Don't say I didn't warn you. This is raw healing. Spurred by Sunday's message.
It’s after Noon on a Wednesday.
And, I’m home alone.
Still in my PJ pants.
And, after a couple of weeks of great swings – high and low – I am making peace with my God.
The first of many tears that will come as I write this are coming now.
I am pregnant with tears. About to bust.
I have to be still.
So that I can know Him.
I have to admit that I am so full of pride, I leave no room for Him.
I have to confess that I am insecure.
And full of jealousy.
And relentless selfishness.
I've been suffering greatly with anxiety for the past week or so.
The whole deal.
Plus, there was the whip lash of coming off a mountain overlooking the Hollywood sign, and taking on my caregiving responsibilities. All in about an 8 hour period.
Sometimes, I get lost in the in between.
Because, if being on the top of a mountain in Hollywood is great. Then, undressing my husband who is not able to undress himself is terrible. Or... both. It's the "both" that I can't see when I'm in the middle.
I see everything very all-or-nothing and black-and-white. This is very dangerous. Because the reality is there is a lot of life that is lived in the in between. In the not yet. In the almost. In the about to. In the while-we-wait. And in the wow, that just happened.
The heart of the problem was the desperation.
The don’t-you-see-me, the I’m-more-than-just-a-driver, the stop-taking-advantage-of-me.
I’m so thirsty.
There is this pattern to the perfect storm that always slams us up against this same wall.
And it is this: Exhaustion + stress + PMS = irrationality.
When I am in an irrational (read: relying solely on myself) state, this life is impossible. It’s simply impossible. It does not compute. 404 error, no page found.
I do not have it in myself to live this life.
I cannot do it alone.
I simply can’t.
No matter how hard I try.
In fact, the trying is poison.
Because the harder I try, the harder it is.
And the harder it is, the more I want to quit.
When I’m thirsty, and desperate, and irrational, I will drink anything.
I want to be noticed, I want to eat muffins and buy clothes I can’t afford. Fill me up! Somehow! Anyhow!
Give me something to drink!
But the problem is, no matter what I latch on to, even my husband, who loves me so dearly, he endures this pain with me, trying to sooth it, while inadvertently contributing to it, nothing does the trick.
The perfect storm has once again hit.
Like a hurricane.
And there are branches of desperation all around.
The waters of irrationality have surged in and washed away wonderful things I had received and treasured, but weren’t on high enough ground to be protected.
Like my joy, my happiness, my confidence.
The wind of hormones from PMS, racked with stress have blown over my ability to see the truth. Give the benefit of the doubt. Hear myself think ridiculous thoughts and know they are ridiculous.
So, now, I’m left with a Category 3 mess on my hands, a husband who I’m pushing away, and at the same time expecting to fix it all. He’s screwed.
My eternal enemy is pride.
Like the zits on my chin.
They clear up, and I’m like wow- I can’t believe they were ever there.
Then, out of no where, I have an invisible volcano under there that no one can see, but it’s so huge under the surface, it hurts to smile.
I really need to chill with the metaphors, huh?
I will share with you the points Pastor Mark made that I wrote down.
“Your focus determines your reality.” – apparently a quote from Star Wars. I am putting my Zero Tolerance policy of all thing space/science fiction away for a second to soak this truth in.
Because, the truth is, when I am like this, it is because I am focusing on the negative, the difficult, the impossible, and most of all – myself.
“The spirit of humility never loses to the spirit of pride.” Pride gets in the way of learning new things because we won’t do things we aren’t good at yet. I am completely guilty of this. I love to do things I am good at, and if I’m not good at it, honestly – I’d rather just stay home.
Michael went to the doctor today. Just for a regular appointment. Normally, I would have taken him. But, as previously discussed, I’m having issues. The PMS part is now over. But the stress and exhaustion remain.
So, I’m resting.
I’m seeking the Lord.
I’m trying to be still.
That He’s got this.
The truth is, I fought it the whole way.
Not that I wanted to take Michael to the doctor and the DMV. Not that that’s how I want to spend my day resting up from so much travel. It’s totally not.
I fought it, because I know that if I don’t take him, it means he has to take the bus (read: a couple of buses), and it’s going to take him an hour to get there. And, I’m worried that the people in the office will think I’m a jerk for not taking him. And I’m worried that while I’m sitting at home, resting, while he’s out doing that stuff alone, that I will feel guilty.
Do you see the theme here? It’s still all about me. It always is. This is the problem.
But, I think, finally, for the first time in a couple of weeks, in between California and Florida, and a football game and a baseball game and driving to get the new wheelchair, and cleaning and grocery shopping and cooking and caregiving, I had long enough to sit here, write, listen, and let some of this stuff out.
I’m so thankful for grace, and mercy, and healing. And that when we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9)
In the half hour or so that I’ve been here, pouring my heart out, I’ve heard the song “Healing is in Your Hands,” by Christy Nockels three times. I’m thinking that is no coincidence right about now!
Random side note: I just searched for this song on YouTube, and this version came up. A couple that is singing used to sing on the Sounds of Liberty when I was in college. Random. But, neat to see them.