The Malaise in Between

Existing. 

Mostly just Daily routines: Food, dishes, quiet time, outside time, laundry, cleaning the bathroom floor. 

We talk about things we want to or need to do. 

We mostly don’t do any of those things.  

We spend time with family. 

I make it to sewing, once. 

I don’t back out of galentines. 

We start going to church again regularly. 

Neither me or Big B ever really feels healthy and well. 

Little B remembers how to giggle and does it a lot. 

Friends invite us to their homes. Maube they feel sorry for us.

I tell people that my 3 year old  would have lost both of his parents in the last few months if we didn’t have access to modern medicine. 

Cynicism is a coping mechanism. 

I start drawing for the first time in my life. 

The chickens start laying again as the days get longer. 

I play hockey for the first time in 4 years. 

I don’t accomplish anything significant or interesting or visible. 

This is the malaise in between. In between what ? In between loss and healing. In between the heartbroken autumn and the spring that was supposed to be the happiest spring of our lives but now looms empty. In between the darkness of the past and the unknown of the future. In between. 

In between. 

In between. 

These words are important. This has to be a middle, not a forever, this ambivalence where nothing is horrible, and nothing is fantastic, this Malaise in Between. 

worship through p a i n

Isn’t it wild how you’re called to worship the very One that brought you pain? I don’t remember the exact words, but the sentiment is vivid. God could have kept your baby alive, he went on, But He chose not to. And you still choose to trust Him with the rest of your life. Some people just say the right thing.

Somewhere recently I read this about the emptiness or hollowness you feel after losing a child; You feel empty because God asked you for everything and you gave everything. You have nothing left to give. This resonated when I read it, but when I thought about it more I realized that I myself did not find this to be completely true. Even in what I felt was the emptiest of hollownesses I was called to give a little teeny tiny bit more, over and over. And through that giving, the emptiness was filled, a little like the proverbial woman who made bread for a prophet with the last of her food, every day, but always had enough food for tomorrow.