As yet, mine has not come and I've resigned myself to the notion that it likely will not.
Since that resignation, I've mostly been ok. Obviously, there is a grieving process, but mostly I've been fine. That is, until I watched "Lost in Austen" last night.
Up until that time, I'd sort of unintentionally refrained from watching love stories or listening to love songs. I say unconsciously because I didn't set out to NOT watch or listen to those things as much as I set out to saturate my life with things that agree with what God has called good and right and pure and true for me right now. Romance is not part of that.
But, last night, after a day-long migraine, I settled in to edit some pics and saw "Lost in Austen" on Netflix and decided to give it a go, because, as I said, I love Jane Austen.
In hindsight, this was a bad move. It was not long before my heart started swelling and aching and yearning and aching some more. It was not long before I was sighing...and then crying. And, in the end, I was only aware of what I had "lost", what I was "lacking", that I was somehow "less than" everyone else.
I'm fighting for faith, to own what is good and right and pure and true, to agree with God that this life IS good...but its still a fight.
As I fight, I'm reminded of that children's song "Oh, Be Careful Little Eyes."
"Be careful little eyes what you see...be careful little ears what you hear..."
When one is clinging with feeble and fickle and frustrated fingers to the ledge of grace, it is best to refrain from surrounding oneself with that which exalt the things God has said "no" to. Doing so is about as unwise as a surfer, who broke his leg surfing, going out on his board the next day. Time is necessary to heal and to rebuild strength before venturing out into the water again.
So, for now, I wait...and refrain from Austen as I heal.