Struggling Toward Spring

I’ve been struggling.

It’s a difficult confession for me for so many reasons. First, I suppose, because (as I’ve allowed myself to contemplate again this week) I am an introvert. I am such an introvert. I am an outrageous introvert. This has sucked in many regards, because it means that I hurt people unintentionally and they hurt me back unintentionally. I haven’t quite figured out how to maintain a healthy lifestyle (in any regard–physical, spiritual, emotional, workical, friendlical) as an introvert. When I struggle, I withdraw. I close the blinds, I lock the doors, I turn off the cell phone (or refuse to answer it), and my natural stance becomes one of retreat. You’re far more apt to not see me when I’m struggling than to even see me walking away. Hiding helps. For a time, hiding helps. Second, in spite of hiding, I find that I am no nearer a resolution to my struggles than I was previously. In fact, I am, perhaps, farther away. Third, one of my goals right now is to minimize unnecessary drama in my life (which is ironic, if you know how ridiculous the past few weeks of my life have been–isn’t it funny that the moment we resolve to do something, the exact opposite attacks us with vengeance?). Fourth, as so often is the case in my life, I simply don’t know how to talk about my struggles. Even writing them down is difficult for this gal.</p

I’m exhausted.

I’m stressed.

I feel entirely overextended, entirely taken advantage of, entirely disregarded, and entirely disappointed in several areas of my life.

And some of it, quite frankly, is simply the weather. This winter has been of an incomprehensible length and weight. I do take vitamin D to help with the lack of daylight, but let’s be honest–there is something about the warmth of sunlight on your face (even on a chilly day) that is therapeutic and irreplaceable. And you know, I can’t even express how badly I want to dig my fingers into the soil and plant something. The snow drifts in the yard (you know, the ones that are taller than the bird feeder, the back deck, and even, oh, myself) pretty much guarantee that the only planting I’ll be doing is indoor seed-starting. And that’s okay! It’s a sort of therapy in its own rite! Still, I’m eager for the outside stuff…with the bumble bees and the apple blossoms and even the neighbor dogs charging down the hill at me.

I feel a bit overwhelmed, you know? I have much to do, and not much time to get it done. I’m struggling to finish what I need to finish when I’m at work. I’m struggling to keep up with my writing and reading. I’m struggling to get things done with the Family Reunion this year. I’m struggling to even get my laundry done. And friends? Don’t get me started. I haven’t had time for my friends, and they have realized it. Neither Sarah nor her friends are happy about this.

Additionally, I’ve been missing Rodger. It is still very near and very personal. Grief changes over the course of time, but I keep thinking about him. I keep thinking about Burkina Faso, and how he would have been the first person to encourage me. I keep thinking about the “friend” that will never be more than a friend, and how Rodger would have said something outrageously threatening and hilarious to remind me that I don’t have to set my hopes on someone who is unworthy of my affection. I keep thinking about going back to school, and how Rodger always told me he and Kristin would make sure I had help if I needed help. I keep thinking about his beautiful children, who are children no more–how proud he would have been to see his kids grow up to be such incredible young adults, so ready and willing to change the world, each in their own way, each as nobly and as dedicated as the next. I keep thinking about how Joy pointed to his picture and knew who he was, even though she had never met him, and how he would have adored her. I miss him. I miss him so much. Rodger was more than my sister’s husband, or the father of my nieces and nephews. He was, he always will be, my brother. And I miss him. My heart grieves, friends.

Life, it seems, is going faster than me. I can’t keep up. I don’t want to keep up. I want to shrug off every responsibility and write stories of my family, and look at old photos, and laugh. I want to laugh.

I am struggling. 

If you want to pray for me, it would be most appreciated. All will settle, as it always does. Life is nothing, if it is not constant change.
God’s warmest blessings on each of you.
Pax Christi.
semmie

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4 thoughts on “Struggling Toward Spring

  1. Hi Sarah,

    I can relate in most ways. The struggle continues relentlessly. I care deeply for you! I’m praying for you, as I hope you are praying for me.

    Shalom!!!

    Steve

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