|picture found here|
The plan had been a date night at home. We would have dinner and then watch a movie. My husband even bought popcorn to pop. Instead, we ate dinner and then talked and argued.
I haven't been the easiest person to live with recently. I'm realizing that more and more. I am also starting to get sick of myself, so I can only imagine how sick of me others are. And yet this inner monologue of anger and frustration and neverending questions continues on.
Some of it came to a head last night. I was trying to explain myself and how I just want something to change. I said that I either wanted to move forward or have everything taken away from me so I could start all over again. And my husband listened and thought and then asked me what would happen if we weren't able to move forward. He wanted to know how I would feel if things were to stay exactly how they were.
The thought terrifies me. I've always been a creature of change. I move on. I go from job to job. I move from apartment to apartment. I even changed colleges after my freshman year. I leave relationships when I want to because it's better than being left. Except now I can't leave. It's not that we have a legal contract with one another. Those are difficult to break but can be broken. But we made promises to each other and before our families. Most importantly, we made a promise to God.
And so, I am here. I am wanting to move on and move forward, but yet, I sit in my same spot on the couch. (Note: I do not want to move from my marriage. I want to move on with my husband.)
I still don't know what to think about the thought of things not changing. I don't know how to respond. And maybe that's the point; maybe I need to just not respond.
My husband mentioned that maybe all of this was a test. In my anger and frustration, I said I didn't care if I passed the test. I said I was ready to fail the test if it meant that it would just be over.
After my first full night of sleep in a week, I feel differently. I do still want the test to end, but I don't want to fail. I don't want the glory of passing the test and boasting my grade (as long as it is at least a B) for all to see. But I do want the opportunity to live out the life that I feel called to.
There are moments of clarity for me. Moments where I feel God might actually be speaking to me. Moments where it's almost like He is whispering to me and reminding me that He is right here beside me. But those moments are fleeting, and I don't hold onto them. I feel them, but when they disappear, I forget they ever existed.
My dad tells me the same thing each time I tell him good news. He tells me to remember it and to put it away for a rainy day. He reminds me that I should pull it out when things don't seem so good. He's a relatively wise man, and I always agree with his statements. But I never actually follow through. Instead I focus on the current happenings and get caught up in the moment. I see where I am and feel like it's a glass cell. I can see where I want to go and where I have been, but I can't move.
What's worse is I see where I think everyone else is. And I think about how I am not there. And I get filled with anger and my anger blinds me to what the reality is.
So maybe this all is a test. And if it is, I can admit to my current failings. If I were to be graded, I'm sure there would be much red ink on the page and then a teacher's dejected sigh as I was told to try again. I would chew on the end of my pencil and curl my lips and then try again in the exact same way I had done before, and the red ink would again fill the pages.
I recognize this in myself right now. I don't know if it's the relatively quiet house or something else, but I can now see a little bit more clearly. It has nothing to do with me, of course, but the work God is trying to do in my stubborn heart.
I can't promise that I will remain filled with hope. Or that the anger won't return in a day or even an hour. But I do know that I am trying. I am trying to remember that I have blessings like friends and family and a house and two crazy but lovable dogs and a job.
And it's not that I don't feel blessed. Because I do
at times. I think part of it is that my heart so aches for the world around me. There is so much I want to do be doing, but I feel like I can't do all of it. Or any of it. I feel stuck and unable to move.
And maybe for right now I am supposed to feel stuck. Maybe this is God's way of telling me, until I realize it and apply it to my life, that my way doesn't work.
In the midst of the talking and the arguing last night, I exclaimed that I was tired of doing things God's way and that I was ready to just do things my way. Because then that way, I explained, I knew it would work.
But it wouldn't. I'm realizing that now. My way doesn't work.
Last night, my husband suggested writing about it. I responded that no one would want to read it. He told me to write about it for me and then said that some people might relate more I expect. He's into this brutal honesty thing right now. And it's brutal - both for the person receiving the honesty and the person speaking it. But I think he's onto something.
So there it is. My honesty. I don't know what I am doing. Or what my next step is. But I'm doing my best to move towards something more. We'll see what God does with all of this. I'm sure He'll remind me that His way is always best - even when I disagree.
(title from "you run away" by the barenaked ladies)