Circular Patterns of Life
I just walked in the door of my house. I’m leaking tears. I’m exhausted. Emotional. Thinking about life and the vibrant, fierce moments that stick out in the last few days. I’m introspective and weepy. And so very grateful.
I am soooo imperfect. My strengths and my sins far outweigh my spiritual successes and growth. I don’t know much, I’m not very well educated. I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut when it’s not my time to speak, I have a temper like a firecracker, and a mouth like greased lightning — so bad I have skid-marks and calluses on my tongue. And, you know, it’s weird, but I always seem to be in the midst of family and friend medical problems. Proving that God uses us despite our failings. He/she/they give a chance to stretch our wings, to grow, to fly. If we are willing. Or — maybe — stupid enough to fall for it.
I walked out of the hospital with Matthew a few minutes ago, just us two, much the way we entered, but a lot slower, a lot less panicked and a lot more tired. I got him into his mom’s van, waiting at the curb, heater on, his stuff in the floorboards. It was weirdly circular, and I am still crying, as much from exhaustion as relief. He didn’t code. He didn’t blow a hole in his heart big enough to pass a dime through. He lived. He’s home now. And tomorrow is another day.
I think I’ll go to bed early. Reeeeaaaaal early. Thank you for the prayers, the good wishes, and the friendship.
Faith
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Glad to hear the news. And I’ll keep praying for you and him.
If we were born perfect there wouldn’t be anything left to learn about ourselves
or the things around us. There is some old saying that writing is cathartic, perhaps this is what keeps you writing. More likely adrenalin let down. Sleep well, pet a dog to drop your heart rate, then pet the Ren.
Mud, who’s only knowledge on the subject comes from her pack.