What you're about to read is absolutely subjective. It is emotional and anecdotal. I know that what we always need is to run to the Bible and seek out God's will for our lives. I believe that in it is everything we need for "life and godliness." It is my hope and intention to explore that "out loud" here, but first I want you to see the heart of one whose child has wandered off...
This post is going to have to suffice for the promised
continuation. It is not what I had intended
as part two, but it is what I can do right now.
Right now some therapy is needed, and writing is certainly that for
me. I do intend to write the original
part two some day, but it will really be part three, I guess.
Rod Serling’s residence in my house, of which I wrote last
time, is a continuing theme. Just when
I’m deciding that he’s gone, and I’m living life as normal, I bump into him as
I turn a corner. That is a description
of today, so I am going to just write about what living in The Twilight Zone is
like. At so many turns and times, I want
to escape, to run far, far away, and honestly, with some particularly
oppressive, suffocating events, I hope to just d-i-e. That said, I think it might be therapeutic to
write about how my buddy, Rod, has plagued me.
When your own child wanders off it’s a bit different than
when it’s someone else’s. It is (no
tongue in cheek here) your worst nightmare come true. It’s heavy, it’s desperate, it’s clarifying
and yet incredibly disorienting; it’s a perpetual and terrifying fog. Those you love seem to become your enemies,
your everyday tasks seem impossible to perform, chocolate and potato chips seem
the only acceptable foods, and children who have not wandered off are longed
for as comfort and yet seem as one of those impossible tasks. God is the only real comfort and is craved
and pursued, but in many moments seems elusive.
Many of the things you’ve always been confident about become confusing,
and the feeling of impotence in every familiar responsibility is
paralyzing. The utterance of the name of
The Child is jarring, and his image draws the most unstoppable flow of
tears. Oh, and so do many other things:
certain words, certain foods, certain people, certain songs, and certain
places. You just don’t ever know when
you’ll be awash with the bitterest tears.
People offer advice and comfort, which is kind of them, but
mostly it feels like salt in a wound.
Some people blame you for the debacle.
The discordant, reverberating echo of “You need to think about where you
went wrong” clangs in my head like some whacky cartoon character with his head
caught in a bell tower bell. Every
character flaw that I see displayed in the children still at home is a piercing
terror, a real, nearly paralyzing, slow motion terror. It should not be my family that is falling
apart. (It wasn’t going to be. I took sure steps to ensure that it would not
be. Drat that Rod Serling!)
Some people want to tell you the best way to deal with the
child who wandered off. Though their intentions are good, it feels more like
your life is being micromanaged. That’s
one of the hardest parts. While you’re
grieving and just want to escape, run far, far away, or you’re hoping to d-i-e,
some people want to impose heavy burdens all in the name of A Solution. They truly mean well, I’ve no doubt, but I
want them to stop solving and start acknowledging that Rod Serling’s visit is
real and Very Oppressive, and that I seriously think I’m drowning in sorrow.
I don’t think people understand the source of that thick,
whirling vortex of sorrow. I’m grieving
for a couple of obvious things (including what follows in the next paragraph),
but one very real reason is The Solution.
You see, I don’t think it is The Solution. “Oh no, they cry! She doesn’t have faith in
God’s way.” That’s not it at all. I don’t think “we”’ve done it God’s way. (About which part two was supposed to
be.) My heart aches with a pounding,
gigantic force of despair because I think The Solution is faulty, and I HAVE
NEVER SEEN IT WORK IN RETRIEVING A CHILD WHO WANDERS OFF. Do you see?
The implementation of The Solution IS Rod Serling’s knock at the door
and his hopelessly eerie and perpetual presence.
The sorrow of a family split apart is agonizing. From the loins come all, and to them you want
the all to cling in glorious harmony.
Sometimes it is not to be, but it is always what you want, what you
dream about. In fact, hope of it seems
imperatively vital for survival, and the possibility of dashed hopes is
incomprehensible – like in a desperate, “clap your hands over your ears, squeeze
your eyes shut, and belt out a loud, rebellious chorus of LA, LA, LA, LA” sort
of way.
Another torturous Rod Serling encounter is with Regret. Only when you, yourself, experience something
do you know how it feels, and once you do you cringe with an overwhelming
weight of guilt over having attempted to impose a burdensome Solution on another. Hugs are much better sometimes than reminders
of how we got here or imposed protocols for A Solution.
The bottom line? When
a child of your very own wanders off you live in one twisted, black hole
episode of The Twilight Zone, but it is really - for real - reality.
