I am pretty good at self medicating. Most of us are. Sometimes, many times, I can't even see that I do it. And then Papa whispers, gently nudging, and my feeble attempt to protect bruised pride, bruised heart is undone.
Family. A happy gathering to an outsider.
Family. An occasional minefield for me.
Words said, words unsaid and action taken, actions not taken.
I awoke knowing I would see family, may feel... something.
I felt OK with that.
I went to church. Still OK, prayed for other people, no prayer for me.
I partied, ate cake, gave & received hugs, said goodbyes.
Drove home the long way, through the cemetery, then home.
Thought I was still OK.
I missed people, loved ones who weren't there and never will be again.
Family who can't possibly meet the needs in my heart
family who can't even see the needs in my heart.
But still OK, I think?
At home, tummy too full of party to eat, next best medication is sleep.
An unusually unrestful nap, a cranky awakening, a spirit out of sorts.
Drive to church, few words for my passenger,
I can feel the gravitational pull of the Father
and I..... don't....... want........... to.............. go.
My spirit cries out, at war with head & emotions
that say I. AM. FINE.
But I'm not fine.
God descends and I can hardly breathe.
Spirit passes through hugs, balm on bruised heart.
My spirit worships, holy communion, tears of surrender,
Words refresh, burdens laid on altar, my cup overflows.
Papa is whispering, gently nudging,
and I can breathe again.
I can breathe again.