It hasn’t been an ideal weekend.
Sleep problems arose Friday night. Again.
But I was feeling the “wet blanket” approaching even before that. Heaviness moved in. Emotional, spiritual, physical. A triple whammy. It still lingers but only ever so slightly. The wave moved through me by Saturday, enhanced by rowdy neighbors the night before. Saturday went by with crushing exhaustion, high frustration, silent tears, the odd outburst taking the hubby by surprise, leaving him shell shocked for a split second.
A hug I couldn’t enjoy, a consoling I just couldn’t register. An “I love you” I hoped I had the where-with-all to cling to but honestly couldn’t say for sure. Waves don’t just batter you, they can toss anyone standing close enough, around too.
By Saturday night I was spent. Empty. Dry.
By some miracle I slept. Possibly my hubby’s prayers. The Life-Preserver moved in. I awoke to Mother’s Day with a battered soul that required to be with my church family absorbing the presence of God. To gain some “blessed assurance” through His precepts being offered to any who hungered. A lesson taught from the pulpit this morning from the Old Testament about a barren woman, a barren dessert, was not lost on me. And later, to get my fill of my own family, who gathered with food, and wacky stories, and crazy animal videos, and it was a balm.
By the end of the day, the wave washed out just as subtly as it washed in two days earlier. I am beyond thankful, believe me, and told God as much in a quiet moment on the front porch. I have a busy week coming and needed to start functioning. But part of me, the human part, said, “Lord, can we ever just skip the soul draining, the heart despairing, the energy emptying parts? I know tomorrow I might feel normal, when the wave’s on it’s way out, I can almost bank on this brief wonderful moment of refreshing. I live for that moment…. I know others ask the same about all sorts of difficult circumstances that get dropped in their laps. So speak to me about this, Father. I’m trying to understand.”
Everything was quiet. Someone was mowing their lawn a block away in the day’s last light, but otherwise it was just me. I spotted the bird bath a few feet from me in the front garden. It was empty again. No matter how much I fill it, the weary, dusty birds, thirsty from battling the elements, drink it up, absorb it completely, like they know it’s my job to keep filling it. On a good day, they bath in it, chirping happily. But still using it up regardless. I grabbed a water jug inside the door, and stood filling the bird bath.
Water bubbled, gurgled, rose to the top of the bath, pure and clean and sleek. Ready to be of some use again. How refreshing.
You see the life lesson? I know you do.
Something is only refreshing when something parched first resided there and then was watered. When something once dry, becomes flooded. When something once empty is filled to the brim. Water, life refreshing water, does that. It doesn’t just fill, it refreshes.
Let’s not kid ourselves. Everyone needs refreshing sometimes. But would you even know it, had there not been something spent, parched, or empty before hand?
Once again, I revel in a God who can orchestrate real refreshing, and who, in His unfathomable wisdom, can give meaning to the emptying, the spent moods, and the parched seasons. AND in His unfathomable mercy, gives it when we most need it, when we most appreciate it, when we’ll most trust it, and when we’ll not question how next to use it.
He never left me without care you know. I had my family tending to me. I had a place to withdraw to and make it through the day. And He supplied. Already I feel a refreshing. Relief. Energy. Anticipation. Soaked to the gills. The water from the well that never runs dry bubbles up around my soul and I feel Him say, “live again, one day at a time if you must, and trust Me to keep filling you up. What I provide, will satisfy”
What a lesson to start the new week with. Bring on the refreshing.