A New Year

Nearly three months have passed since my last post.  Two major holidays, a trip south of the border, an accident that put me out of commission for a few weeks, a sad family event in January and here we are into February.  

A new year.  

A New Year.  

New questions.  

New possibilities.

Amazingly…life with my Prodigal has been good.  

Yes, good.  

I am praising God for this reprieve.  

A time-out from the drama and chaos.  

A time of rest for my weary soul.  

It was on the advice of a mentor that I took this time-out.  

To sleep, to rest, to be  

I don’t do that well.  

It’s just not in my DNA.  

So I had to learn.  

A new skill.  

One that I’ve attempted to practice nearly every day since I last wrote.  

Some days it’s worked.  

Others…not so much.  

But I listened to her words…

"be gentle with yourself" 

“cease striving”  

“You are burned out and broken”  

“You need down time…from routine and responsibility.”  

So I adapted as best I could and listened.

I’ve missed the writing.  

But it was right to take a break.  

To step back and evaluate.  

Were my words

reaching out? 

or 

reaching in?  

Both? 

I guess that’s the beauty of a blog.

  

I can write and help heal my hurts as I journal through my circumstances.  

You can read and feel community in your pain.  

Or the words that I write can float aimlessly in the blogosphere and land where they need to at some future place in time.   

Does it matter? 

My goal is still the same as when I first started writing.  

To first and foremost tap into my feelings and emotions as they pertain to this journey with my Prodigal. 

Secondly…to connect with others facing similar adversity and to bring connectedness and hope.  

Like a passenger on an airplane, I’ve learned that I have to put the oxygen mask over my own face before I can help another.

One of the things that weighed heavily on me during this time of reflection was the negativity of the blog.  The Blog’s perpetual sadness lingering like a storm cloud always on the verge of burst.  

My daughter had conveyed last Fall how terribly sad it was and how she couldn’t read it anymore.  When she read it she felt as if she was reliving her own horror story.  

And she was.  

In my self-centeredness, I lumped that comment along with other remarks and concluded that because my blog was not “happy” and “optimistic” I was somehow denying my faith walk with God and hurting those I love.  And maybe others.  And in my jumbled brain I concocted this view that my words were

at the least…not worthy 

and 

at worst…detrimental.

I talked with my daughter yesterday.  She was sad that I had misinterpreted her words.  I’ve talked with myself endlessly over my focus and desire to help others.  So, for now, I will write again.  If for no other reason then to bring the baby-steps of joy that deserve to be said and heard into a journey that has been full of calamity and pain.

My hope is that my words of sadness will give way to gladness.  That the thawing of Winter will give way to Spring.  That my posts will mature and grow full of the “old me”…optimistic and fun-loving.  

But I won’t know until the next chapter is written.  

I am only a co-author in my story to be told.