flood warning

This may be bad.

This may be really, really bad.

But I've warned you now, and that's all I can do.

Today, this sucks. It really does.

I don't even like that term, but I can't work my way around it. "This stinks" just isn't cutting it today. Sorry.

I'm alone. And I'm crying. And I can't stop. 

I cry at the hard things. I cry at the sweet things. I cry because I hate it. And I cry because I would not change it. I cry because I miss Stephen. I cry because he is so worth missing. I cry because I am grateful that I miss him as much as I do. I cry because he feels the same way. I cry because the Lord is near. I cry because He keeps reminding me that I don't have to be good at this. I cry because He alone knows just how bad I am at it. I cry because I know it will get better with time. I cry because the thought of the time it will take is overwhelming. I cry because I feel like I should feel like I'm single again. I cry because that's about the last way I feel. I cry because I wish I knew how to handle social settings or meeting new people well. I cry because I almost dread it some days. 

The trigger.

I guess the trigger was a text from Stephen today saying he had arrived at his overseas destination. Up until now he was training in the same time zone. If you have spent any time with me in the evenings over the last two months, you know that writing is not my typical 9pm activity. I would have been parting ways with you soon to talk to Stephen. But now he has (jet-lag permitting) been sleeping for several hours, and his will not be the last voice I hear tonight. Not live anyway. 

And then I think about the last person I will have talked to today: the cashier at Kroger. And I cry some more.

Some days solitude is a double-edged sword. Today is one of those. I hate being alone and yet cannot imagine interacting with anyone else right now. I feel like I putter around the house, doing a little bit of everything, but not completing anything. Not that I don't have plenty to do. 

If you have yet to receive a wedding gift thank you, rest assured, they are in the works. I have another writing job that I am excited to take on between now and Thanksgiving. I have been compiling all my poetry from the last decade. 

I have enjoyed time with friends this month. My old small group got away to the lake one weekend. 

We threw a baby shower for Darrah yesterday. 

And Juliet keeps me great company. 

Hanging out with my new friend, Cat, who nannies and whose husband is also away for a year, has been a huge highlight in these few weeks. 

It's not boredom. I think I stay busy enough. It's just hard.

As I was thinking through an upcoming church social earlier this evening, I came to realize why I feel so out of place all of a sudden, especially at church. It has nothing to do with other people, though perhaps their love for both of us brings the emotions to the surface. It has more to do with the fact that Stephen is indeed my other half. And as cheesy as it sounds (I really tried not to say it, but it's true!), we are one person in two places. One heart, one flesh, one family. Two continents that might as well be two worlds. 

And it's seeing the people who know us well that really undoes me. Because I know they look at me and see Stephen too. They can't look at me and not think about the reason he's not beside me or how long it will be until he is again. And whether they say something or not, I feel exposed and vulnerable and overwhelmed in all the ways I should, I suppose. And I am grateful the Lord has given me a heart that cannot hide, although I'll apologize again for all the times each of you will get a bucket full of tears because of it.

And it's funny how real it finally seems that we are one. Sad that it often does not feel as true in togetherness as it does in separation. But we both are praying that the things we learn this year will change how we view and value each other, our future family, and every other priority in our lives. It's almost a glimpse of the "if only"s we might have if one of us were to pass, so I'll be grateful that our opportunities to love each other well are, Lord willing, still a lifetime full.

Whew. So, the tears have stopped. I think that's all for tonight. Maybe my poor sinuses will have a chance to clear up before lights out.

One thing I heard in a short John Piper montage on YouTube last week has stuck with me. I won't get the quote exactly right, but as he is talking about the certainty of suffering in the Christian life he makes the distinction between what is miserable and what is painful. And though at times I am tempted to file this experience under Misery, I know that would not be true. It's painful. Ugh, it's frustratingly painful some days. And I feel like it would not be so bad if I just loved Jesus a little more, and that way of thinking serves only to perpetuate frustration.

But the pain is not misery because of the cross of Christ. Suffering is the primary way God's glory of salvation is revealed in the world--Jesus on the cross and my hope in suffering now. This is not futile misery; it is glory-rending pain.

And I pray the Lord gets enormous glory from it. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how many days ahead will feel like this one. No matter how many showers, meals, car rides, communions, or blog posts I have yet to cry through.

When all my tears have fallen

And my strength lies in their wet

When my heart is naught but frailty

Jesus, let me not forget!

Not only did Your tears fall

But Your sweat became as blood

As You gazed on separation

Cost of mercy's welling flood

But as Your tears led to glory

Please allow mine so to do

For every teardrop let one-thousand

"Hallelujah"s rise to You

And so it will all be worth it

Every mite of this sweet pain

If Your glory shines the brighter

Beauty bursting through the rain