Frustrated, I drove out of my driveway with no gas and my tires being weird with air, one has way too much, the other too little. I had parked it at my husband’s garage in hopes he would correct that for me last night. When I found the car warning me this morning, my mood shifted fast.
It was a small issue. I get it. Never should I allow such things to affect me negatively. However, with the pile of problems at my feet, I reached a point of something. It was not a breaking point, just a difficult one. I am tired, and it is beginning to take a toll. I love myself enough to admit my truth, own my weakness, and carry on.
I need a break. For me, time away and alone is refreshing, rejuvenating, and required. I have not had that time in months-it shows. My forced smile is getting old. My light laughter at the right moments is fake. The only real me is the one I keep locked in my mind and heart. Knowing this, I shake my head at myself and wonder who I have become.
God knows me intimately and loves me for my honesty in mental illness. He has walked me through depression, listened to my sorrows, cheered my best time, and held me in my worst. I feel no shame at this moment. I refuse to feel guilty for exposing the tender broken pieces of my truth.
I am stronger in my faith in my honesty. He surrounds me now as I put it out there for all to see. Jesus is my constant, the love of my life. I trust him to complete me when this world leaves me torn apart.
No one who hopes in you will be put to shame.
The beautiful words of David reflect my own heart, and as he once did, I cry out.
“I trust you, Lord, and my hope is in you all day long.” (Psalm 25)
For fear of losing myself, I take time to get in my head and to lift my spirits through the strength of Jesus Christ. On my own, I fail to save myself. I know this, so I fight to reach in and surrender. The chaos swirls about me, I crave control, yet it does not exist. Intolerable of the confusion, I choose God to settle the internal challenge.
Sweet whispers of encouragement are echoing through me. I lovingly hear, “I’ve got you, Lisa. I’ve got you in my arms.”
I accept this moment, Jesus. I accept you.