Whispers, Another Year

7 years. 7 residences. The road of grief seems to be never ending. I am once again battling all the cursed whispers of the corner

Over and over and over. The sun keeps rising and the moon keeps setting. Or, is it the moon keeps rising and the sun keeps setting? Here I am…another day…another year. Seven. This number is usually thought of as a heavenly number. The perfect number. I don’t know if I systemically believe that.

7 years. 7 residences. The road of grief seems to be never ending. I am once again battling all the cursed whispers of the corner. I am not good enough. I am not where I should be. I have failed again. I should not have moved again. All those ugly whispers. Rising up, undulating through my subconscious. I hate those whispers more then anything.

Since moving back to Ohio, I have felt nothing but isolation and extreme loneliness. The culture here is fear of congregating. People are so bound by the fear of disease. I have spent three months trying to get settled into a church. NO ONE has bothered to speak to me. Sure I get a freindly “hello” from the doorway. But no genuine introductions. I tried the introduction classes and that was not helpful. A formulated and pattened program with a person trying to follow rules, led the group. Small groups have become non existant in the post-covid scared society of church. So i am very very burdened. I have to do something. Church politics won’t let me just go visit the sick. Hospitals won’t let me near them with Covid restrictions.

In seven years I have not acomplished much. Sure my kids are on their own. One wants nothing to do with me, as I am a burdent to them. One is amazing and doing their best to support me. One is glad to have moved me on to their sibling. They are good people. Good..acceptable…fighting their battles of life. Sure it is where they should be — but I can’t help but wonder at the cost. The cost of life in Christ, and an aboundant life. I suffer for them. Every breathe. Every prayer.

Whispers of 7 — I truly miss him. As time moves on, I can’t remember his voice. I know if I heard it I would know it..but I don’t in my everyday life.

As I write this i am listening to Spotify — and a song popped on — The song that was used when Carl’s casket was moved from the Church to the grave site.

Ain’t No Grave- https://youtu.be/V2FvYGTzDkM

I work hard to focus on the future. A future with hope. Eternity with Jesus is worth the pains of this world. That is what I fight for. It is not for the comfort of this world. Yes I have battles. Everyone does. My battles, I know God will answer them. I fight for heaven. If you have time listen to this next song.

Scars in Heaven – https://youtu.be/BCc7TCmKcwQ

Just take a moment — Do feel it? Do you see heaven? Those who love you? The One Who Love you and whispers to you?

Maybe 7 years of suffering is going to reap an eternity in Heaven with My Savior who holds all my scars on His hands. All my grief– All my saddness — All my pain — All my loneliness — All my heartbreak — HE CARRIES ME! EVERY STEP!

Author: thewidowwomanblog

I am a 53 year old widow who is watching her kids step out into life while holding tight to the Creator's hand.

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