Shipwrecked

  

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I haven't been sleeping well.

The night before last, I was awake from 4 am to 6:30 am.  I tossed and turned and tried to sleep, and I finally got up and watched a black and white western with Roy Rogers and The Sons of the Pioneers.

Last night, I pleaded with my Heavenly Father, "Please, PLEASE let me sleep... I'm so tired."

And I did sleep -and I dreamed.

I was on a ship.  I was really somebody on that ship -not just a passenger.  I was in constant contact with the Captain.

Our ship sailed happily along with most of our jovial passengers congregating in the main dining area.  There was bright music, happy laughter...

And then, in the black of night, we were attacked -harshly and brutally attacked.  Wood from our ship was sent flying into the air, and the Captain was yelling at me.  

We weren't exactly armed to fight back, so we mostly just... took it.  

Before I knew it, I was in the air, taking in as much air as I could -the plunge was inevitable.  

I looked up just before going under... the sky was a mass of explosions and flying debris.  I didn't expect to come back up, but I did.  Much to my surprise, the ship was still floating.

It was injured.  It limped.

I found my way to the main dining area.  The Captain was there.  

So were a few forlorn passengers.

I looked at my Captain with a questioning look -what would we do now?

"Go on as usual," was all he said.

So I lit a few kerosene lanterns, and I began pouring beverages.  

No one spoke of the attack, the wreck, or the losses.  No one smiled.  Everyone just... was.  The cheery music that once graced the dining room had been replaced with a single violinist -it's tune melancholy.  I only stayed for a few minutes before leaving in search of the captain.

"I can't take this," I said to him, "Everyone wants to carry on like nothing has happened."

"It's their comfort," he replied, calmly, "The best thing we can do for them is to carry on like nothing has happened.  Their lives have been altered, and the least we can do is give them their dining room -the one place they can find some escape."

So I went back.

I smiled.

I could see the dining area now as a place of refuge -a sort of dilapidated haven.  It needed a lot of work because it had been blasted, but it was still standing.  The passengers clung to it.

"You're so brave," a woman said to me as she left the area, her hand on my protruding belly, "To go through all of this and still find the strength to bring a baby into all this..."

(from our family photo shoot a few days ago)

And I woke up.

I blinked up into the darkness, taking in the dream.  The captain I had worked so closely with was my husband.

That ship was us.

Our relationship has been battered, attacked, blow to bits... but it still floats.  It's sad and pathetic, and you can almost HEAR the whiny violin solo through the wreckage.

But we cling to our dilapidated haven -those parts of our lives that are as untouched by the porn addiction as they can be.  We carry as on usual, we smile, and we eat and drink.

We want our passengers to feel as untouched by the attack as they can -it isn't their burden to carry.

They're just kids.

The haven is their home.

We're working on rebuilding our poor ship -I'm working on beautifying the haven and hiring a few more musicians (because really -that violinist needs some serious help).  

We're doing our best to anchor in the harbor of The Lord and rebuild. 

It's a slow, painful process.  My husband is doing most of the work -I'm doing what I can on my end.

And I'm birthing kids.

I shudder to think what we would do if we didn't have The Harbor.

I couldn't trudge through a lifetime with a limping ship, injured passengers, and that bloody melancholy music.  

I'd rather throw myself to the sharks.