the end of the world and a gentle whisper

I know it's a bit abnormal for me to write something two days in a row. I don't know why I'm compelled to do it now, other than the fact that, in sharing it, you might pray more specifically for Conor and I.

As we sat up late talking last night, I listened to him describe what he feels the most unsure of right now. I was suprised - although now, looking back, I shouldn't have been - at his worry for me, for Sellers, and for my ability to get through this, as a wife, a mother, even just the girl he's known since she was 19. My heart ached. How can I carry that burden? I long so to be strong, to feel that sensation of rising and to know I will, in fact, get through this, that we will get through this and all will be well again. Soon. But as we approach September 18, I realize I am completely not up to the task. I've said this before. But as the days pass, I realize it - feel it physically, even - more than ever. We laughed at how we both, albeit unknowingly, have a strange, almost apocalyptic perception of Copeland's birth: it's like we both somewhat expect not to live through it. Literally. I saw a preview for a television show premiering on September 25 the other day and, without even realizing it, thought to myself, "Well, we'll miss that." It's like we are preparing to slowly begin a disintegration into - what? nothingness? - as soon as our sweet girl is gone. We know this isn't true, of course, but the feeling is there. And it seems strange to even consider that life - even stupid things like t.v. programs - will just keep on coming afterward. That our own hearts will keep beating. Looking at Sellers is perhaps the only evidence that God intends to make this so.

Listening to my husband talk about his worries for me, I turned to him and asked, simply, "Are you scared?" I admit I did so because I have never been so afraid in my entire life. I don't know what I wanted him to say, but when he turned and said, "No, I don't think I'm scared," I felt a mixture of immense relief and immediate concern. What does "not being scared" mean? Denial? Ignorance? Emotional repression? No. It just means we're made from different stuff - man and woman, husband and wife, Conor and Boothe. The burden I feel for him, to be the girl who used to laugh easily and run into his front door at Auburn, my greatest worry about a term paper, is there because I love him, because I want him to survive. And the burden he feels for me, to lead me through this incredible ragged landscape without scarring too terribly, is because he loves me. He wants me to survive. So just when we begin to see our differences, we realize our commonality is our love for each other - our deep desire to see the other live abundantly, to smile and giggle and know it will all, in fact, be okay. I know your prayers that we would be knit more fully together are being answered. Satan will not have this marriage.

I have believed that most of the challenges or "trials" I've walked through before (although, as I told someone via e-mail this morning, they all seem like breaths of air now) have been joint efforts between myself and the Lord. I bring what I can to the table and then He makes up for the rest. It's like that old adage, "God helps those who help themselves." I have liked that phrase, the sense of accomplishment I get from it, from relying, in some capacity on what I can actually do. But suddenly, it's total hollowness stares me straight in the face as I realize I have literally nothing - nothing - to bring to the table this time. I am completely, utterly unable to do this. A lot of Christians might say, "Yes, you can." No. I can't. Don't try to talk me into it. Conor and I are both incapable. And I don't mean that in a dainty, falsely humble kind of way. I can't do this. And yet, even as I hear myself speak those words aloud to him, as I hear the tears in our voices and the incredible sense of inadequacy choke out any strength I thought I had, I realize now is the time I will remember for the rest of my life, the time when the Lord showed Himself to me in a way I never, ever expected, never even asked for. If there were even a table to bring something to, I'd be lying underneath it right now. This will be God's doing. Pray that we, like Moses, will see Him act in a real, literal, even soul-shaking, way.