Midnight Musings II – How to Carry On

 In Musings

How long is a season? When does disbelief fade away and reality become belief once again.. Will I ever wake up one morning and not feel his absence? It seems it is never possible. Every time I see a sky that looks a little bit different, a little bit unique, I think this is the day the sky opens up and I see God in His heaven and my Rube there with him.

I know what I read in God’s Word. I know what I am told by the sages. We are no longer husband and wife. Till death do we part. But what is he in “death” now? I once told a young boy who had lost his dad that his father was in the next room and we can’t open that door yet. That is what I feel for me now.

I try to hide my hope, my expectation that we will be together again. But I jump at noises, I am startled by sunsets, I am amazed at the wind in the trees, I gasp at the Spring and the wonder of the flowers returning from where they have been. They were dead and now they live again because the sap did not die. Is our spirit, our soul like that sap? The outside form of who we are may change, may wither and die, but still we live on.

What am I supposed to be doing? What does it mean to “occupy until I come”? Every task around me is so mundane. I don’t feel that I am impacting the world in any positive way. How can I do these things, these space fillers if the Lord wants me about His business. Can it be His business for me that I live what is before me. That I love those He has put in my path. That I help those who appear at my door. That I clean my house again and again. Is there any aspect of His plan in all of that?

As I look back at our almost 40 years together, and I see the children we produced and see how they are thriving in this world, I know that is good. That is fulfilling God’s purposes. When I think of the thousands of children I impacted with my teaching, I am assured that too is good. I did not always achieve proselytizing, but I endeavored to help my charges realize who they are and the gifts placed in them. I can hope that these things helped turn them to their God.

Last night was a deep struggling in my soul.  I surrendered deeper and deeper. I ache to be about writing. I can’t just not help my aged mother-in-law and my kids, but I watch the hours slip away and I wonder if it is God’s will that I write. Why do I want to write? I wrestle with that. I have to decide how much of it is ego and if any of it is okay. I love for people to say my writing speaks to them. I don’t have to be world famous or even beloved. I just want to make my own little mark in this world.

I know that there are things that only I can do, and I must do those things. I could have someone else watch the grandkids, but I do it because they need contact with me as much as I need it from them. They are the legacy. I provide the continuity. And on the other end of the life cycle, there is my husband’s mother. Her memory is so short that she cannot remember from a few moments ago. I watched her continually fidget with an item that she had already taken care of after just 3 minutes and she asked me if she had completed the task. I assured her she had. A couple of minutes went by and she asked again. What does it mean?

It is the end of her life escalating as her memory fades away. She needs contact every day, and I try to do that for her. It is not just that I promised Rube I would look after his mom, but she is the only parent I have left. I don’t want her to be afraid. She knows her memory is very undependable now. She just turned 91.

I watched a movie I had ordered today. It was about a couple of writers trying to work through all that writers have to in order to produce what they believe they have inside them. I don’t know why this movie came to me now. I don’t expect signs. But I have to wonder. Some of their angst about writing is mine. I gave it all to God, once again, and it is not gone. Is it that I am that stubborn, or is it God returning it to me. Help me to know. I can be pretty determined. It is much harder for someone like me to keep things surrendered.

One thing I know is that I am to get on with the autobiography of Rube and I together. Who else can write it. It is such an amazing story. Even if it is for only our kids, it is important. I should focus on this.

Odd. It occurs to me now that it is like being in an alternate universe. Rube’s death skewed the path, not just for me. Not that I believe it to be a wholly negative shift, but it is very distinctly different. And for me, empty in some painfully real ways. It is more than a void. It is like trying to carry on, missing half of me. And I am afraid I think it is the better half that is gone.

I hate sounding so melancholy. On paper it sounds rather hopeless and self-pitying.  I mostly don’t feel that way, which is why I stay so busy. I hope I can busy myself into a space where I feel okay just being me. He made me a better person and I fear I can’t maintain it without his physical presence. Oh, God, we’ve got our work cut out for us.

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