Here Again

I've been here before.

Writer's block.

It certainly is not for lack of material.  I could spend all day recording the antics of my beautiful and hilarious children and still not be able to get each precious memory committed to screen.

Time definitely plays a part.  Tonight I'm giving myself permission to stay up late and blog, but this year, since school has started, that's not been much of an option for my new, disciplined-to-go-to-bed-earlier-and-get-up-earlier self.

Tonight, I'm here in Valley Forge.  I've been here before, too.  It is beautiful here, both the physical surroundings and the people with whom I'm sitting in hours-long meetings.  It's hard to believe that for months on end, this was not such a happy place nearly 250 years ago.

It wasn't then.  But it certainly is now.

Today as I sat on the porch and looked out at the fall colors painted on the scenery, there was quiet.  Space.  I read my Bible.  I read my new book.  And as I opened my journal to write, the familiar feeling came back, and I realized that it's one of the reasons that I haven't blogged in so long.

I miss her.

It's hard for me to sit in meditative silence without thinking of her.  I wonder how she is filling her days.  I wonder if they are laughing.  I wonder if we will ever reconcile. 

But for now, I wait.

And wait.

At first, I grieved.  A lot.  But in the back of my mind, I thought that probably it would get fixed somehow.  But the days turned into weeks, and the weeks have now turned into months.  I miss her.

After Hunt went to be with Jesus, I measured time by how long it had been.  "This is the first October without him.  If he were here, we'd be introducing him to leaf piles and crisp, autumn air."

She lives close, but I feel similar measurements sitting stale and sad and somber in my heart.  And I can't spend very many quiet moments without them creeping in.  "Last year at this time, we hung out and picked apples with our kids.  This year, I thought we would be making Halloween costumes together."

She didn't die.  But the separation feels somewhat like a death.

There is hope.  He's the same hope Who makes me smile when I think about Hunt.  He can restore and renew, breathing life into the dark and wounded places.  He is my hope.

But in the day to day, my heart feels sick.  What if this never gets resolved?  Memories of our friendship are all around me all the time.  And I like it that way!  But the pain stabs again and again at the memories.

Does she miss us?  Does she long for reconciliation, too?  Or has she moved on, never to look back?  I wish I knew.  I think I know, but I can't be sure.  The movement that I see (no movement at all) does not display what would be my assumption.

When I think of her, sometimes I worry.  Sometimes my mind wanders and I find myself ten minutes later just imagining their possible adventures. 

What I should be doing is praying.  God is the Healer, the Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.  He is the one who can fix the broken places, who can mend the broken hearts, who can bring hope where all hope has seemed lost.

She doesn't want Him.  And that's okay.  He is a gentleman and will not insist.  Neither will I.  But tonight I pray for a trade--that one day beauty will again reside in the place where ashes do today.

I can't do it.  It's not in me.  I have tried and failed and tried again.  And failed again.

But He can.  So by His grace, I wait some more.  And pray and trust and fail and pray and wait and trust some more.  And then I wake up tomorrow and do it again.

Soli deo gloria.  Yes, even this.