Have you ever had one of those days where frustration has threatened to over take you? That’s where I sat, on the verge of tears.
Situations occurred that were out of my control, things I was depending on and was now powerless to do anything about. People proved unreliable and undependable. Tasks that should have been simple were proving to be difficult at every turn.
I was emotionally spent. Physically weary. Every ounce of me wanted to give up. I wanted to complain. I wanted wrongs to be made right.
I’m going to be honest…I did it again. A couple days of slogging through my life as a writer left me in the familiar comparison mode.
As I spent the last couple days putting words on paper, I found myself crying out to God, “Is this making a difference? Is it worth it? Is there any eternal kingdom value in what I’m doing? Or are you done using me?”
That might have been okay, but I did what I know better than to do…compare. “God, so and so is doing such and such. Look at the impact they are having for the kingdom. Why aren’t you using me like that?” and on and on I went. It was a slippery slope down to feelings of inferiority, doubt, and frustration.
It’s that time again. Blood work, port flushes, and CT scans. As a cancer patient and his caregiver, tests are necessary to determine if the treatment is working. But there’s this almost reflexive breath holding that takes place during the wait for results. Yet the wait also allows for a time of reflection. While I personally have rarely found it helpful to ask God, “Why?” I have come to experience great growth when instead I ask, “Lord, what do you want me to learn from this?”
It was all I could pray, and just a whispered prayer at that.
My life and my soul were in the middle of a storm. Tears obscured my vision as I tried to navigate the raging waters that circled my heart. I wanted God to take the helm, to navigate the path, to take me safely to harbor. I wanted him to part the waters so I could walk through. I wanted to be safe on dry ground again, yet right now I was facing swells that threatened to capsize my life.
I looked in her eyes, really not needing to ask the question, but wanting to give her a chance to voice what was on her heart, “How are you, really?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but I might understand better than you might think.”
I looked up and met his kindly eyes. I had been avoiding them as I sat down, not sure what I would find.
“How are you?”
“Where shall we start?”
“How about the changes since last time.”
“Well, how is it that he lost weight with all the chemotherapy and the same amount of weight he lost, I gained.”
“Somehow I didn’t think that’d get by you, but the scales don’t exactly lie do they?”
He didn’t say anything. I think he knew that was a sensitive subject for me.