Some days

Some days I get so tired, I’m not sure what to do next.  Weary of sin and waiting and hurts and misunderstanding and misinterpretation, I want to quit life.  Sick. of. it.  Relationships, from the deepest, most intimate all the way down to the seemingly insignificant, are messy and fraught with potential peril.  We all have loads of refuse and when we come together, we heap it all in a giant pile–layering our crap on each other in how we respond to one another and how we perceive others.

It’s exhausting, this life.  Living it well is exhausting.  Trying to live it well is exhausting. Trying to live it well in authentic community, some days, is exhausting. And some days, I just want to hole up in my room and escape.  I want to run.  I want to hide.  I want to tear down these walls that hold me inside.  I want to reach out and touch the plane–where the streets have no name.

Done. Fed up.  Tired of trying and tired of always feeling like the responsible one who gets it, some days, I’m ready to throw in the towel.

sigh.

deep sigh.

I re-read the last few sentences and see my arrogance.  Assuming I understand others is presumptuous.  I don’t even understand me.  How can I possibly be deluded into thinking I get others or read situations correctly?  No, others getting it or not getting it is not the problem.  The pride {my pride} is the problem.

sigh.

deeper sigh.

So what’s a girl to do?

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Ah, the elusive, tricky soul-rest.  The moment by moment surrender of myself to the Father who knows best is complicated because I make it that way.  It’s an awkward dance.  I’m constantly trying to lead and rush the tempo.  Instead of listening to the music and letting the Master Dancer lead, I try to count out steps in my own head.  I step on toes and yank and pull to get Him to move a certain way.  Instead of resting in His perfection (He’s the choreographer, after all), I’m uptight and rigid and headstrong in steps that are all wrong.  And He, in His grace and beauty continues whisking me around the dance floor.  He won’t let me go.

 And isn’t that both amazing and beautiful?  He won’t let go.

“I have loved you, with an everlasting love.
    With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.”

The soul-rest comes in knowing He won’t let go.

He won’t let go and Peace sweeps in heart and head bringing refreshment again.

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