Unraveling Slowly, Part 1

I was standing in the middle of a Christmas gift exchange at work yesterday. A coworker opened the present I had chosen for her and her face lit up. It was exactly what she wanted. There was a kind of wonder on her expression that reminded me of the unguarded expressions of kids when they’re given something precious. I felt grateful that I could be part of that for her. For a moment, everything felt normal. People were laughing. Jennifer was teasing Tina about one of her gifts. It was the kind of moment that is supposed to be safe.

Then my watch buzzed with a message from my husband.

All four visas were rejected.

I read it once. Then again. I felt the shift in my body before my mind caught up. A tightening in the chest. A hollow opening in the stomach. The sharp instinct to get out of sight.

But I did not react out loud. I stayed steady. I kept my face neutral. I did not want to interrupt anyone else’s moment. I did not want to change the tone of the room. I did not want to become the reason someone else’s joy dimmed. So I held it.

When we were all finished, I turned and went upstairs to my office. I clocked out. I gathered my things like a person who was fine. I walked down the hallway and told Jennifer to have a good weekend.

My first instinct was to be alone.

That has always been my reflex. Do not make a scene. Do not let the weight show. Do not be the reason anyone else feels awkward, or responsible, or obligated. Handle it privately, quickly, cleanly.

On the way out, I stopped at Tina’s office to thank her again.

Tina is my boss, and she is walking her own valley with breast cancer. She has been in this battle for years. I wrote about her before because she is one of the most consistent Christ followers I have ever known, and watching her endure has changed me.

She was my Secret Santa and had given me a perfect gift, the Spiral Bible - Bible in a Year. The exact one I had wanted and even got me the accessories, like the highlighters, bible tabs, and fine line pens. To me, that kind of kindness carries weight when you are already tired.

I stepped into her doorway just to say thank you. I meant to keep it short. I meant to keep it polite. But my voice trembled. Something in my face must have shifted because she paused and looked at me and asked what was wrong.

And I broke.

The tears came too fast to control. I did not have time to arrange them into something tidy. I did not have time to make sure it looked respectable. I was embarrassed by how quickly I fell apart. I am not used to crying in front of people. I am not used to being comforted in real time.

Tina stood up and pulled me into her arms and prayed over me.

Not a passing prayer. Not a gentle, vague sentence. She prayed with the kind of clarity that only comes from someone who knows suffering personally. She prayed peace. She prayed direction. She prayed against despair. She prayed like she believed God was present right there in the hallway, not waiting for me to get home and pull myself together first.

I walked out of that building with my heart still shattered, but with my head a little higher. That prayer did not fix the circumstances. It steadied my spirit enough to take the next step.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

That verse is not poetic to me. It is functional. It is a handrail. It is something to grip when the rest of life keeps moving as if nothing just happened.

And life did keep moving.

I called my husband when I got in the car. He answered in the middle of conflict with our children. So instead of grief, I stepped into parenting. I spent the drive home trying to settle the kids, keep peace, and rein in my burst of anger, trying so hard to keep my voice calm while something inside me wanted to collapse. I wasn’t the most successful I could have been.

That night we had a gingerbread house and cookie decorating party with our small group from church. I sent Calen and Ben ahead with the goodies. When I got home, Catherine and I talked in depth about being careful with the people around us, and loving even when we are disappointed. We went to the party. We enjoyed ourselves. I laughed in the right places. I did what women do when they refuse to let pain spill into every room.

But when we got home, I could not sleep.

And sometime in the dark, with my phone in my hand and the house quiet, I realized this was not going to be a one day grief.

It was going to be a series of days.

-to be continued.