Pants

I ripped my second pair of pants today in 1 week. The first pair was an absurdly expensive (though worth every penny) pair of jeans. The incident happened when I squatted down to pick up the baby. Right down the groin. Lucky for me the electricians who had just come into the condo to work on the lighting either didn't notice, or were dear enough to pretend not to. I made sure they only saw my front side the rest of our hour and a half together. The second pair tore today. I was pulling a seemingly innocent piece of thread off the seam and they split right down my outter thigh. It was not at all sexy. Just drafty, and I grabbed the baby to go find myself a new pair.

Some of my days are just like this and I am well aware I am not alone in my anecdotal plights. We all have moments where we really do begin to believe the camera crew will come out at any moment. It's funny stuff, “material for the book”, and something hilarious to think about whenever I look at my poor Joe's lying on the floor. It's lame and trite, but I have been thanking God for these moments. Ones like this that are frustrating, but not defeating. Ridiculous, but easily remedied. I have a dear friend whose life is not so simple right now. Something as silly as pants ripping would be another exhausting task to take care of that there is just simply no energy for. None.

On my bad days there is a darkness in the center of my mind- but it is utterly surrounded by light beaming out to Lord knows where- literally. And though I am distressed, anxious, and pissed, I know that my light is bigger than my darkness. My friend radiates light. But she doesn't see it herself. She hears us say it, and writes down what we say, but she doesn't feel it. Does not believe it. Does not feel the warmth. That unknown comfort. Or should I say, Unknown Comfort. For I know who He is and I am able to think clearly about Him (most of the time at least), while she cannot right now.

I am pissed for her. Ticked off. Frustrated. Exhausted. Drained. At times think I am crazy for thinking I can have Hope for her. But you know what? As I was roaming around with her today trying to find a new pair of pants, pushing around our strollers, stopping here and there just to check out different things....it became clear to me that Damn Right I can have hope for her. I do. And I will.

I have vivid memories of being carried around by my dad. The most comforting place in the world....to rest your chin on his shoulder looking out and about at the people behind you. You have no idea where you are heading and you don't care. You are able to walk, but you don't want to. And you are as close to your dad as you possibly can be. Not even considering how his arms must be getting tired, and how it's not really a treat to carry you around. No, you're just content. Watching the world around you. And you are so CLOSE to your dad, yet you can't see his face. This is how it is with my friend. God has become so big and is holding her so closely, she can't even see Him. She's even forgotten who has her....given up on caring where He's taking her....But I see her. She is weary and His arms never get weak. She sleeps (or tosses) at night and He never tires. She sees only darkness and darkness is as light to Him. You don't have to have hope right in this moment, sweet friend. Someday you will need to see it again, to regain that vision and thrive in it. But for right now, rest. We will keep it for you.