Flying on a Wounded Wing and Perfunctory Prayer

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Sometimes you come to places in your journey where the path suddenly, without warning, becomes dark and dreary, and the damp air slows your progress to a snail’s pace. You feel like you’re barely getting by, like everything you do takes way too much effort and tires you out considerably, like all you want to do is find a dark cave and hibernate until the gloomy mist passes you by. I find myself in such a place right now. This clouded perspective made last week’s visit from my daughter and her family very challenging (see previous post, Donning the Mimi Millinery). I was so excited when I found out they were coming to visit. I wanted to be happy and carefree, and busy myself with feeding and caring for my family, in addition to cheerfully and energetically entertaining my grandchildren. I did manage to get myself through with a semblance of normality, but I was often tired and stressed and suffering from dizziness so severe that walking became a game of chance. For the entire week, the song, “What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor” played continuously in my mind, as I stumbled and lost my balance. From what I understand, if I could have located a long boat to lounge around in for a while, I might have experienced some recovery, but, alas, such specialized long boat craftsmen are few and far between these days.

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It does sound lovely, though, drifting on the sea, with plenty of food stores, emergency radio contact, but no work, or bills, or anyone else to take care of (except myself). I think it would help me considerably. As always, though, duty calls, and monthly bills scream for attention. And so I find myself stuck in a troublesome trough. I want to be the best, most conscientious caregiver/personal care assistant ever. I want to provide tasty, healthy meals for my family every day. I want to keep my garden well-weeded and gather the fruitful harvest in a timely fashion. I want to hang out with my friends for fun and camaraderie. I want to be available to my grown children, when help is needed with babies, or shopping, or a shoulder to cry on. And, I want my faith to shine forth for others, as a beacon of hope and witness and encouragement. Instead, I am struggling through my work day, running out of steam midway through. Meals are haphazard and not my usual well-planned, delectable fare. The zucchini are getting out-of-hand, the holly hocks are badly in need of dead-heading, and the weeds are taking over the gardens. I have to force myself to make the hour drive to visit my sweet foster grandson (and visiting the MN crew is prohibitively complicated). If I make plans with a friend, I often regret it almost immediately, and then worry about how I am going to manage spending a day kayaking on the river and then drag my tired butt to work the next day. My faith has become a going-through-the-motions kind of unproductive routine. However, I will admit that I am praying a lot, but it is a selfish, woe-is-me kind of lament, and my outward appearance is sack cloth and ashes.

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This is what is commonly referred to as “a rut.” I am in a substantial rut, and it has a lot to do with my health, our chronic financial struggle, and the neighbors from hell who haunt me daily. What I need most, I think, is a lot of rest and TLC, but that is just not realistic. I keep asking myself, “What am I going to do to get past this?” And I’m not really coming up with much of an answer. I have tried “guilting” myself into feeling better. Because, honestly, my life is no doubt a lot easier and better than probably half of the world’s population. That plan of attack has never worked well for me, as a means of finding my way back to the light, even if it is the painful truth. I could win the lottery, except that I hardly ever buy tickets, and we all know, that’s a rather hopeless waste of precious funds. Maybe I’ll just do what I’ve always done when I’ve found myself in this position. I’ll start a new “blessing list,” and every day I will make note of at least one thing for which I am grateful. There’s always cats. I would be lost without my sweet, snuggling cats. And my boss/client. She is so wonderfully supportive and understanding. I would be lost without her right now, too (and, BONUS – she also has cats!). And the encouragement and prayers of my friends (many of whom are carrying their own unwieldy crosses right now). And we can’t forget my wacky sense of humor, which bubbles to the surface in the most surprising way, just when I need it the most.

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With that daily focus of thanksgiving, offered up as appreciative prayer, I will be able to see the path ahead in “One-Day-At-A-Time” baby steps, and the grace of God will bless me and carry me through, just as it has so many times before. With that bestowing of grace, I will be able to focus on a plan of action that will move me in the right direction….in the direction God would like to lead me. In six months, or a year from now, I will look back on this time as a gift of growth and development. And I will smile sheepishly, and ask everyone around me how they ever managed to put up with me.

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