I’m exhausted: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Spiritually, I’m numb.
I know the right answer is to pray, seek God, and just pour it all out. But, somehow, even after all these years of seeking, learning, listening, talking, writing, and trying, I still just don’t know how.
Once upon a time, I’m pretty sure I knew how to trust God and to believe that Jesus loves me. For a week in the summer when I was 8 years old.
So many instances and episodes where I’ve rededicated, rebaptized, reborn again. Kneeling on the steps leading to the podium, on the “altar of prayer.” Book studies; Bible studies; conferences; support groups; healing & recovery groups; prayer groups – hands laid on me & holding mine or resting on my shoulders, forehead, prophetic words in English and tongues, in the center of a circle, arms embracing and holding the circle together; worship concerts & services, pouring myself into singing along with the words on the screen, out of the hymnal, off the sheet, or with the recording.
Yes, I know what the answer is…pray.
Here are the questions, concerns, and hurts I’m crying over, for, and about:
How do I deal with the pain of being rejected by my children? How do I cope with the fact that I wasn’t capable of being the mother they needed and the mother I was left gaping & raw wounds inside of them? How do I accept that I couldn’t give them what I never had, no matter how hard I tried, or told myself I did? How do I do better now with the youngest while completely at odds with the oldest? How is it possible to be filled with grief and sorrow over the mistakes and damage of the past while feeling completely enraged and choked over the fact that I’m reaping the consequences of those mistakes and damage?
I feel raw, exposed, defenseless, and drained. Every person who means anything to me is also someone whom I don’t feel I can freely express myself to without having to justify, rationalize, defend, or explain myself to in one way shape or form. There’s a bit of the martyr complex raising it’s ugly head right now, because I am trying my absolute best and hardest to accept and understand others and have compassion for the fact that they are going through whatever it is that they are going through. While it doesn’t seem that there are any in my daily path capable or willing to do the same with me.
The bible says that He will never leave or forsake me. I can intellectually understand the meaning and significance of those words. I can theoretically accept the truth of that promise. But, fundamentally, at the core of where I live, think, and feel, I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it, I think, because being forsaken and abandoned are all I’ve ever known…at least that’s how it seems.
I have to work at reminding, telling, and convincing myself that the God of the universe formed me in my mother’s womb and knew my end from the beginning. That my name is written on the palm of his hand and listed in the Lamb’s Book of Life. I am so loved by Him that he gave up his existence as the King of the universe to be born a human and put himself in the lowly, frustrating, and pain filled position of being ridiculed, hunted, mocked, mobbed, and crucified, so that I could have eternal life. I should be comforted, and maybe I am, a little.
Honestly, though, I still just feel like crying