“I haven’t told you, but I think they are planning to move to California. God seems to be opening a new door for them,” he says over dinner last night.
Time stands still and this news may just be the straw that breaks my back.
“What do you mean they might be moving?” I say, choking on a fork full of lasagna. “We’ll never see them again.”
“He called last week and wants to process my thoughts about it,” he says. He shovels in fork after fork of food, and I sit across the table from him, wanting to throw up.
“Well tell him not to go. What about the kids?” I foolishly ramble on and on until I have to leave for Bible Study.
He shakes his head at me.
I gather my things in silence. There is nothing left to say and we both know it.
The pit is deep this morning.
Some mornings the pit is shallow and I step over it, smiling as I number gifts in my head, mocking Satan on my way to the bathroom.
But other mornings, the pit is a chasm and my feet slip and Satan mocks me while I hang on to the edge.
This morning is the latter of the two.
The laundry that I finished yesterday is piling again. Rolled up, inside-out dirty socks kind of laundry, mind you.
Barbies with missing heads are in buckets with the cars and trucks and when I look closely, I swear I see my own head in there, too.
Baseball practice begins early tonight, 5 o’clock early and will run until bedtime. Dinner will happen in the bleachers.
In a few hours, kids will bathe and dirt will ring my tub and there will be more laundry.
While the lucky ones nap mid-afternoon, I will read scripture and make notes and prepare for Thursday night’s Bible study and before I’m ready to see them again, these little people will wake up.
At some hour after midnight, I will crawl between the sheets,
Having lived another day neck-deep in loss, in a life I don’t understand…
Wrestling with the Lord while my people sleep.
This season of life that I am living is a season of unraveling.
Of not understanding.
Of seemingly more loss than gain.
Of days and nights of beating my fists on the chest of God, all the while hearing Him whisper, Do you trust Me?
And isn’t this life?
The rhythm of living intermingled with pulses of loss all thrumming together…
Always asking one thing..
Do you trust Me?
Tomorrow, I’ll do all of this again.
The playing judge and jury for an army of little people.
And there will be loss.
Of this I am learning to expect.
To accept, even.
Because God is good.
He is good. He is good. He is good.
And because He is good, I choose to trust Him.
Even when every step forward I take, there is a loss of something.