I am fragile.

Vulnerable.

I feel strong and empowered. I can do this thing. I feel weak and inept. I can’t take another step.

I laugh till I cry with a friend, on the phone, in person. Under the laughter is an ache… it wants to find a voice, yet it wants to remain hidden.

My heart is a conundrum of opposing forces. It doesn’t know what it needs.

I’m thrilled and I’m anxious.

I’m a friend and I’m an enemy.

I’m laughter and I’m tears.

I’m supported and I’m abandoned.

I’m guilty and I’m justified.

I’m patient and I’m angry.

I’m abounding and I’m empty.



The past few weeks have been filled with struggles even beyond the one of my husband leaving to spend a year in Afghanistan. Family issues, home issues, children issues, health issues, even a legal issue. Honestly, there are times when it feels like my life has been one roller coaster dip after the other the past three years.

I’m weary.

Shortly after my husband arrived home from his last trip to the Sandy Spot, I openly told The Next Big Thing to stay away for now. I needed a break, I thought, and was eager to simply live.

Little did I know that the greatest pain of my life was brewing; a volcano about to explode, leaving burning molten lava on all who stood in it’s path.

As scandal rocked my family, my parents, I saw the charmed life I’d led crumbling around me. I was secure in my place as part of a golden family, even four years married at the time. It was a supporting pillar in my identity, my makeup. The destruction of this explosion has run deep.

But somewhere in the middle of that mess I realized something.

The rollercoaster doesn’t end.

It’s called Life, and it will continue to spiral and dip and race, whether or not I’m a willing rider.

The twists and spins and turning-upside-down’s of this ride have jostled me, but I’m not naive enough to think they are the worst thing that could happen. It wasn’t my marriage that was taken away. My husband will come home a little over a year from now. I still have my children. I still have my home. I love and am loved. I am infinitely blessed.

Perhaps the answer isn’t in trying to find a way to do a tuck and roll off the side of the roller coaster cart.

Maybe it lies in realizing this life will always be speeding along, possibly so quickly and so jarringly that I can’t see anything outside my little cart for a while.

But in embracing the jostling and the speed, realizing this is difficult, but it is ultimately temporary, I’ll find a way to rest.

Oh Lord, help…




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