June 1st, 2023

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣…

I’ve forgotten to take my medicine for several days.

Scott would have gotten aggravated with me. He’d say “I don’t understand; it’s right beside your toothbrush. How do you forget all the time?” And I’d say “I was brushing my teeth and I was thinking about taking it after…but then I got distracted.” Story of my life…. I couldn’t forget for long. If he was home, he’d check my pill box with the days on it and remind me. When he was away from home, he’d call or text me from wherever he was most days.

He only got irritated by it because he wanted me healthy, he wanted me safe, he wanted me here. That’s what I wanted for him, too. And he was excellent at taking his meds on time, every single day. What an odd, diametrically opposed outcome we’ve had. Such a paradox.

His death was the very definition of a paradox to the way he lived. But that’s a story for another day.

Distracted, however, is a 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 state of mind these days. I can be trying to have a conversation with someone and then, flat out, in the middle of a sentence, it’s just gone. No clue what I was saying or going to say. This is even worse than usual for me, the queen of attention deficit disorder. It’s not a problem of inattention; it’s a constant pull by the weight of loss, the images I can’t remove from my head, the emptiness inside of me and next to me. Constant distraction.

But he was so good at purposely distracting me. From my failures and flaws, from my fears and insecurities, from doubting myself, from my past. Sometimes it was with silliness, making me laugh. Sometimes it was with exhortation, reminding me who I am, what my gifts are and from whence they came. Sometimes it was was with physical touch when words just didn’t suffice, a big, strong hug where I felt wrapped up in love, protection, safety. And sometimes it was just with “Remember? We’ve got this. Together.”

All of these, any of them, are types of distraction I desperately long for now. Minute to minute, I wish there was a distraction strong enough to hold my attention for more than mere seconds in between mental propulsive explosions of reality.

So, when I am alone and without external distractions to pull me from the strangling hands of grief, I know where my help comes from. I lift my eyes unto the hills. He’s God of the hills and valleys. I reach for worship songs. I reach into the parts of my mind that seem buried the deepest right now to find Bible verses that bring strength, courage. Many times, I only have snippets of them. Couldn’t tell you book, chapter, or verse. But the parts of worship songs or scripture that reside in those recesses are invaluable to me right now, every day.

If your life is going well right now, you have all you’ve dreamed of, don’t take that for granted and stop reading your Bible or going to church or listening to praise and worship music. Because your mind is so happy and carefree that you don’t think you need it right then, a pick-me-up.

A time may come when your brain is completely distracted, when you can’t read two consecutive sentences and understand their meaning to save your life, when there isn’t anyone else around to help distract you from your asphyxiating emotions. That is when you will need the Word that buried itself inside you. That’s when you need it to come, unbidden only because you’re too distracted to think of anything that will help. That’s when you’ll need it to pick you up and carry you to the next moment when your legs will hold you up again. The day of his funeral reminded me sharply of this.

Sitting in the foxhole, stillness in the air as you enjoy the quiet from the lack of ear-piercing gunfire, is the time to load your weapon, not when you’re under attack.