and husbands, gone. Children. Children, gone. And yet those arms were lifted and He who knows it all was to be honored and praised and not questioned. I have yet to experience anything as profound as this in my short 26 years of life. I doubt I ever will.

I am random and lost tonight. I’m filled with thankfulness for all that has been given. How my cup overflows. That Levi is sleeping and that he is ok. That he is, period. How could I have ever known that the best thing to ever happen to me would come at such a time, when my heart was in the scramble of a lifetime. I’m thankful because Michel will eventually come back. And because he’s a dedicated father. And because he is not the man he used to be, but rather, a man in search of God, of good. I’m so thankful for the support I’ve been left with.

It feels good and natural to be sad. The sadness is buried down inside me, nuzzled away, almost as a companion. What a beautiful thing to be sad. To yearn for what we know was good. To wait in hopeful anticipation for what is to come, all the while the old running carelessly through our veins, reminding.

And so, missing.

And it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back so shake him off oh, oh shake him off.

You know how I’m celebrating my newfound loneliness? A planner. A brand spanking new life planner that was worth every penny. The little things. This is how we get by.

Everything is passing. So even when it’s brutal, feel it. And when it’s wonderful, be thankful. But whatever it is, be captured in it.


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