Last weekend we took a little family road trip, and some things just happen in car rides. Who can explain it? Maybe it is the absence of distractions, presence of intimate spacing and of course, time. I love road trips for this reason.
On the way home, I found myself in a full-blown meltdown in conversation with my husband. It wasn’t what he was saying, it’s what I wasn’t saying. It was what I was afraid of admitting. How far I had drifted. How my heart had grown cold, and nobody knew it, not really. I convinced myself since I had found “happy” again, my kids were healthy, and I wasn’t falling apart every week; things were okay. I was okay. But being “okay” can have a thousand different definitions. Grieving people know that best, I think.
(Click on the link in red below to read the full article.)
Comments to the above article from my Facebook post 9/9/15:
Ah yes, the spiritual wounds lurking beneath or hiding among the deep grief, sorrow and pain of loss. I’m amazed this woman managed to partition out that portion of her heart whereas I have constantly wrestled with how to address reconciling my spiritual wounds and the damage done to my relationship with Christ. Psalm 139:7-12 expresses the comfort and the torment inherent in God’s constant presence well:
7 Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
8 If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
9 If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
10 Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me.
11 If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,
12 Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You.”