Mercy

Lord Have Mercy.

Thursday Afternoon Brenda pointed out the puddle by the washer again, but it wasn’t a leaking washer on the hose. Both hoses were dry. The water was coming from the machine itself.

Friday morning the repairman pointed out that the motor needed replacing, the there were some worn bushings, and the tub itself had worn a hole in its side. Brenda bought a used machine from him.

While she was waiting for him to arrive the hot water ran out while she was lathered up in the shower. Apparently it has been leaking for some time and it has rusted out. I suppose it wasn’t totally unexpected. We bought that water heater shortly after we moved into this house 17 years ago. So saturday we had a guy come out and replace the water heater.

He didn’t want to replace it. The old water heater was wired to to an old outlet that was over fifty years old, cloth insulation on the wire and a copper ground was clamped to a water line. Not up to code.

But I found an electrician willing to come out on a Saturday, and when I let the two servicemen speak to each other the water heater guy felt comfortable enough that we were going to get it wired properly, so he went ahead and installed the unit and saved us another service call.

The electrician showed up rather quickly. But the new wiring was larger than the old and couldn’t fit through the conduit. Good thing we were able to clear out the attic so he could run a line through there. So by Saturday night we were able to wash clothes and take a shower again.

It’s Sunday evening, and when I went to get Brenda and I a popsicle I found that everything in the freezer had thawed. The refrigerator has broken down. I messed with it a bit and now it appears to be running. We shall see if it it gets cold again.

Brenda thinks God is toying with us.

She tells me that she wants to run away, to be free and make the next twenty seven years different than the last twenty seven.

I don’t know what to tell her.

I think that I am a good man. She says I am. But I have my doubt. Natural I suppose. how can I be a good man if I can not have the love of my wife? how can I be a good man when nothing seems right and I wonder if in trying to save my marriage I am being selfish once again? How can I be a good man and feel so awful?

I still believe in God. I still believe that He is good and that he loves me and wants to help.

But Brenda has lost her faith.

I think I may lose her as well.

I told her that I believe in God, that the man I am today wants to follow that faith, to pray regularly, to go to church, to worship.

“What if I don’t want to go to church anymore?

“That is your choice.”

“Can you be happy with a wife who doesn’t believe in God?”

“I think you are having a crisis of faith. But no, you don’t have to believe the things I do. You are free to do what you want. Believe in God or don’t. Stay or go. I believe there is a place in your heart where you still love me. If you don’t want to let it grow, I can’t make you. As for your faith, Paul wrote about marriages between believers and nonbelievers. I can do what I need to do.”

Can a man be a good man who has not helped his wife enough that she could maintain her belief in a good God who loves, who cares, who tries to intervene on behalf of the selfish creatures he created?

Something in my heart tells me that there is a God, that He is good, that He loves me. Something tells me that a series of costly repairs is not a part of an evil joke played on our lives.

I simply haven’t the words to help her see the things I see.

Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.

Good Grief

I’m one of those annoying morning persons.

I bounce out of bed, and bustle about making coffee, showering, scraping the fuzz on my cheeks (under the impression that a little facial scraping makes this ol’ mug of mine bearable).

Brenda shuffles about, trying to get her blood flowing and shake the resentment of being conscious after the bliss of sleep. I sing silly little songs, and if I am being especially insufferable, do a little dance. (I have most absurd dance moves, keeps my family in groans.)

I don’t really do a lot of groaning myself. There have been times when I groan internally and once in a while, when the heaviness in my heart makes it hard to step as lightly as I am normally wont, the groan slips out between my lips.

The year after Willy died that the internal groan slipped out quite a bit.

We had wanted children for so long. It was a constant ache. Every few weeks Brenda’s mood would let me know that her disappointment was fresh once again. That hasn’t ended.

We were talking quietly in the yard last night (I have been turning the weeds and vegetables over for Winter) and it came up again.

“I started my period today.”

I gave up on my portion of that dream long ago.

“I’m sorry.”

That longing for children has been carried in human hearts since before the first couple wandered out of The Garden.

That desire has dogged for over 27 years ago.

There were false joys. Twice she became pregnant. Each time she ended in the hospital, threatened by a tubal pregnancy.

On August 30th, 1992, on Brenda’s birthday, our first child was born. Though he was a touch fussy, we were very, very, very happy.

For three months and fifteen days.

I’ve talked with kids who have wondered how grownups gain their authority. What secret did their parents learn that made the mysteries of the adult world clear? What happened that changed them from ordinary people into grownups?

I tell such kids, every time I do a study skills program, that there was indeed such a moment, that there is a secret to being an adult. That someone did give them a special grownup secret. that I will tell them because they will not understand until it happens to them.

The secret to becoming a grownup is... them.

I tell them that there was a moment when their parents had someone walk up to them and hand them a baby and the whole universe shifted. They looked down at that baby and something clicked inside their heads and hearts. Suddenly they were no longer brother, or sister. They were no longer friend or son or daughter or employee or employer or any of the other appellations and roles they had carried for so long. All of that was shoved aside and they became... a parent. Their central identity was now mother or father.

I tell kids that their parents looked down at them, at their newborn bodies which were both so light and so heavy and saw a future of 18 or 20 years stretching out ahead in which they would have to help this tiny person who could not even work its hands enough to place food in its mouth, to become fully independent, fully able to go out into the world and find work and love and their own families.

It was a frightening moment when the fabric of the universe slipped out from under them and in the moment of internal vertigo they grasped a new identity.

I felt that joy. I have also felt its opposite.

That was a horrible moment in my life, that instant when I saw the blue lips of my child, when I frantically blew into his mouth and thumped emphatically yet gently at his little chest; that moment of three and a half months after the joy.

I walked numbly through the next few days. I was lost in confusion without sleep, without eating, without even the most basic responses to the needs of my body or reactions to the world outside of my breaking heart.

It was during year I learned a grief.

I felt destroyed inside.

I felt my life was empty, that I would never heal. I felt there wasn’t any point in looking forward to a future that no longer held the child whose entry into my life had changed my self image from an ordinary man to a father. My grief felt like a twisting spiky thing throbbing in my chest, all sharp edges, an odd shaped thing I could no longer bear to carry.

They pain was so deep I felt I could do anything, absolutely anything, to make the pain stop.

That lasted about a year.

I learned a lot of valuable lessons that year. Some right away, some are still coming to me.

One lesson came on the three month anniversary of Willy’s death. You can read about that here.

In general the year was painfully numbing, and oddly, painfully expansive.

Out of that experience with death I began to see the suffering in the world around me. I felt surges of emotion when I read about those who starve and weaken and die. There was a visceral reaction to news of famine and war and horrible diseases which cause so much suffering.

At the same time I felt greater joy than I had before. I was lifted by sunrises and rainbows and the life flowing throughout the world. I became ever more thrilled in the act of worship and in seeing the good that flows from the Hand of God.

It’s as if the emotional horizons of my heart were expanded. I felt greater sorrow and greater joy after the death of my first child.

Grief is a normal human experience. It surprises the adult who thinks he has felt all there is to feel.

Even our Lord, member of the Triune God, experienced the shock of grief:

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.

"Where have you laid him?" he asked.

"Come and see, Lord," they replied.

Jesus wept.

Then the Jews said, "See how he loved him!"

But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?"
Jesus Raises Lazarus From the Dead

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb.
--John 11:33-38

Beautiful mystery. Divinity constrained by flesh. What a wonder that the Lord God can feel grief just like His mortal servants.

I think in grief there is an element of the loss of dreams, of expected experience in coming to the realization that we are entering the Desert of Loss.

I felt grief over the realization my children are mentally handicapped and they are incapable of learning the things I had hoped to teach them.

I felt grief over my wife’s first affair.

I feel grief over this current one.

I grieve that our marriage will never be quite what I thought it would be. I grieve over the hurts that are revealed by my wife’s confusion, anger, and desire for freedom. I grieve over the future I had imagined, for it has died.

A sad thing. A sad thing, for the vision was beautiful. But like all human visions it was a product of imagiination, perhaps of hope and love and longing as well, but primarily a product of imagination.

Perhaps the state I find myself in is a healthy thing. I have no clear idea of what my future will be. I know there will be a lot of change in it from thevision I had. But everything adapts. Everything changes.

“Change is growth, and growth is painful.” --Albert Einstein

If I can protect my heart as I change, allow it to grow rather than wither, then it will be OK.

It is OK to have vision. It is OK to try and to fail. It is OK to grieve.

To love is to take a chance at being hurt. I love my wife. I don’t know if she will be by my side in a year.

But I can love her anyway. Take the chance. Maybe the future will be better than I can imagine. Maybe I will be hurt.

Joy is its own reward.

Grief brings the blessing of growth.

I’ll keep running at that football, hoping it will be there when I kick with all my might. If it isn’t... well I guess I’ll just lay in the grass a little bit, catch my breath, and take joy in the quiet blue sky.

Miracles

Rocky flopped in the grass, pointing his legs in the air and wiggling back and forth, enjoying the good scratch while giving us that goofy grin of his.

"He always enjoys every bit of life," Brenda said.


He does. He runs and plays and rolls around and grins constantly. He acts more like a six month old dog than one of seven years.

-----------------

Yesterday was a big day. We went to check out a group home for Jeremiah.

Though it seemed clean, and he would be provided with a room with its own half bath and fed well, there really wasn't anything there for him. The living room held a tv set and a horseshoe shape arrangement of couches.

The people running it, a brother and sister, are from Ethiopia. Their accents a little thick. There was something unsettling about them I couldn't quite put my finger on.

They seemed confused about our questions about Jeremiah going outside. They spoke about the basketball court at the nearby church, but the idea of enjoying the outdoors didn't register to them. Their lawns were mowed, but the grass was brown. It takes very little effort to have a green lawn in Oregon. Water once a week in July and it will be fine.

I did my best to not pay too much attention to the woman. She was well endowed and her tight blouse barely contained her... assets. Brenda told me later that one of her nipples was partially exposed the whole time.

We took the long way home, driving through the country, and quickly agreed that it was not the place for Jeremiah. It was a house and not a home. The only other current resident was a female who seemed nearly catatonic. He would have no friends there.

As we were entering Newberg Brenda cleared her throat.

"I guess I will do my best at being a family again."

"Are you saying what I think you are saying?

"Yes," she said quietly.

We stopped at a pub. She had a few beers. I had a couple of drinks. We talked about the mess we are in. She regrets what she will have to tell this other man.

We talked about Jeremiah needing more training to be ready for the outside world. We spoke in terms of one to three years.

Things became a little lighter for a while.

We went home. Put our kids to bed.

We were lying in bed and she sighed...

"I want to enjoy life. I want to feel every bit of it. I want to run wild and free."

She grew quiet. I knew she was thinking about the other man.

Lying in the dark I knew she was crying.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

"No."

I waited a little while, slipped out and slept on the couch.

She has been moody today. I know she feels trapped, She has been saying things about what a good man I am. She said that this other guy told her I must be a good man because of the way I have been handling all of this.

-----------------

I spoke with my pastor the other day about my sense of evil spirits, that there has been something lurking about our home, and especially Jeremiah, for some time. I don't like to think about such things. I really avoid it. But there has been some strange things going on.

A woman came up to me after church and said that our pastor had spoken to her husband about my concerns and that they would be helping us in that area soon.

I don't like accepting the possibility of such realities, but there has been some strange things going on...

-----------------

After church Brenda and I were in the backyard. I'm working my way through the old weeds and plants, turning everything over for winter.

I gave her a hug, pressed my nose into her hair. She looked up at me.

"I'm sorry."

The words were heartfelt. The first real apology she has given me for the current mess.

-----------------

We took Isaac into Portland this afternoon for a maintenance session on his dreadlocks. He looks good.

When we returned there was blood streaks spread along some of the walls inside the house. Nothing on the dog. Nothing anywhere else. No little half dismembered critter in the yard. No injuries on the dog. No spots ofblood on the floors. Creepy.

-----------------

I think our marriage may find a way to heal. Brenda has spoken about telling this man she needs to break it off and that she will have to find another job. She is depressed.

I believe that the prayers of my friends, and of strangers as well, has begun a miracle in the heart of my wife.

There is a very long ways to go.

She still needs a miracle to clean her heart.

Our home may need a miracle as well.

Jeremiah needs a miracle.

My heart needs healing.

There is a lot of work to do.

I have trouble accepting the reality of evil. But it really is the flip side of accepting divine goodness.

I know that my Lord has begun a work of miracles in this home.

"...because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." --Philippians 1:6-7

He began miracles in my home. He will complete it.

Success

I guess I am a successful educator.

Of the various indicators, most of them seem to reflect that I do my job fairly well.

This is my tenth year in this school. The steady, consistent improvement of my craft makes me feel good about what I do for a living.

My students like me. They return years later saying, writing, and sending nice things indicating I have made a difference.

My superiors like me. They support the various projects I do, the programs I run, and seem to always be asking me to go to some conference, teach or demonstrate some concept or skill, or praise me for some silly little thing I managed to accomplish.

My colleagues seem to appreciate my input, and value the work I do.

I like the successes I see in my work. I love seeing the light bulbs metaphorically appearing over the heads of my charges. I find joy in creating good programs and curriculum.

My professional success is all the sweeter because there has been so many jobs and goals I have set that did not work out well at all.

I was a milkman, a cook, a graphic artist, a heavy equipment operator, film developer, magazine editor, construction estimator, a dishwasher, insulation installer, salesman, laborer, and hermit. I have raised animals for food, and I have survived on wild plants. Nothing I have ever done has been met with the success, honors, and personal enjoyment I find in being a middle school teacher.

I have not been so successful in other areas of my life. I have not been the perfect father, or the perfect son. I certainly have not been the perfect husband.

Yet I have loved deeply.

The risk in loving deeply is that one can be hurt deeply.

Lately I have found I have lost the love of the one person I most value. It is a commodity that cannot be bought nor sold. It means more to me than just about anything else, even life itself.

There was another time I was deeply hurt. Our first child died while in my care at three and a half months old. I cannot think about that terrible event with my breath becoming ragged, my heart racing a little. It is a bit like the way I feel now under these current circumstances.

In thinking about professional success and how much I value the love of my wife I am reminded of something in scripture.

But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. --Philippians 3:7-9

I am a fool. I have filled my mind and heart with the wisdom of men, and even of angels, yet have not seen clearly the life I have been living, the pain of my wife, a blindness springing from self-centeredness. I haven’t seen or applied the balms of healing I should have provided her.

With the recognition of the loss of the heart of my wife I hold all my successes in contempt. And taking it the next step along with the apostle, I see that even her love pales in the light of knowing Jesus.

I was given a blessing the other day. I was permitted to feel a sense of peace within the turmoil of my heart. Even days later when hints of anxiety creep about the edges of my life, that peace is still abiding deep in my heart.

Like most things I have seen coming from God it isn’t evidence I can demonstrate to others of His real presence, but it is enough to buoy my heart, to lift my eyes to horizons which lie beyond this sea of wind-whipped waves which lift me up and then sink me down.

...the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. --Genesis 1:2

Perhaps I cannot feel anything beneath my feet while I tread water... but that does not mean I am alone. I know I am not alone. I know there are many praying for me... I know there are many who care.

I also know that hovering above the waters is my Lord:

...But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?" --Matthew 14:30-31

Lately I have felt that hand, and though I am still waist deep and fearfully shoved by the currents in my life... the grip is strong.

Better

I’m feeling a bit better.

Don’t get me wrong, I still haven’t a clue if I will still be married in a year, or even six months. But I feel better.

I was getting very anxious about things. I was depressed, having trouble sleeping even with medication, and have lost 23 pounds in the last few weeks. I became especially anxious when I started thinking about this other guy enough to go to the trouble of figuring out who he is. I also became a little more lost when I accompanied Brenda into small vices (alcohol and tobacco) so we would have those moments to share and talk.

I’m not so troubled about the other guy right now. He is nobody. Well, he is someone, and I do wish him happiness, and salvation, and health, and blah, blah, blah. But I know that Brenda picked him out as a way to fantasize about a life of freedom from the burdens which have troubled her. He isn’t anyone which God chose for her. This does not mean that I do not believe she will go to him. She may. But him or someone like him, it doesn’t matter. He is a symptom of the wounds which have hurt my wife deeply. He is a placebo to medicate the internal hemorrhaging which has been going on in her since she was a child.

I’m not so troubled by the alcohol and the tobacco either. Though I was sharing those things with her for good reasons, they aren’t me. I can take them or leave them. I’m not going to make a habit of such things just to find time to be with her.

None of this is in my hands.

Whether she stays or whether she goes, that will be her choice.

I vowed that I would stay by her. I will.

I vowed I will love her all of my life. I will.

I made that vow not only to her, and family and friends. I vowed to God. I made a covenant to God that I would be what I could be, was made to be, to her and for her.

I haven’t always been successful at that. I have let her down many times.

But what I choose to do today, to do this moment, is what counts.

I choose to follow God and trust He will lead me to the place where I will be the man He created me to be.

I am reminded that there were three persons involved in making those vows. I made a vow. Brenda made a vow. And God was who we made that covenant in and to. What Brenda does is not simply a reflection on who I am as a husband. It is also within His hands to deal with it.

She is His child as well.

Her vow was made to Him as well.

He will not abandon her, even if she seeks to abandon Him.

I trust the Lord to watch over my wife, even if there comes a time when I cannot.

I will intentionally drop my curiosity about this other man. It does not matter who he is.

I will do my best to drop my concerns about what Brenda will do as well (yeah, I know: "Good luck with that.").

Instead, I will continue to love her, to cherish her, to do all the things that I swore I would do.

It has been dark of late. I am fixing my eyes on the Shepherd who holds the light for me in this darkness.

I see that not only is He holding a light for me...

He is holding me...

and her.

Lord Have Mercy

I seriously provide that caution. This is a little ugly.


Life is messy.

I have been trying to do the right thing, listen to the Shepherd’s voice, follow His lead.

This means being patient and loving and standing firm to what I know is right, even when, especially when, I want to behave differently.

Sometimes that isn’t as clear as I would have thought.

We had a bad night Thursday. Brenda even packed to leave.

But it passed.

Friday night was also a little rough. But it has been worse. She seemed moody, I gave her space.

Saturday we went on a couple of walks, and though the conversations were overall kind and understanding, there were deep currents hinting at the deep problems facing our relationship. In the afternoon Brenda came to me with two beers in her hands, offering me one.

I don't really drink. Over the past month or so I have tried to do some drinking, but I just don’t feel like getting drunk. I bought a bottle of merlot. I only drank half of it. A couple of weeks later I bought a six pack of beer. Only drank two. A couple weeks after that I bought a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. I did get a little tipsy after four of those, but I stopped when I started to feel it. The other day I bought a small bottle of whiskey. Had a couple of drinks, put it away. This evening I have had two more. I don't want another. Getting drunk isn’t my thing.

I was surprised to see she had two bottles since it would have been five years this January 1st since she had any alcohol. She has been going to AA all that time. She told me that Friday night she had drank two bottles of beer and took five of her mom’s codeine.

So we had the beers.

I was unsure if I was doing the right thing drinking with her, but she had already taken that step the day before. It was her choice, not mine. I went out with her into the backyard and had the beer. Before too long she had done in the rest of the six pack and wanted to get more. I complied.

She wanted to get drunk. I was enabling her. Telling her she shouldn't drink wasn’t a fight I wanted to pick.

She bought a pack of cigarettes. I went ahead and bought a small pack of cigars. I haven’t smoked in five years. I felt a little like I was joining her in a series of small vices.

We walked around the cemetery where our child is buried. We sat by his grave and talked.

There are a lot of things which tie her to this life with me. Some of it is red tape surrounding the whole mess in trying to get our children legalized. There were things overlooked in the adoption of our two mentally handicapped children from Haiti. It has resulted in Brenda being named their sponsor, them having to stay with us, and her not being able to earn too much or else they would not be able to get benefits from the government for their handicaps without risking a lawsuit from the government.

Did you catch that? She cannot earn too much, so she must work only part time, or jeapordize our children’s future. That makes it a moral choice if she moves out and gets a job that will support her.

In that talk beside Willy’s grave she made clear implicit statements that she would have to stay, not run away, though she desperately yearns to do so.

She told me that she wants to make love with abandon, no inhibitions. I told her I wanted that too.

We kissed, almost like we were truly in love. It was a little forced.

I told her the kiss almost made me feel that I was worth something after all. I shared that though I know I have been blessed with many things, without the love of the person I am in love with nothing seems to have value.

That night we tried to pretend that everything was as it should be.

I tucked the boys into bed, prayed over them. Crawled into bed beside my wife.

It became clear she felt that being amorous with me was to her felt almost a betrayal of her love for another.

I can’t express how that made me feel.

As we were becoming more amorous in bed, she suddenly tried to speed things up, get it over with. I told her I wanted to slow down. She burst into tears.

She did not want a long love making session.

She told me that if I wanted sex she could do that, but she did not want more.

“I do want sex,” I said, “but I really want more than that.”

“It’s all I can do for now.”

We had perfunctory sex. I got the relief I wanted but not the passion and love I need. she got nothing.

I apologized for trying to push her into something her heart was not ready to give.

“It’s OK. I I know you are only hoping. But I just want to become numb and maybe someday I can pretend I am happy with this life. We can have sex now and then, but most of the time you might be better off just using your hand.”

Shit.

She feels she is being unfaithful to someone else!

A part of me thinks that it would be easier to kick her out, let her go to the love she wants.

This is such a mess.

And here I am, drinking with her, even smoking cigarettes with her, trying to find a place where we can talk and find each other.

What is a little vice in the face of finding common ground so I can be with my wife? Why do I feel like I am not being true to who I am supposed to be when I am just trying to find a spacce in our lives that we can share?

For a little while this morning during worship I was able to find that sweet presence with my Lord. But overall I feel I am mired in a mess that just keeps getting thicker.

She is getting to a place where she is willing to set aside her feelings for another man so she can do the right thing for our kids, and maybe even for me. I am for the first time in all this mess feeling that we might be able to work it out after all.

She suggested Saturday that Isaac and I get a membership at the local gym. It would be good for him, and for me, and for us to bond a little. (The pshycologist’s evaluation came in last week and that poor boy has some serious problems. Another mess.) I told her I’m reluctant to add to our bills, especially if we lose her part of our income to the household. She said she would be willing to pay for it, even if she moved out.

I think somewhere deep inside her is still a spark of love for me.

Shit.

Heavenly Father. Lord Jesus. Please help me. Help me to do what is right. Help me to make good choices. Permit me to feel You near. GUIDE ME LORD! I am Yours. All I want is to do what is right. And though I feel hope, I still feel very confused. I am Your servant. Please do not leave me in darkness but guide me so I may guide my family. I love You Lord. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. --Amen.

A Light in the Woods

I'm home a little early from work. Brenda isn't here. I have no idea what to expect when she does get home.

Last night was tough.

And bizarre.

We were watching a television game show. The contestant's wife announced she was pregnant. Brenda went ballistic. She started swearing and screaming and and throwing things and soon was packing to leave. She has wanted to bear children so badly.

I told her she should wait to leave until morning, that then she could get what she wanted, do it right. She replied she would probably change her mind if she waited until morning.

"Then it makes no sense to do something rashly now that you know you will feel differently about when you cool down."

"I hate my life!!! I want out!!!"

She slowly, resentfully, unpacked, went to sleep on the couch.

She had told me earlier that if she met me today she would not fall in love with me, we are too different.

But...

At four in the morning she crawled into bed, snuggled close.

I have no clue what is going on.

I finished that experiment with the watercolor pens and am posting it here. I haven't gotten the hang of the materials yet. I am a little unsatisfied with the image on a technical level. But the spiritual aspect of the painting... the straggling sheep, hesistating to walk through the skirting, threatening darkness, the prayers which cover the entire image, that feels right. (If you have an idea about a title for it, let me know.)

I may not know what is going on, where the path leads, but I will trust Jesus. I will follow His light and trust that I will be OK. (Though it certainly does not feel that way.)

Click to enlarge