Dropping my cross…and cussing.

I’ve been trying pretty hard this week to carry my cross like a good girl…and failing miserably.  Sometimes I get a few steps ahead but mostly I just keep tripping on it. 

My week has been crazy.  Dealing with medical issues, my son’s ear infection and hearing issues, going to the ER for something that was my own fault, being unable to use my own hand or work out, feeling behind at work …and finally today more medical news that while nothing serious is just super frustrating and brought me to tears.

None of what happened was earth-shattering, just a bunch of random disappointments and hurdles and the kinds of things that built up on one another, leaving me feeling sad and suffocated and stuck.

I kinda doubt Jesus dropped the F-bomb and cried like a baby when he met with bad news and obstacles…even if he wanted to do so.  It’s probably no huge  surprise that I am a far bigger whiny baby than the son of God. 

Some weeks just beat us down until we don’t want to get up. 

It is tempting to stay in that place.  It is tempting to wallow.  It is right there that we become most vulnerable to our own thoughts, and the light and faith feels a little dim in the shadow of the doubts that can creep in.  It’s a scary, isolating darkness that finds its way between the chinks between what we think and what we choose to try really hard to believe. 

It’s also tempting to try and push it off – distract ourselves from the thoughts, pretend we’re not feeling kind of awful or weak.  Personally I find on top of everything else that I feel shame for feeling so bad over things that I know to be small in the grand scheme.  

All of a sudden as I write this In my head I’m picturing Jesus sitting next to me on my stoop of sadness, cross propped up on the wall waiting with me.  He knows I’m weary; He’s patiently waiting there with me so I know I’m not alone. And He will be there beside me when I am ready to get back up.

Thank you God, for that vision that I swear wasn’t there a moment ago and didn’t exist until I started writing.  

  Thank you for allowing me to rest and be human and for your patience and love.

And thank you for my cross that is so tiny and the willingness to try again…

and in advance for forgiving me my weakness and my terrible potty mouth.