Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Oh, Crappiness!

I was awakened by a migraine this morning. It is a hard way to greet a new day. I took my meds, went back to bed for a few minutes rather than walking, and woke later with the same heaviness. Exhausting me. It fluctuated throughout the day, climaxing around 6:30-8:00 p.m. So I buried myself in my dark bedroom, heel pressed to my temple (or temple pressed into my folded pillow), and rocked back and forth praying variations of the Jesus Prayer over and over. Eventually I fell asleep and woke again around 11:15 to take some ibuprofen and try to do some needed paperwork. It's only a quiet ache at the moment, for which I'm grateful. My headaches are debilitating. I really hate them. And while I try to "offer up the pain," the offering of them never lessens the pain - and you'd think it ought to. The pain reveals me as I am, which is quite ugly if I do say so myself. No gentle saint hidden beneath my well-composed mask. Just an angry, selfish man.

My dryer broke the day before yesterday. I called the repairman, but it might be a day or two before it's fixed (or replaced) and the laundry factory begins again its sluggish business. In my estimation, a rather bad time for it to blow. Already financially tight and unable to visit my family over the holidays, this situation doesn't help that one.

I'm waiting for other shoes to drop to concretize my helplessness, my neediness, my desperation. To buckle me onto my knees, felling me. Because in the midst of all the crap in the fan, the truth and goodness of God stands. I may not be standing in that truth right now; I may be staring at it from across the road. But it's right there. Like the nose on my face. Like the pain in my cranium. Like the constancy of need, of demand, in a house full of children. I close myself to it because the "I" makes it all so unbearable. If I could lose It, the in-rush of joy would be refreshing sweet. I am full too much of me.


kkollwitz said...

I used to think that there would be a time when all 5 of our kids would be off the payroll and outta da house and we wouldn't be tired and worried about the dropping of the next shoe.

But as we get this batch shoved out, the grandkids fill the space. We mind the two of them a few afternoons a week (both of us working full-time), and while they are terrific, we lack the energy of our baby-rearing youth.

On the other hand, what would I rather be doing than raising kids and helping to raise grandkids? Well...nothing as important, let's put it that way.

But then there's a reason why we describe death as eternal rest.

alison said...

'I might be staring at it from across the road" made me catch my breath.

I stared, from across the road, at my house as it burned and tried to see.

You are such a beautiful writer, Scott. "Like the constancy of need, of demand, in a house full of children." Yes.