And so today, grumpy, confused, out of sorts. Abnormal- but normalcy seems like an impossibly expensive vacation at the moment. The grass outside my window flutters around because we are half underground. Our home is smattered with laziness as we grapple to start yet another week with more calls, more prayers that may or may not be answered, and most likely more tears. Nothing happened this weekend and I am afraid that it will become normal. Normal. Ugh.
I hate May now because it is indecisive and no one is ever free. My coffee is cold but I'm bearing it because I feel like I deserve it from giving up on reading Hebrews for class. I'm fumbling around on the piano again, frustrated and focused. I see pictures of friends laughing in community and I wonder what that feels like. The due dates for the goals we've made are looming and I hate that and daydream about becoming loggers in the Oregon forests or fishermen on New England coasts or secluded log cabin-dwellers in hidden Northern Minnesota lakes.
But there is somehow laughter, and sometimes the clouds do give the sun a few moments of air time. We laugh that the bed is in shambles every morning from apparently motion-ful sleeps. We laugh about our first two weeks of marriage, spent in a basement of strangers on friends' air mattress. We laugh about our lack of seating and lack of income and lack of friends and lack of toilet paper. We laugh that He has somehow provided the past five and a half months. We laugh at ridiculous pictures posted, we laugh in the closet during tornado warnings. We laugh at smoke coming from the oven, we laugh at silly bed and breakfasts that we research while eating gelato we've saved up to buy. We laugh as the clock approaches 3 am and we are 15 minutes from home, screaming with the radio to keep our eyes open.
We cry at the thought of making calls all night, and then we find ourselves giggling at awkwardness. I almost scream as we enter the car AGAIN, but halfway down the highway we are making up witty parental responses to future teenaged angst, and the road doesn't seem so endless. A medical bill comes in and we worry, but somehow--I just don't get it--we are found laughing fifteen minutes later.
There is little routine, little that is normal or comparative to most other couple's first year of marriage, I find I am mostly jealous of most everyone else most of the time. Days off, dates, and Netflix nights are random. Church, fellowship, community is sporadic. Support raising, phone calls, appointments are fickle.
But we have our God, and he has given us laughter as our normal. Glory, there is normal somewhere.
I hate May now because it is indecisive and no one is ever free. My coffee is cold but I'm bearing it because I feel like I deserve it from giving up on reading Hebrews for class. I'm fumbling around on the piano again, frustrated and focused. I see pictures of friends laughing in community and I wonder what that feels like. The due dates for the goals we've made are looming and I hate that and daydream about becoming loggers in the Oregon forests or fishermen on New England coasts or secluded log cabin-dwellers in hidden Northern Minnesota lakes.
But there is somehow laughter, and sometimes the clouds do give the sun a few moments of air time. We laugh that the bed is in shambles every morning from apparently motion-ful sleeps. We laugh about our first two weeks of marriage, spent in a basement of strangers on friends' air mattress. We laugh about our lack of seating and lack of income and lack of friends and lack of toilet paper. We laugh that He has somehow provided the past five and a half months. We laugh at ridiculous pictures posted, we laugh in the closet during tornado warnings. We laugh at smoke coming from the oven, we laugh at silly bed and breakfasts that we research while eating gelato we've saved up to buy. We laugh as the clock approaches 3 am and we are 15 minutes from home, screaming with the radio to keep our eyes open.
We cry at the thought of making calls all night, and then we find ourselves giggling at awkwardness. I almost scream as we enter the car AGAIN, but halfway down the highway we are making up witty parental responses to future teenaged angst, and the road doesn't seem so endless. A medical bill comes in and we worry, but somehow--I just don't get it--we are found laughing fifteen minutes later.
There is little routine, little that is normal or comparative to most other couple's first year of marriage, I find I am mostly jealous of most everyone else most of the time. Days off, dates, and Netflix nights are random. Church, fellowship, community is sporadic. Support raising, phone calls, appointments are fickle.
But we have our God, and he has given us laughter as our normal. Glory, there is normal somewhere.
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