I Missed Strawberry Season
There is nothing like home picked strawberries. The small size of each berry is so full of flavor that I envision each and every one of the big dense store-bought berries must cry berry tears over not being able to measure up. The sun ripened wonders are little bursts of sweetness in your mouth when you bite down on each juicy morsel.
Each spring I wait in hope for the time when the strawberries will be ripe and we can find an unassuming field for us to go and pick at, with some pretty strong feelings that two should be eaten for every one put in our basket.
It never fails that each summer there is some series of events that prevent me from going picking.
At the beginning of May my father, whom I had not spoken to in over 10 years died from a drug overdose.
Less than two weeks later, my Grandma Jean ran into the arms of Jesus at the young age of 93.
These two deaths have shaken me to my very core.
One was a death where it has caused me to question everything in my life, from my viewpoints, my history, my outlook on life, and my purpose.
The other death has also left me feeling pallid and distant. Like a small canoe drifting in the deep ocean, I feel out of place and alone, searching for anything that may look recognizable from my life before all of this.
My Grandma was my rock. She helped raise me from an early age and was very much a best friend and my housekeeping mentor. She trained me.
This is a stark contrast from my father who left me. Abandoned me. As a child I turned from this. Ignored this. Until as an adult the swells of the repercussions of abandonment overwhelmed me and tossed me around until it was all I could do but face them.
These past two months I've found that I've been absent from so many things: Friendships. Church. Conversations. Small Group. Happiness. Laughter.
This may sound dismal but I have been feeling very heroic in this time of life. The fact is that for the first time, the very first time, I am looking grief straight in the face and not turning away. I am not hiding that I am hurting. I am not trying to change the facts to make it look as if I don't come from a background that is a complete mess. I am owning who I am, where I came from, and how it is shaping me for the future.
Writing has been one of the aspects that I find myself thinking deep thoughts. Questions such as:
What is even the point of blogging? Of sharing ideas and thoughts?
Who would ever want to hear my opinion?
Why would we all just sit there sharing our opinions when no one even cares?
Is social media all some kind of cosmic joke? It doesn't even matter, right? My grandma made it through her whole life without social media and she had this big, beautiful life where she didn't look at someone else's feed and feel less than she was.
Isn't the internet just taking our focus from things that matter?
As much as it is expanding our horizons and our reach, isn't it also making the simple things seem like they don't matter?
All of these thoughts and more have surfaced for me in what has seemed like years but in reality its been a little less than a month since my fathers death.
When you look back at the sum total of someone's life you see things as they really matter. Things like comparing myself to other mothers, trying to improve my SEO, and pinning more pins to up my ranking simply do not matter. Those are low fruits. Raising children in a godly way, putting others before yourself, and being a woman who loves life with high character...those are traits I am shooting for. That is the sweet spot of life.
These questions have also brought me a profound sense of gratitude.
I can see the hand of God working through my life as I look back on the events that have shaped me. I find myself so grateful for my mom and step-dad who has always been my dad.
I am thankful for the friends and family that have surrounded me to hold me up through this time. I've discovered who are the watery, not really there for you people, and who are the constants in my life who will hold me up and not back down when things get hard and ugly. I feel like I've watched the chaff fly in the wind and those who are still around are the hearts of the wheat, the ones who I am so grateful for. They have stood by me to watch me ugly cry, they've constantly texted me, they celebrate my small victories. In short they get me, and I find so much gratitude in that.
I am thankful for my relationship with the Lord. He's held me through this even when I've turned my back on him. There were days when I just couldn't utter a word of thanks. I just sat and cried. When my stomach would turn and I'd be sick over questions of why. He was there with me. And when I finally felt the courage to lift my head and try again in life, he was there to greet me, not in a condemning way but in the way of a gentle sunlight meets your face after a harsh rain.
This year as we come to blueberry season, I am finding myself excited to get out there to pick ripe berries under the sun with the hot, dry heat soaking in.
And as the summer creeps on I can feel the tendrils of regularity reaching out and wrapping around to bring life into our household again. Slowly I can feel the warmth of happiness starting to flow again.
Life may never be the same again. It very well will never be the same. My views and thoughts may never be the same again but slowly I am working up the nerve to be myself and to share with the world who I am and how God has formed me to share with the world. I am holding myself out there to soak up the sun to be in my sweet spot.
Just like the berries.
Strawberry season has come and gone but blueberries are here!
You can read my last blog about being absent here. Thanks for your love, friends!