There's a fine line between honesty and self-indulgent whining. Sometimes, I'm not sure which side of that line I'm on. But since I write to process rather than impress, I don't suppose you have to read this.
I think I have a form of emotional bulemia. seriously.
I've still been reading John Owen (because I'm the slowest reader in the world, apparently), and studying how the sinful nature captures your affections, mind, and will to accomplish its purposes. I think I need to stop reading though, because as it took me weeks to wade through these pages my sinful nature was using the very same tricks I was reading about to take over. You'd think I'd be a little smarter, since I was reading about it, but apparently not. So grief and shame built up over the course of those weeks until I was finally able to purge them a few days ago during a sweet time of confession.
Since then I've felt... well... empty would probably be the best way to describe it. Like I vomited out all my filth, and although I'm feeling cleansed by Christ, I'm not feeling filled by him, either. I keep recalling that example Jesus gave about the man who was cleansed of one demon, and when the demon returned, he brought seven others with him. I'm desperately not wanting to binge on sin again yet I find all the quiet in my head makes temptation all the more difficult to fight.
As the school year dies down I'm trying to acclimate myself to free time again. My moments outside work are so scripted throughout the school year that I get to May and have to teach myself how to live slowly, without an immediate agenda. Unfortunately at this same time of year I also approach the anniversary of Emmett's death. Last year I felt the anticipation of a difficult season looming on the horizon. This year I find myself feeling an immense relief to have survived the year relatively sane and unscarred mingled with a quiet simmering panic that won't seem to go away. I've been trying to pray through the origins of the panic and how best to deal with it, but it still baffles me.
I attended my first official hootenanny this past weekend with a friend at a local farm. I listened to the music and watched the bumble bees drill their holes as the sawdust drifted down through the fading light. And I felt a deep wave of grief, the likes of which I haven't felt in a long time. I'm not sure why, perhaps it's that I have time and space in my life to feel again. Perhaps it's another approaching anniversary. Perhaps I'm just nuts. Whatever the reason, I find myself unexpectedly caught up again, and I'm nervous about making it out intact.