Wednesday, November 04, 2009
I feel, sometimes, like I am trying to carry too many groceries in a bag that is a little tattered. There are holes. The top is frayed. Stuff pokes out.
And not pretty stuff, either. Not the baguettes and a bottle of wine. Not fruit and cheese.
Nope. What slips out of my ratty old bag is a half eaten bologna sandwich and a banana peel.
(What in God's name is she going on about, you ask.)
I am carrying too much sometimes. Too much at work. Too much in my family. Too much in my church, even. Just too much stuff. And most of it is high quality, good stuff. But what comes tumbling out of my bag when the seams begin to pull apart is the darkness. The isolation. The frustration, the exhaustion.
At least, that is what pours out when you ask me to put the bag down, empty the contents on the table and begin to try and sort through it all.
This morning, I almost couldn't fit it all back inside.