Come in Anxiety, have a seat
Today my old friend, Anxiety came to visit. Instead of barring the door, trying to forget his constant knocking, or forcefully, violently beating him into submission, I take a full breath and give him permission to enter my home. Through my deep breathes he walks into my safe place, arrogantly, tracking in accusations and condemnations onto the floor, (I will sweep the hardwoods when he goes.) ...
Looking Into My Face
The last couple weeks I have had a hard time writing. Sitting down looking deep into the screen, staring into the blankness of the page, forces me to look into my own blankness, my own depth, this is a portion of my resistance. Facing my face. A mirror to see the tension my face holds, (I now know why my jar is so sore) My face is sad, the new lines, my weary eyes, which are normally filled...
Learning to Live Again
I have such resistance towards learning to live again. Something in me feels as if I will betray my son. If I leave the depth of this mourning place, if I dig myself from his grave, I will leave him, yes I will be a bad father. The accusations abound. If I learn to walk, to go on my day with some sort of joy, and abundance, I will lose him. I am confused, filled with an unquenchable longing,...
Brave Love: smooches. →
christyangelle: “Here you go, ladylove. Dancing with you and watching you and your beloved dance while wearing your helmets were like glimpses of eternity as cliche as that may sound. Smooches.” These words are coming from the same woman who put ashes on our foreheads at Brave’s funeral. Somewhere in her…
”The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of confusion or...– Henri Nouwen
Brave Love: songbird →
christyangelle: i couldn’t tell you what song it was but i am driving home from work and i am so aware of realizing that I want to turn the radio louder, and even more than this, I want to sing out loud. i haven’t had this feeling of wanting to sing out loud since Brave died. i guess it happens to all of us,…
Violence against us
For the pass 3 weeks someone has been breaking our car windows in the middle of the night. Random nights, random windows, always our car and only our car. The cycle is getting old, we call the cops, they come out, look around, ask if anything was stolen, say they wish they could do something about it, give me their card and leave. I am amazed at what this has brought out in our insides as...
My life is divided into before and after
“Something is over. In the deepest levels of my existence something is finished, done. My life is divided into before and after.” - Wolterstorff These words ring so true. My life is no longer my life, my thoughts are no longer my thoughts, my heart is no longer my heart. They are my sons’, who’s body now rots in the ground, so my heart, my soul, my life, is now...
Hope lays awkardly against my chest.
Hope lays awkardly against my chest. A gentle stranger perhaps. I greet her with a nod, as we are both fully aware of our break up. “Things are not as they used to be.” Innocence lost when I was eight, reclaimed, abandoned and redeemed again, now, the utter despair of nowness, into my 30’s which feels less true than if I were 60. For I have lived too much to be so young. To...
I’m afraid sometimes you’ll play lonely games too, games you...– Dr. Seuss
Brave Love: saturday →
christyangelle: andrew is working all weekend, i start to clean the house, though my bike and the sunshine are beckoning me loudly but not as loud as this messy, empty house. these moments I miss Brave, playing on the floor as we listen to music and I clean the house. i miss him when he is… My wife is a stunning mother.
you can tell the depth of how much someone loved and was loved by the depth of...– c.s. lewis
christyangelle: Today I turn 27 years old …learning how to live Brave. He should be turning 5 months old …learning how to make bubbling sounds. I am aware. And every time those three damn words are spoken, weight is added to my chest, water to my eyes. They sing, Happy. Birth. Day. I scream, louder, for peace. For resurrection. For you. For Brave. I am aware. Thank you
Today marks 5 months without my boy. Oh how my heart breaks, oh how it aches,...
He would be so big right now. I miss you son.– dad
You don’t look at atrocities and ask, “What is God trying to teach...– Dan Allender, The Story Workshop
go now in peace
christyangelle: The kids are circled up near the front. We begin to sing the song we sing every week before the service. “Go now in peace, go now in peace. May the love of God surround you Everywhere, everywhere, you may go.” Such a parental blessing to sing over our little ones. I think of Brave, my little one. I try to sing it to him. It stretches me. It comforts me. I keep singing...
The Scenes That Sear
My anxiety is too high. I feel chased, haunted by my own story. I must write what happened, I must write what brings most fear… I can not stop thinking of the darkest days. The scenes sear so deep in my being, I feel my body gasp for air with every new memory. I must enter into these scenes that reappear and taunt my scared soul. My chest lurches forward as I remember going into that small...
Brave Love: A Brave Community →
christyangelle: No heartbeat. Weeping. Delivery. Funeral. Burial. It has been five days since we lost him. We spend our days surrounded by people. Lisa and Andy gave us their house for ‘however long we need’. People fill the two floors with ease. All of us tiptoe between wailing, silence,…
My Anger is Alive
My anger is alive. Consuming at times. Mostly projection on Christy or Ballard (our dog). I feel like I do not know where to put this fiery blaze that rots my bones. Beneath my anger is a deep deep chasm of heartache. At times I forget, moments of T.V. or brief laughter with Christy and then all of a sudden I get swallowed. A wave burst into my throat as I grasp for air, “breath”, this is can...
Damn You Memory
Memory slips. I slip. Jello through my clinching fist. I cannot hold onto my son’s memory as firmly as I wish. Do not go. The small smiles my face courageously pushes up when he comes to my mind. You are so strong, Brave. (I love that little guy) My memory holds tightly only to be crushed by time. Stand strong memory do not let him slip. I miss him. I need his small pieces.