Why I Haven't

The thing is, The Preacher tells me I should blog, and I tell him I don't know what to say. And he says, "You'll think of something." And I say, "But I don't."

The thing is, The Preacher doesn't really get to preach much right now, and he's tired, and he's gone so much. And every day Little Man's pants get shorter, as he stretches into a man. He tells me he can't wait to be grown, and I squeeze him tight and fuss. Then I shoo him away as I type, this incredible reader mouthing my words. Princess is still all spunk and spice, but every day she threatens to take over the world - and I think maybe I should call her "Queen" instead.

 

The thing is, when I started writing, I lived far away and just wanted to keep family connected to the kidlets. And then suddenly we moved back home, in shock. The Preacher went from preaching to filing at someone else's church, and loading bags onto airplanes. Now he's supervising and planting, but it doesn't feeling like Preaching, and that's why I don't know what to say.

The thing is, I wonder how to capture the experience of leaving a church. What it feels like to say goodbye when you don't want to, and to hide the things you're thinking - to let words fizzle on your tongue like PopRocks, to bite clean through your lip and taste blood. . .

What it's like to hug friends crying real tears, the people you've come to love - to force yourself to release them. What it's like to say goodbye to those who helped you in direst need, who loved you like their own. What it's like to sacrifice a smile even to those who didn't. And what it's like to get a handshake, but not know how to feed your kids with it.

The thing is, our kids are fed, and we're doing well. (Please don't send checks.) But not everything is healed up inside, and are there words for that?

The thing is, I have a lot to say, and not the first idea how it should be said.

And that's why I haven't.

- b