Filtering the Poison

I do hold some sway over what seeps into my sacred space, what brushes my days like thorns or balm. Call it guarding my peace, or sifting garbage from the gold… I filter fiercely, for opinions pierce despite my armor, comments claw at the chest like old wounds reopening. I shun the disapproving glare, the defense I no longer owe, though prayer I wrestles it out with God, airing the ache that replays in endless loops. What pierced my ears, what eyes beheld… poison vomited upon me, it lingers gross and heavy; sometimes the mercy is to skip it all, sever the toxic root. For as Scripture warns, bad company corrupts good character, and I guard my heart above all else.

Easter’s Shadowed Dawn

Profound realization settles in: our family, perhaps not fashioned nor fated for church as one. On the surface the morning flowed, yet a deep disturbance perturbed his spirit, awful and unseen, like a storm brewing beneath calm waters. His body cried pain; the service seated him in torment, neck and shoulders knotted. Genuine agony, or veil for the night’s poor choices? I cannot rule it out; he claims hurt, discomfort etched plainly across his face. Depression’s shadow blurs the line.

The night prior, after ten drinks or more drowned his sorrows, he bedded discouraged… heavy-bellied, stomach churning from fast food feasts and portions vast, workouts feeble echoes of his once-mighty form. No judgment stains my thoughts (mine falters too), but I honesty recall his capability, known in our shared years. Headache- draughts from the nights binge and digestion medication he swallowed. He lingers wakeful for relief, self-lashing his weight as disease’s curse, not choice’s chain… accountability ever his elusive ghost.

Turbulent Heart and Home

Service passed “fine,” yet still he seemed off, tugging at ill-fitted clothes; I held my tongue. The children seemed to notice his pale face, “Is Dad okay?”, I gave a reassured yes, though to our girl I whispered that his attire did pinch. Off to coffee post-church teetered in the air a mix, tolerable and tense. Back at home, family photo snapped, I stirred up some breakfast while he crashed couch-ward, frame shifting with his slump, eyes blank to the TV’s void amid tasks as if the ride home conversation was void.

Once alone, I asked, “Are you okay?”, bewildered, the reply given was stern, “Just hanging till dinner.” Gentle reminder of earlier conversation and week looming ahead; TV snapped off, flared. “I didn’t demand that,” I say but too late… his man-fit brewed. Space granted, he vanished to mow wet lawn, yanking mower wild, weeds sprayed loud as thunderous complaint, frustration flung like arrows, perhaps guilt’s hook for me. Undaunted, I cleaned, prepped for in-laws, kitchen hymns were my shield.

Shoulder ache, head rubbed, breakfast untouched, he abrupt, dramatic, face a-shake with misery. “What’s on this list?” grown in pain, he spat. Words deepened… no task-list from me, but his own list he should know; earlier aid-offer met with vacuum, laundry- he twisted selectively. He mutters to the bedroom…unheard, pain-fatigue-unwellness chorus (hangover’s hush, unadmitted). Immaturity stomped… drawers slammed, then actual fine; a mind-whirl for home’s souls, hardest when kids glimpse this current.

“Minute needed” He demands… detached I stood, honed art though children’s sting pierced. Shower-bound, hopeful reset…. daughter’s eyeroll: “he is pouting.” Yet pain’s plea urged hospital offer; shower-voice shifted, casual: “No, just hungry.” I am baffled, yet unsurprising, I waited and the man emerged. Food the fix, breakfast heated and finally eaten, “You’re right, stay busy” he states, (nay, never said). Slams ensued yet again… doors, drawers, stomps… hair wild, grievance’s cloak.

Counsel or couch-rest offered; stairs-waver: “Fine.” He claims. We get much of the same.

Church’s Hidden Thorn?

Eerie echo: past Sundays’ rituals birthed this beast… ugly, mean, frustrated. While skipped Sundays yielded sweetness, calm love… dare I say joy? Does church aggravate his spirit so, unraveling home? Faith in God-prayer holds firm, Sunday structure poisons or convicts? No coincidence, we’ve shunned a year, thrived on shared prayers, God-centered growth these months and growth is shared. Christ’s belief unquestioned; perhaps church’s air unwell, or drink’s residue clashed sacred seen without excess, rush, commands, holidays. Pain? Deeper aversion buried? Jesus, what would You do? Turn water to wine anew, or whisper peace amid the storm, loving as Ephesians bids husbands the church? Priorities clear: God first, spouse second, children next, nurture us lest empty nest echoes hollow.

Now couch-bound, journaling my process, weird unfairness unraveled… the day lingers with in-laws, his attitude a cloud. Son beside me, daughter hidden away in room, he vanished (mercy breaks away). Easter, quiet as a mouse, yet smile stitched and joy returns… what else? Yet in letting go, God-driven, like “Let Them” but heaven-led, I release it to Him who guards peace, for opinions don’t own me; only Jesus, then this union, these near-grown brilliants matter. One day they’ll nest anew, us two… nurture now. Poison filtered, hearts aired to God… tomorrow’s grace awaits.

SK-