I looked up the definition of the word dysfunctional
today. It means “1. Not operating normally or properly. 2. Deviating from the
norms of social behavior in a way regarded as bad.”
Yup, that’s me.
I went to Panera this morning to get my man a
blueberry scone, because he wanted a blueberry scone. Occasionally I sort of
forget just how dysfunctional I am. Most of the time I’m in my cocoon of family
and very close friends who, for the most part, just accept my dysfunction.
I also spend the vast majority of my time either
steeped in dense fog, intensely introspective or in deep conversation with my
Father. This, combined with my emotional turtle act while in the company of
most people makes for some pretty serious dysfunction.
I honestly don’t much care that I appear
incredibly odd but this morning in the hustle and bustle of a busy restraunt
while I was standing in line expending every ounce of energy I had just to
remember what I came to order and what the appropriate conversational nuances
were it hit me that to the people around me I likely not only seem weird but
rude.
As I struggled through the rest of the interaction
and went to fill my fountain drink I kept my head down and my eyes averted. I
almost always do. A former student spotted me and I just kept walking. I can’t.
I can’t. I can’t.
In moments of lucidity over the past month I’ve
wondered about the burdens carried by the people going about their lives around
me. Often the world seems to move in slow motion with me outside as an
invisible observer. I see parents drop their kids off at school and hurry to
get to work. I see couples out to eat dinner conversing about this or that, or
not. It all seems so normal.
And then I think about me. Those outside of my
circle of friends and family have no idea of the burning, screaming, devastating
pain that lives inside me every single moment. I’m just some inconsiderate
chick who apparently doesn’t notice anything going on around her. They can’t
even fathom the extent of my pain.
Maybe that “jerk” who didn’t smile back or cut you
off in traffic or didn’t want to talk isn’t a jerk after all. Maybe they are
desperately wounded. Maybe they just can’t smile. Maybe the hurt is so deep and
so wide that just breathing is an exercise in endurance. Maybe they don’t want
to look you in the eyes because either you will see the pain and recoil or, perhaps worse, you won’t notice at all.
God has been reminding me over and over that I
have choice to either harden my heart or not. He wouldn’t say “do not harden
your hearts” (Heb 3) if I didn’t have a choice in the matter. So as I battle to
maintain a tender heart in the face of devastating pain, in the face of
temptation just to cut off all emotion to save myself from the horror of the
missing and confusion I reach out to you. Will you soften your heart? Will you
allow me or her or him the benefit of the doubt? Will you extend His love in
the face of a circumstance that certainly doesn’t appear to warrant it?
I want to stop fighting each other and start
fighting the enemy. Today love.
It is so hard when you are grieving to watch the rest of the world going about life as if nothing had happened. When, in the depths of your soul, you ache beyond words. Don't they know? Even if they did would they find words that could somehow give you comfort? Probably not. There are no words, there is only God. I pray He will comfort you today.
ReplyDeleteThe words from your heart always touch me. Thank you so much that you continue to share. My family continues to pray.
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