Mama never said there’d be days like this…

Some people tell me I’m a good writer. I think I’m my worst critic. I tell things like it is and try to add some levity to other’s lives. Especially to those who suffer. In particular, those of us with late-stage chronic Lyme disease, its co-infections and viruses which are as unpredictable as the weather. My long journey has been very hard.

Isolating. Depressing. Psalm 18:6~ ”In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried out to my God; He heard my voice from His temple, And my cry came before Him, even to His ears.” One day I’m going to look back at this picture and marvel at Your faithfulness in that moment, and Your plan that was in motion that I still couldn’t glimpse. But for today, being faithful for me means my sweet kitties near me, my ever present glass of water and tears that won’t come, as I tell You I’m tired. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired. That’s what today looks like. Hobbling into another day with my pain after attempting to worship the Lord in the midst of deep weariness. Sometimes only uttering a few words of scripture that’s memorized in my heart. Sometimes only being able to whisper “Help me, Jesus”. Sometimes when the Lord finds you being faithful to Him, it’s not all happy and bright. Sometimes it’s hard and raw—it’s being in your recliner looking out the window at the cold, cloudy windy day. Your hands in the air—shoulders and neck all the while stiff and aching—reaching out to Jesus and not being able to say a word to Him. Surrendering the bitterness and pain in your heart for life not going the way you would have it go, but yet knowing in your heart that God has a plan and you have a purpose to live for Him. And it’s getting up and walking into the day knowing God is at work in you and around you, creating something beautiful. Today, that’s the faithful I will be. Isaiah 40:6-8~~A voice says, “Cry!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.