Saturday, December 08, 2007


Here is a picture of me (with my second head) on a typically snowy day in Indiana. It is a picture taken by me, of me, because the season of “aloneness” has officially begun - the season where if I got a nickel for every time I left the house I would actually owe money by spring, I would be indebted to whatever jerk came up with such a thoughtless scheme. It is a season of intensive reflection, where the trials become more mental than physical as I settle in to the slow and quiet rhythms of winter. Chores stretch on interminably (as they always do) but it will take discipline, now, and firm resolve to stay afloat when their continual presence threatens to drown me in frustration. Days drip instead of gush without the errands and “coat-free” outings that kept me running and on my toes just two months earlier. It is a season of self-discovery, where limits are often reached and then exceeded as I think I can’t go on, but then I do.

In January, after Christmas and so many, many weeks before the warmth of April, I will pass by a mirror and be surprised that a human image is staring back at me; so immersed will I become in the tasks at hand, binding me and my identity (as an individual) to the needs of my family. Without the luxury of conversation with neighbors at the bus stop or parents at the park to distract me, I will be forced to look more critically at the state of my soul. How many minor setbacks in the form of spills, tantrums, and broken stuff will I be able to handle before I cease to consider the words that leave my mouth? How will I respond to the claustrophobia pulling down upon my spirit like a leaded weight? Where will I find my significance when no one seems to be watching or appreciating my efforts? What will I do with the unique opportunities provided throughout these days of isolation to lose myself, to detach my hope and happiness from the assuaging of personal desires?

“I have to get out of here!” every inch of my body, my heart, my intellect will want to scream, but will I, really? Have to get out, I mean. Balance, the avoidance of extremes, is the only thing that will save me from going under. Too many sudden moves, stringent expectations, or generalized summarizations of my character (based solely on ever fluctuating emotions) will push me right up to the edge of despair. So I’ll take a bath, read a book that inspires me, serve cereal for dinner if I have to, inhale deeply and pray for the endurance to last a little bit longer. I won’t, shouldn’t, can’t think ahead – tomorrow has enough trouble, joy, and enlightenment of its own.


H and S said...

This post is a revelation to me. In Australia, I can hardly imagine being 'holed up' like this. Is this what's known as 'cabin fever', being snowed in with small children? Does skype help?

Michele said...

I say move to Alabama where you have 80 degree weather on a clamy December day. However you do have to pump yourself full of vitamins because tomorrow it may be 45 degrees. In a few minutes I will probably be playing basketball with my 11 year old and my 5 year old trying to distract me with whatever tantrum he can dig up.

I do understand your plight. Lord bless you,


Molly Sabourin said...

Selena and Michele,

Cabin Fever is a very good word for it! In Jan. Troy begins a new job requiring him to be gone 6am to 7pm and I am bracing myself for these longer absences. Although the weather here is not as dreamy as it seems to be in "65 degrees Alabama" (my all time favorite temperature, by the way)we do have some weather variations to look forward to. Yesterday, for instance, it was just cold with snow on the ground. But today, aha! there is freezing rain pouring down to mix things up a bit. I don't know why Indiana isn't more of tourist hot spot!

Blessings to you both my friends!