Thursday, March 18, 2010

Shouldn't I feel better?

I slept last night.  Sort of, anyway.  None of the crazy dreams, or weird horrifically dark "encounters" of the previous couple of nights.  The things that had made me terrified to turn out the lights in my bedroom last night (I contemplated a nightlight for the first time in 15 years, and did end up leaving my laptop screen on, instead of turned off the way I normally have it.)

So shouldn't I feel better this morning?

Because I don't.  I'm still exhausted and edgy.

It seems funny, because each time I woke in the night all I felt was relief.  There was nothing stirring in my bedroom.  Sort of that deep sigh that comes from the relief of waking on edge, and then realizing you can actually breathe a little.

Though, I suppose, given the fact that I woke on edge each time, there was likely adrenaline coursing through my body even as I slept, and coursing adrenaline probably doesn't do a whole lot for actual rest.

The relief, remains this morning.  Last night I simply did not feel up to fighting the battle of the previous few nights, and I was relieved to find in those moments I woke that it didn't seem to need to be fought.

But here's the thing that's niggling - it comes down to trust for me.

I felt God's peace descend a bit as I was getting ready to turn out the lights last night.  As I sat propped in bed and quietly read Psalm 91 aloud.  And the overarching promise of my life, the one that I want to have tattooed in visual form on my back, is a verse from Genesis 15, where God speaks to Abram and says this, "Do not be afraid, Abram.  I am your shield, your very great reward."  I'm one of those people who believes that God speaks, and I believe he spoke those words over my life in the midst of a very challenging season a number of years back, "I am your shield."  I believe that, but I have a hard time trusting it.  And I failed at trusting last night.  I knew that peace, and yet couldn't accept it, rest into it, trust it.  And this morning, because I couldn't trust and rest in that, I'm paying the price for a night that held more sleep than usual for me - a night that could have been restful and restorative, but was instead filled with the surge and crash of adrenaline as I'd wake on edge and then realize I was still safe, and could rest.

I should feel better this morning, but I don't particularly.

I'm left pondering lessons in trust still to be learned.  It's been a theme for these last two and a half very hard years, and apparently it will continue to be a theme for a while.

And as I wonder what to pray, as I confess my lack of trust, I'm reminded again of the father of the demon possessed boy, and the plea he cried out to Jesus, and today I pray that with him, "Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief."