When we moved to our house, I was looking at it through rose-colored glasses. I had to. It was old and needed so much work. But I could see that under the yellow paint and peeling plaster, it had good bones. We were offered a rent-to-own deal on it by the former owners, and at that point in our lives and finances, we knew that was our best chance to buy a place of our own. So we adopted it, warts and all. With a lot of paint and scrubbing, it became a home where we have lived, laughed, and loved for years now. I found so many wonderful things about this place--the big attic, the old cast iron radiators that keep it nice and toasty warm (and let me tell you, that means a lot when your normal body temperature is such that your hands and feet are always cold and often blue in the winter time!), the woodstove that my husband almost always keeps filled (one of his best gifts to me was letting me turn the heat up without worrying about how much it costs), my dishwasher (no more needs to be said on that!), the built in bookshelves to indulge my love of old books.
But the one thing that I could not get away from was the traffic. When our house was built, approximately 100 years ago, the road going past it was a lot narrower; and the traffic that went by at the time the house was built was mostly or completely horse-drawn. But as time passed, the road widened and the traffic picked up. It is the only 2 lane road that runs through this length of our valley. While there are a lot of back roads that run somewhat parallel to it, to use them takes more time and an intricate knowledge of the local area. So all the truckers and other through traffic--and a lot of local traffic too--drive past our house, very close to it.
I loved so many things about my home, but could not love the traffic. It is so loud sometimes. I love the sound of Harley Davidson motorcycles and diesel trucks. I’m not sure why, but I always have. But the “Rolling Thunder” on a summer Sunday afternoon began to grate instead of sounding beautiful. The trucks splashed water on my porch when it rained. I began to be dissatisfied. I missed the beauty of the woods behind the house because I was busy wishing that the traffic was not there. I would look into our beautiful westward view of a sunset over the hills and fields and wish that the cars were not driving through it.
My life has so many wonderful things in it...but I do have this thing that overshadows all the goodness sometimes. This depression, this sometimes overwhelming anxiety--the two go hand in hand and one blends into the other so that many times i cannot tell which comes first--no matter how hard I try to squash it, it comes sneaking up. It’s not always there. But then, out of the blue, it is back. It becomes harder to get out of bed in the mornings. The myriad of mama jobs that I have learned to juggle--not always with the greatest of ease, but somewhat gracefully--begin to look overwhelming and I am positive I CANNOT climb the mountain of a day that looms ahead of me.
This one thing, if I am not careful, can cast a blight over all of life. All i do. All i am. Can make me feel worthless, as if my worth depended on my performance of each task set before me.
Could there be a lesson in the traffic? In how I looked at this intrusion on my ability to enjoy other truly wonderful things about my home?
I began to listen to the traffic. I can tell you, most of the time, when an ambulance is going by, no matter where I am in the house. I know the sound of the chains. I once again love the sound of the rolling thunder of the Harleys. In the back of my mind, I’m often aware of whether the truck that just went by was run by gas or diesel. As I sit typing this, I begin to hear the music of an 18-wheeler in the distance and listen till he rumbles off into the night. Somehow, God has given me the gift of hearing music in the traffic. If we ever move from here, I may even miss it.
I am weary, some days, of fighting this battle of depression and anxiety. But would i trade the mind I have, the gifts God has given me, for sound nerves? Truly, if I had the choice, would I exchange the very thing that makes me who I am? No, I think not.
Sometimes, like tonight, I leave the house to walk back through the woods, up through the field, and bask in the quiet, away from the road. i soak in the quiet whisper of the woods, still, and covered with snow.
When I am tired, when i am unbearably sad or anxious, I am so grateful for rest when the pain leaves. But if I had not this trial, I would not be this person. So...i thank God that He gives me the grace to hear the music in the traffic.
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