I have been wanting to blog, even longing to blog for the last month, but unsure of what to say. This has been such an interesting last month for us on so many levels.
We are living with my parents. For the first three weeks we were here, Dwayne, Cayle, Alaya and I all shared one bedroom. One, normal sized bedroom. We couldn't find our stuff because so much of it was in storage. Dwayne and I kept pendulum swinging with emotional breakdowns and panic attacks. It was chaos. I never knew what my days would look like.
The last three weeks have smoothed out on many fronts. My days are a wee bit more predictable. We know where most of our stuff is now. I've been able to keep the kids occupied a little better which is keeping everyone more sane. But, on the whole, this is still so challenging. Your home is your refuge. We don't really have a refuge right now. We have a place to sleep, but this isn't our home. It is difficult enough as parents of two young children to focus and have conversations, but it takes on a whole different dimension when you have two other adults vying for your time and attention with expectations of their own. There's drama. There's exhaustion. We just keep practicing deep breathing (as I'm sure my parents do!), get out of the house as much as possible, and just do the best we can.
I want to pause here and say that my parents have handled this whole thing amazingly well. I'm sure it helped that my youngest brother moved out on June 1st and freed up a bedroom (so now the kids have a bedroom) and cut down on some of the chaos for all of us. Regardless, we are very grateful to them and know that it is no slight thing that they have allowed us to be here. It doesn't change the fact that it's hard though. They would agree with that statement completely.
The fascinating thing to me is how detached I feel from the Lord right now. I have been thinking through this a lot in the last few weeks. I mean I'm not consciously running away from Him. I know He is my everything. The irony right now, though, is we don't feel the strain of dependence on Him that is typical of our life. It feels in a weird sense like a LONG vacation. Not in our own home. Not with our own stuff. Not eating our own food. Not our time/schedule/etc. It is just strange. I don't like it. I feel off kilter. I know it isn't Jesus that has gone anywhere, but me. I'm pondering how the dynamics of not having my own space have somehow shifted my focus and attention.
I am so ready for life to be simpler. For the Wilsons to not always be on the brink of calamity. But here's the weird thing: some part of me misses being in the press, walking through the fire (or in this case the flood) because of the desperation it requires. Your faith is either made or broken in those moments. A yearning happens in those desperate moments that Jesus is the only answer to. Jesus is the only rescuer. And He certainly rescued us, in every way possible. He set our feet on dry ground and I am so completely grateful for that. I stand in awe of all He has done in our lives and in our faith in the last 6 weeks. And maybe this is our "break" from the press. But I don't like it. I would rather be desperate.
I'm not asking for trouble to befall us. But I want to be desperate. Desperation leads to longing and longing leads to fulfillment. I want to be filled. With Him. So basically I'm saying that if the only way to Him is through fire, I'll walk through it.
It may sound crazy but it's true.
(As I was writing this I started thinking of this song and I think it describes well how I feel.)