Too Tired to Heal?

Sometimes it feels as if I am too tired to heal. I just want to get away for a bit, to have a much needed respite from the madness. When life is spinning out of control, it’s hard to work through the losses that have come before. Often there seem to be many stops and starts along the way. Sometimes the best case scenario is simply staying connected to the One who carries me through. Survival is important, yes, but connection is imperative.

Weariness settles over me, like a cloak of dust, penetrating into the inner recesses of my being. When bent low by burdens, I wonder if the weariness will cling to me for life. I want to shrug out from under the careworn mantle, but I know that this time, the only way to find release is through rest.   

Fatigue is a part of the healing process. There comes a time when our bodies simply need rest. When dealing with multiple life changes all piling up at once, sorting through seems complicated. I often liken the process to searching through a bowl of tangled spaghetti strands, with sauce poured over obscuring what lies under the surface. I’ve learned to ask, “Why am I feeling what I am feeling”? and “What, exactly am I really feeling?” Most of the time anger is a mask, hiding more vulnerable feelings beneath. I feel more in control when I am angry than when I feel lost or abandoned. Anger is easier to admit to, for who wants to admit to being broken? Yet “broken” is often a better descriptor of where I am, and what exactly I am feeling.

My story is one of loss, mingled with hope. In my mind’s eye I travel back to that moment when my world first stopped. When my son’s life, and mine, changed forever. One word, meant to diagnose, alters everything. I did not grieve the first diagnosis for a very long time. I made it my mission to defeat the disease. To conquer the diabetes. To control the boy’s blood sugar. To control everything. Nothing was gonna hurt my baby again. Or me.

Three years later, when my husband was deployed to Iraq (for the second time), I was at the end of my rope. I signed up for an inner healing study, and the work began. Slowly, the layers were removed until we came to that tender place; the wound… the diagnosis that changed everything I do daily. It was during this time that God drew my heart to a familiar story in a fresh way.  I read how Abraham and Issac journeyed up a sacred mountain to make a sacrifice that would break body and soul. Isaac carried the wood, and Abraham carried HOPE. He tells the servants,  “We will go up the mountain and we will return.”

And then I felt the urging to place my own beloved son on the altar before Jehovah-Jireh, my provider.  I envisioned laying my precious child on the altar before a loving father God, and in my mind’s eye, he took my son and cradled him. Surrender was my first step towards healing. And still is. In those times when one diagnosis (or several at once) are causing upheaval in my daily life, it’s time to search out that well worn path to the altar. When I release my hold on the illusion of control, I am set free. Set free to find hope, set free to do the good work of healing. Through prayer, introspection, good counsel, and times of rest I move forward to that place of greater wholeness. Sometimes it is hard work. But, at the end of the day I find that healing is worth the work, and rest is the vehicle that allows the work of healing to carry on.  

~Just Me 

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