no words.

A week ago today, my dear mother passed away.

A Saturday morning. On 20 August 2011.

I knew it was coming, but at the same time I was blindsided. Not expecting it. Thinking it would be a long time coming still. And I wish I had been correct.

My mind is still reeling.

I spent most of each day since then crying uncontrollably, until Thursday morning.

I do not know what happened Thursday morning, but it was different.

Wednesday night, I went through what had become my usual ordeal of inconsolable crying. I cried out to Jesus, imploring him to take the pain away. I just can't take it anymore.

And He heard my cry. I haven't cried inconsolably since that night. Thursday morning felt different. Thursday felt different. Thursday night felt different. The same goes for Friday. And now, Saturday. A week later.

Yes, I will cry again. And again after that. And again still. I know this. But the past few days, I know the Lord has shown me just how real and close his mercy and care are. The ache is still there, but the sting is not.

How long will it take the ache to heal? That I do not know. I told my son Sunday night, August 20 next year will most likely still hurt a lot. But I suspect that five years from now it won't hurt as much. Ten years from now it may hurt even less. And twenty years from now, August 20 may not cause me much heartache at all.

Of course, I am speculating. Hoping. But I know through this and past experiences that the Lord is all about removing stings. Healing aches. Binding wounds, and restoring broken hearts. It's his business.

He is the one I can count on always. When I feel like my photography sucks, or when there are times like these when I don't even care whether it sucks or not--I just don't want to touch my camera ever again.

Because it feels like photography, with all of its virtues and promise, brings to remembrance everything. Even the painful things.

But Jesus doesn't remember the painful things. If he removes our sins as far as the east is from the west and remembers them no more, that is a good indication to me that he wants my heart to be refreshed with the wonderful memories.

He is the one I on whom I can always depend. When the music fades, or when there are times like these when I feel like it isn't healing or soothing, but it is only turning the knife.

Jesus never turns the knife. Jesus only heals. Only soothes. Always. If he gives me a song at a time when I have no desire to write ever again, that is a good indication to me that he wants my spirit to be comforted with his words.

He did give me a song. Monday night.

you see my tears

one by one

slowly they fall into space

you catch them

in your hand

you hear my cry

sorrow inside

every stream on my face

you watch as they dry

and then you say, "my love...

nothing is in vain

your tears are not wasted...

I hold them here

one by one

although darkness to you

I turn them into light

ashes surround

final it seems

and in the blink of an eye

I turn it into joy

and give it all to you...

nothing is in vain

your tears are not wasted..."

As much as I love remembering (it is a motto of mine), all I have wanted to do is forget.

The Lord is gently reassuring me that it is okay to remember.

the ianisms.

Years ago, back in 2006 (oh my gosh that was FIVE years ago!), I wrote a post listing some of the funny things my oldest son had said. Take a moment if you have the time and read it (it's short). He always said hilarious things, and still does. I call them Bobbyisms.

Well, now my five-year old has been saying more and more funny things himself. I can't call them Bobbyisms, because his name isn't Bobby (haha). I call them, Ianisms.

My little Ian is a fairly precocious five-year old. Not any more precocious than the next kid, but precocious enough. He can (very carefully) read full sentences, add small numbers on his hands, and draw Transformers. He loves watching movies and playing video games. And the great Ianisms of 2011 that have come forth from his mouth have been nothing short of priceless. A sample:

"It's starting to rain, so now the zombies are going to come out." (I have NO idea. Haha)

"'Heck no' rhymes with 'techno!'" (Informing his big brother.)

"I want a turntable and some Deadmau5 records. And some Thor toys." (Announcing to his brother what he wants for Christmas.)

And, the other day, I was getting on to him about finding his socks. We were getting ready to leave the house, and he still hadn't found them (he tends to take them off and leave them in random places). This is an unfortunate routine that we have every day. He told me, in a very exasperated tone, "I can't find my socks! I've looked everywhere!" To which I replied, "Well, you obviously haven't looked everywhere because there's one of them right there on the floor in front of you!"

He looked down, saw the lone sock, and said, "Oh." Then, picking it up, he slowly backed out of my room, let out a nervous laugh and said, "Awkward."

I laughed. Out. Loud.

As I said in my post five years ago, a merry heart does good like a medicine, and my son's an excellent doctor.

Make that medicine double dosage, from two heart specialists.

an unlikely anniversary.

Somehow, whenever I take a break from blogging (whether planned or otherwise), I always manage to make it back on the anniversary of the very day that I started this journal in the first place.

Most of the time, I do think of this blog as a personal diary. That is not to say that I do not appreciate all of you, my tens of readers, because I really do. I am grateful that there are people out there that want to read what I have to say and converse with me, through comments or emails. You guys are blessings.

But sometimes, I don't have much to say.

Or I do, but I have no idea how to say it.

So, I wait.

And that is how this blog is very much like a personal diary for me. When I was a little girl, I had a diary. There were periods of time when I was writing in it daily, recording every little thing. And there were other periods of time when weeks would go by before I would open my little diary again, for whatever reason.

And so, I faced July with almost no desire to ever blog again. My desire to even take Niki out of her bag and shoot waned as well. As a result, there are some weeks of my Project 52 that I missed.

I was entrenched (joyfully) in weeks of rehearsals for a show that I performed in at the beginning of this month. Weekly rehearsals they were. Two, sometimes three times per week. And I am surely glad that I was involved in that show, because singing gives me such joy and always takes my mind off of everything.

What did I have my mind on? I can't really say, because I don't really know. What I do know is, for the better part of the summer, from July on, I was dealing with depression.

I haven't felt depressed like this in years, since college. Depression was something that I had overcome and been completely free from all this time, so when it reared its ugly head I was quite frustrated. There were a few outside factors I guess... health problems with different members of our family, but that was nothing new. Work was dry the whole month of July for my husband, which was trying and annoying to say the least. But again, that wasn't something we hadn't dealt with before. I usually love summers because I love having a break from all of my teaching work (except for homeschooling which we do year-round), and last summer was so glorious I was looking forward to another season of lazy days, long nights, and lots of photographs. But this year was inexplicably different.

I'm still not one hundred percent, but I am feeling better than I was. I've sat and questioned, then questioned again, then again still, how much I truly love singing, if I should continue to use my camera, if I am raising my kids right, if we're ever going to "move on up" so to speak, if I'll ever write another song, if I am reaching any of the kids that I teach, and a few other things. Silly questions, yes, but ones that I was considering quite seriously. The answers seemed to weigh heavily on the negative side, and even through the praying and worshiping and throwing myself into my singing, I couldn't seem to shake this heavy feeling of disappointment.

I still can't explain why this feeling appeared or why it is only now beginning to disappear. I also know that I haven't communicated any of this all that effectively. Up until now, my thoughts have been even more random and jumbled. I'm not doing the best job of getting things off my chest I guess.

I haven't quit my Project 52. I still have a few weeks worth that I hadn't shared yet, and will slowly get those posted and get back on the grind. If nothing else, I know that there will be a new opportunity to finish a complete project 52 next year! Ha.