No-Man's Land

I've been inhabiting this weird space for a couple of weeks now. Since I had a major emotional crash nearly two weeks ago.

This space that exists between life and death. This space that exists between well and unwell. This space that exists between joy and depression. This space that exists between blessings and curses.

No-man's land. Uninhabitable, and with what seem to be guns from either side pointed at me.

I've inhabited it through late night conversations with a dear friend (who's been very patient and gentle in pushing me towards life, and being well, and joy and blessing.)

I feel toxic again. Like just being around me or talking to me leaches life and joy from others. And I find myself wondering if I shouldn't just hole up alone until this sorts itself out. If I shouldn't avoid the very conversations I long for in the midst of this space where I feel so alone and helpless and angry and hurt.

I'm home sick from work today. Two weeks of this finally caught up with me and shut my body down entirely. I was up sick most of the night. It's now noon, and I'm just beginning to think about possibly getting out of bed. I drifted in and out of sleep for most of the morning, just glad that I wasn't anywhere where I was required to put on a happy face, to keep up the charade of wholeness.

I'm broken.

And alone. In no-man's land. Which is not exactly a place known for it's safety.

I'm not certain how to move forward from here.

The tears simply flow down my cheeks. Over and over and over again.

I don't know what to do with the questions that haunt me. I've asked more than one friend to defend Christ to me - something I've been asked to do in the past and always hated. Over and over I'm reminded to "just believe" - the voice of friends, and maybe even Jesus running through my head. I don't know how to come to Him without setting my mind aside. I don't know how to set my mind aside. And part of me says that if the questions exist, they must be valid, that they should be honored. And the other part says "just believe".

And so I exist here in no-man's land.

And the only thing I can think to do is to say over and over again:

I hurt. I want to be well. I choose life.

Pray, God, it works.

On Repeat

Over and over and over again. I need to keep saying this, in the midst of the dark places...

I choose life.

“Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses. Now I call on heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. Oh, that you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live!" (Deuteronomy 30:19)

I want to be well.

When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him, “Would you like to get well?” (John 5:6)

I choose life. I want to be well. I choose life. I want to be well.

Still

Still quiet.

Still tired.

Still waiting.

Still praying.

Still listening and loving.

Just still.

(Be still and know that I am God...)

Listening and Waiting

This has been an oddly off-kilter sort of day.

The kind of day where things poke at the edges of your conciousness but never quite become clear.

The kind of day where your body aches, and you're just not sure why.

Where things seen and things heard just don't seem to fit together.

Where I wake from dreams, and move, unsettled, into the day.

Where I listen and wait and pray.

For myself.

And for those I love.

Looking Back and Being Encouraged

I was re-reading some older blog posts, and this one caught my attention today. I remember so clearly the struggle it describes, and, in some ways, needed the encouragement from that particular passage of scripture that was so encouraging three years ago again today.