Be Still My Soul.


Mike is snoring softly beside me. M.B. is back in the States. I wake up before  5 and can’t return to sleep. So I write.

Last night was Caregroup Dinner. It was a sweet time. Where we ate together. Where the kids heard a devotional story. Where we adults gathered and talked. A mixture of the good, the challenging and awkward.

I start trauma therapy in 11 days. I look forward to seeing if this is a good fit for me. EMDR... and more.

I can tell I’m shallow breathing just now. 

This poor body of mine. So abused. I’m so frustrated by its imperfections and it’s done nothing but good to me. Trying to help me survive. Trying to help me cope. Trying to help me make it through the next morning. I’m so hard on myself. Beating myself up to do better, be better, make no excuses. And the trauma is so evident…. and yet I still rage at myself. What is your f*@!ing problem? The problem is my body is trying to protect me…. even if it’s just from myself. 

It seems so easy a fix. Just love myself. Accept myself. Be kind to myself. But I get caught up in what to eat and when to eat. If I worked out. I’m not showering enough and I have no idea why. Practicing self-care should be easy but I’d rather curl up in bed and sleep or just ignore my impulses to rest when I’m driven to obsessively do.

How do I form the habits I know that I need to give me good health. So many books on forming habits. I just want to change everything all at one time. What’s wrong with that? Just change everything. Be completely different. Always brush my teeth and floss. Always shower every other day. Always workout. Always eat clean. But these rules become my undoing. They make me their prisoner. They bring me shame. The shame that eats at me and berates me and tells me I’m ugly and fat and there’s no hope. 

I know the good I can do and I can’t seem to be able to do it. This wrestling within myself. This warring inside. My desire for change. My desire for God to rule every part of me. My fear of what other people think of me, my appearance, my obvious “outward sin”. 

It’s just a reflection of my brokenness. Just as my body is a reflection of the brokenness and trauma. My home is often that reflection as well.

Life feels hard. It is hard. I know God is good. He is faithful. He will be again but life is hard. Speaking truth to myself is exhausting because I don’t feel joyful or happy… but i believe that life isn’t ultimately based on how I feel. It’s not based on my circumstances. It’s not based on my victories or failures. It’s based on God and His perfect work through Jesus Christ. I’m accepted and called His child, His friend, His lover, His delight. He sings over me. He takes delight in me. He loves me with His perfect love.

I struggle. I wrestle. But this is not the end. Not even close. I’m one step closer to His glorious presence. I’m one breath away from eternity. And for now I must wait. Wait with patience. Wait with tear stained cheeks. Right now I only see in part but then I will see in full. Jesus is my all in all. He is enough. He has me in the palm of His hand. He has promised to not leave or forsake me. H has given me His Holy Spirit to lead me, encourage me, comfort me, empower me, and fill me with hope even when I don’t feel hopeful.

And I must surrender Samuel. Audiology report: drastic hearing loss in his left ear (the non-hearing aid ear). His hearing loss in his “good ear” is a blow. I knew it would probably be coming but it still took me by surprise. He will need two hearing aids instead of one. And I’m grateful for a day in a age where we have the technology we need to help him. But it’s just a symbol of what this all means. A symbol of the chemo and radiation he went through to get where he is. And this is just one of the many side effects.

Trusting God with Him. Trusting that Samuel will always hear the Lord even if he loses his physical hearing. Trusting that God is sufficient to rule and reign in these circumstances.

I bow down and surrender. I’m not God. His plans and purposes are for my good even when I don’t understand. He loves Samuel infinitely more than I ever could and He loves him perfectly.

So I surrender. I bow down at His feet and cry, “Abba”. Papa. Please save me. Help my unbelief. Help me when I am brought low to continue to trust in you. You are a good Father. You will not give me a stone when I ask for bread. You bring me good things.

I am loved by you. And that is enough.

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