I felt Friday slip away into a buttery sky over the Denver horizon this afternoon. Ivory haze bled into pure baby blue as the sun silently fell below the mountains. It felt similar to how I slipped below warm bath water and stayed there ’til the water was tepid after arriving home from school today. Calming. Healing. Washing away fears. Perfect for a good cry.
I’ve been sick the last couple of days – weird stomach cramps that double me over before departing just as suddenly as they came. Many well-meaning individuals continue to ask, “Are you pregnant?” or “Do you think you could be pregnant?” or “You’re not pregnant, are you?” One lady has even told me twice this week – with a great amount of confidence – that I WAS pregnant. Most don’t know that “pregnancy” is a tender subject for me. I’m not, after all, wearing a sign describing my current prayer.
So, with some amount of hopeful resignation, I added a pregnancy test to the apples and carrots also burdening my arms down the aisles of Walmart. However, experience has taught me to not wait and watch for 3 minutes while the test develops. Don’t stare at the small screen, hoping. So, I didn’t. Rather, groceries were put away and bags unpacked a room away. Then, David walked into the bathroom, unaware of the small test developing on the counter. He stared for a moment before walking out bearing a “Not Pregnant” message. “Okay,” my heart said, “not yet. One day. Not today.”
Bath water felt so good. Lights off. Candles on. Later, sitting on the large metal drain grid covering one outlet of my pond, I listened to the stream waters run beneath me. Listened for the voice of my Savior. Asked him, “What’s next, Papa God?” I sobbed and yelled at Him, proclaiming how much I don’t like this current situation.
Peach clouds reflected on the frozen pond, as I cried myself out. Literally. I’m not sure I could cry right now if I tried. Thank goodness, since I am headed to a white elephant Christmas party tonight and need to get my “festive” on momentarily.
But, with the steady current flowing beneath my pond perch, a steady peace flowed in. Abba God heard me, held me, washed over me. I know that I’m not a finished product – far from it. I’m being stretched and enlarged, broken and built. It hurts. I rather detest the process.
But, I’m never alone. You’re never alone. We’re never alone. Let’s go enjoy some Christmas cheer.
I adore you, Lauren, and I love your heart. I think of you so often, of your beauty and your pain. I miss you and so much look forward to when we can be together again to do all this laughing and crying and living together. I love you.
I am looking forward to that time more than you can know! I love you so much! Thanks for being present here in my pain . . . it means a lot to me.