A Jesus-Come-to-Me Meeting

I had a little Jesus-come-to-me meeting yesterday.

Things were not going well, at least by my standards.

The cascade . . .

Sick child.

Week-long school break. (Didn’t we just start?)

Night wakings.

Restless sleep.

Sore throat. Head congestion.

Clingy child. Every utterance a whine.

No rest. No quiet.

Muddled brain.

Waning patience.

Alarming email.

Bad news.

Grief, where did you come from?

More bad news.

In days, I had meandered from the bright, tree-graced, blue sky spaciousness,

to the dark, dismal alley of my mental neighborhood,

with danger and threat lurking behind every corner.

“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Oh, right.

How quickly I forget when all is going my way,

when I’m my favorite version of myself.

How desperate I become when I grow weary,

become a less savory version.

How humbling,

and how liberating.

To pray . . .

Hey Lord, I’m struggling here.

I’m anxious and afraid.

I know I’m not in control,

which is so annoying and hard.

And the world? Jesus, it’s a mess!

I don’t even know where to begin.

And my mind? Also a muddled mess.

So here I am,

this version you especially love

Vulnerable, raw.

I’m surrendering.

Again.

My hopes and longings.

My fear and anxiety.

My lack of clarity about how best to be of service.

These dear ones I love.

This beloved country and earth.

Lord, come to my assistance.

Make haste to help me.

Help me to trust again,

in the slow work of God,

even when I don’t see the way ahead.