No one likes being in the in-between seasons of life. I might be a justice seeker, but what does that look like when I can’t move, don’t feel well, and am partially aware and partially not?

The in-between spaces of life are often not our favorites.

At Christmas, we remember Zachariah and Elizabeth, waiting years for a child. And then, with a promise, and the priest’s year of silence, that in-between concluded and John was born.

At Christmas we remember Mary, in the in-between as she was unsure if she’d accepted by Joseph.

And then, as refugees in a new land, they waited in-between spaces in the margins to learn when they could return home.

In recovery both emotionally and physically, when hopes have felt dashed, moving forward always includes in-between spaces.
Here is my own poem of my current in-between.

San Diego Palm trees

Poem: In-Between

One side or the other

But the in-between is now

Leaving pain behind is lovely

But processing it is not

It’s tedious here.

It’s boring here.

It’s waiting here.

It’s lonely here.

I knew this antsy,

Anxious time would come:

A staple of recoveries.

Just my thoughts and I.

We go running from

Midday to Midnight

Needing to be relinquished in writing,

But my eyes can’t always handle it.

Things to worry about that I can’t change

Things to not control;

it’s not my job.

The depth is like a u-curve,

Deep in layers,

Darker as it goes

Into the undersea

Hoping the surface

Breaks light through

You’d think there would be relief…

I can listen to this

I can watch that

I can read this


But those voices do not satisfy,

They aren’t the warm hug.

Someone come entertain me!

Nevermind, I feel too tired.

But then I cannot sleep.

This extrovert is lonely,

But is unsure about anyone.

This Seven is trapped,

Her recourse is so minimal:

My wheelchair pushed around the lawn,

At least there is nature then.

Dr. appointments that take hours

Yet time spent anywhere is


Then there’s this flesh that isn’t mine

And movement of a whale within

My body aches too heavy with water

It can barely be lugged around

Hippopotamus trunks that can’t be bent

Ripped watermelon skin stretching my belly

Dented circles under my eyes

This isn’t me in the mirror, is it?

Appearances aren’t usually my thing

But I find myself shamed

Unable to shake it off,

Undressing the not knowing

How long it will last

And wanting community again

Lockdown has restarted

But mandates don’t come from the State

I feel cloistered by them, caved in

Even wondering how to navigate

Reminds me I’m required to be careful

In a world that doesn’t care too much

My suppressed autoimmune system complains,

It’s not willing to go gently

Into that good night

FOMO takes over,

Being well enough to care is great

But the jealousy, not so much

I long to hear about someone else’s day

And then wish I lived in it

Surviving is lovely,

It just lacks motivational focus

For a girl who maps out goals

Boundaries and rest

Are my sacred test


In the in between

I can’t see the end


In the in between

Patience learns to wait


In the in-between

Communion is Comforting

The suffering us,

Throughout the globe

Solace is ours

As we groan

The promise was crafted

Still being fulfilled

Prepare us Lord here

Grown in wisdom

Budded from fears

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