Distraction

When I sit down to write this blog I usually just type my thoughts.  I try to capture what I have been thinking in the recent days and hours.  It is easy for me because I tend to have a lot on my mind.  I just transfer my thoughts and conversations to the computer.  But this month I have felt distracted, and my thoughts feel halted.  When I sit at the computer to type nothing comes.  I blame Pinterest.

I'll be honest I haven't felt much like thinking or feeling this month.  I think my heart and mind are exhausted, and I have moved into the easy complacency of distraction.  Instead of thinking, I mindlessly browse the internet.  Or when I'm feeling more productive I organize things.  I rearrange my cupboards, file papers, vacuum everything, refold clothes, and then I sleep.  Even now as I type I am also responding to emails and glancing at my phone.  I know that distraction pulls me away from the things that strengthen me, like praying and reading.  My time seems to be swallowed up in meaningless consumption, as if I'm on some sort of self-inflicted diet where you only eat lettuce.  Let's be honest, you can't be healthy when you only eat lettuce. 

So I find myself asking why.  Why would I distract myself when I know it drains my strength, and I desperately need to be strong?  Why would I spend time in the meaningless, when I am so buoyed up by the meaningful?  Shouldn't my intense heartache make me immune to distraction?

I seriously just looked at Facebook again...its almost a reflex. 

I think the problem for me is two fold.  First, I have way too much free time.  And my free time constantly reminds me that I am missing Jonah.  When he was with me I didn't know what free time was.  He was the purpose of my days, and the work of my heart.  My free time constantly reminds me of my sorrow, that something is missing in my life.  I miss the work of motherhood, but most of all I miss having my baby in my arms.  I ache for his smile and his laugh and his dimpled cheeks.  I see little boys that are his age and I know I can either cry or play words with friends...so I try to think of a four letter word that uses a Q and a Z.  Each day when I wake up I wish I was waking up to work, to make breakfast, to change diapers, to do something important.  Instead I wake up and immediately grab my phone, and let the distractions begin.  It makes me so sad if I let myself think about it.

Second, I am tired of crying.  It is hard to maintain the appropriate level of deep emotional angst.  It requires energy and effort.  It is physically draining.  I know that I have been shutting down the tear factory, little by little, by filling my mind with emotionless stuffing.  I am becoming "comfortably numb" just like Pink Floyd promised.

The problem is that I don't want to feel numb.  I want to miss Jonah and I want to cry sometimes.  I want my time to be meaningful.  I want to think deep thoughts and find peace and understanding, but I also want to be able to live a "normal" life.  Maybe the problem is that I don't know what a "normal" life is anymore. 

Again my struggle is about balance, and I know that sometimes I have to feel the instability of life before I pull myself back to the center.  I feel that instability now.  So I am trying to push away the distractions, and to carve out some peaceful quiet moments in my day.  I believe there is a time for mindless escape, but not all of the time.  I hope in the coming days and weeks I can embrace my heartache instead of ignoring it, and that I can avoid losing myself in distraction.  


I love this quote...I found it while mindlessly surfing the net:)

Not knowing how to feed the spirit, we try to muffle its demands in distraction...What matters is that one be for a time inwardly attentive. Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Silence

As Jordan and I walked away from the hospital the day Jonah died I remember being afraid.  I had just experienced my greatest fear and yet I was hesitant to go home.  I didn't know how it would feel to be in my own house, to be with Jordan, to be without Jonah.  I wondered if it would be painful to be surrounded by his things. I imagined a suffocating silence, a constant reminder that he was gone.  It was horrifying to separate our bodies from Jonah's and step into this new uncharted territory.  

As soon as we got home I gathered up Jonah's blankets and his favorite monkey. His smell became like a drug to me.  I crawled into bed, and stayed there for the rest of the afternoon.  Afternoon faded into  night.  All I could do was cry.  No. Wail.  My sobbing left no room for the silence I feared. 

For the next week we were surrounded by friends and family.  We talked, we cried, we listened, we remembered.  As soon as one person would leave, a new person arrived.  It was truly a blessing and made those first difficult days go by more quickly.  But eventually everyone returned to their own lives.  Back to work, to school, and to families.  I soon found myself surrounded by the silence of my own home, the experience that terrified me.  Yet when all my distraction disappeared I discovered the silence was so beautiful.

In the silence my mind wandered to memories and moments I had forgotten.  I pondered my purpose.  My thoughts found clarity.  I read.  My tears flowed.  In the silence I tried to ask God real questions and seek answers. 

Earlier in my life I think I would have filled the silence with music, television, or conversation.  I was one of those college students who would say "I study better with the T.V. on."  Definitely a lie I told myself.  Silence seemed like the poster child of a uninteresting life.  Things are different now.  I want to guard my silent moments and keep them for myself.  To me it is peace. 

Each morning I wander into Jonah's room and open the blinds.  I kneel in his room and ask God for strength.  I ask for opportunities to feel Jonah near me.  I ask for revelation.  I stay in there in the silence until I feel ready for the day.  I don't think I will receive these things, or feel his lightness upon me, if I busy myself in distraction and noise.

Of course I would trade these peaceful moments to hear Jonah's little voice, or his giggle. I would love to hear the repetitive music from his favorite videos.  I wish I was dancing with him in our living room right now instead of typing this.  I long to hear him say "Momma" one more time.  But I know those things will not be part of my life today. 

I know that some silence and stillness are required of me now.  Not all the time.  There is time for laughing and conversation and music and TV.  We are not living like monks, although I'm beginning to understand them.  I want to be ready for inspiration.  I want to make room for silence in my day.  I am not afraid of it anymore.

 Jonah's first word.