|(Photo by Tara Gourley)|
It's been a blare-my-music kind of week.
I have these emotions that I can't justify, and so I listen to songs that deal with feelings, and I listen to them loudly. I find some sort of insight from their lyrics oftentimes. They aren't always the good-girl worship songs, either. I have discovered profound thought beneath the layers of secular music. Even if it only shows me the reality of my life, if I do not have Christ.
Thank God, I do.
But still, I am confused by myself; puzzled at my trembling and tears. If you were to look at the pages of my journal from this week, you would be as perplexed as I. "What a great day ... It was so happy and wonderful ... I laughed until I cried." Can so much good cause such emotional struggle? No, I do not think it is the cause.
I am frustrated with myself for being upset. God is good. My family members are in relatively good health. My needs are provided for. I got my hair trimmed, and those split ends are gone at last. The pain that we have suffered has somehow brought us closer together. I've had time for art and writing -- actual, real time. Nothing cut from my schedule to make room.
And yet I whimper in my bed when the lights are out.
I have the loveliest conversations, and I watch friendships blossom.
But I sigh at the thought of waking up to one. more. day.
I have moments of rest and tranquility, well-balanced with productivity.
And I feel so weary, spent, exhausted.
But all the good in my life is so convincing and wonderful, that when someone asks me how my week was, how I'm doing, I feel like I'm being fully honest when I tell them how great everything is.
Truly, God is in His heaven; all's right with the world.
But why am I not okay?
It's becoming clear now. I am still struggling with the burdens of weeks passed.
I didn't let them fully heal. Why didn't I let them?! I suffered so under the weight, that when enough good came along to almost outweigh it, I denied its existence. How could I say I was doing poorly when there was so much to be thankful for? I felt guilty for not being "over it," so I just pretended I was.
I'm good at pretending.
I believed myself.
I became so productive; so proactive, that everyone around me got no chance to see the weary pain behind my eyes. Because I made sure my eyes were always focused on something else. I'm not dissing productivity -- it's awesome -- but I think I let it be a crutch ... and nobody could tell I was limping. Not even me.
Oh, some people noticed. Those insightful people that always sense somehow that something is wrong. I told them I was getting through it. I said it was probably just my poor health. I distracted them from my true pain. It's almost funny ... I've been told that when you're ill, if you suffer under stress or burdens, your body takes part of the blow. It can literally make you sick, or in my case, sicker. This week, my health has been poor, indeed. And I wouldn't even let myself sigh over that, because I was stuck in that "everything's lovely" rut. Lying never ends well. Will I ever learn this?
So here I am.
Honestly, I'm not okay.
I am blessed beyond measure, but I feel pain that is very real.
I know the truth, but I often fall for the lies.
I am ill and well taken care of.
I cry for no reason, and every reason.
I relate to sad songs all too well, and so I play them loud.
But I also know my need for joy, so I blare the songs of rejoicing and truth as well.
I need reminded.
Lord, don't let me forget.
I am still processing pain, recent, and not-so recent.
I am still trying to figure out what in this wide world I am supposed to do with my life.
I am still loved.
And that still blows my mind.