I was reading Tim J. Lawrence’s blog the other day The Adversity Within about grieving and scars. In it he asks, “What stories do your scars tell? I sat down to think about it and my first thought was “sharply confined and put away”. When you were a kid, did you ever try to trap or fight a bubble. Underwater…with your mask on…cupping your hands in its path only to have it break apart and trickle through your fingers as smaller bubbles. I have boxed up my grief…even tied it with a pretty bow sometimes and tried to appear strong, confident, sure. It is in those weakest moments(the fake strong moments) that I need grace the most. But lately, my beautifully wrapped package is oozing blood and disintegrating like those bubbles…I have no control…control is truly an illusion…and I must let it go. Grief is like that…it ebbs and flows and just as you think you have topped that particular mountain for the last time…it sneaks up on you again.
Do you remember those children’s toys that snapped to the car seats. They were a play dashboard for your child with their own squeaky horn, knobs that turned and a little plastic yellow steering wheel. They were great until you were on a long trip and then you wanted to kill whoever came up with the toy horn actually making noise. I find in life sometimes, I am the toddler in the car seat. I am typically white knuckling my little yellow steering wheel. My rational mind knows that it is not connected to the car. The direction of the car or the speed of the car. Yet, in my “infinite wisdom”, my control freak self is just steering away to get where I “want ” to go. Occasionally, (okay…every morning…but whose counting) I have to mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically surrender my little yellow wheel. My heart knows the driver and my faith knows He is in control and He knows exactly where I “need” to go. And so…I let it go…and breathe.
Thank you God for your patience and persistence on my journey.