Since I poured out my agony online, I have been feeling a bit better. But I'm still crying all the time. In fact tonight, as I lie down to sleep - my daughter curled up on the other end of my king bed, I started sobbing. I can't pray and not cry. It's the mixture of despair and "Why God?" and acceptance, however grudgingly rendered.
At the same time, I can't get rid of the thought, "What is the point to this life?" I believe that a huge reason for our human existence is to love other people with our whole hearts, selflessly, as God loves us. But that love is inextricably interwoven with pain and hurt and sorrow and grief. To which my glass-half-empty state of mind then reads, "The point of life is to be sad."
Following that thought, I stretch out to eternity and the next life....perhaps it will be better? But one of my deepest, darkest fears (and I've wondered about this since I was a teenager) is that the next life won't be any better. According to my beliefs, part of the next life is living life as my Father does and having spirit children who I will love, deeply. And they in turn, while rendering wonderful men and women as Daniel and Mary, will also yield Lucifer, Cain, Judas and Adolph Hitler. My fear, then, is that we never hear about Heavenly Mother because she spends eternity in her solar, sobbing. My fear, then, is that this is the destiny of my soul.
And I hate crying. Especially over things I can't change.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Overwhelmed
I wish, at times, that I could just plug a USB cable into my head and let all the posts I've written mentally pour out onto the screen.
We spent last week on the Oregon coast with my mother-in-law. It was an adventure, to say the least. I was following my sister-in-law on our way to the coast Monday afternoon when my car began to make a HORRIBLE noise coming directly from the engine block. I pulled over at the next gas station and began making calls (I finally have my very own cell phone - amazing what happens when your husband can't get a hold of you in an emergency). When Robert heard the noise (he's an automotive mechanic in case I never mentioned that), he said the van was T.O.A.S.T. I called a wrecking yard and they were willing to take the van in exchange for towing it to their yard for free. Good news: no large towing bill (did you know it costs $65-85 just to hook up?). Bad news: no vehicle.
We played at the coast and Robert and I began to figure out what to do. Sometimes I really hate being an adult.
The short story: I am still carless (I have some friends who have lent me vehicles as needed so I do have transportation, I just don't happen to actually have a vehicle of my very own) and so there was no need to take the ferry north (plus, how would I get to the ferry terminal?). The kids and I will now be flying to Alaska with Robert on July 6th (which is when we dump all of our household goods with the barge lines), which puts me leaving Oregon two weeks early than planned and getting into Alaska three weeks earlier than planned.
And this is the whole point of this post: I am so hopelessly overwhelmed. This week is my week to work on the shop's books so I can get everything together for our fiscal year end (June 30) and get the paperwork to the accountant. Next week Rob will be here to help pack up the house. Then I was to have a week at cub camp with the boys and a week to play and say good bye and another week to visit friends on my way up to Alaska before catching the ferry. Now that timetable has been collapsed into just two weeks. I'm stressed about work. I'm stressed about packing. I'm stressed about saying good bye.
This has been my home for the last 9 years. (And no, the house has not sold or even had an offer on it.) Rhys has lived here since he was less than one year old. Their friends are here, the places they know and love. My friends are here. I had finally relaxed and let go and decided that I would live in this town, in this home, forever. It was, seriously, about two months later when we decided (thanks, God) to move to my hometown.
I don't want to go.
I'm scared.
For me. For my kids.
I talked with a dear friend about all this this morning. She gave me much of the same ol' rhetoric about God's ways being better and higher than our own and how He has a plan for us.
I hear that. I can logically agree to that.
But I feel like He just keeps telling me no.
I believe that He is omnipotent and I know that He can't always say "yes" but can't He do so on occastion? He allowed my mom to die instead of healing her. And now we're leaving when I so desperately want to stay. I can't lose weight to save my life nor end my addiction to chocolate and food. It seems everytime something is big, I get told, "No." So what is the point of even asking?
I then I feel guilt on top of that for whining at these small things when there are so many others around the world who struggle with far greater problems than I will ever have to.
So I'm trying to work and trying not to cry all day (and yes, I am still taking my meds). And I'm trying not to think about everything we will be leaving behind. And I'm trying not to assume the worst about everything we are moving to. (No, we still don't have a home there.) And I'm trying not to freak out.
And in reality all I can think about is how much mortality sucks. I hate goodbyes. I hate loving people only to lose them. I hate how ephemeral everything is. I hate always feeling alone and lost.
My undergrad thesis was on Pascal's wager. I couldn't, at the time, see why someone would not accept the risk and wager that there is indeed a God, as they had nothing to lose. I later understood that even risking nothing, we are still risking ourselves, our hearts, our beliefs, our choices, everything that makes us US; our "ousia," if you will. That's how I feel about this move. And instead of jumping in and trusting my all to His tender care, I'm sticking out my arms and claws and digging in and howling at the moon about having to leave. I don't want to surrender everything. It hurts too much. And bad things always seem to follow. People get baptized and then hardships inevitably follow. Moms die instead of being healed. Homes get broken up. It hurts. Mortality sucks.
We spent last week on the Oregon coast with my mother-in-law. It was an adventure, to say the least. I was following my sister-in-law on our way to the coast Monday afternoon when my car began to make a HORRIBLE noise coming directly from the engine block. I pulled over at the next gas station and began making calls (I finally have my very own cell phone - amazing what happens when your husband can't get a hold of you in an emergency). When Robert heard the noise (he's an automotive mechanic in case I never mentioned that), he said the van was T.O.A.S.T. I called a wrecking yard and they were willing to take the van in exchange for towing it to their yard for free. Good news: no large towing bill (did you know it costs $65-85 just to hook up?). Bad news: no vehicle.
We played at the coast and Robert and I began to figure out what to do. Sometimes I really hate being an adult.
The short story: I am still carless (I have some friends who have lent me vehicles as needed so I do have transportation, I just don't happen to actually have a vehicle of my very own) and so there was no need to take the ferry north (plus, how would I get to the ferry terminal?). The kids and I will now be flying to Alaska with Robert on July 6th (which is when we dump all of our household goods with the barge lines), which puts me leaving Oregon two weeks early than planned and getting into Alaska three weeks earlier than planned.
And this is the whole point of this post: I am so hopelessly overwhelmed. This week is my week to work on the shop's books so I can get everything together for our fiscal year end (June 30) and get the paperwork to the accountant. Next week Rob will be here to help pack up the house. Then I was to have a week at cub camp with the boys and a week to play and say good bye and another week to visit friends on my way up to Alaska before catching the ferry. Now that timetable has been collapsed into just two weeks. I'm stressed about work. I'm stressed about packing. I'm stressed about saying good bye.
This has been my home for the last 9 years. (And no, the house has not sold or even had an offer on it.) Rhys has lived here since he was less than one year old. Their friends are here, the places they know and love. My friends are here. I had finally relaxed and let go and decided that I would live in this town, in this home, forever. It was, seriously, about two months later when we decided (thanks, God) to move to my hometown.
I don't want to go.
I'm scared.
For me. For my kids.
I talked with a dear friend about all this this morning. She gave me much of the same ol' rhetoric about God's ways being better and higher than our own and how He has a plan for us.
I hear that. I can logically agree to that.
But I feel like He just keeps telling me no.
I believe that He is omnipotent and I know that He can't always say "yes" but can't He do so on occastion? He allowed my mom to die instead of healing her. And now we're leaving when I so desperately want to stay. I can't lose weight to save my life nor end my addiction to chocolate and food. It seems everytime something is big, I get told, "No." So what is the point of even asking?
I then I feel guilt on top of that for whining at these small things when there are so many others around the world who struggle with far greater problems than I will ever have to.
So I'm trying to work and trying not to cry all day (and yes, I am still taking my meds). And I'm trying not to think about everything we will be leaving behind. And I'm trying not to assume the worst about everything we are moving to. (No, we still don't have a home there.) And I'm trying not to freak out.
And in reality all I can think about is how much mortality sucks. I hate goodbyes. I hate loving people only to lose them. I hate how ephemeral everything is. I hate always feeling alone and lost.
My undergrad thesis was on Pascal's wager. I couldn't, at the time, see why someone would not accept the risk and wager that there is indeed a God, as they had nothing to lose. I later understood that even risking nothing, we are still risking ourselves, our hearts, our beliefs, our choices, everything that makes us US; our "ousia," if you will. That's how I feel about this move. And instead of jumping in and trusting my all to His tender care, I'm sticking out my arms and claws and digging in and howling at the moon about having to leave. I don't want to surrender everything. It hurts too much. And bad things always seem to follow. People get baptized and then hardships inevitably follow. Moms die instead of being healed. Homes get broken up. It hurts. Mortality sucks.
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