Bitter Until It Ripens
on watering what's withered
The late afternoon sun is slicing through the one tiny window I have in my office. A yellow slab of light has landed on my desk. My hands cast shadows across the keyboard as I type. The letter ‘I’ keeps getting stuck. I need to get that looked at. There’s probably a metaphor in there if you try hard enough.
The house is warm and mostly empty. Billie is laying on the cool floor in the next room. Juniper is dozing on her bed near my feet. I have a few quiet hours to myself (if you don’t count the dog and the cat). Baseball practice for my oldest with a little sister who always insists on tagging along and a husband who understands how much his wife likes to be alone means I’ve had an entire afternoon to think.
I’m thinking about how Easter was hard for me this year. I carried a grief into the day that surprised me. Usually Easter feels like relief. Like a celebration. Like “Oh, thank God, we made it to Spring and how lovely to have a holiday to remember our risen Savior on while the earth softens and blooms!” This year did not feel like that.
I’m thinking about how the night before I had to call my husband into this very office so we could talk privately without the kids around. I’m thinking about how word vomited to him for 20 minutes about how fed up and frustrated I am with the Evangelical Church as a whole. I’m thinking about the grief I’ve carried for the last decade as I’ve watched a heresy grow like cancer in the bowels of my former faith spaces. I’m thinking about when, over the years, I’ve pointed to it in alarm and cried for it be cut out, I was cut out instead. I’m thinking how I watched a faith leader compare Trump to Jesus and then, mere days later, on Easter morning I watched him post expletives directed at nation we’re bombing and be praised for his “tough negotiating skills”. And then I walked into a church and tried hard not to think about the religious ecosystem that has allowed a person like him to exploit my faith for his agenda.
I’m thinking about how old my kids are now. I’m thinking about how I don’t miss the baby/toddler phase at all (even though every mom with kids older than mine constantly said I would). I’m thinking about how much I absolutely love the age they are right now. Their questions are endless. Their humor is sharp. Their interests are fascinating. Their emotions are big and colorful and beautifully exhausting all in the same day. They can’t remember where their shoes are and they’re never not hungry, but they have all the bird facts, Pokémon lore and baseball knowledge you could ask for. It’s glorious. When they were babies and toddlers, I’d tell people it was like living with actual sunbeams. I still believe that’s true.
I’m thinking about the home we hope to build/buy (can you pray for us during the process?). We’ve waited and saved for nearly 15 years to improve our living situation and we’re at a place where we can actually consider it. And yet, the process feels overwhelming in ways that are hard to articulate. For one, we can’t afford any of the houses in our area. Secondly, we own the land the we live on without debt. Building a similar house on our own land appears to be the only viable option. The problem that arises with this is: where will we live while our new house is being built? None of our extend local family up has room for four people, a giant dog and a cat.
There’s a possibility of temporarily living with my parents in East Tennessee. Jonathan and I aren’t keen on the idea of being 5 hours away from each other for months at a time. I’m thinking about how privileged we are to even have the option to improve our living situation. I’m also thinking about how hard this process is going to be on our family. I’m thinking about how much we’ve ached to improve our living situation and how grateful I am to finally get to do that. It’s complicated.
I’m thinking about chronic health issues and how living with them can leech away at your nervous system, your energy, your capacity to keep explaining chronic health issues to people who don’t live with them every day. I’m thinking about how tired I am of talking about “chronic illness” and how even more tired I am from living with it.
I’m not as bad off as I was last year. Or at least, I’ve learned to manage my health issues better, but they’re not gone. They still rear their heads and ruin whole days. Am I really getting better? Or am I just getting better at living with a broken body? I’ll have to think about that and get back to you.
I’m thinking about how last year I all but quit writing here because I was tired/afraid/didn’t see the point/grieving/in survival mode (pick one). I felt like every time I sat down to type, negativity bloomed underneath my fingers and sprouted on the page. I didn’t want that to take root and bear fruit, so I let my writing wither for a while. And now I’m thinking about how maybe I should have been writing all along. Maybe the fruit would be bitter until it ripens properly. I don’t know. I do know it it would’ve been truthful. Maybe what’s withered needs to be watered. Maybe I need to think about it for a while yet.
The sun is waning now. My office is fluctuating from yellow to orange to blue. Spring has arrived in all her temperamental glory. This might be our last spring in this house. Typing out that sentence sends a thrill of joy/fear/anticipation /anxiety (pick one) through my belly. Emily Dickinson said hope was “a thing with feathers” and I would say it’s just as fragile and flighty.
And what can one do with hope like that but hold it gently for as long as it perches on your soul?
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Hey, Breanne. It's always a blessing to hear your thoughts.
Theology is a word that sounds like dust and stern librarians and monks hiding away from the world, but in its best form, it is what God gave us to help us see more clearly. Like everything in creation, the church is balanced between already and not-yet - it shows God's redemptive purposes in the world, but at times it also shows us how messed up and needy God's people are. My (late) wife and I laboured for 30 years in a church - we saw our children baptised, we went from there to serve other churches, we sang and played and taught and encouraged and cooked and cleaned and prayed and learnt. But in the end our hearts - her heart, particularly - was broken by it. She is now with her Father, who wipes away all tears. I have moved elsewhere, seeking to serve again: at times, the loss of those years is painful - how can I be so old?! - but then God promises that nothing is wasted, and tells us to serve and be faithful, and then when we fail, to serve and be faithful again.
Here's a song if you want to have a sniff at some stage. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TfEkDqP34xo The person who first gave it to me was not a Christian.
Dear Breanne, while I cannot click "like" for this post, I want you to know that I am one of many who appreciate your thoughtful writing and your efforts to be present for yourself, your family, and your extended social-media community. Be as kind to yourself in the midst of all that surrounds you, and I will be praying for a path to open towards home and health and joy.