Return from What? Where?

It has been about 5 months since I have written. A few loyal readers have gently nudged me to start writing again -- so affirming! Thank you. It has been a long and weird five months. I probably won't go into much detail ...  Though, if you read my blog, you know I'll probably bare a lot more soul than you expect and you'll love me anyway, surprised that anyone could be so stupid as to tell such truths! Hmm.

I don't want to write. I don't want to do much of anything. I am seriously in a slump. I do cook -- and I cook good stuff! I may be lazy and unmotivated, but tasty food is very important. As winter approaches, I'm back to conjuring-up my miscellaneous soups and stews -- sauces and grains -- and have a few quarts of deliciousness in the freezer, just waiting for thawing day. Tonight ... probably a flash sauté of broccoli, zucchini and kale -- incomplete without the onion and garlic. To quote a good friend (and a slow and dirty cook, rather than a quick and dirty cook) "The chopping is therapeutic." Now I'm hungry.

"Return from Exile" ... a sequel to "Reluctantly Uncleaving," I guess.   (http://reluctantlyuncleaving.blogspot.com/2012/09/its-all-so-new.html)  Why the title? I've been contemplating a continuation for a while. My first idea for a name was "Returning from Sabbath" or "Return from Sabbatical." But when I really considered the meaning of Sabbath and Sabbatical, it just wasn't right. Taking a sabbatical or recognizing a Sabbath is VOLUNTARY. What I have been experiencing was definitely not my choice! In contemplating these ideas with the slow and dirty cook, the word "exile" was catapulted into my consciousness by that pesky Holy Spirit. Exile ...

ex·ile  /ˈɛgzaɪl, ˈɛksaɪl/ Show Spelled [eg-zahyl, ek-sahyl] noun   1. expulsion from one's native land by authoritative decree; 2. the fact or state of such expulsion: to live in exile; 3. a person banished from his or her native land; 4. prolonged separation from one's country or home, as by force of circumstance.

 

So ... if one's "native land" (home) happens to be their marriage, then the death of my husband basically expelled me.  And prolonged is forever, right?  Ugh.

 

As I struggle with this phase of my "grief journey," <gag> I do try to snap out of it from time to time.  I'm scoffing at myself as I write this.  Physically making that quasi-snorting sound and rolling my eyes.  All my attempts have been so stinking futile.  I'll tell you about one of them. 

 

"Bewildered but Not Lost" was the name of a keynote address at an event called "Seminary for a Day," held at Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond a couple weekends ago.  (I think it's fair to say that another sweet friend felt quite smug that I attended in that she's been "telling" me to go to seminary for a long time now.)  I didn't "go" to seminary, but did enjoy the day.  Anyway, "Bewildered but Not Lost" was a presentation regarding the greater church, but I identified with it personally on some levels.  I know I'm not lost.  Too many people are watching over me/watching out for me -- loving me, praying for me, spending time with me ... but bewildered is a really great word.  I wish I could remember to use it more frequently.  It's such a simple, straightforward, basic word!

 

be·wil·dered  /bɪˈwɪldərd/ Show Spelled [bih-wil-derd] adjective  completely puzzled or confused; perplexed.

 

This is how I feel about many people and many situations in my life.  Completely puzzled, confused -- perplexed.  How did I land here?  Almost 50 and alone.  In a house that badly needs to be painted.  Sad.  Unmotivated.  Yet loved and blessed.  And seemingly continuously shaking my head at the words, choices and actions of so many people.  Are they, too, bewildered?  or are they truly lost!?  I mean, seriously ... who would chose to be mean or bitter or isolated when they could be loved, be kind and be in someone else's midst?

 

Anyway, I digress a little, but it was worth it.  Exile.

 

The keynote speaker likened today's Christians to Jewish exiles of the Old Testament, as interpreted by Walter Brueggemann (American Protestant Old Testament scholar and theologian) -- "The exiled Jews of the OT were of course geographically displaced. More than that, however, the exiles experienced a loss of the structured, reliable world which gave them meaning and coherence, and they found themselves in a context where their most treasured and trusted symbols of faith were mocked, trivialized, or dismissed. Exile is not primarily geographical, but it is social, moral and cultural." 

 

This statement took me aback.  It slapped me in the face in yet another one of those unexpected affirmations -- this time of the choice of "exile" as basis for this continuation of my blog.  Though I have not [yet] been thrust into a Bailey "Diaspora," I do feel displaced:  emotionally, spiritually, mentally -- and, yeh, somewhat physically.  Very physically, if you please.  I lost the structure of my reliable world -- the world of being part of a marriage -- of a household -- which certainly gave my life great meaning and coherence.  Gone.  Poof.  And, actually, my children have been sort of "scattered!"  I wouldn't go as far as to say that my most treasured and trusted symbols of faith have been mocked, trivialized or dismissed ... but ... I have been displaced socially and culturally (the moral part would be defined by my own choices, I think). 

 

So just how does one RETURN from such a place?  Good question.  Do you have any suggestions?  I mean, I've dabbled in this and that.  I make myself get up, get dressed, go out, be amongst people even when I don't have to.  I do my dishes.  I stay current with my social media and try to be pertinent and sometimes even a little funny.  I definitely stay in tune with my kids -- I have mailed cookies and Halloween goodies to the college, as I often do.  I see friends.  I drove 150 miles all by myself to attend the Seminary for a Day, for Pete's sake!  I have even gone out on a few dates (ugh).  I have recently endured the excruciating process of weeding through contractors and estimates to have my house painted and the requisite landscaping work accomplished.  And I'm sitting here writing this entry.  But every single voice in my head is telling me to quit and go to bed.  This is a difficult, arduous return.  It  feels like it is only getting more and more challenging!  Is that a third year of the bereavement thing?  It should be getting better, right?  I've entered my fourth year.  But, goodness, would making such an assumption be "mocking, trivializing or dismissing" my exile?  I wonder ...

 

I read a book entitled, "Get Out of that Pit -- Straight Talk about God's Deliverance," by Beth Moore, an American evangelist, author, and Bible teacher.  Boy did I relate to her "pit."  I read this book YEARS AGO.  Way back when we were fighting brain cancer and David was travelling extensively -- I was in my pretty pit.  But I climbed out and was doing okay for a long time.

And then I was exiled again.

I have truly found a home here, in my pit -- all comfy and cozy with a soft sofa (or bed), a nice TV and DVD player (Roku) -- slippers, comfort food, phone (with texting and facebook), gentle lighting and the heavy breathing of my devoted dog.  I have moved back in.  I am solidly back in exile, but this time I voluntarily descended that ladder.  I thought I had climbed out -- little by little these last couple years.  (Remember, if you will, the spread wings and taking steps off into whatever of one of my last entries in "Reluctantly Uncleaving.")  But I guess I never really made it all the way out with my hair blowing in the winds of recovery.  I thought I had found liberation sometime over the last couple years, but I was wrong -- or fooled -- or delayed.  One step up, two steps back ... down the ladder into my comfy, cozy pit that I have decked-out with pretty curtains and soft pillows.  I'm a little embarrassed.  And I know ...

I have to do it all over again:  Climb on back out ... rung by rung.  I have another freaking journey to make.  To return from exile, whether it be by force or voluntarily.

 

So, will you join me on this new leg of my journey?  It might get tiresome!  I know it is for me!  Thank you, Beloved, for walking beside me.  I really need some good company!