Sometimes Breathing is Difficult


It was one of those nights when I am tired.  Until I go to bed.

Night is when reality, or more specifically my anxiety about it, seems to grab me by the throat.  I laid there, trying to distract myself with some dumb documentary.  I tossed and turned thinking that perhaps my body hurt, tho I could feel nothing.  I tried to pray, but no peace came.  I began to wonder if I was a fraud. 

I was asked to speak my story to the class of my friend yesterday.  I simply shared what it was like before, what happened, how it is different now.  And gratitude came rushing back to me.  It had taken a little vacation as I struggled with my job change, feelings of betrayal and loss.  It had just picked up and left me, without so much as a Dear Jane letter.  But now, I remembered as I spoke.  I remembered how bad it really was and how sweet it really is.  I was mouth open amazed.  How does one forget her own story?

But then, the night.

I get most afraid of losing what has so wonderfully come my way.  It is all a gift really, not mine to scrap and fight over, but I want it.  I like how things are now.  While I would say that I trust God, I would have to qualify that as "for the most part" because He is a trickster.  What I think is good for me, He sometimes doesn't think is.  When I think things are just right, He turns them on their head.  I can say with confidence that it has never brought me harm, but oh, how I dread it anyway!  How insecure it makes me feel when He does that.

Most birthing happens with tears, this one is with silent groans in the dark night.  I toss some more and recognize that there is no sleep to come.  My body is tight with the tension and pain that has been holding me hostage for weeks.

And then, a flicker of light.  My ever present phone.  A message.  A picture sent.  A smile briefly graces my face.  The anxiety that was crushing is now merely pressing.  I breathe a little easier as my dear ones send me their love...His love.  As I relax, a tear takes its chance to escape.  I am not the only one He uses, thankfully.  Finally, I can exhale.  And as I do, I envision pitifully crawling into my Abba's lap, a hurting child needing comfort and security. 

I am not a fraud.  I am as fragile as anyone.  I hold too much together.  I can let Him tonite.  I can let Him hold me together tonite as I breath in grace.

Comments

David Rupert said…
The darkness, the silence, the quiet all seem to stir up my thoughts when I not settled. And the only thing that stop those voices is fervent prayer

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