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Where Are We
Do you ever just wake up sad sometimes? Today I was woken up too early by something, I don’t know, and thought I’d put my audiobook on to try and go back to sleep. But it was at the part where they were going to get their happily ever after, and it just put me into a state of wistful melancholy. I won’t call it depression, exactly, because it wasn’t that bone-deep, unshakeable darkness that feels like tar. I think it might have been the normal human emotion of being – well, sad. Sad and lonely, reflecting on the nature of my existence and wishing I’d made different choices, even a few months ago. Wondering if I’ll ever get my act together so that I can achieve all these big dreams and plans that I pursue with varying intensity. Thinking about how much I really do love my son, even though I wonder sometimes if we are just too incompatible as people. Wondering if I’m destined to be lonely forever, or if my happily ever after might include that special someone after all. I’m starting to become a lot more accepting of my circumstances, and am usually quite happy to focus on my friends and my relationship with God, but lately so many people have been walking out of my life that I wonder if I’m doing something wrong. You know, besides the obvious. Do you ever get that way? I feel sometimes like I’m the one who’s stuck, while everyone else keeps getting married and having babies and graduating and achieving career milestones, and doing things that I’m not sure I’ll ever have the opportunity or the internal stability to do.
I get so tired. I feel like I try my best to be a good person and be there for others, but sometimes it takes a lot out of me, and then I collapse, and I know that they see that as me not caring. I wish they would be there for me the way that I think I’m there for them, but I also know that I don’t always ask, and that people give differently than they receive. I know I do, anyway, and I’m sure there’s someone who wishes I’d do more for them. I know it, actually.
This morning I thought about whether God really loves me and wants me. I think I wrote one time that these explicit romance novels I like to read, even though I know it’s not good for my sobriety, make me feel closer to God sometimes. It’s not the explicit nature, necessarily, but more the fact that these authors can describe love so beautifully in it’s entirety, in a way that reminds me of Christ. How God was and is so passionate and moody and poetic and cheeky and wears His heart on His sleeve, no matter what mood He’s in. This vast, vibrant array of emotions and complexity and nuance that I think a lot of faith-based authors lack. These books are not safe, the way that God is not safe. He couldn’t be there to protect us if He were.
So I wonder, does God see only the fiftieth time that I’ve messed up that day? Does He hear my cries when my heart can’t take it anymore? Does He hold my dreams as tenderly as I do? Does He look at the efforts I expend to try and make the world a better place and smile? The same way I smile when I see my son doing the same?
Is He exasperated with me, the way I am with my son at times? Does He wonder when I’ll ever learn, like me? Does He wish I’d just grow up already and stop making my life harder for myself?
I wondered, and I felt the sadness without it seeping into my bones. And then I went out for a run, smiling at the pain of the burn in my lungs and the numb chill in my fingers and the curious, sharp panesthesia of being alive.
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“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him.”
~ Romans 15:13