December 21, 2015 - I am

It had robbed me of every ounce of energy I had and left me with very little left to give. The "it" was a combination of things (old house, new house, holidays, disease, shoulders, work, etc), but the outcome was cumulative. We are in the middle of selling our house and buying another house, and that alone can put your calendar into a tail spin. I've never encountered so much paper work, so many tasks, so much to pack and sort, so many discussions to discuss. Back and forth. Banter this. Banter that. Negotiate. Re-negotiate. Remind them that was not part of the deal. Be reminded it was part of the deal. IT WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE ANYONE SCREAM!....except. 

Except I was on autopilot. Getting it done. Marking it off the list. Heading from this appointment to that. Hold out this arm for this blood work. Grab this box for that glass bowl. Wrap this gift for that person. I was finding blessings in trials and motivation from another task complete. And that was all working out very well for me....until. 

Until I got the "good news" about my fibrosis diagnosis. And then it was as if the switch went from on to off and everything I had been holding inside suddenly spilled over the dam. That release of fear also led to a release of everything else I had stored up inside. I simply went from together to nothing left to give. It all came tumbling out, and I became acutely aware of how I was no longer holding it together. My emotions, all bundled up in a fabric ball, became an unraveled mess of messes. I now loathed every minute of my day. Every single aspect of life was grating every single fiber of my sanity. I'm not sleeping. I'm not navigating. I'm not socializing with any form of success. I'm not graceful. I'm not celebratory. I'm not eager. I'm not relieved. In one simple word...I'm not. 

I had reached the end of my end last week when at an event I was very much looking forward to took a sharp turn from my planned expectations to their unplanned reality. And then again, when someone asked me to do one more house thing after thinking it was all done. And then again when the tape wouldn't hold the paper to the gift despite 4 attempts of repositioning. And once again when for the umpteenth night in a row I found no sleep.  I'm a lover of Christmas who now can't find it's silent night. I can't even be sure how I got here, but I am suspicious that I conformed myself into "gotta get through this day" while sorting through my fibrosis. I'm guessing I numbed myself and pushed aside my fear so I could keep functioning through that while selling and buying a house during the holiday season. I simply had to stay focused to get it done. It resulted in an emotional shut down to maintain task driven.  I wrapped myself  up in a foil lined package and covered it with a red velvet bow...until last week....when the seams started to unseal, the bow untie, and the contents unpackage. I went from holding it all together and feeling very little to finding that every single moment in life was grinding at my every nerve. "I'm able" quickly revealed itself as "I'm not."

I know you've been there. You may even be there now. In fact, I know some of you are. Your circumstances may be different, but the outcome is similar or maybe even worse. (Rest assured, we will get through this together!) This time of year is the master of its production, not by fault of its own, but rather by fault of our inability to focus our hearts and minds on the restoration it can bring. I usually navigate this season with triumph and sanity not only maintained, but in excel, but this year the events at hand (juggling 2 houses, fear in an uncharted diagnosis, Ron's torn rotator cuff now needing surgery, Oliver's death then back to life, a lack of holiday events, etc) were too much for my weary mind to contain. They are admittedly first-world problems that still pack a punch. You go from all-worked-up over the task staring you in the face to all-dulled-out because you have nothing left to give. It's the most primal version of exhaustion that leaves you waking up each morning hoping today will be the day you turn the sanity corner. And then it's not.

The past 3 years have been an ongoing reminder of Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." 

I'm learning that rest is not always immediate. It's a process of gradually unwrapping the weary and finding truth underneath. Truth never changes. It's always there underneath waiting to be focused on once again. We simply smother truth with circumstance, self-doubt, fear, and misdirection, but it's there just as it has always been.  I'm desperate for this coming week where I have true faith that refocus will be found. I'm physically removing myself from the causes with great anticipation of ridding myself of the effect. I'm purposely putting myself in a place where purposeful and intentional focus will mend and where family heals, tradition triumphs, and God replenishes.  It will be a moment when I will remember that "I'm not", when unwrapped and rediscovered, can transform you back into His "I am". 


"I am not what I ought to be. I am not what I want to be. I am not what I hope to be in another world; but still I am not what I once used to be, and by the grace of God I am what I am." (John Newton)

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