Ten Days

In ten days that status will no longer read "in custody."
Each day I go on. I get up, I work hard, I love my husband and I try to forget you.
And I'm so tired of crying over you. Mom says it's the outlet that God gave us.
I don't want to need an outlet. The coward in me wishes you would just disappear,
and then maybe we could all move on. We'd be a broken family but at least we could begin to pick up the pieces.

When I was four years old you introduced me to a big God,
a God who cared where I had put my sun glasses, a God who knew me, a God who loved me
Eight years later my big beautiful picture of my God got a little chip in it. Each day that's passed since then has been weathering my picture and there's no going back.
I understand that my faith should not ride on the love of an earthly father,
but I know that it does.

I just don't believe He's big enough.

"they honor me with their lips, but their hearts are from me."

So in 10 days you'll be back. Physically free and so, so broken.
And I still don't know what to do with you. I'm just so tired.