For Today...

This afternoon, I sent a link to one of my blog posts to a friend through email.  We had been talking on the week-end, and part of our conversation was about dealing with grief and sorrow.  My friend said some things about making our way through sorrow that I could relate to, and I sent him the post because in it, I shared some of the same thoughts and ideas.  It was actually a neat experience, to re-read the post and remember an encouraging, uplifting conversation.  It felt good to share it.

And then the doubt hit.  Was I pushing my writing on him? What if he felt obligated to read it, but found it boring?  Was I really sure that it was a good idea to send it?  All stupid, irrelevant questions that I know, intellectually, mean nothing.  The fact is, if I bore him, he'll be polite about it.  But he won't be bored.  He'll enjoy it because I wrote it, for one thing.  And he'll enjoy it because he'll understand it.  He'll know what I mean, because he has been where I am/was and he remembers.  More importantly, he won't be bored because he is a friend, and he cares.

To be honest, the doubt and anxiety that I felt is the same doubt and anxiety that I often feel when I push the publish button and make these posts official.  Blogging, especially blogging about personal things, is an agonizing endeavor. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed.  Some days are better than others. Lately I have been feeling especially fragile.  I re-read many of the grief and mourning posts this morning and marveled at how brave I was.  Or more accurately, how brave I let God make me.  Every time I read them, I cry because I revisit those days, which isn't exactly a bad thing.  Mum felt closer in those days.  The memories were clearer.  I could still feel her hand in mine.  I would gladly be back there, in the hospital room, at her memorial, at my sister's, trying to figure out how to open the plastic box that held her ashes, so that we could sprinkle them by the water and say good-bye. Frankly, at this point I'd be glad just to see the ashes again.  

I don't know if sharing these things will ever get easier.  Sometimes I feel like Peter, walking on water to meet Jesus.  Eyes on Jesus, one step at a time, stomach churning at the sheer thrill and terror of doing the impossible.  Look away from Jesus, realize how impossible the task is, and the next thing I know, I'm up to my armpits in stormy seas. I need to keep my eyes on Him, and keep walking, letting the cool salt spray wet my feet and not cover my head.

For today, I choose not to sink under fear and doubt.  For today, I will trust my friends, my self, and most importantly, my God.  For today, in God's strength and by God's grace, I walk.