Stupid hot

I haven’t written in months, though I stare at this screen every day for school. I feel as if I’m lugging out an ancient typewriter, though I’m simply moving my hands over the same keys I type every assignment out being. This is hard. What dreams have You put inside of me? All of the creative ones seem to have dried up. They are not dead, not by a long shot. But they are dry. It’s as if the right side of my brain has been pushed to the side for months, as the left clamors for every inch of space and time my brain has to offer in a rush to get school work done. Do I care THIS much about being a midwife? Does it really matter enough that every moment almost is spent planning or preparing or making way for school, and that the children hear my say “Mommy needs to study now,” or that my paintbrushes sit dry, like the right side of my brain.

The left brain has had a lot going on lately. Sherrie prayed for me, as anxiety has mounted like waves, insurmountable waves, this last month since she and Elzbet and Sergey visited. Sweet Caleb got breakthrough, and then I have struggled so much. It’s felt overwhelming, dark, sad. I have felt like I’ve forgotten when freedom and confidence feels like, as if I never had any of the “wins” that we have won over the past 8+ years. It’s felt like I’m a teenage girl again, lost in the depth of the sadness or shame that I feel, and terrified that I cannot climb out, and that You will not really save me. That’s what it’s all been about.

I’ve been reminded, multiple times, of that hot day 8 days before Trevor died. I’ve remembered that the radiator on his Pathfinder had gone bad, and that he had to stop every 20 minutes or so on the way back from Sacramento to Susanville. He had a trailer-load full of flooring for our new home. He had been awake since way early that morning, and he had run around to multiple banks in Sac when he was told at the warehouse that they did not accept card or check. It was in the 90s, and he was probably overheating just like his truck. But he got SO excited that he was able to worship God on the side of the road, at each of those stops to water the radiator and let the truck rest. “When else do I get to worship God in 90degrees, when it’s stupid hot?” When else, sweet Trev? You would be in Heaven 8 days later, and your days of loving Him in the middle of hard things would be over so soon. When else do I get to worship Him? As I lean in when I am weak, when my brain chemistry feels off, and my head and heart feel raw? For there will be days that will be lighter, and easier, and brighter. But what a privilege it is to lean in and worship when it is “stupid” hot, scary, heavy, raw, life?