It’s so. Dang. Full. I’ve used that phrase for years… “My head is full”…and it’s truly the only way to describe it. I’m lost, confused, aggravated… I’m mostly exhausted. Mental exhaustion is way more taxing than physical exhaustion. It just is. And I’m a tired that sleep can’t fix. Ashamed that I’ve gotten to where I’ve gotten. Embarrassed really, but mostly tired. So mentally tired. I’m not even sure if I know my own thoughts enough to type them out. There are so many. And they’re annoyingly confusing and massively jumbled. Anxiety.
I left myself somewhere. No, I shouldn’t say somewhere, I know exactly where I left me. I left me at about seven years old. I can see myself… I totally just smiled typing that! …See? I know where I left me. I didn’t for a while. A long while. But in a beautiful encounter with my Precious Abba, He showed me exactly where I was. Standing on the front porch of the church I attended as a little girl. In my hands is a shoe box. A shoe box full of candy that I was selling for ten cents a piece. With the money I made I would purchase canned food for the food bank. The church was in a small city, but a city it was and homeless were all around. I was so confident then. I Knew exactly who I was, loved Jesus with all my heart and knew He loved me with all of His. I knew nothing was impossible with Him and I couldn’t wait to walk a life so incredibly face to face like so many of the stories I was taught and read about (yes, I had an unnatural ability to read at a very young age without ever being taught). It was my ultimate dream… to walk so ‘in Him’ that we were seamless. Him in me and me in Him. I wanted to know His voice so clearly it would be audible. I had favorite stories in the bible that I read and highlighted often, and journaled to the best of my ability.
Well… life happened. And here I am. So so different from that confident little girl who knew exactly who she was and even more than that… loved exactly who she was. And I mean LOVED. I could go on and on… and on… about what happened. How life got me to where I currently am. And maybe those things will unfold as I continue to write, we shall see, but for now I’m going to take deep breaths and lean into this fear. Lean into the overwhelm. The anxiety. I’ve fought things like this my whole life. On the basis of warfare and the thought that “if it looks like this then I MUST be doing something wrong.” Now? Maybe I am actually doing something right. Maybe I am actually closer than I’ve ever been to the very thing I have dreamt of since I was a little girl. All the dreams, promises, vision, just the knowing of what life would look like. I don’t mean dreams like going to Disney World and living in a mansion (I’m actually a tiny house girl myself), or promises of wealth and “success” (although that too), I mean dreams of being so face to face… so in Him… that when I simply hold a sick child in my arms, they begin to heal. That a hug or embrace causes depression to literally melt away. To cry with a total stranger until their tears become mine and Yahweh’s, and hope is infused.
What if I am just that close. The final steps of getting there.
If I let it, the overwhelm will come crashing in like a tidal wave screaming, “It will never happen!!!! You are a homeschooling mom of four children, are home by yourself all day every day and have no family close enough to help. There is no time to process. No time to think. No TIME to lean into this. No time to move forward from these days that seem like hell.” It can deflate me and often times I let it. Especially the fact that these days are so incredibly precious and they are being taken from me. My own self is robbing me of my most dreamt of days with chunky babies and childhood adventures. But if He is good, then He is good. And “time” isn’t what I need. Just a ‘yes’. …my breath prayer. A ‘yes’ to whatever this overwhelm is. To whatever it may look like even on its’ scariest days. The days where the weight on my chest is so heavy and the cloud in my mind is so thick, that I am stuck in the fetal position with tears streaming down my face. Sometimes it doesn’t lift for hours… sometimes days… sometimes weeks. But my new strategy… with confident permission from a beautifully trusted father… Stop. Fighting it.