In dire need of some quality family time, the five of us watched Marley & Me last night. In this cute Jennifer Aniston / Owen Wilson movie, the adorable puppy who seems to eat everything in his sight enters their life post-marriage / pre-kids. This cutest terror you will ever see is with them through thick and thin of becoming a family, and the movie is simple and heartwarming. While I don't want to spoil the end for you, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that the average dog lives, oh, ten to fifteen years, and the average family lives forever. At one point during the movie's end, in my rough effort to lighten things up a bit, I whispered into our darkened den lit only by the glow of our big-ass (sorry if that offends you...) TV, "Raise your hand if you are NOT crying." No hands went up.
For me, it was like opening the floodgates. I cried tears like I've not cried in years. It didn't take too long for me to realize that the tears moved beyond those sweet tears elicited by Hollywood to real gut-wrenching, life-induced tears after about the first two minutes. I tried to hold them back because I just did not want to deal with them, but I couldn't. So out they came, and with them, a flood of realization.
Let me preface all of this by saying that I know a big whine-fest is forthcoming. It will make me sound spoiled beyond belief to any of you who think I have a "perfect life." Even now as I sit it with it all bubbling up in my heart, eking ever-closer to my head where my feelings will be put into words and make their way out through my fingers and onto this screen, I am telling myself that I am crazy for even considering putting this out there in internet-land. But it's 4:30 in the morning, and God speaks to me most clearly at this time, and she (the God who speaks to me this early in the morning is most-decidedly the female nature of God) has made it quite clear that this is what I am to do, and quite frankly, I am too worn out to argue. I'd lose anyway.
It has just been one of those weekends where I just feel like my life is full of things that are just getting too big, too difficult, too hard. And those few things that I really do enjoy doing are made harder than they used to be because those yucky things take so much of my time. I enjoy caring for my family, including my parents, but that's harder than I want it to be because of soccer practice, writing assignments, and college-student angst. I enjoy spending time with my husband, but that is nigh-unto impossible lately because of the crazy schedules we keep, the pressing need/s of so many folks around us, and our mutual inability to tell the world to stop so that we can enjoy a few moments of time together without interruption. I enjoy hosting friends for dinner, but that was harder than I wanted it to be this weekend because of soccer games, my inability to express to the aforementioned husband what I am feeling or what I need, and his, more often than not, total oblivion to either anyway. I enjoy the 11:00 worship service on Sundays, but that has long been impossible for me these days given congregational politics, dreadfully slow hymns from the Dark Ages, and a resentment because all too often, the hard work that Joel is doing and the sacrifices we, as a family, are making result in misunderstanding and even abuse by a small handful of mean, angry, bitter folk. The things that really make me happy, that I really want to do, the things that I really NEED to do are complicated by things around me that are less fulfilling, less enjoyable, and yet seem to loom larger.
I have got to figure out how to re-focus, how to re-frame life so that the things I enjoy move to the foreground, and the things that make them harder than they need to be move to the background. I fear, however, that I am so mired in that I can't make or find my way out.
My friend Whitney blogs about her own "glimpses of grace." She pulls this from one of my favorite Frederick Buechner quotes: "Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace."
I'm listening, Freddie. I'm listening, God. Speak to me words of life. Speak to me words of grace. Because I'm kinda needing a big dose of both...
4 comments:
#1: Amanda and I cried through Marley & Me recently too.
#2: Preach sister.
#3: Summer is almost here - and I know you will be taking some time off - and that will recharge you; I hope.
#4: This video is always a dose of Grace when my frustrations try to take me over...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lFNRyxpc2QE
I love you Jill Tolbert child of God.
Thank you for our conversation Monday evening. It was a blessing to sit in your kitchen and talk God-stuff with you and Joel. Don't be ashamed of the words you write, God is speaking through you and with you. Your have the voice of the psalmist and that is always a beautiful grace-filled thing.
Take a moment to read Romans 5:1-5.
Know that all of your fellow reprobates are here for you. Whatever you need, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, a silly joke, you name it.
Keeping you, the boys and your parents in our prayers.
Jill, you're awesome. And honest. Do you know I got that Freddie B quote from you initially? It was at the bottom of an email you once sent me. So, actually, it's your discovery coming back to you again. Hang in there. Be pissed off. God never wants us to pretend...She can handle how we really feel. And in the meantime, drink coffee. Breathe. We're here for you (even if we're not there...)
Just had a chance to fully read the recent post - something called colloquium....interruptions!
Keep caring for yourself so you may care for others, Jill - tears and all that go along with them are part of that - thank you for sharing them, and this journey, with others who are more than praying you along the way - as Andy said we are here for you, and in ways you may not yet know.
Clay Thomas was a significant companion along the way of my mom's brief illness and death, before the Sabeel conference in 2005. It was to him I first voiced the words, "my mother is dying." Saying them out loud made them less frightening - not that I liked them any better - but somehow that act was liberating and I faced the next few hours/days knowing that truly I was not alone and as always, my mother was in God's care.
May speaking these words when you need to and are able make it so for you and your family.
Shalom and healing mercies.
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