broken hearted

I decided that any blog worth it's salt has to have some sort of theme. Without a theme, I end up doing what I've done for the past 30 minutes: write five lines, back space three of them. Write several more lines, delete the entire thing. Look at facebook. Decide to start writing again. And so on and so forth. I'm probably going to opt for the easiest solution: the life of a newly married youth pastor. The two coincide more than you might interact.
It's broad enough that I get to talk about work, Dan, life and theology -- but also dictates some sort of packaging.

Lately, I've been constantly on the verge of tears. Happy tears, sad tears, hungry tears, frustrated tears, laughing tears, tired tears, go and sit on the front porch until you can collect yourself before your husband decides that you're crazy because you're crying over a thought in your head tears -- I pretty much have squeezed them all out. This is weird because I don't cry. not a crier, not a fan of the Hallmark moment where tears are appropriate so the recent waterworks are perplexing.

On my good days I prefer to think marshmallow thoughts about these tears being able to be released because I am finally in a relationship where I feel comfortable expression my full range of emotions. After I clean the puke off of my shoes, I content myself with this knowledge: the stress is catching up to me.

Because, really? Here's the deal. I work in crisis. The church I work at is in some fairly serious crisis. My job is potentially effected, my friends and coworkers jobs are potentially effected too. Which definately puts that environment significantly higher on the "general hysteria scale." I work with a population that is in crisis. I found out this morning that the latest break in (the 5th this year, I believe) didn't just target one of our partners, they also stole our drum set. I work with students, who dwell in drama and crisis. Being of the generations that I am, I know more about their crisis' than I (sometimes) care to, and that breaks my heart.

What hit me like a smack in the face tonight over dinner was the simple fact that whether I had this job or not, whether we stay here or go some place else...I'm doing this with Dan. And it's not that I thought that he came with the housing package, but a deeper realization set in over bbq turkey tacos -- I'm not in this crisis alone. I have someone who holds me when my broken hearted self is overcome by mixed expectations, higher self-standards than I can fill (yay setting myself up to fail!), the cat looks at me funny, I get bad news about a student's choices, or a 4 year old sings a song of welcome to her 4 month old sister at her baptism in church.

And he doesn't mind those wet marks that my tears leave on his shirt.