The Gift of Quiet Anger

I have simmered down a bit since the Celiac remission fiasco.  Here’s what I did not do:

Break all my dishes and scream until the neighbors called the police.

That’s really what I wanted to do, but let’s be honest:  I have little people underfoot so I would have been teaching them to do the same thing and then who’s going to have to clean up that mess?  Me, of course.  Instead, I blogged and talked on the phone to a couple of folks and used the crock pot for 24 hours straight, prayed and went to bed. 

As I have aged, I’ve found that sometimes not feeding the fire really does help it die.  Yes, I talked to D and answered some questions from family.  However, once I had written about the disappointment and then kept my self-control in-tact for a few more hours in front of the kiddies, I didn’t have a desire to really rage.  Without the time spent getting wound up, I had time to reflect and that was nice.  D and I chatted and made a plan, then another plan in case the first plan doesn’t work and we have to regroup after blood draws in December.  We prayed.  I read scripture.  I thanked God for all the good and ordered certified gluten-free brazil nuts (source of selenium).  I managed a fairly steady calm. 

 For a long time I have given myself permission to verbally vent, and I am a talker so I can make that a job.  And I’m not saying it’s always the wrong thing to do if it’s done the right way.  But lately I’ve found if I can step back and take time (when I say “can” I mean when I am forced to by circumstances beyond my control) I usually feel better if I don’t let my voice rise and my words jump forth untethered to my usual standards and rules, rules like not dropping the f-bomb or saying the same sentence twenty times, louder each time for emphasis.  For example:  We don’t eat gluten.  We DON’T eat gluten.  WE DON’T EAT gluten.  WE DON’T EAT GLUTEN!!!!!!

I’m also learning to sit still in the broken places.  There’s a strength in stillness, and I don’t have it.  Though I’m not a super busy, must-run-around person, being mentally calm in the in between is not my strong suit.  God keeps reminding me it’s never too late to learn.  I mean, what are we living in if not the in between, between this life and the next, between justice deferred to justice served, between broken and fallen to whole and complete?

I’m learning to wait for whatever comes, even if doesn’t go my way.  And it’s hard.

So far, I haven’t lost sight of everything in life and pursued this one issue obsessively.  I’ve checked out some research, made sure there was nothing I was missing, called some manufacturers.  But I haven’t ONLY done those things, and that’s big for me.  We’re not drowning in this.  Life is going on.

For the most part I would say I’m back to steady, except for one small thing:  the day I was on the phone with the nurse who was reading me the blood test results and giving me directions for what to do, I wrote all the instructions in my planner in a somewhat steady hand.  Now, when I look back at those planner pages to verify how much vitamin D or selenium I need to give Wren, I get teary eyed.  It’s involuntary.  I just can’t quite see those words without catching my breath. 

But it’s a small thing, and we all have our broken places.