Yestarday there were no tears. The first of such a day in a long time. Today I am all tears. I feel the target of many arrows. They sting. Everyone has their own agenda. I'm not going to try and explain myself anymore. I'm just going to do the only thing I know to do at this point, for myself, my husband, and our relationship. I suppose no one else has to understand it. We will understand it when we are through it. My husband and I have always been the King and Queen of hindsight.
Each of us is unique, a fingerprint, a snowflake. There is a language between myself and God. It is like no other. You cannot speak it. It is pain. Where once I would use denial, sin, alcohol, busyness, and lies to deflect this conversation between God and I, now I sit on the footstool in rapt attention. I WANT to learn the lesson no matter how much it hurts. I am hoping that on the other side of this, we will speak differently. My ears may only be attuned to the language of my parents. That has been no aid to me. It is no fault of God's that he must speak to me in the language I hear.
He asked me if I talk to God.
"I beg him" I say.
And what does he tell you?
"He no longer speaks English. His language is pain."
"And it hurts to understand."
Do you want to?
"Pain. It's muddy. It transfers. It cannot be controlled. I cannot keep it to myself."
"Should is no longer relevant I suppose. I can't."
Then what are you begging for?
Today is my husband's birthday. He does not need to wish for hope. He has always had it.