Water in the Basement

It's a rainy day here in LA, and I'm cooped up inside listening to music with my phone turned off. I just cancelled my cable and don't know whether I regret it. My hair is getting really long.

Just yesterday it hit me how hard the last several years have been. First Mom got sick, then was gone, and after that the only church I had ever known shattered and home base was obliterated. I graduated from college and spent long, lonely days alone in my apartment, searching for my life's purpose or something, anything, to set my hands to.

Talk about a one, two (three) punch.

It's been harder than I realized. I miss my mom now in a deep, low way that I spend most days trying to ignore or stuff away... But it never really works. There are long stretches of numb, almost-happiness mingled with real, genuine good times that are so good I want to grab life like a bottle with both fists, turning it upside down and drink drink drink until it's dripping dry. But then it crashes down and I find myself crying in church, gaze locked on a woman who has hands like my mom's.

I'm tired of saying it's hard. I'm tired of fighting the same old battles with the same old rusty armor. My sword has lost its shine in my weary hand on my weary arm, the onslaught is subsiding but never ceasing. I just want it to go away. I want to be the bright and shiny, happy girl that people want to see. Oh to be lighthearted! I've gotten pretty good at smiling again, inviting people in to see my sparkling new floors and pretty drywall, but this house still has water in the basement.

The thing the Lord spoke to me about this time is that it's my "under pressure" season-- like I'm in a slow-cooker, steeping not stagnant. I am still because deep work is going on in my heart, and the reward is a richness, a depth, a spectrum, encyclopaedia, and library of heart-knowledge that couldn't be acquired any other way. And I'm okay with that. Lord, please let me be okay with that.

I just want to know Him.