A desert wilderness
I just returned from a week long visit to Missouri for my cousin's high school graduation. It was a very mixed visit and there has been much to process since my return. Before we left my anxiety grew. I was well aware of my need for a break and to catch up on rest, but I was terribly worried about Ryan because of the state he was in. His exhaustion was a concern prior to his grand mal seizure in December and I've been seeing the same exhaustion these days. The entire week we were in Missouri I waited for a phone call. Turns out I desperately needed the break, much more than I initially thought, but at the same time I feared our world would fall apart while we were gone.
Why do I fear the worst will happen when I partake in a need? I find this proof that this is too much responsibility to have. I am, in fact, only human and I forget to forgive myself. We can't climb a cliff without expecting a few slips and technical difficulties along the way. Not everyone is going to finish this in an intact state. In a perfect world we all would but, like I've mentioned prior to this, we all have a choice in our response to all this. I'm only responsible for mine.
When we got to Missouri, I had no idea how truly exhausted I was physically and emotionally. I spent the first two days sleeping all night and the majority of the day. I had more clarity and energy than I've had in a while. Unfortunately, I didn't have quite the help I was expecting after those first two days, but the Lord taught me a crucial lesson in that.
At the beginning of realizing our new reality, I was terrified. I was terrified of being alone. I was terrified of raising our children on my own. In my mind, there was no way I could do it. I'm terrible at doing life alone. In Missouri I got a much larger dose of single parenting than before and, for the first time, I wasn't afraid of or intimidated by that responsibility. Almost every time the boys threw tantrums I dealt with them on my own. I fed them their meals. I bathed them, chased them, and dressed them. I put them to bed myself. I played with them when others lost patience. I prayed with them, sang Bible songs, and poured the Lord into them. All this was exhausting, but my heart was fuller than it's been in a long time. Patience was abounding. I was the Mommy to my sons that I want to be. I wasn't just surviving. I was living. I found myself remembering Ryan for who he is minus this tumor's presence. The struggle we're living in now was became increasingly foggy. The result was that, along with my love, I was able to pour his love into the boys when he couldn't. The Lord has given me the tools I need, even when I won't always have help.
The challenging part of this is that I'm not the mom I want to be when I'm thrown back into our reality. Even with tantrums and the struggle to keep things structured in Missouri, it was easier than home. I guess that's why it's called "vacation." As much as this stings to say, it was easier without Ryan present. I got a taste of the good. I got a taste of sanity only to come back to the same old, God awful routine. There was escape in vacation, but no renewal. We're back to surviving. I hoped my absence would bring perspective to Ryan, but it didn't. Nothing changed. Nothing improved.
Being in this dry desert breaks my heart for Ryan, myself, and the boys. I fought coming home tooth and nail. I wanted one more day. Somehow one more day would improve what state in which we were reunited.
What is God up to? How much further do we have to fall? What new depths of surrender are yet to be reached? Who and what are we waiting for? The more God asks me to grieve and brings new things to my awareness, the more I'm feeling prepared for something I'm anxious for: forward progress. But I'm beyond upset that forward progress comes at such a cost. He has chosen us. He has appointed us. He has set us where we are. But I'm exhausted and begging for mercy.
I'm flying in autopilot these days with absolutely no reserve or extra margin. I feel like an empty shell walking around doing what must be done in a day. Although I'm feeling prepared for our future, something different than this seems distant and hard to believe. Yet, on the worst days, it's all I can think of. The hope of renewal is still there, but I'm on the verge of breaking. I don't know what else to give.
Some cousin time with Megan!
Happy graduation to Jake!
Why do I fear the worst will happen when I partake in a need? I find this proof that this is too much responsibility to have. I am, in fact, only human and I forget to forgive myself. We can't climb a cliff without expecting a few slips and technical difficulties along the way. Not everyone is going to finish this in an intact state. In a perfect world we all would but, like I've mentioned prior to this, we all have a choice in our response to all this. I'm only responsible for mine.
When we got to Missouri, I had no idea how truly exhausted I was physically and emotionally. I spent the first two days sleeping all night and the majority of the day. I had more clarity and energy than I've had in a while. Unfortunately, I didn't have quite the help I was expecting after those first two days, but the Lord taught me a crucial lesson in that.
At the beginning of realizing our new reality, I was terrified. I was terrified of being alone. I was terrified of raising our children on my own. In my mind, there was no way I could do it. I'm terrible at doing life alone. In Missouri I got a much larger dose of single parenting than before and, for the first time, I wasn't afraid of or intimidated by that responsibility. Almost every time the boys threw tantrums I dealt with them on my own. I fed them their meals. I bathed them, chased them, and dressed them. I put them to bed myself. I played with them when others lost patience. I prayed with them, sang Bible songs, and poured the Lord into them. All this was exhausting, but my heart was fuller than it's been in a long time. Patience was abounding. I was the Mommy to my sons that I want to be. I wasn't just surviving. I was living. I found myself remembering Ryan for who he is minus this tumor's presence. The struggle we're living in now was became increasingly foggy. The result was that, along with my love, I was able to pour his love into the boys when he couldn't. The Lord has given me the tools I need, even when I won't always have help.
"He stilled the storm to a whisper;
the waves of the sea were hushed."--Psalm 107:29
Being in this dry desert breaks my heart for Ryan, myself, and the boys. I fought coming home tooth and nail. I wanted one more day. Somehow one more day would improve what state in which we were reunited.
What is God up to? How much further do we have to fall? What new depths of surrender are yet to be reached? Who and what are we waiting for? The more God asks me to grieve and brings new things to my awareness, the more I'm feeling prepared for something I'm anxious for: forward progress. But I'm beyond upset that forward progress comes at such a cost. He has chosen us. He has appointed us. He has set us where we are. But I'm exhausted and begging for mercy.
I'm flying in autopilot these days with absolutely no reserve or extra margin. I feel like an empty shell walking around doing what must be done in a day. Although I'm feeling prepared for our future, something different than this seems distant and hard to believe. Yet, on the worst days, it's all I can think of. The hope of renewal is still there, but I'm on the verge of breaking. I don't know what else to give.
Sunberg cousin time in Frisco, CO
Copyright 2014 ->Renee Sunberg
Copyright 2014 ->Renee Sunberg
Comments
Post a Comment