messy bits

I am watching, for the 5th or 6th time, the movie Letters to Juliet. Charlie just said, and I am paraphrasing here, ”Look, you made a decision and you got to skip all the messy bits.” Claire countered, “life is the messy bits.”  I think, with what is left of my spirochete infested brain, that this part of my life could be considered a “messy bit.”

That was the first paragraph of this blog. and then I was going to expound with lavish detail about how the messy bits are hard but we have to be strong. BlaH, BLAH, Blah, Blah freakin’ Blah!!!!

My mom says I am so mad at this "messy bit" that I just end up picking something to be mad at and take it all out on that person. Well the good thing in this situation is that it is not a person. It is one of my favorite mugs. Fairly new. I bought it on a whim for myself on my birthday. It was from anthropologie, where I never spend my money because it is too expensive. It was so pretty, and it matched me. It was my fav color and it had my initial on it, lowercase, which matches me too. I am so mad at that beautiful little mug that I drank from just this morning.

I am so mad that I am sobbing as I type this. My mug is gone. I went to pick it up, instead flicking it with my pinky, just enough to make it wobble and fall into the bathroom sink. In a split second it was gone. 5 shattered pieces, no longer able to do its job. My beautiful, special mug, bought on a whim from an expensive store. It’s gone.

Guess what. The thing I am mourning is not my mug. As I write this, ragged and bare, for you to read, it is not my sweet mug I mourn. It is me. I am sobbing over the loss of me. Where have I gone? I am lying next to the sink in 5 shattered pieces. I once was beautiful, special, favored. I could do my job. I could handle all the hot, steaming coffee you could send my way. I could fulfill my purpose. Where is that girl. She is gone. I can no longer do what I was made to do!! This disease has ripped that right out of my hands and left what? What is left in it’s place? I see 5 shattered pieces that can do nothing, that have no purpose and should be thrown away.

Oh my precious Lord, how can I do what you created me to do when I am lying here, shattered and useless? How can I mother my children when I am completely broken. How can I be a wife when all that was beautiful and helpful about me is now gone.

The lovely colors and the very things that made me who I was have been torn away from us by this, this hellish thing that has ravaged my mind and my body. Leaving a mind that cannot think straight, or remember, or read, or talk without pausing to recall a word or and entire train of thought. A body, battered and bruised, no longer strong and able, but weak to the point I cannot lift my own daughter, I cannot walk without assistance, I cannot care for myself, I am losing my hair. I cannot walk casually through the living room bending to pick up toys and clothes, cleaning my house as I go. I cannot meet my Robyn at the door and fix her a snack after school. I cannot get my girls up in the morning to dress them, feed them breakfast, kiss them goodbye and drop them at school. I cannot do the most basic things. All the little and big things that make up a mother. I think we surpassed "messy bits" several paragraphs ago.

What am I worth now? The list is never ending of all the things I cannot do. I know, I know. Look at the bight side. God is providing. He isn’t letting me go. He is in control. He will never give me more than I can handle. Well, guess what God? I don’t feel like I can handle anymore!!!!!!! Do you hear me? I am overwhelmed by this storm. I am a broken and shattered mug, lying beside the sink in 5 useless pieces.

A pause, my torrent of words and rain dies down and I step out of the boat and onto the water. I can hear Jesus calling from the shore, “Brooke, trust me, walk to me. Trust me, I know you can do this.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Placing one foot in front of the other, hands outstretched towards my Jesus waiting for me on the shore. In my broken brain, bits and pieces come to me. I begin to remember a verse that my mom taught me not long ago. Was it Isiah? I can’t remember how to spell it, but I think that was it. Isaiah 43:2-3? As I walk through the rivers He will hold my hand, and through the waters, I will not be overwhelmed. As I walk through the fire, I will not be burned, the flames will not consume me. For He is the Lord my God, the Holy one of Israel. My Lord and my Savior.

I cling to that verse, I trust my Lord, I breathe and put one foot in front of the other.