Six months

Six months...and this is the progress on my home. At least there is some; many still can't find a contractor.
Many can't afford a professional builder.  The wait takes its toll.
We are so tired! I, personally, have slipped into an undeniable brain fog. I can't string two thoughts together, not to mention pick between Sherwin Williams' Crushed Ice and Simple White for future walls. 
What I most fear is that I'm too exhausted and broken to care for my family and friends even though I dearly want to be present in their lives. 
I think I speak for a good lot of Harvey victims survivors. The heavy malaise of six long months spreads through our neighborhoods and the recent rains have dampened spirits as well as debris- lined streets.  Even those back in their homes stare at floor to ceiling boxes just waiting to be unpacked. And then they realize on important days, like "dress like a cowboy" day that boots and hats never made it into cardboard homes. The still to do lists, purchases, tax considerations loom heavy. Harvey never ends!
In the midst of mass murder and devastating diagnoses, Harvey seems a bit insignificant, doesn't it? We really are thankful for the support of friends and strangers over the months. We really are...
But the realization of six months smarts a bit.
We're still a needy bunch; hugs and encouragement welcomed.

Lament

Yesterday...we all were looking for love, some in red envelopes, others in the ash.
I was busy spreading joy in my own corner of the world because living without my valentine is unbearable unless I choose to reach beyond the pain and love others.
While weaving valentine deliveries amidst the mundane, I was unaware that students and educators huddled in closets, texting their families frantic heart cries. Some their last.
Like many, I ended the day in sorrow. Once again, a senseless shooting shattered our peace.
This morning, questions lay unanswered.

Why God? Why does this have to happen over and over, especially to our children?

I want to huddle myself, hide from another tragedy.

How many can one personalize?

The usual indictments and solutions cover the airwaves this morning, yet, again, they fall short.

Where do I run when I can't find the answers?

Where do I run when the talking heads leave me weary?

I lift my eyes up to the hills, to my Maker.  Not for answers or solutions, but for help. Help to continue to feel the pain of others, help to continue to spread joy amidst the ashes. 

Chris Martin echoes: Still I always look up to the sky; pray before the dawn. 

I sit in the ashes of sorrow and look up!  To the only One who can heal the brokenness, who can keep us from evil. 

I enter this Lenten season looking up, praying before the dawn and into the night—laying bare my life to the One who keeps it. I pour out my sorrow for being part of the broken. Today, I don't seek answers; I seek the Answer.