My heart is heavy today. Broken for those whom I love. And crying out of my own pain. Tears threaten to fall from the moment I woke this morning until now. I wait and hope in anticipation and expectation that my miracle will come. To be honest, I can't see fully what God is doing, and I know that. I can't see the whole horizon in my view. But my ship seems to be drifting farther and farther away from the land of miracles. With God, I know anything is possible.
Yesterday, I shared one of my blogposts (Answers in Unexpected Ways) at the weekly "chapel service" for the seniors. The only background I gave was that Christmas is a hard time for me. They do not need to know more. Sometimes I feel that they look at me as young and naive with a happy, carefree life. I use humour a lot and make them smile - humour gets me away from talking about myself. I learned that trick a long time ago. But sometimes I think the seniors think that I have no idea what it means to suffer. I have worked so hard to make this Christmas special and joyful for them. They were surprised to hear that Christmas is actually an unhappy time for me.
Today it hit in a way I have not known for awhile. I can still taste the christmas festivities back at home. I can picture the tree, hear the laughter, sing the carols. It's like Scrooge or jimmy stewat in It's a Wonderful Life watching people interact without him. I can peer through the window of my memory. When I reflect on the past year, it has been a particularly hard year and I don't know how God managed to cram all that into 365 days. And here we are at the end of another year, and my heart is crying out in pain once more.
My life is a mess. My family are caught in a mess.
At the beginning of 2010, I read a book that talked about a beautiful mess. I see beauty in aspects of my life. The seniors show me beauty. Friends show me beauty. Cooking shows me beauty. But in terms of my heart, i see no beauty. Just a mess. It is still wounded.
2010 brought wounded hearts to light.
I pray 2011 will mend them.
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