Restlessness. Angst. Worry. Disappointment. I feel myself pull away from everything and turn inward. I get easily irritated with my kids and let the reigns go on the plans for the day. I check out. I can’t put my finger on what is wrong with me, but I also can’t seem to take in a therapeutic deep breath without feeling like I’m taking in water instead. I flail. I search for hope. For a quiet in my soul. I remember that today is a gift, even with all its troubles…acknowledging that my troubles are quite small even if at moments they feel big to me.
I learn of a mother that labored to welcome a baby sleeping, and the few hours she had with him dead in her arms are all she has for a lifetime. I promise myself to hug mine as often as I think of it and thank God again and again for the little ones in my care. I hear of a young man who should be in his prime years of life, enjoying his wife and dreaming big (as he was doing not more than a year ago) who is now fighting for his life against a rare and aggressive cancer with hospice at his home and death at his door. I feel sad for what cancer takes from one…from all. I weep for the aches, the pains, the uncertainties of many.
I long for Jesus. For the healing He brings to the broken and the hope He offers to the hurting. For the strength He gives to the weak. The strength He gives to me.