I was sitting (staring blankly) after an ordeal sending my daughter to the hospital this past week, with the possibility of inpatient treatment for her uncontrolled mental illness. I was drained and slightly catatonic trying to readjust to life in the warmth of my comfortable home. I spent 24 hours seeing the world under fluorescent lights and walking through sterile halls – Sleeping under the survey of watchful cameras and strangers I will never see again. Hopefully. The luster of my hardwood floors repeatedly caught my eye as the tree outside our window cast furtive and fleeting shadows of the leaves playing in the wind. The shadow moving against the light continued to grab my lost attention and drew me to look up toward the sharp light cascading in.
Shadows move in traveling light
Undetected at their leisure
They cast a stagnant pose
But as the shadows shift
in the halted noonday sun
The eyes tease tricks
While the wind plays fast
An unheard tune
for the phantom leaves to dance
their contrasting ruckus
crisscrosses my floor
Returning my gaze to the Light
Mental illness casts a shadow over our family’s everyday life. As it shifts in its unpredictability, I find that the uncertain way it teases and wobbles our equilibrium continually brings me back into a place where I look and strain toward the one place that I can find peace, in Christ alone. And as I outwardly sit in silence, my heart and mind are screaming out to Him. I remembered in my waking moments earlier that morning, before I opened my eyes, I was crying out from the deepest parts of me, “Please. Please make a way.” But these things you won’t see as I sit on the couch, watching the shadows play on my floor. And you won’t see it when I smile at you and hug you “hello.” These are the shadows inside, but I hope somehow, light still shines out of me next time I see you. Today, I laughed out loud willy nilly, so its glimmer must still be there.
After the ordeal ended, and we checked out of the hospital, we made a new plan to try to help her heal. And try to help us heal. It doesn’t include a hospital, but intensive therapies and medicine changes in my home. With an entire support team intruding upon the eco-system of my house. If it wasn’t before, it’s about to get REAL up in here. More shadows lay ahead, but in that, I keep close to the Light. Straining harder so I don’t miss the mark. I need the light when I am standing in shadows. And shadow is what helps us bring light to a piece of art. This heartache? It must be a work of art. But it doesn’t feel very beautiful from this side of it.
Response to daily prompt Shadow