I know, it’s like beating a dead horse or some such else nonsensical phrase to describe my repetitiveness in speaking of the pain in my heart. I’m not kidding about God being a pain relieving drug, he is so close I could touch him. But there are the still and quiet times when I’m staggered at the losses I’ve had this year. I can’t resolve the joy in my life, the things I see God doing and the deep, cutting pain of reality. It’s almost too much at times. I am so grateful, yet greedy. I am happy, but depressed. My skin feels like it is going to burst open at times, pouring out everything that is so strongly felt inside, like a giant Mt. Vesuvius eruption of my soul. Some days I wish I felt nothing at all, but I think living is feeling life, tasting it and drinking up the good times to store up for the inevitable famine.
I think of the song, “it is well with my soul,” and agree with it. My feelings then would be an annoying swarm of biting yellow jackets bent on my destruction, but my soul is safe. Everything around me swirls in chaos, but I am still. I think that peace can be found on this earth, I enjoyed hearing my pastor speak on it yesterday as my sabbatical of non-church-attendance sadly ended. I’m not saddened that I attended, per se, just that it was the end of my well needed time off. Ben was ready to go back. But Jim spoke, ironically enough, on the very verse of my being. “..and the peace of God which transcends understanding will guard your heart and minds in Christ Jesus.” Weird, huh? it was like some super-natural force that existed heard me and thought that the first time back in his church should be dealing with exactly what I am going through.
I don’t think that the pain of loss will ever go away. Obviously, the temporary feelings of loss will go away, but the deeper reality of Summit’s disability will be a scar on my heart, constantly in repair as the seams burst open over and over. I think of more children with a sense of dread. I am scared too even consider it. What if they, too, have disabilities? I know the odds are against it, statistically speaking, but when does math ever comfort? The odds were against me in the first place to have a son with this disability. What if God thinks that I’m dealing so well with this that he thinks I can handle more? I think that I hold my trust at an arms length away from him, giving it to him only with the easy things. All the therapists, books, and other people think it’d be the best thing for Summit and for us to have another child. Good for Summit to have a sibling not too far apart in age and have some of the undivided attention diverted away, and good for us to see how having a “normal” child can be and make us less obsessed with Summit. Yeah, heavy things to ponder. We will see.