Hanging

Typically I remain optimistic when blogging. I don't necessarily feel that blogging is where I should pour out my heart.

Yet, today I felt this was the therapeutic medicine for me. And honestly, I know that those who read this are close friends and will not judge me but (maybe) have moments where you say, "Yeah, I've been there, too." or "I'm there with you now."

Where should I begin...

I titled this as "hanging." I don't feel like I'm hanging by a thread, just hanging on. Maybe this analogy will help: Imagine rock climbing. You've been doing well so far. You've found many places to place your feet and grab on with your hands. Your body is not struggling, but you're not flying with ease. Then, you come to a place where you are stuck. You aren't sure how much further you have to go, but you are stuck. There doesn't seem to be a place move to: you're feet are stationary, you're hands immobile. Where are you supposed to go? And how are you going to push forward with seemingly no possible direction? You are just hanging there.

I'm just hanging there. I prayed and asked friends to pray last week that I would give myself a break. I expect to be able to do everything and do it well. I expect that I can care for Timothy, clean the house, make meals, invest into friendships, maintain my walk with the Lord...and yet, I feel like I'm falling to pieces.

I spoke with my husband on the phone; I shared my heart with him, and then, I did the worst thing...I cried on the phone. Sounds innocent, right? No...it's not bad to cry, but I know that he feel absolutely helpless. He has to work, and he does a wonderful job giving us a great life. But he can't reach through the phone and hug me. He can just sit there with open ears and tell me I'm going to be okay.

And yet, I tell him, "I'm not okay. I can't do everything but feel like I must."

He insisted that I take time for myself - "Rest," he says. "Don't worry about everything else; it doesn't matter. Promise me you will rest."

"I can't. Timothy is crying, and he needs me. I can't just stop being his mom."

"Get him. Comfort him. And then, get some rest. Promise?"

"Yes." (Yet, in my heart I think, I can't do this.)

We hang up. I pick up my crying Timothy from his bed, and I cry with him. I tell him, and more so myself, "It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay." He quickly fell asleep in my arms as I continue to cry. I gently laid him down in his crib and think...what can I do to keep my promise to rest?

I grab my sweater, put on some socks, and open the back door in our kitchen. While it's too cold to sit outside, at least I can see the sun pouring in. The sun pours in to heal my spirit. (And I think now, 'God, thanks for making it sunny today. I know that it's not for me, but you are healing my spirit through the beauty of your creation.') I make a latte and sit at the table with my computer, blogging.

Here you find me. Oh yes, I also made a little chocolate cupcake with vanilla frosting to go with my latte. It's all simple. The sun, a beverage and snack, my computer, silence (except for the boy who is waking now :))...

And I take a deep breath and think, 'I will be okay, but if I'm not at this very moment, that IS okay."