My Journey Into Darkness: Finding Hope When It's Gone Missing

My body is on fire. My legs, arms and lower back are burning up. I didn't realize that taking a little more than a week off from exercise would feel this way. But blame and shame are two words that I'm trying to extract from my mental repertoire of go-to personal phrases. I was sick off-and-on for two weeks, and I even worked out half that time. Then, we had the week of Thanksgiving officially off at boot camp. And now, here I am, back in the saddle. I probably pushed myself too hard. 

The way I feel right now physically parallels my mental and spiritual fatigue these past two months. Since my post recalling our theft situation, our apartment storage locker has been broken into twice. The culprit broke the door latch and lock off both times, surprisingly leaving everything inside. We had to pay for replacement locks and door latches and are still paying for the piece of mind that the burglar took and continues to dangle over our heads. Then, a few weeks ago, I found out that a dear family friend committed suicide. A week later, their spouse committed suicide. With my Stephen Ministry training, I have been trying my best to deal with the emotional earthquake that rattled my family and friends with this information. It's hard. I don't know how to describe it better than that. I am still hurting. That's how I respond when people ask me how I'm doing. It's so confusing. I say that phrase when people give me their best "advice" about how to deal with something as traumatic as suicide. Beyond these situations (and a few others that I will spare you), we recently found out that a major scholarship Ken had won is now forfeit because of his current military benefits. That blow came last week and I'm dealing with the aftershock. Early this summer, we structured our entire monthly budget around those funds and have been living off them, in a state of expectation. Mind you, Ken and I are committed to living frugally and within our means, and well, those means were promised to us. Shock, anger, confusion--yes, we felt all of those, together and separately, in questioning how we will make ends meet these coming months. Our new budget, which I started mapping out this morning, is now 1/3 of our previous monthly budget. That means that we either need to cut back on 2/3 of our expenses to balance out or draw from savings to meet the need. No matter how I crunch numbers, it's frustrating and discouraging. Without going into further detail, something needs to change. I'm realizing that. But it's so hard. 

As Christmas approaches, I'm starting to understand better how the holidays are a struggle for many families. There's so much pressure to buy and receive lots of gifts. But what if you can't afford that? Is that what Christmas is about? Also, what happens when you're really tired of giving and just want to receive--something, anything? Especially from those who seem to require the most. According to the popular "5 Love Languages" book, I give love and receive love by giving gifts. That explains why I love picking out the perfect gift for a friend. It makes my day. Likewise, when someone gives me a gift that is well thought out and meaningful, I feel loved. The reverse is true when I'm not remembered or given something trite. I'd rather not receive anything, if that's the case.

I guess I mention these things because today I'm grappling with them. There's lots of tension in my mind between easy and hard times, giving and receiving, living faithfully or fearfully. My life is a combination of all these things and I'm struggling to find hope, when I keep being met with disappointment. Deep down, there's a spark of faith that God will meet us in this hard place but I have to keep praying that the ongoing darkness with not snuff it out. And maybe, just maybe, there's a brighter Light somewhere in this place that will be worth the journey into the darkness...

Fall Musings on Friendship and Community

Deep breathe in, followed by a calm and relaxed exhale. I can feel the cool air entering my lungs. My chest expands and then collapses back as warm air retreats from my lungs. It's a brisk afternoon, with a bright grey hue blanketing the sky. Here I am, huddled part ways under my thick down-like comforter, pillows propped up behind me, staring out my bedroom window at the tall tree shrouded in ruddy brown and yellow hues. It's so cozy inside, watching the fall colors dance in the wind.

After an influx of visitors these past few weeks (and even months), I am feeling the need for a little relaxation and introspection. It's funny how spending time with dear friends from specific life seasons will do that. My best childhood friend recently stopped over in Seattle on a long layover and then I welcomed two college friends (one a former roommate, the other a hallmate) over back-to-back weekends. What fun we had, reminiscing over years past and the memories that have marked our lives in an unforgettable way. I just love being around friends, especially the ones you have history with. These relationships embody something so indescribably sweet and comfortable. It's easy to forget all the petty conflict or miscommunication we must have experienced "way back when", in the earlier days of our friendship. In retrospect, we grew close by living near one another and by allowing ourselves to step into each others' stories, however messy or inconvenient they seemed. 

Oddly enough, living in close proximity to others who you can share life with has become a novelty to me. Here in Seattle, most of my friends are spread out geographically, so the idea of sharing life together on a consistent basis seems absurd. Sure, the occasional meal together or coffee date happens, but nothing like the communal aspect of college, where my friends were literally right across from me or a few feet down the hall, in another dorm room. Likewise, growing up on Maui, my best friend lived on the same street. I'm pretty sure that we spent most afternoons and weekends together, just hanging out, playing ping pong or poker, baking brownies, or going to the beach. That sort of lifestyle made sense to me. It was natural and rhythmic, the idea of sharing life together in community.

I miss that. My heart longs for a sense of belonging and kinship, to be known and to know others. I was created for this type of connection, I can tell. Because every time I have a really great conversation with someone, whether it be my husband or a friend or even a stranger, who is honest and vulnerable and willing to make themselves known, it sparks this hopeful anticipation in me. It's a taste of community, of being a part of someone's else life. It's powerful. Even though I feel more removed from certain aspects of community I've enjoyed in the past, I want to keep pursuing it. Being intentional and relational and vulnerable--I think it's starts there. Proximity, well, I'll keep praying for that.