My nose is itching - like crazy. Another reminder that it's not been a normal week. Is it an allergic reaction to our cat? Or the three pieces of gluten-filled pizza I ate last night? Or the instant coffee I drank every morning this week? I don't know. But it's not normal so I'll refuse to sleep until at least a fresh brew is available for the Sabbath.
While several unexpected events contributed to this week's version of oddness, living through another November 3rd provided an undercurrent of emotion that effected everything else.
The date has meaning for several reasons. A middle school comrade, Stacy, celebrates her birthday on the poignant date. A high school friend, Bobby, honors his baby sister on the same date; a sister who died years ago, but would have turned 44 this year. Another dear friend, Reva, grieves the day she gave birth to her first born son who would have turned 38 this Nov. 3rd, had sinus cancer not taken his life several years ago.
I watched the parade of acknowledgments fill my Facebook news feed but couldn't write my own because I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do anymore.
Regardless, I'll post it here. 19 years ago, on November 3, 1996, my first husband left this earth, and my life took a drastic turn.
The journey has been amazing in many ways.
But it's also been really hard.
Through it all, when the reality of loss has nipped at my heels, the comfort from Heaven has astounded me. The odd tangle of emotion has lead to breathtaking views from the depths - a direct result of the internal fissure that almost split my heart in two.
But it didn't.
For when divine beauty and earthly loss intimately entwine, the Creator whispers love in a ways that only the truly broken know.
Ironically, I read about a young woman this week, Essena O'neill, who gave up her massive social media gig and started a web site encouraging others to be real, to be vulnerable, to be the person behind their image. As I perused her new site, I noticed she was born on November 3rd, 1996, the exact day my husband died.
In the nineteen years since his death, an entire generation of young people have grown up with technology, the likes of which we never imagined. Jason died before cell phones and email became the norm. He even drew pictures for a living without owning a Mac computer.
Fast forward almost two decades, and today we're caught between the reality of our lives and the online images we uphold. The chasm between what's real and imagined has grown deep and wide.
So while I truly value connecting with others online, when capturing the perfect photo and gaining the most "likes" ranks high on our daily to-do-list, we descend into a selfie-land that harms more than it helps.
I'm guilty. Are you?
When I think back to 19 years ago, I remember simplicity, quiet, actual phone calls, and face to face relationships.
No texting. No FB status' to consider. And no phone alerts to waken me in the middle of the night. Just crying toddlers.
But don't get me wrong. As a writer and story teller, social media matters. I will continue to use FB and indulge in the cheap therapy called, "blogging".
But I'm also going to keep fighting to maintain a healthy perspective.
Because no matter how many of you read this - or not, I matter. Even though I'm home alone on a quiet Saturday, feeling a little upside down from the hard things in life, I matter.
You matter.
Jesus died because we matter.
Do you get that today?
I lost my footing yesterday. So I wrote to remember today.
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