The weather finally turned, the snow finally fell, the ice came after a short thaw and now the sun is out, the roads have cleared and I walked past a farm auction out in the country and wondered if anyone had bid on those pickup trucks. I wonder if they were auctioning off the house too.
I went the long way ‘round to drop off a Christmas card for a friend and then a trip to the mailbox to drop one off headed to Texas, then back south, in the later afternoon sun now that late afternoon clocks in at 3:30pm. I was listening to “Chill Meditation” playlist on my phone and it turns out that thing they all said about the power of the playlist years ago that I thought was crap actually was true. They were right. The power of the playlist is thing we’re all clammering for.
Before the long way ‘round walk, there I was feeling this pent up anxiety that today I think I’ll call the nail in my heart. Earlier I had sat on the bed, closed the door, closed my eyes, played the “Chill Meditation” playlist and asked the anxiety where it lived and if it had any information for me. The tears fell and fell and fell and it was a nail. A nail I never had seen before but felt a million times lodged directly in my heart and it glows red every now and again and burns burns burns like hot steel and I feel it and today I just let it happen and asked it, again, if it had anything to tell me.
It said it was a nail lodged squarely in my heart. It said it had been there for as long as it can remember and that it’s job is to stay there, and plug up some nail-shaped hole and even then the hole still has more power than the nail does because sometimes that nail burns glows red red red and burns burns burns and I can’t breathe breathe breathe.
The tears fell fell fell and I asked for help help help and I kept my eyes closed closed closed and prayed to the God who knows knows knows about nails and piercing. He knows about nails and he knows about bleeding and he knows about hidden things, thorns and crosses and needing a minute alone in a garden or desert and the heart is a beater and the heart is a go-getter.
And there I was long-stepping over puddle and ice patch giving the wave to the cars and the trucks that drove past leaving the auction with trailers in the peach of the late day and there I was on my own crying letting the “chill Meditation” play in my earbuds.
And trauma is a stupid leach of a companion drugging me in a fog of my past no matter where I’m at and the thing I hate most is how help is the answer and it’s the last fudging thing I want to admit as the wife of a pastor. NO talking, no telling, no confession, no weakness, just smiling, and doing and praying to God I can beat this. And praying to God to stay quiet and working and working and working and smiling and someday the nail glowing and burning will finally let go, let going, let go, let go, let go of the hurting.