I’m tired. I’m on vacation with my family, and it’s supposed to be restful, relaxing.
But I’m whipped.
My wife is sick. Has been for months.
She can’t control it. It’s not her fault. I don’t blame her.
But watching her suffer, and being powerless to do anything about it, is taking its toll.
I feel like collateral damage. I’m tired all the time. The other night, while shopping, I put a bottle of Jack in the cart.
I don’t drink whisky.
I want to sit a lot. I’m eating more. I’m not writing, and not sure I want to. My creative energy is tapped out.
Lisa wants relief, wants out of her skin. I want it for her. I want this to be over. I want God to step in, and take care of this. Heal her, and zap me with his Scepter of High Energy.©
But he doesn’t seem to be on my schedule–his ways being higher, and all. But he knows the plans he has, right?
I want to believe. I want to believe he’s going to work it all out. I just can’t see it from my vantage point. I guess my faith is a small thing after all. “Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief.”
It comes back to that, doesn’t it? Belief. (“Without faith it’s impossible to please God”). My senses are assaulted by one message, telling me to give up, give in. But my bones long to sing another song.
Yet my body is tired, but I’m afraid to sleep… So I stay up late, watch TV, and wake exhausted in the morning.
I wish I knew where to end this post, wrap it up with a nice, neat bow. But life isn’t neat, is it?
“In this world you shall have tribulation,” Jesus said. And maybe, just maybe, it’s my expectations that are out of whack? I want peace, safety, rest healing–and I want it now.
And like a child in the throes of a tantrum, I shake my fist at the sky… because it’s all I can do. I’m powerless to bring Lisa any relief. So I turn to the One Who has the power, and receive…
Silence in reply. If anything, I hear the sound of the doors of Heaven shutting, and being bolted. It’s my sheer impotence in the face of life’s current circumstances that colors my perception. But what is a husband to do when his wife wonders “Does God still love me?”
I try to reassure her, tell that God loves her, has a plan in this. That He weeps with her.
But do I believe it?
My strength is sapped, but I have nowhere else to go–none other has the words of life.
So I keep knocking on those locked doors, hoping Father will open them. I have nowhere else to go.