I allow myself a small pocket of sadness each anniversary and usually a pep talk about moving forward. I kind of linger, not wallow, in my blanket of memories and emerge on a brighter, hopeful side for the future. But, toss in a pandemic and twin storms eyeing the Gulf Coast...plus my inner war as an enneagram 6 personality laced with post-Harvey trauma and you have one mess of a girl. 

When paralysis and anxiety hit, I’ve learned to DIVE head first into the Scriptures. Stop everything and sit in them until peace and calm returns. It’s not an easy discipline with preparedness lists swarming around in my mind. 

But, poring over Scripture is always an adventure and often comes an Edison moment when Light shines on a passage. 

I wasn’t expecting this one:

Psalm 84:11

Hear it from the New Living Translation.

For the LORD God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The LORD will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right.

Life will always have a series of storms in the queue, but storms, meet my great God!

He is my Protector...Period! Battle for my mind, meet my Commander; He is my Grace!  He will pick me up when the lies press heavy and He will never withhold his goodness; I only need to offer my heart. He is the Son that calms the storm. 

        Yes, good gifts are lining up as well.

        

My dear friend, Becky, has collected for me the Houston Chronicle series about Hurricane Harvey heroes over the past weeks. Ironically, I'd not read many of the personal stories from those tragic hours of rising waters and dramatic rescues; I was living my own story, too overwhelmed and busy to open a newspaper or watch nightly news. 
The articles have deeply moved me, reminding me how important it is to tell our stories of pain, courage and joy.
The anniversary of Harvey collides with the fifth anniversary of Rob's cancer journey; it surprises me how this timing effects me. I'm slowly moving back home and as I unpack Rob's stuff, I grieve even more. I've been forced to clean out his upstairs closet of ignored belongings. You know, it's often easier to just shut the door, but eventually we must sort and let go.
One newspaper article details the rushing, chest-high water the night of many rescues. I must admit, I was a bit traumatized reading it, as I remembered my own encounter with the escaping reservoir.  However, nothing compares with the pain of living through this without my Rob and children. Like so many treasures lost in the flood, I can't retrieve precious moments or holidays forever lost with my grandchildren.  I've felt powerless, not being able to support my loved ones in their own personal hardships as well as achievements.  And the hardest hurdle remains: crossing, for the final time, the threshold of my finished home without the man who helped make it a home. 
As I share my personal thoughts, I'm reminded there are so many neighbors still waiting to even begin the process of rebuilding their homes and lives. Their personal storm stories continue and they need heroes who will continue to rescue them from the aftermath of Harvey. They will not have a hurricane-free day until the last box is unpacked. Consider unpacking some encouragement, delivering cookies, offering to carry off the empty boxes. My biggest cheerleader, Laura, handed me a Starbucks card during our VBS. Between house details and dozens of kids, I had no time to take care of myself. Her kind gesture fueled my frantic mornings. Dozens of tasks remain or have been ignored... energy sappers! A boat might not be needed now, but trucks, muscles and anything that beats this brutal heat are lifesavers. Most of us will not ask; you'll need to just show up!
Until the last home is finished...

8 months later...

Don't push that publish button! Good thing I reconsidered, because my last uncensored post would have brought a mighty rescue team to my doorstep. 
My desperation over relentless Harvey decisions has caught up with me once again, but this time I can't dismiss it. I'm staring at depression and the soul bullies are madly at work; what has unleashed them?
Two giants: comparison and loneliness.
My builders are amazing! Their craftsmanship is impeccable, they build great things. But they are also sensitive to a woman trying to restore on a fixed income. They've saved my countertops, mended tile, found fixtures that haven't robbed my bank account. They've worked miracles and I will move into a beautiful, updated home that's perfect for the neighborhood and most importantly, me. So why do I find myself comparing my rebuild to the ones I see on social media? The gorgeous chandeliers, staircases, high end appliances... It's simple; I've invited in the comparison monster. You might say that's just human nature, I say it's a debilitating danger.  I almost lost sight of the original goal: restoration. (and yet, sometimes something extraordinary and new and better springs forth in putting the broken back together.)
 Thankfully, I have a great plan of action to fight this nasty bully: gratitude, name each provision one by one. It always licks the enemies.
However, I'm clueless how to fight goliath loneliness.
The isolation of living in an efficiency for eight months has taken its toll. And if I might be terribly honest, I feel like I've also lost my family in the storm. But most painful, the silence of Rob's absence is deafening. If you've walked the loss of the one who completes you, you will understand that no activity or friend ever quenches the thirst for your lost partner. We attempt to fill the void, but it's temporary.  Of course, I understand that only God truly satisfies, but He also recognizes our need for human intimacy. The trauma of Harvey has increased my need for someone to help share the highs and lows of this uninvited chapter.  So have the endless decisions!
So those soul bullies keep chipping away. What's wrong with you? Why can't you hang on to the ones you most love? Why are you so weak and indecisive? Where's your faith?  As my father in law used to quip about thoughts, "Your bees are swarming." So they are, Dad, and sometimes they sting. 
I don't have my routine wrap up today.  No angle, no wit. I just know I must walk this journey of loneliness for which I have so little understanding. I hate to camp here long, but I'll stay and listen and learn so it can be used, just like the other hard things.