I long for a quiet place. But right now, life is loud and messy and heavy. I slid down the sad and tired path. Turning around is not a simple switch. I am deeply tired. and I feel guilty too. For not giving that wholehearted smile or hug, but only halfhearted wounded pride, exhausted arms and ears.
I am completely grateful for my two daughters. My heart brims with joy because our youngest daughter is home. It is still surreal at times. But this feeling of joy and gratitude coexists with my exhaustion and frustration. Right now they occupy equal space in my heart. And that hurts. Will alone can’t dig me up out of this messy circumstances. The social distancing, the heaviness of life burdening all our friends, even when they keep an optimist smile. The lack of celebrating church together. Worshiping. The worrisome beginning of school.
Ivy looked sad when I put her to bed. We had a very good day together otherwise. Fun, adventurous, nature filled. She fights the midday naps and we skipped them all these last three days. She goes to bed at 7:30. I asked her what’s wrong. Why is she sad. And I waited. She said she is sad because of the life that is ugly. Usually she thanks God for this life, and puts in the happy category. I asked her what life is ugly? She said the life she had as a baby. Woah! She wouldn’t say more. She is only 3. She was rescued after she turned 1. I prayed then and asked God to heal every hurt of her childhood. Whatever wounds and pain she might have. May god restore and redeem, and put instead abundant joy and light and love.
She remembers so much. Details of her life, of her rescue’(which nobody discussed with her, but it’s in her file) with surprising specificity. The words she uses. The contexts. The people and the timeline. Her input and opinion has weight and we as adults better listen up.
My little ivy with an old soul is home, enjoying a beautiful childhood with her sister.