I wrote this post a while back when I was having a hard day. There might be some of you who understand the feelings I describe, and if you do then I want you to know a couple of things:
1. You’re not alone.
2. This won’t last forever.
I’m posting this today because it’s a good day, filled with hope and joy. On days like the one I was having when I wrote this post I try to breathe in and out and remember that ‘this too shall past’.
In the end, everything will be alright, and that’s not a worldly little cliché. If you’re in Christ it is a blood-bought certainty. Take heart.
I feel crazy.
Is this grief? Does grief make you feel crazy?
I used to have the same anxiety dream over and over again. I used to dream that I was cast in a show with my dream role, but somehow I fell asleep or lost time and something and was handed my script for the first time on opening night and shoved on a stage and had no idea what my lines were. I shared the stage with people who all knew me and who I was supposed to know and I would pretend to have relationships with them even though I felt like I’d never seen them before in my life.
I would try to figure out from the other actors what I was supposed to say and do but I would just feel this overwhelming anxiety – knowing that I was going to let everyone down; knowing that the director was going to be so angry; knowing that I had an hour and a half of this torture left to get through.
Today I woke up and I feel like I’m living that dream. I feel like I don’t know anyone or anything and I’m drowning and I’m reaching out to grab onto something but my hands keep closing on more water.
And God is standing there holding onto me. I can feel His hold on me – so real and so strong and so tight. But it’s like the water is all around me and so I can see him there, but I can’t see Him. I can’t tell what He looks like. I know that if I can just see the details of His face and know Him and know that I’m known by Him then everything will be okay. I keep trying to focus but all the while I know that any second now I’m going to open my mouth to breathe and the water is going to rush in and I am gong to drown.
So I sit here in a coffee shop and read Psalm 139 over and over again and pray desperately for the faith to believe it. Cause it feels like my life depends on this truth. I tell myself over and over again: You’re known by Him. He has you. He sees you.
It’s hard to imagine how there could be people in this world who use this psalm as a feel good cliché for a cute sign on their wall when today that truth is all that’s standing between me and some great chasm below.
For the past month, I’ve been carving out some time to deal with my ‘grief’. It really has been going well, but it’s getting a little harder. Because now I think I know that I lost my dad. I think I’m starting to realize that I am never going to get to see him again or talk to him and I think that’s a lot for a person to process.
In this coffee shop the panic is setting in. Because no one knows me and I don’t even know myself and everyone is going to leave me and I am so so…afraid. Afraid of breathing in and out and afraid of not. Afraid of going to work and afraid of staying home. Afraid of being with people and afraid of being alone.
I want to get in my car and drive to a place where there are no people and where there never will be and then I want to live there in some cave.
But I can’t. I have to live this life. I’ve been given this part and no matter how much I keep telling everyone that I don’t know my lines, the curtain is up, and the show must go on.
I guess sometimes this world is lived underwater.
I guess faith is knowing that He’s there, not because you can see Him perfectly, but because you trust He’s got you in His hands.
Hold onto me, Jesus. It’s bumpy down here.