“Mirror, mirror on the wall…”
That little ditty from a childhood fave echoes around in my head. I’m not sure I can even get out the remainder of it. It seems to get stuck in my throat. Who am I to have the temerity to ask the question of who is fairest? Who is best?
The me I see in the mirror has too much weight, too much darkness, too much spiritual road rash.
I had the perfect plan; or so it seemed. And I failed. Spectacularly.
The books? A good idea but harder to execute while drowning in stressors, and being pursued by the darkness that is SAD, which had its gaping maw poised at my back. Melodramatic? Perhaps, but that is what it felt like.
Looking back over the past few months, I realize that I had underestimated the effect of not having the hubby within calling/texting distance. While he was in Russia the days felt quiet, too quiet. A 12 hour time difference makes communication sporadic and brief; not nearly enough to feed my hungry heart. And so we went to our comfortable place. The place where we read books (*cough* romances *cough*) that perhaps weren’t the best to fill our time with.
Add to this a financial problem thanks to vagaries of international money transfers. These vagaries ensured that at one point there was no money in the bank and no knowing when or if the monies owed would come through.
It is this last situation that perhaps pushed (pulled) me the most. It caused me to isolate myself more and more. A downward spiral ensued, one that I had a hard time resisting.
I found I had to watch how I spoke about it and to whom I spoke about it. As it says in Proverbs; “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Prov 18:21).
And so we guarded what we said, and we tried to forge ahead; trying so desperately to believe that the Lord will provide. Feeling perhaps a bit like Abraham as he raises the daggar to kill his own son before he sees the ram in the thicket.
I am so very thankful for the people in our world. The Encouragers, the Prayer Warriors, those that, in love, point us in the right direction, and those that pushed money into my fists and wouldn’t let me give it back.
It was beyond humbling and felt so very awkward, embarrassing actually, to be directed to get a hamper from my church. I cannot explain how deeply it marked me to stand in the pantry and fill a few grocery bags with my daughters helping me. I felt every every tin that was dropped into the bag as a blow to my pride and my heart.
Now we’re on the other side of it all. Yes, there are still things to be settled but we came through it all.
Raw. Don’t even get me started.
But we are through. We are standing. Standing grimey, sweaty, scraped and a hot mess; but standing nevertheless.
Who do I see in the mirror? Not Xena. Not the Church Lady. Perhaps, what is there in the looking glass is a battle weary soldier who’s only thought is to lay down and rest for a while.
(linked up with Sheloves Magazine)