Sometimes I think a weekend in a monastery would be a good idea. A simple room. Bed, night stand, rag rug, a window with a muslin curtain, a small lamp, maybe a tiny vase of flowers, a pot of hot tea, soup and thick buttered toast, warm covers and silence. Perhaps monks chanting in the background.
In my dreams.
I wonder at God blessing me with 8 children. That's alot. Oh, and a husband with an energy level that way surpasses my own.
I'll think I have a chunk of time set aside with no worries, and then someone throws me a curve ball. Then I have to think, when my mind feels about to split in two.
This-coming week my husband has an appointment with the kidney surgeon. Seems he's in excellent shape to donate. At least that's the vibe we're getting. Folks at the hospital aren't always forthcoming, and sometimes you have to squeeze information out of them.
And, seriously, while I greatly admire my husbands altruism, it makes me cry. I'm scared.
Sometimes I want to live in a bubble.
He says he wants to 'get on with it.' I want to sit on it and allow my emotions time to settle. But this surgery haunts me. Getting it over with, while not in our power to adjust, might be healthier in the long run. But again, out of our hands.
With my immediate family, there's always something. Always. Either a legitimate worry, or a mother's low-level fretting. That's what we do. Moms.
I just want some space and time to adjust. To not feel forced to behave a particular way. I crave that emotion that comes when I'm engrossed in a task that takes me out of myself. That deep calm. It can't be made to happen, but creeps up on me.
May it come soon.
I want a day with NOTHING.
No questions. No animals begging to be fed. Nobody asking permission. No answers expected.
No chickens squawking as background noise, asking for scraps to be tossed. No parrot chirping the wolf whistle, wanting an oyster cracker as a reward. No hard decisions, and no easy ones either.
My head is out of balance.
Most introverts get me when I feel this way. I'd love to be able to receive information, and then move on, but it's not who I am. It's like someone said...'Here, let me strap this anvil onto your back. It'll be fine. Just carry this the rest of your life.'
And I go...'Okay. I can do that'. Then my eyes get big.
I'm reminded of the verse about the yoke. I know, I know. Roll it over. But there just always seems to be one more thing.
Today I'll seek that serenity. Hopefully it's near.