For some reason, my writing inspiration seems to dry up when everything is going well.
It’s only when my mind is unsettled and disquiet, when my soul is churning that the words come fast and hard.
This last month has wreaked havoc on our little family. We are good fakers, of course, so out in public it is only the heart-listeners, the edge-sweepers who notice that we are anything other than fine.
We are not fine.
It is not a wound neatly stitched shut with love and Jesus and therapy.
It’s more like a funky scab, seeming to be ok for a minute, then getting bumped or scratched in just the wrong way and pouring out more blood and mess than you’ve ever seen before.
More love. More Jesus. More therapy.
More pulling close when everything inside says you should be pushing away.
More googling all the things that might make you feel like you have a little bit of power in a situation where you feel straight powerless.
More stop-gap measures to relieve the pressure before it explodes. Again.
It is an exhausting way to live.
I’ve read all the things about adoption. About trauma.
And so many times, I’ve read of the isolation. Of folks who had initially supported an adoption backing away when the poo hit the fan. Even saying really helpful things like
You knew what you were getting yourself into.
Not in this story.
This past month, we’ve called in all the reinforcements.
And, friends, they have showed the heck up.
With food (of course).
And the moral support of literally just sitting (and sleeping) in places that help us feel safer.
This past month, we’ve spoken together these things that I used to think could not co-exist.
God is good and life is almost unbearably hard.
We are hopeful. And also terrified.
We believe in healing and are sitting right in the middle of the mess of brokenness.
Love wins. And trauma sucks.
It helps to tell the truth. To speak it out loud where the darker parts lose the power of silence.
We are not fine.
And we are in good company here.
Where we speak things that we used to believe could not co-exist.