Where you go, I will go; where you live, I will live. Your people will be my people for your God is my God.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Do you hear it?  The silence is almost deafening.  After two nights and one day of straight ran there is silence.   It is early morning and I cuddle on the couch with my babe.  He places his hand on my check and coos gently.  Hearing his soft babble delights my heart.  He is well and happy.  After over two months of sleeping through the night, he was up every few hours the night before.  Why? I wonder.  I prayed it was just getting confused between daytime and nighttime thanks to the overcast gloomy-sleepy days we have had.  His happiness confirms my thoughts and eases my worry about some icky-ness plaguing the littlest member of the family. 

The rooster begins to crow, the hens waddle about, ruffling their feathers.  I hear the dog and the cat bickering back and forth; no longer cuddled together as they were for days. Things are back to normal after the non-stop down-pour. Everything except for the pain that moves through my heart.  I ignore it. 

I lay Job back down for a bit more sleep.  I cut up old tortillas for the chickens {their very favorite treat} and gather kitchen scraps for the dog who eats everything.  Pajamas still on, I slip into my coat and shoes.  The outdoors is calling to me.  I open the door, watching the cat dash to his food dish inside.  I give the dog, Rojo, his breakfast and proceed to the chicken coop.  No egg yet this morning.  I watch the chickens battle for tortilla pieces and make sure the “black sheep” of the flock receives her share.

I move on to the garden to see how she fared the storm.  Some of the plants thrived others need some TLC this afternoon if the clouds don’t open again.  I check out the make shift shelters my work-worn husband had built for the animals, fighting against the rain.  I am impressed my his ability to make anything from nothing and his tender care for every created thing.  My heart pangs again. Again I ignore it. 

I make my way back inside. As water boils for tea, I attack the mountain in our kitchen that normal people call “sink.”  I consider leaving it all for latter and slipping back into bed, but I know I don’t want to wake up to this kitchen two times in one day.  Plus my stomach demands attention. I finish wiping down the counters, begin breakfast and move to straighten the living room.  Orderliness and cleanliness brings peace and warmth to our home.  But my heart still does not rest.   It is ignored.  Again. 

The baby begins to whimper.  I thought he would sleep a bit longer, but 45 minutes was all he wanted.  I lay him on the bed for a diaper change.  My husband who worked late the night before and thus has permission to arrive late today, wakes up to greet his son with a smile and kisses.  I change the wee one and watch my two men interact…normally the delight of my morning.  But not today.  My heart aches as I watch them.  And I know why and its becoming impossible to ignore. But I slip back out to the kitchen to do just that. 

As I finish preparing breakfast my mind wanders back a few hours to 3 a.m. All of us where awake thanks to the three-month-old.  Rafa had Job in his lap. They were “talking” and thoroughly enjoying themselves. I, however, was not.   Before I knew it nasty nasty words from my mouth where splattered all over Rafa’s ears and heart.  I looked him in the eye, looking for anger and a fight, but I only saw hurt, sadness and confusion in them. He said nothing. I knew instantly that my words where not fair and no way a woman should talk to the person she loves most in the world.   I ignored it.  Soon the baby was back to sleep and so were we.

And now I find myself alone in the kitchen looking out the window at the rain washed world.  I know I need to say “I’m sorry.  I was wrong.  Please forgive me. I love you.” It can no longer be ignored, but I still fight it.  A few minutes later Rafa comes out to the kitchen with Job.  He asks if I’m alright.  I respond with a simple no.  He asks why.  Still not wanting to say what I knew I should, I responded with “I don’t feel good.”  Again, he probes as to why.  I decide the words had to be said.  So I say them.  He just looks at me and I see the hurt wash from his eyes. I know I have been forgiven but I still feel awkward. We eat breakfast and he goes to leave for work.  He looks at me again, gives me a gentle kiss and says, “I love you.” And like the rain that poured for days to wash the world, his love pours over my heart, removes the pain, and cleans me.

And to think, my husband’s love for me is human and flawed.  So if his love is good, how great, then, is the divine, unflawed love of God?

1 comment:

  1. This account of the Holy Spirit's dealing with you is awe-inspiring. And I'm very thankful you decided to share it. I know the Lord can use it in others lives.
    PS You certainly have a way with words.