I try not to touch the third rail. Politics is a touchy subject in polite society and can create a firestorm, as I’m sure you have all witnessed in your Facebook feed this last year. A simple statement, an expressed opinion…even an innocent “share” can bring on a backlash the likes of which you may never have witnessed before. Much of that is because it’s easier to hide behind a keyboard and say things that more than likely would never be said with direct eye contact.
I know of a few families who need lifted up in prayer tonight. There are health issues and family issues involved that are unspoken with some of them. Also, I would like to ask for prayers for our country as we head into a new arena tomorrow. Whether you were for them or against them, I offer prayers for both the Obamas as they leave this office and the Trumps as they come in. God loves each of his children the same, no matter what our personal opinions are.
I used to worry about everything. I have a genetic proclivity for anxiety…a trait I have so generously shared with my children and at least one of my grandchildren. When I was in my twenties, a trip to the mountains would have me in a tizzy for days just thinking about going. At one point, I was nearly agoraphobic…there were only certain places I felt comfortable. I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t be in a play or give a speech because the idea of standing in front of people made me deathly sick. So, what changed?
I don’t know about you, but the first time someone referred to me as a “widow”, it truly ticked me off. I was outraged to be referred to as anything but who I knew myself to be…or, who I thought myself to be. A wife. Now, here was someone pushing me into a demographic I had no desire to be counted in. I hated it. I resisted it. And…finally, eventually…I accepted it. But on MY terms…not theirs. The term ‘widow" conjured up images of “sad”, “old”, “crazy”. And, while I did identify with those feelings, they weren’t WHO I was…who I wanted to be. As I am wont to do, I wanted to push the agenda and “get back to normal” as soon as possible. Little did I know at the time, there is no such thing…not after the devastating loss of someone you love more than your breath. And there’s certainly no hurrying it along.
I stumbled around for the longest time in the darkness of grief. I told people it was like trying to defuse a bomb blindfolded. One wrong move and I would just disappear…evaporate into a billion little pieces. I used to feel like I was, quite literally, one crisis away from losing it altogether. If one more bad thing happened, if I had to deal with one more medical emergency, if I had to white-knuckle my way through one more disaster…I just knew I didn’t have it in me. The thing is…I look back over the last nearly four years since Mr. Virgo’s death and I realize I survived every single thing that was thrown at me…exactly 100% of the time. There are still moments when I feel myself hanging on…but now it’s by the heavy chains of a sea freighter’s anchor…not by a thin, ever weakening thread.
I loved our message in church yesterday. Pastor Justin spoke about Jesus completing a huge healing marathon when the Pharisees headed to see him. They wanted to know why his Disciples had unclean hands. You see, the Pharisees did not recognize Jesus as the Messiah, so they still did a ritual hand washing ceremony before their meal…not for hygienic reasons, but to “wash away their sins and transgressions.” Jesus explained to them that it wasn’t what was on their hands but what was in their hearts.
I am always amazed at the amount of water shed from the sky here in West Virginia. After living forty years in the semi arid climate of Colorado, this is a shock to the system. Oh, the humidity is great for my skin. And I have stick-straight hair so humidity is the only thing that gives it a little body. But, man….dark, gray, rainy days can really wear on a person after a while.
As I was working on the website yesterday, I had to edit an old post in such a way that it appeared on my recent timeline. It was unintentional, but I don’t believe it was an accident as it stirred up some emotions for readers that had never seen it. It was the post where I really explained that my husband died. It was the first time I dove that deep in the pool of grief so it was pretty raw.
As I lay here in the middle of the night, I can hear the creek’s up. We’ve had a lot of rain the last few days…better rain than snow as far as I’m concerned. I’ve had enough snow in my forty Colorado winters to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. The rain has stopped for the time being. Too bad. I love the sound it makes on the tin roof of this old farmhouse. From a gentle tapping to a deafening roar, there’s nothing quite so wonderful to sleep to than rain on an old tin roof.
Tune in Wednesday as I am a guest on Dave Hawkins radio show! Looking forward to an interesting conversation about the physical ramifications of grief.