I picked the wrong pillow. Yeah, that’s why a pounding headache pulled me out of sleep. I tossed the pillow and fluffed up the one flattened underneath and settled back in. But the pounding like a tom-tom wouldn’t relinquish its rhythm. I laid on one side then the other, and for a minute on my back waiting for release. Nothing. Monday, 5:30am, and I guess waking and walking with headache was as good as tossing and turning with one.
I put some water to boil for a pour-over and drank a glass of water. Lack of hydration was probably the culprit as much as the pillow. In any case, I knew my usual sit-down with God was going to be distracted by the back of my head acting like a clanging cymbal.
My office was more disheveled than usual and served as an apropos metaphor for the ache in my head. I couldn’t find my glasses, and for a minute couldn’t find God. The pain seemed like a fire-wall stunting my ability to give or receive. I sat. I waited for the thrumming to ease up. I waited for God to do something about it.
Then they came. Words. Words in the back of my mind, right above the pounding. Jerry, your family is your family. What? No kidding. Of course. Thanks for the obvious. Be still now. Your family is your family.
So I sat. Here I sit now, fingers on the keys while the Great Muse above waits. It saddens me to think I need to be told. I’d rather be reading some intellectual gruel. I’d rather be forming a poem out of the pickup sticks of my life. To home in on my family is tough. “How’s the family?” Ah, that loaded question that brings pause. I think of Beirut. I think of “Whack a Mole” at Chuckie Cheese’s. I think of all the brokenness we brought into our lives. I think of why I don’t write about the issues that slurry around this compound we call Casa. Maybe it’s time to let it out and let people in on what goes on in this house of adoption. At least to journal more about my family who is my family.
For now, the headache has subsided. I think the ache migrated to my heart. To feel it, like my “boots on the ground hero-wife”. It’s what she needs and what my family, who is my family, needs.
What do you think? Are you an adoptive parent? Should I air some laundry, clothes pin it with candor and realistic, cathartic, therapeutic, and thinly sliced hope? Should I let it dry out in the wind of bloggery?
Barbara and I have been discussing writing about our journey. Shall I begin here?
Let the words flow, let the story be told, let the reality of life be unveiled, and through the good and the bad, let the testimony of His faithfulness be on display.
Thank you PD. The proper perspective is acknowledging the good and bad under the lamp of God’s grace and faithfulness. I don’t know what God’s up to but I know I am an adopted child too. Just the thought repurposes the aches into actions. God help us!
Yes!!! Yes you should write about your family – the good, the bad, and the ugly. Just as we talk about it, writing, as you know, can be so freeing, so healing. Should you share, though? That is your decision alone. Many of your thoughts and wanderings around the family may not be appropriate to share in the bigger world – even among family. But putting pen to paper can help you KNOW what is in your heart. Sometimes we hide from that, but when it’s written down, even if only for our own eyes, it is hard to escape from. But that makes it easier to deal with, forgive, resolve.
You know I am always here when you want to talk. But I encourage you to keep writing!!!
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE YOU!!!! Pat Date: Mon, 6 Jun 2016 12:24:50 +0000 To: firstname.lastname@example.org
Yes Pat. Thank you. It’s tricky considering the nature of adoption, especially when special needs is involved. By the way, many of the non-infant adoptions come with disorder and brokenness. I am going to gather opinions and read some adoption blogs. The thing is, there are no books, at least that we’re aware of, that address families with multiple adopted children with “issues”. We are not considering this lightly, but the needs of foster/adoptive culture are rising and some families(ours included for a time) are going it alone and feeling alone in their journey. It’s heavy hearted stuff, but not without hope, especially those who set their hope on the God of adoption.
It is your and Barbara’s story to tell Jerry(if you so choose)…..but you know that there are so many others out there that share this same story. We are everywhere (feeling quiet and often alone) and now that I have moved to a different area, I realize how everywhere we really are…..the quiet voices are there, the hurt, the pain, the feelings of bewilderment. The story untold.
Thanks. We all have stories in which we live eh? To tell or not to tell. So many hurting. It’s tough…but a little easier when we know we’re not alone.
The truth we learn from the story you share cannot be learned from any other source. God has put your journey before you, journal it. We applaud you for your honesty – raw and unfiltered or processed and refined.
Encouraged. So true.