Midnight River Sounds

Jen, yours and Em's last post made me cry. Beautiful. Really. Thanks. (And, Em. I'm still in a Feng shui-stage.)

Our Healing Place. I still think clothes hangers were the perfect reward for you all painting the kitchen. I was proud of my practicality, when my first grab was for ping pong balls to symbolize our group. Did Aaron Davis really put together the bookcase? and Joe G. fix the garage door opener? Or was I dreaming?

Actually, I spent a long time dreaming (nightmares) in those days before the river slowly cleaned out the dead places, making room for some peace. What is it about certain places? I think they're gifts from God. At the risk of grossing out Jaren, James and Joe (J.J.J. hang on guys: G for gush), I remember ripping out my heart at night and taking hours under the stars--a trillion stars--to wash it in river water, but the next morning I woke up again to the same unbearable pain, and I'd plead and scream at the universe to make it stop--Can God take away sharp memories that cut up our insides like broken glass? Yes, I believe yes, but only in His time and in His way.

Like Rachel in the wilderness, I wandered around under the trees in numb circles, looking for my children, for my family, for the strong arms of my temple sealed husband, for his voice, for his bed. I told God no one can stand this--especially not me--the weakest of the weak. "You are a cruel Monster," I'd shriek at him like a madwoman, "not to offer to take my heart to your throne and send it back alive and whole again, because I know you can do this, if you wanted to." . . . Instead, He gave me this endless river, and I'd lie in the grass and listen until the sharpness eased into hurt, then longing, then numbness, then slowly I became the grass, and one morning I heard fifteen different bird calls. Then a doe and twin fawns came into the backyard to stay around all one summer, and two bald eagles landed often in the trees. I saw I wasn't cast into outer darkness but walked with a hundred thousand living creatures, and they were all good. No sin. If a hawk dove for a fish, it was because he was hungry. And God had created and organized all this (only Man screwed up the scenario) and had given it to me for awhile. And He is a Master artist. And I still remember the morning I woke up to realize I was still breathing--I hadn't died--and didn't want to. And I've stopped envying people in coffins, because sometimes my heart is so light, it floats with the river and bird songs. And sometimes it's not--but I didn't die.

In my P. blessing is a line I hate: "When things in your life become difficult--almost unbearable--the Lord will raise up friends . . . ." That "unbearable" word scared me (still does). But He has done what He promised. All of you (and more) are my soul mates. You have--each in a different way--blessed me and lifted me when I could not walk or even sit up. Just like Chan did a couple of weeks ago, you help me like I'm your broken sister, instead of your older mother. And I thank you. I don't know how else to say that feeling. It sounds so trite, but I thank all of you for being with me in the pre-existence and dropping in once in awhile down here. I love you, and I love the Lord, and now I'm so sorry I shot the beavers and chased the raccoon with a flashlight. (Geez, Jen, way to open floodgates.)