An "Old Fashioned" Day

Somewhere in the vicinity of a decade ago, I uttered a prayer that seems now to have been the seed of a life defining conviction. "Lord, I want to serve you but I don't want to be tired the rest of my life," I said in a moment of reflection and probable exhaustion. This cry stemmed from observation of the "grown ups" I was admiring at the time, men and women I respect and honor today. These few, whilst doing great works and seeking hard after God, made frequent comment of their exhaustion, and some of whom made continual homage to the coffee pot to keep going. I also have passed many years in that same occupation.

Yet about the time of that first utterance, I began to wonder about the Sabbath. Whether or not I had many formed opinions on the matter at the time, I do not remember. I made some investigation into Scriptures on the subject, coming to some initial conclusions. My rudimentary understanding at the time was to do not what I considered laborious and to invest instead into what I considered restful. I smile to remember that grocery shopping was a particular enjoyment for me at that time and a regular Sabbath occupation. I did not relegate Sabbath to a particular day, as I was working in a hospital that required me to be on duty on various days, weekends included. Actually, my Sabbath was usually not on a weekend at all but any day I could pull away from the crowd and build my reserve of soulful rest. Such has the pattern continued, uninterrupted by much change, for almost a decade, until now.

I will lay credit for this resurgence of study, almost solely, at the instrument of late author, Grace Livingston Hill. A writer from the early 1900's, she penned stories that couched Bible messages worked out in the lives of her characters, addressed current social problems and cast vision for a Godly life. Sabbath observance was a frequent topic her characters wrestled with, either in the aim to observe it amidst opposition or in the quandaries of why to observe it at all for those who did not. Nearly a century after those stories were published, in a culture that externally is far removed, I am urged on to a deeper understanding.

Hope deferred and sick at heart

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life, so the Bible says and my heart echos that it is so.

I am too tired to cry much anymore though when I risk the venture of checking in with my heart, the tears stand ready to fall. I've been crying for a year. I don't have the time to recover from the outpouring anymore so I end up living very close to the surface for the sake of survival. My baby Belle needs the little energy I have and it is for for her, sometimes exclusively, that I keep on.

Apart from the charity of friends and family, we have truly been homeless for nearing a year. During which time, our little baby was born two months early, weighing in at two and a half pounds. After a 6 week hospital stay, we finally brought her home to my parents where we stayed for several more months. While dearly thankful for their generosity, we found that we could not bring our hearts home to the East Coast, having left a large part of them in the Midwest. So we returned to the open invitation of dear friends to begin resettling while staying with them. Now in a few weeks, we will need to move again. For a veritable homebody, the moving alone is enough for me to become unhinged. The thought of a basement apartment that we can't even afford feels like death to my soul. Maybe it's already dead though, at least it feels numb to the touch, for which honestly, I am thankful. I can survive on numb, at least for a while longer.

The promise of substance seems ever before me, but like a haze you cannot see past nor grasp onto. Today our hostess suggested moving into a mutual friend's house while it is on the market. Hubbie and I have done this before, albeit sans dogs and baby, but it wasn't too bad. I wrote the friend and offered to keep up the house until it sells but no reply as of yet. Considering the generous amount of space such house would provide, the idea almost feels wonderful. I am glad not to have heard anything yet. I do not expect said friend to be interested but the hope of the idea gave me enough fuel to get through the afternoon. I think I can handle disappointment better tomorrow. I been an optimist for decades...but the past year has demolished not only most of my coping mechanisms, my emotional and spiritual energy reserve, but that outlook on life as well.

A few days ago, I had a mental picture of fainting just before the finish line. I am glad the race is not for the strong and even yet I had concluded that if I am to cross the finish line, Jesus himself will have to carry me across. I am spent. Survival is a grand accomplishment; even that requires more than I possess to give. Hope deferred, and sick at heart.