The feelings had been churning in my soul for well over a week. A bitter irritability set in and I found myself snapping at my loved ones from feeling used and unseen.
I texted some friends, asking for prayer, putting just a few words to my troubles. They prayed.
The gnawing ache remained….disgust over an ongoing issue with food I have, confusion over how good I feel professionally yet how “off” I’d been feeling inside, shame over my prayer life having tanked over the past couple weeks, and a general sense of “I just can’t get it right”…
Then suddenly the words exhaled out of my soul, “Jesus, I just can’t do this. I can’t. I don’t even want to.”
And there it was; the piece I’d been missing all this frustrating time. Brokenness.
At that moment, my world seemed to right itself a bit. It’s not up to me to figure out.
As a woman who considers herself very competent, brokenness has not come easily. Let’s be honest, it really doesn’t for any of us. I’ve fought the Lord at every turn. From infertility to marriage heartache, from depression to my husband’s two broken legs, I would somehow rise to the occasion to take care of everything.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
How I wish it were easier to learn. And oh, how the Lord is so incredibly patient with me, thwarting me at almost every turn, for my own good, only for me to double-down my “try-hard” efforts. He’s allowed fibromyalgia to slow me down, anxiety to decrease my ability to work full time, pride to block my connection with my husband, and a myriad of other issues and heartbreaks that I could list off easily if I wanted to.
Life was supposed to turn out like this.
Whatever this was.
Until I reached my end. The death of ME and my competency. Gosh, I wish it hadn’t taken so long, but maybe it wouldn’t be so tasty if I wasn’t so exhausted and desperate for reprieve.
I take my hands off the wheel of my life.
I admit I can’t make things happen the way I want them to.
I believe that Jesus really does see me and my life and has good intentions towards me. (I spent so long thinking he didn’t, it comes as sweet relief to believe his goodness…even though doubt still floats around my head like a pool floatie after the kids have quit swimming for the day.)
I don’t have the answers to my life, and I tend to forget that Jesus does. It’s why I go wandering around thinking I’m in charge until I’m so upset I fall on my face, wondering how I could have ever forgotten the sweet taste of brokenness.
Because brokenness says this: the pressure is off.
Or, in Andrew Peterson’s words:
You don’t have to work so hard
You can rest easy
You don’t have to prove yourself
You’re already mine
You don’t have to hide your heart
I already love you
I hold it in mine
You can rest easy
It is the hardest easy thing you’ll ever do.
Brokenness is tasty, but only when we’re all worn out.