I stand in the midst of my life like one who stands in the middle of their house that has been blown apart by a tornado. My life is that house. Boards and glass strewn upon the ground, no walls, no roof, possessions scattered miles down the road. I’ve seen many people in these situations, standing in the rubble that was once their life, crying but swearing they will rebuild, they will not be defeated. They are so brave. They start their clean up. I’m standing in the midst of my rubble, however the wind will not stop blowing long enough to rebuild. It continues to blow even what remains farther away, and rain continues to pour. It never stops.
My life is like a house that has burned to the ground, nothing left but ash and smoke. I’m poking through the charred remains trying to find anything left to salvage. I still see many items of my life still there and full of life; my husband, my children, my family. One is missing. I’ve not lost it all. I’ve also seen people in these situations crying on the TV with their house smoldering in the background, but they are still there and for that they are thankful, and they will rebuild, they will go on. But my house continues to smolder with hot burning coals at my feet. I cannot rebuild because the fire will not go out.
My life is like a house that was knocked down and taken away by a flood from an overflowing river. It is gone. I’ve also seen many people in these situations on TV. House gone, still in the flood zone, still always a danger of flood, but they will rebuild right in the same place. Then people come to help them rebuild. They bring boards and nails and themselves willing to work to help them rebuild. But I am paralyzed and cannot begin the work. It’s as if I myself went with my house down the river. No one can help someone rebuild when the owner of that house cannot hold the hammer themselves.
These houses are my life.