Oh Death

“I start the day, the war begins,” so beautifully penned Mark Hall. I have been starting each day in a very routine way over the last week. After tossing and turning all night, falling into a fitful sleep haunted by vivid dreams that refer back to nothing and seem to hold all the answers to anything at all, I wait for the 6:30 alarm. Hit the snooze. At 6:35, I roll out of bed, wander into my living room where I see my best friend/roommate sitting at the end of the couch working at her computer, the dog curled up beside her. Then I, being the MeMonster that I have become, curl up at the other end of the couch and bemoan my life while she listens patiently. God forbid she’s not there! That breaks the whole routine. I have to lay there not-so-silently until she finally comes into the room, takes her spot, and allows me to bemoan even louder and more to the point. Why is it that pain turns me into the most self-centered person on the planet?

I explained to another friend last night that as bad as it seems right now, three weeks ago it was worse. Three weeks ago I looked and acted like a person losing her mind. I felt like a person losing her mind. There were days when I couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t eat, couldn’t interact with other people. It was so bad that I had to just quit my second job. Now, I could make a list (a long list) of reasons that I didn’t need to be working a second job: It was cutting into every other aspect of my life, I was completely worn out, I dreaded going in, I justified going against personal convictions to work there, etc., etc., etc. But really, since I’m being honest, I quit because I couldn’t spend another shift (5-6 hours) locked inside my own head that way. Thoughts, that seemed to slither in like a serpent, would coil around my mind and heart, squeezing out all reason and common sense. Before I could finish my shift, I would have a complete nervous breakdown and have to leave. Revisiting it even now makes me shudder.

Today, I got out of bed, but not because I wanted to. In fact, I tried to convince my roommate that we should both just stay home today-that way I wouldn’t have to be alone. But I got up, got ready, and went to work anyway. You can call that progress. Or sheer determination. I call it a hill, and brace myself for the next valley. Pessimistic? Perhaps. Realistic? Definitely.

As the song says: “The hurt can't hurt forever, and the tears are sure to dry. And it won't rain always.” In my head, I know that’s true. In my heart, where the pain stems from, I’m finding it hard to believe. I can feel the prayers of God’s people keeping me afloat today. That’s as much as I can ask for. I am hanging on to my verse from Psalm 119:169 (“Let my cry come near before thee, O LORD: give me understanding according to thy word”), and searching the Word for answers. Today as I read in John 17, I was reminded that Jesus prayed for me over 2,000 years ago (John 17:20 - Neither pray I for these alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word). And this reminds me that yes, Jesus loves me. So as I continue to dig out whatever is holding me captive inside, I trust in Jesus and His unfailing love for me. Love as strong as death, even death on a cross. Because maybe I, like Paul, am being crucified with Christ. Nevertheless, I live. So even though I have been sobbing even this very afternoon without any warning or any specific trigger (it just comes out), I still lay hold upon the hope set before me, that my Redeemer liveth. And even though it feels like death, it may in all actuality be the birth of new life, a brand new creature in Christ. No matter the outcome, it’s all in God’s hands.