Catching Up and Hanging On

Well.

I was informed by someone close to me that it is no longer the day after Christmas.

You could've fooled me, though, because I only put my Christmas decorations up today.  I have a really good reason that only slightly lands on the side of productivity over sloth.  I have been involved in a month long attic/closet purge.  Oh yeah.  I.am.a.party.animal.

My attic is the place in my house that I loathe the most.  I really try to be thankful for my attic, contemplating all the people in the world who have no attic, or no need for an attic, because only when you have too much stuff do you need an attic.  But, try as I might to count my 1,000 attic gifts, I can't get rid of the bitterness.  First, its placement is horrible.  The attic stairs are in the master bedroom closet.  This means the landing area for things needing to go to the attic is in the master bathroom.  Which, you know, is what you want if you're going for the Sanford and Son look in your bathroom.  (You just sang the theme song, didn't you?) Also?  The opening is so narrow.  Also? There are these springs that open the door and they jut out another inch making the opening even more narrow.

Because of my sheer impatience with the attic situation, I have been in the habit of just cramming stuff up there as fast as possible.  This resulted in a horrible mess in the attic.  And it was on my nerves.  You should also know there was a pre-Christmas attic incident that really takes the cake in the Christmas Tree stories category.  I didn't blog about it because, at the time? Not funny. It involved me putting my foot through the ceiling.  Let 's just say that major home damage will bring all the cheer and merriment to a screeching halt.

Have I mentioned I hate my attic?  I didn't really intend to write a whole post about my attic. Apparently, I have some pent up emotion...

Anyway. I finally decided to clean up the attic-make it more organized and a little neater (more neat?) Donning the head lamp Nana Karen got for one of my children for Christmas, I went head to head with my attic, and frankly, I kicked its ass.  I hope you're not offended that I said "ass".  Sometimes you just need that stronger word.  (Someday I'll talk to you about my hatred for the word "butt", especially as a prefix...)  The attic is purged and organized (along with three other closets!) and now the Christmas stuff is tucked away.  I even found a new place to store the Christmas Tree. I'll take a picture soon, so you can see.  It's redneck-alicious! All of this work is why there has been no blogging.

That, and I have been out of words for a while.  I have rammed up against some sort of emotional wall. And the really scary part is that I don't even really want to deal with it.  It's sort of like I smashed into the wall, slid down it, and just decided to stay.  I don't want to examine the wall because we all know how that goes.  It usually involves crying, which leads to a cry headache (please tell me someone else gets these!), which leads to needing to lie down with a cold pack on my eyes.  So, I say, let's skip all the crying and just get in bed with a cold pack!

I believe the fact that the pace of my life has slowed for the first time in 2 years has led to a true mourning over all that has come to pass in that time.  I'm tired.  Soul tired.  That deep, down weary that doesn't go away with a nap or a cup of coffee.  I've decided grief is like a chronic condition.  Once you get it, its never going away.  Some days will be good days.  Other days grief will flare and threaten to choke out your very breath.  Some days there is peace in your heart.  Other days grief comes like a battering ram.

What marks this life as fallen is the loss.  It hurts so much because it was never meant to be this way.  We were meant to experience life together without the rift of separation.  Without separation from each other and without separation from God.  The fall, and ugly, black sin, ripped a hole right through what should've been.  And it's been going about ripping holes ever since.  That's what it feels like-ripping.

I've been through a season of a lot of ripping.  My soul is raggedy and in need of some mending.  I've decided not to make a project out of it.  I've invited the mender to come, and I'm just going to wait.

That's His business, you know.  Mending.  I hope you know Him that way.  You don't have to make it a project either.  Just ask Him in to start sewing up the holes.