Steam Release Valve

Some days the pressure is just too much. Nineteen months and counting. Nineteen months of rejection letters, revised resumes, watching our savings dwindle to zero, depending on odd jobs and the church to help us as money runs low.

People have done unbelievably kind things for us.  A friend sent my kids new bike helmets and Easter treats, little care packages arrive in the mail, brightening my day, anonymous friends have dropped cashiers checks off on our doormat- generosity that I’m unable to even thank them for… We have been richly blessed by this trial- I can see that already, and it’s not even over.

There are some days, days when the kids are crabby, days when we didn’t perhaps get enough sleep, days when maybe my hormones are insane, days when a new bill comes in, or the sink  explodes- those are the days I feel like I’m in a pressure cooker, and I need a release or I might die.

Those are the days where David and I become adversaries instead of companions trying to row the same flimsy boat. Those are the days where yelling overtakes the house, followed by unsettled wars of quiet. Those are the days tears spill down cheeks and eyes cut at each other in anger.

How are we? Fine. We’re going to survive.  I stand alone in the garage doorway as my husband goes out to lick his wounds, and I retreat into the rapidly warming July house, to do the same. Mine wounds are bigger. No, mine are. You hurt me worse, no YOU hurt me worse. The pressure cooker rattles on. Eventually it’s too much and the steam finds tiny fissures and escapes with a scalding scream. Steam burns are the worse.

I smile and nod, like Tom Seleck. How am I? Shoulder shrug, nod, “Fine.”

3 thoughts on “Steam Release Valve

  1. We hit our 17 month anniversary last week. So when I say I know exactly how you feel, I mean it. We too have blessed by family, friends, by strangers. We are also covered in steam burns too. I check your blog daily, hoping for some good news for you, thinking in some weird part of my brain, that once this is over for you maybe, somehow it will be my turn. I enjoy the fact that you put it all out there, good bad, very bad. It strengthens me. It helps me feel not alone. I often wish I had an outlet like you; someone at church commented how even in the middle of this I seem so happy and I thought that because you don’t see me crying in bed or yelling at my kids for no reason, but I just smiled and said thanks. On the flip side, if someone told me two years ago that his was all going to happen and that despite that we would continue to not only survive but thrive I would have called them insane. Yet, here I am, bloody, bruised but standing, moving forward and growing every day, grateful (usually) to the Lord for the fact that I am a much more compassionate, faithful and loving person than I was two years ago. So long purge short…thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing, I always know I can make it two more months because of you. Here’s hoping neither of us has to.

  2. I admire that you’re able to go on. I’ve wondered how good I am at facing tough things. I think I’m pretty soft and would crumble which scares me–you’re pretty amazing to continue to hold on through these things.

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