It's 11 months later, and My Man gently nudged me. Apparently it's time to start doing things that fill me up again. He never said so, but he must be getting worn out trying to fill me up on his own. I've started singing at home again. It's time.
Tonight we worked our way up to this song - one of our funnest. One with as much choreography as this choir, the whitest soul choir in the world, can manage. I normally LOVE this song. Normally it's one of my favourite and pulls me completely in.
But for some reason, tonight I wasn't there. It was foreign, and I couldn't sort out why. And then I heard it. The rattling emptiness where my faith used to be. The song has lost it's meaning. I couldn't even sing once I really looked at what the second verse says. It was so much what I have been through, but the chorus offered me no solace. No connection. This is all I'm left with -
Everything that could go wrong, all went wrong at one time
So much pressure fell on me, I thought I was gonna lose my mind
I know you want to see if I will hold on through these trials.
But I need you to lift this load, cuz I can't take it no more.
Flight or fight set in. I felt nauseous and trapped. I kept going. I'm getting enough sideways looks for being the girl who disappears. The only way out was through.
But once I'd seen it, I felt irreparably broken. Religion has not been much a part of my life the last 10 years, but faith is as much a part of who I am as my blue eyes and my lack of rhythm. It's my heritage. It's what pulls me back to my roots and forward to my future.
And tonight I finally acknowledged that my faith is gone. Faith that things will get better. Faith in myself and my sons. But more than anything, my prayers now bounce off the ceiling and land flat beside me. I know God is still out there, but He's sure not listening to me.
I realised I have a new habit - I ask others to pray for me. I have a praying family - I have faith in their faith. Their God is powerful and healing. My God is silent and distant.
I have praying friends. Theirs is a God of compassion. I have a praying boss and board of directors and team at work. They know what I'm dealing with, and they pray even when I don't ask. Theirs is a faithful God. Mine, at best, has mysterious ways.
Where one or two are gathered ... but not here, alone, in the quiet of my house. Where the fears and the anger and the never knowing and the strain and guilt reside in every corner and creep out at night.
We ended with I Still Have My Joy. Another lie, or at least only intermittent truth.
I still have my joy,
I still have my joy.
After all I've been through, I still have my joy.
This joy that I have, the world didn't give it.
This peace that I have, the world didn't give it.
The joy of the Lord is my strength, my strength.
Verse after repetitive verse. I still have my joy. I still have my peace. I still have my love.
Oh. Okay. That one is true. I still have my love. I may not have my faith, or my peace. I may only sometimes have my joy. But I still have my love - coming in and going out. I know that's ultimately what's going to make the difference for both of my sons. And maybe if I hold on to that for long enough I'll get those other things back as well.
Scintilla Prompt 6
Show a part of your nature that you feel you've lost. Can you get it back? Would it be worth it?