Listen.

Do you hear that?

Stillness. Complete quiet.

Both my boys are sound asleep. The first soft notes of an old Amy Grant song I loved as a little girl are beginning to fill the little computer nook I’m curled up in. The house is clean. The dishes are done. The washer and dryer have stopped for the night.

In a few minutes, it will be tomorrow. The beginning of another full day.

I know… I’ve not posted in over a week. I have emails from last week that I still haven’t responded to. But we are alive and well.

I have at least a handful of bloggie posts written in my head over the past week, but somehow none of them made it to the screen. The days here are so full of diapers, cooking, home-keeping, book reading, park trips, child training, projects for Daddy, coloring, gym-going, playing with trains, nursing… it seems there are hardly five minutes put together to spend doing the things that NEED to get done on the computer, let alone actually thinking enough to type. Add that to the fact that I don’t have a lap top right now and my desk top computer is upstairs… daily blogging? It just ain’t happenin’.

But, to be quite honest, there is another reason the “new post” screen has spent so much time open, yet blank, on my computer screen.

Every time I sit down in this desk chair and hold my fingers over the keyboard, staring at that blank screen, I get a shaky feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I plan to whip out a funny kiddo-related anecdote, or upload a picture, or ramble about something silly. But the truth is… I just don’t feel silly.

Writing is a part of me, whether it be my own journal, long letters or emails, or this thing we call blogging. It’s always been an outlet. The deep areas of my heart and mind tend to push forward when I put pen to paper, or, you know, fingers to keyboard.

You see, I’ve been running around, living in a whirlwind these past six weeks. I guess I’m subconsciously thinking that if I live in a flurry of baby-world, church, home, family, friends… then I won’t have to think about John being gone. It won’t seem as real. The time will go by so quickly that I won’t even realize what is going on.

I tell myself that, yeah, this is kinda hard. We sure miss John. And life alone with the boys is a little chaotic at times. But, no matter what, it’s going to be a little crazy with two boys under two. That’s just normal life as a mom. I have such support from those around me–family nearby, friends who rally around me when I’ve had a crazy day. Just yesterday I had two friends, at two different times, look me in the eyes and ask how they could specifically pray for me this week. I can’t even tell you how that blessed my heart.

Knowing all this, I struggle to pinpoint exactly what “it” is that’s difficult, given that the day-to-day of being a mom is just normal and I have more support than many military wives. What is “it?”

But then… the evenings come. The times like this. When it is so quiet I can almost hear my own heart beating. Then I remember. My beloved is away. I’m here alone. And the time… oh, how it seems to stretch endlessly in front of me. I realize that the normal day-to-day isn’t “it.” It’s this feeling. The loneliness that threatens to suffocate me. The emotional distance from my beloved that I feel more and more with each passing day he’s away and he becomes less and less connected to our everyday life here.

But by the next morning, I’ve always managed to convince myself to just. keep. moving. Be strong. Don’t let it bowl me over. It’s not really that bad. Keep telling everyone that we’re doing good… we’re hanging in there. Must be strong. Must… be… strong…

A few evenings ago, since I once again didn’t know what to write, I was be-bopping around the blogosphere and visited a blog I hadn’t been to in a while. This friend-of-a-friend was in the midst of several weeks with her husband gone for work, and as I read her words, I suddenly just… lost it. I cried harder then, right there at my keyboard, than I had at any point in the past several months. Everything I’d been trying to push down the past couple weeks flooded my heart as the tears flooded my eyes.

I laid across my bed, crying out to God with tears streaming down my face… “I can’t be strong. I’m not brave…”

And I heard His voice say quietly – “I don’t expect you to be…”

As I lay with my face buried in my covers I felt His assurance begin to wash over me. His grace lifting me. It’s not about digging deeper. Pulling myself up by my bootstraps. Acting more spiritual. Or trying to muster the courage to face my trials…

It’s admitting there’s no way I can. It’s doing nothing, and realizing He’s already done it for me. It’s clinging to the Rock that is higher than I, and allowing His strength to hold me. To keep me from falling. to remove my fear. And to be my security.

The kind of strength that – powerful enough in and of itself – yet, is made even more perfect through my weakness.

Perfect strength – I like the sound of that!

No. I’m not strong. I can’t be. But He CAN. And He IS!

I suddenly realized it was okay to be weak. Which sure is a good thing, because that’s what I am right now. Perfect strength… my Jesus has abundant, perfect strength to hold me up in my weakness. And He says it is made perfect in this weakness of mine.

Talk about an opportunity to display His glory and power.

So how are we doing, you ask? I’m going to revise what I’ve been telling so many sweet ones who ask… Yes, we are doing well. We’re hanging in there. But here’s a tidbit more…

The truth is that I’m just clinging to Him with everything I’ve got in me. It’s a good thing His strength is so perfect, because I don’t have much in me. He’s holding me. Which means I’m actually just falling into His arms. And that is always the best place to be.

I have found a place where I can hide
It’s safe inside
Your arms of love…

Like a child who’s held throughout a storm
You keep me warm
In Your arms of love…

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