Distance

Over the past two weeks, I have noticed a considerably sized chasm between my loved ones and myself. Everyone, really. I noticed it most this afternoon, whilst vacuuming the pool.

My mom sat at one of the tables, doing some paperwork, and the entire time she was sitting there, I just kept thinking to myself how little patience I have for her mere presence right now. Then I thought back to this morning's goings on, when I lent my stepdad an ear for the better part of five hours and listened to him drone on and on about how miserable he is. Then I thought back to the last conversation I had with my sister, when she told me about a whole slew of things I never knew about my mom.

And the more I thought about all of this stuff, the more frustrated I became. I just got more anxious, more testy, more angsty, more pissed off.

That's when it occurred to me: there is a battle raging and I am fighting this thing alone. And that's when I felt it--this great divide, this great chasm, this great distance that is separating me from my loved ones.

A couple weeks ago, I described my situation to my friend Joel and he said, "My God -- you are cut off from community and you are dying." The moment he said it, I realized it was true. And, at that point, I had only been away from my community, my people, for half of a week.

I'm not going to lie: there is a strange part of me that misses DeKalb. I take that back -- there is no part of me that misses DeKalb. It would be more apropos for me to say that I miss some of the people there.

When I lost my job in January and felt like I was at the end of my rope and even considering reverting back to my days of alcoholism, there were a handful of people that God had swoop into my life to help me pick up the pieces and carry on. He sent me some dear friends that I communed with on a daily basis; if I wasn't hanging out with one friend, I was with another. I spent afternoons with one person and evenings with another. I got used to constantly having someone there that cared about me and would call me, even if I hadn't called them in a couple days. I got used to having someone there would encourage me and laugh with me. That's become especially true with a dear, dear friend of mine who shall remain nameless -- I've gotten so used to hearing this person constantly reminding me of their love for me that, if a day goes by and I don't hear those words, "I love you," (I admit it), I feel a little empty inside. I feel a little hollow. I feel a little...

Cut off.

Now that I'm back in Yorkville, I feel like a stranger in a strange land. It's a shadow of something Jesus told his disciples: "Only in his hometown, among his relatives, and in his own house is a prophet without honor."

Granted, I do have a couple friends here: there's Little Bretty Poo, who lives down the street, and Jeff and Meggie, who live down the street in the other direction. I hardly ever see these people, though. It's nobody's fault and I'm not casting blame -- we're all busy people. Jeff and Meggie are married and should enjoy each other's company, Little Bretty Poo is home from college, just for the summer, and can't squeeze me into his itinerary without two weeks notice. Besides, he is now dating and should enjoy the company of his lady. Besides, I work every single day except for Monday. On the weekends, when everyone else is off work, I work two double shifts in a row (24 hours in two days!).

But, because of our commitments, I'm out of my element.

I was hoping my Love would be able to rescue me, even if it's just a simple phone call -- just so I would have some sort of contact with the outside world to make sure I wasn't actually totally alone. Our lines of communication, though, seem to have been cut.

I need to find a community here in Yorkville. I need to find a group of people that will remind me everyday that fighting the good fight of faith is worth it. I need that encouragement. I'm not the loner I thought I was.

At least I'm not anymore.