I’m scared. Tonight I’ve been wandering Little House, ticking off the things I can take, what must be culled, the things that matter, and the things that will find their way to the front yard for the mother of all moving sales. This doesn’t bother me- it’s only stuff, and I got rid of so much when the big house floated away into foreclosure (It’s still empty, by the way- I drove by the other day on the way to a friends, and was caught off-guard by the raw tenderness under the scar I like to imagine has healed.)
Looking in the garage of Little House, I see the roof has been leaking all winter. There are boxes of sodden books and who knows what. I roll the door back down, unable to deal with it in the snowy mess, and quietly bid goodbye to more things that are ‘just stuff”. I’ll deal with it when the weather warms up a bit, and my Home Teacher can help me toss what will surely be a dump-run worth of life-remnants.
Earlier today, I missed sacrament meeting, so I went back to my old ward, big house ward, where I saw my lawyer, my dentist, my landlord, my stake president- all reminders again of a life that isn’t mine anymore. I don’t know why it bothered me, but I found myself escaping right after the first hour. Some of the women didn’t even recognize me. It was surreal. It’s an old ward, and there is so much stability; I look at the women who’ve lived in the same neighborhood forever, who have mothers and sisters and high-school friends down the street, and I feel so removed. So transitory. So outside of time. It’s been so long since I had anything stable, I feel like an urchin with my face pressed to the glass, looking in and shivering.
The last two weeks have given me my lowest low and then some of the highest grace I’ve ever imagined. I am beyond thrilled about my acceptance to GWU, and having a place to move now is so wonderful. I know I can do it, and I’m even excited to jump in and get busy. And yet…
I’m scared because over the last five years, I haven’t been able to trust “good” things- and honestly, I’m terrified this is all going to be ripped away from me. One thing after another has been torn from me, and my eyes have become so used to the dark, the light hurts. It makes me shake and tears sting my eyes. I don’t want to sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself— I’m just so fearful of trusting happiness. I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall. Waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. And I hate that. I don’t want to be like that, I don’t want my spirit calloused and scarred. I want to walk fearlessly in the light.
Even as I write this, I can feel the tiniest whisperings that I have to trust the process, to give it time. I was truly and genuinely harmed over a period of years, and the healing and scars are not going to go away overnight simply because I want them to. Eventually, I can learn to believe in good things, in stability, and I can learn to trust the light.
Please God, let that be true.