How I wanted to be able to post something amazing, something magnificent and uplifting and inspiring, here a week after my husband has been sentenced to prison. I know that the right thing to do is to pour out my gratitude that My God has given me peace and a hope, that He has settled my mind and I am now eagerly facing the future, breathlessly awaiting to see what miraculous things He is going to do in my life and the life of my family.
Those are not the words I wish to write. They are not the words that are just behind the ability to speak or write at all. They are not the words that are crowding behind the irrational pull to scream, to throw and break stemware in the woods. Yet no such actions would do a thing. They would not produce a sense of God’s presence in my soul. They would not change anything. They would not make the scripture work that I attempt to do every morning and most nights any more or less real.
Until this week, I’ve felt strong, even healthy, proud, arrogant. But right now I am sad. I am tired. I am paralyzed. I am terrified. I am alone and I don’t sense God, nor direction for my family. Not saying He is not truth or that He is not real. Just saying that I wish for His peace, that he would still this mind somehow, and that he would grant sleep, that He would say “Shhhh” to me, in Psalms, in Jonah, in 1 Thess 3:8-10, Exodus 33, Mark 5, John 20, “Shhh” through any of those passages that mean so much to me.